Black Watch

Here's the thing about Black Watch, currently playing at St. Ann's Warehouse in Dumbo: it has played New York twice before. The first time I couldn't afford as many shows as I do now and didn't prioritize it. The second time, I didn't realize how short the run was, and I got sold out. When they announced a third and (presumably final) engagement, I snatched those tickets super fast. Before the show started, I read a piece in the program about a journalist (I think) who went to the opening of the show in LA with three American servicemen who didn't particularly know what to expect, only that it was a play about a branch of the Scottish military in Iraq. They expected an anti-war message and were heartened by the show which turned out to be more a history of a single military organization and the story of comradery in the troop when deployed in Iraq in 2004-ish.

I felt ready to take in the show. I consider myself a virulent pacifist, but I do have enough appreciation for the particular fascinations of the specific psyche of the soldier. I found The Hurt Locker mesmerizing. I think All Quiet on the Western Front is fascinating. While I can't understand what would make someone join the armed forces, I can be engaged by their stories. As the show got under way, mixing video, reenacted interviews between the show's creators and the troops, and choreographed movement (that I would not define as dance), I started to feel more and more uncomfortable. The soldiers were often brash, violent off the battlefield, and distressingly homophobic and sexist. I started to dislike them more and more and was (if I'm being honest) angry with the show for glamorizing and legitimizing them. This, it turns out, was reactionary on my part. I'll explain:

What really was bothering me wasn't the depiction of the behavior. It WAS the behavior. It all rang a little too true. I was annoyed with the play, it seems, for being so honest. This was not a realization I had all of a sudden but slowly gained over time. Because what's dazzling about the show (and it's really the whole show, not just the play itself) was that while it portrayed these characters more and more specifically, it was also leading us to a place where the stakes became high enough that the soldiers were acting on instinct, emotion, and trust. So we got to know them more and more, and maybe we disliked some of them or were angry with them, but then the war became more dangerous and we watched them cohere into a unit under pressure whose unity made them easier to respect and admire and, dare I suggest, understand.

My annoyance registered clearly about 30 minutes in, and there was some time there that I was outside of the action, regarding it at a distance. Giving myself back over to the performance happened more gradually. I didn't notice it until the end. And the end... The wordless last few minutes of the show were among the most astonishing that I've ever seen. The squad groups up. Bagpipes play. The soldiers march. Back and forth on parade grounds, changing directions, coming apart and regrouping as the music became louder and louder. I can't explain what was so amazing about it. And I don't have the ability to accurately capture of what was happening physically or emotionally on stage. But as it built and built, I noticed that I was actually trembling in the face of a theatrical moment so perfect that it cut through preconceived notions while dazzling the senses and holding the audience as its own singular entity, unifying them in the act of witnessing. I wept for these characters I had so disliked, and as corny as it sounds, it's those sort of moments of transcendent humanity that keep me going to plays. When something cuts through the bullshit so effectively and challenges me so particularly, all I can do is be thankful for the opportunity to have seen it.

And hey! After getting off track when I went out of town, I'm all caught up on shows I've seen! Happily for my six or seven dedicated readers, I have tickets for something new tomorrow!