Theatre byDavid Jays
"We need people to know that they have to leave our Jake alone - or they'll be in trouble. And we also need Jake to know that." Is this a stern father talking about raising his kid in the ways of men? No, this is Jake's mummy, willing to go to any lengths to protect her son and pummel him into armoured masculinity. Gary Mitchell's new play burrows into the heart of Protestant Belfast, displaying an enclosed world with abruptly foreshortened horizons.
Trust is set in the author's own manor, Rathcoole in north Belfast. On the estate, the UDA's Geordie (Patrick O'Kane) is the big man, the top fucking man. He'll sort out yahoo neighbours and pestering kids for you, and claimants on his attention shuffle across his sofa as if in a waiting room. O'Kane gives a brilliantly unreadable performance, deep-set eyes guarding their secrets.
Although keen to saunter in and fix his cronies' problems, Geordie avoids the dilemma brewing at home. His teenage son Jake hates school, where he is bullied, but Geordie won't do anything to sort it. He wants to produce a footballing, pint-supping cock of the walk, and is baffled by this timorous, conscientious lad. Daddy's long legs cantilever out in front of the racing or ease down the club; a consummate wind-up merchant, Geordie noisily stirs his tea to disrupt maths homework. This is the territory of reinforced manhood, and when he hears that Jake has been crying, his breathing becomes laboured, as if allergic to displays of weakness.
Margaret (Laine Megaw) is the vigilante mom raging at her husband's reluctance to wade in and resolve her son's difficulties. Megaw and O'Kane make a finely serpentine couple, dangerous brooders both. They brusquely frisk a dodgy visitor in practised manoeuvres around the sofa, and skirmish about coasters and biscuits. But beneath the bickering teamwork are harsher divisions. Margaret is aspirational for Jake but equally determined that he'll win respect on the streets. She persuades an ingratiating ex-convict to exact vengeance on her behalf, making sure that Jake himself engages in the violence. You'll guess that this is a bad idea.
Trust portrays a startlingly ideology-free zone. You'll hear no talk of the peace process or the Good Friday Agreement. No one will mention war, law, terrorism or justice. In Mitchell's portrayal of Belfast, the troubles are as pervasive and impervious as the weather, fact rather than process. Only rarely does Geordie's broader political project peek above the management of other people's domestics: "The UDA wasn't formed to give Stanley a quiet life." For Margaret, the outfit exists only to ensure local harmony; she wouldn't go to the police, because "What's the point of having you lot, then?"
Mitchell's characters speak in euphemism, where "work" and "merchandise" carry strictly local meanings. His last play to be seen in London was In a Little World of Our Own, an apt title for a world where community is everything and home is its centre. In Mick Gordon's tightly focused production, Rae Smith designs a living-room forbiddingly steeped in navy blue, everything from sofa to tea-set to heavily decorated wallpaper. The unreliable voice of community is Arrty (Colum Convey), the pal who acts like Geordie's warm-up guy and bouncer and gives it plenty of chin and slaphead when needled.
The narrative twists depend too heavily on an underwritten subplot in which a wide-faced, jovial English soldier (Barnaby Kay), itching to leave the army, flogs machine guns to the paramilitaries. The scheme, though attended with apprehension, is pretty straightforward, and can't carry the weighty discussion of "trust" with which Mitchell surrounds it. Lorraine Pilkington is good, though, as the soldier's minxish, focused girlfriend, a screw-curled waitress with highly developed hating skills.
But the battle over Jake, the confused attempts to shape his adult identity, provides the play's most compelling momentum. Gregg Fitzgerald, utterly woebegone, has eyes swimming in a face pale as a fish-belly. It's tempting to freight children with symbolism in contemporary Irish drama, to see in their youth the potential for a brighter future. Poor wee Jake would be unwilling to shoulder the burden, and Mitchell leaves us properly fearful for him.
"Trust" plays until 3 April at Royal Court Theatre Upstairs, West Street, London WC2 (0171-565 5000)
Post this article to
We want to encourage people to comment on our content and to exchange views with other readers and hope this will be done on a courteous basis. However, if you encounter posts which are offensive please let us know by emailing comments@newstatesman.co.uk and we will take swift action where necessary.
