Think of the kidsA surreal take on the war in Syria

LIWA YAZJI, the writer of a new play at the Royal Court, must have known she was inviting accusations of gimmickry when she included a real flock of live goats in her script. Critics would surely complain that the caprine members of the cast of “Goats” were a mere contrivance, distracting from events and robbing a tragic drama of its gravitas. At any rate, that’s how the Syrian villagers in Ms Yazji’s play feel about the animals, after being ceremonially presented with them by the government as a publicity-stunt sop, compensating for the loss of their sons as “martyrs” to the civil war. As the flow of coffins into their village quickens and the supposedly heroic nature of the deaths becomes increasingly doubtful, the goats become (deceptively adorable) weapons in a propaganda war, part of a campaign of lurid distraction from daily atrocity. 

Hamish Pirie’s production does well to capture the hysterical mood of Syria under Bashar al-Assad’s regime, a once-functioning society shrieking towards chaos. Shrill, official attempts to assert normality only highlight the proximity of a total collapse into violence. A blonde-wigged, red-lipsticked news anchor describes state TV footage of mass funerals, beamed live onto banks of on-stage screens, as “celebrations of martyrdom”, as the bodies “embrace the soil of their country”. The scenes of AK-47s and rubble that have become so familiar to Western news audiences are replayed, but in uncanny ideological reverse, as if in a warped mirror. The fluorescent pink backdrop and exposed studio lighting of Rosie Elnile’s set increase the surreality. The goats, blithely nosing at the actors in return for treats, add to the general pandemonium. In one scene, they interrupt a funeral by scampering over the corpse—the metaphor intrudes on the reality it represents.

In this post-truth war, factions constantly skirmish for control over facts, information and narratives. Technology only muddies the picture. The soldiers claim the internet tells them what’s really happening (“we’ve all got 3G”), but blurry videos on mobile screens, scraps of forbidden “opposition blogs”, and traumatised accounts from the front line clash in a disorientating murk. Even the “martyrs” themselves, it turns out, are not valiant warriors, but 16-year-olds whose desire to fight “terrorists” competes with their interest in smoking hash, playing football and watching internet porn. 

Into the disarray steps Abu Firas (Carlos Chahine), an upstanding village teacher with the air of a war-wearied Atticus Finch. Firas’s mission to uncover the circumstances of his son’s death draws him into confrontation with Abu Al-Tayyib (Amer Hlehel), the regime’s local enforcer. What follows is a small-town drama; local politics with the stakes nightmarishly raised. Curtain-twitching villagers suspect their neighbours not of minor impropriety, but of “terrorist sympathies”. 

Unfortunately, as Ms Yazji’s plot thickens, it coagulates. It is very well for the characters to despairingly ask “who is fighting who?”, but as the increasingly sluggish and repetitive two-and-a-half hour production wears on, the audience might be forgiven for losing track, too. Mr Hlehel is a successfully smug and slippery local politician, with some of the most memorable lines (“Has anyone ever told the truth? Has anyone ever demanded it?”), but other performances are ropey, especially from the younger cast members. Mr Pirie’s attempts to inject some dynamism feel over-directed: one speech in an otherwise naturalistic domestic scene is delivered by a character standing atop a fridge, for no obvious reason. Despite a powerful look and feel, the production is undermined by a script that is weak in its fundamentals. 

This is a pity. The play, a product of the Royal Court’s workshops in Beirut with writers from Lebanon and Syria, addresses subject matter that is sorely in need of an astute artistic response. Despite star turns from its flock stars, “Goats” is a lost opportunity to provide one.