Theatre Review: The History Boys
THE HISTORY BOYS
How History Happens
A Mermaids Production
01/11/22-02/11/22 The Byre, St Andrews
Directed by: Catherine Barrie
Produced by: Henry Empson
Written by: Alan Bennett
Reviewed by Noor Zohdy
In the centre of the stage, there is a chalkboard. It reads, ‘A-LEVELS.’ A boy enters. He peers down and as he pauses there is a moment of absolute silence. ‘AAB!’ In a flurry of animation, the curtain rises and reveals the boys loud and laughing in the schoolroom. Before you feel the play has had a chance to formally begin, the jocular, spirited set is alight. In the energetic flurry of exclamation and movement, you hardly feel that the play starts at any definite beginning. From the outset, it manages to capture the rare sense of sheer life. As the clamour settles and the boys take their seats, you cannot but catch their excitement and curiosity yourself.
Just as the play begins with a certain impetuous jolt, the dialogue execution captivated me in an instant. There is freedom, ease, and yet striking audacity and bold character to their every word. As Hector (Freddie Lawson) brightly congratulates them on their scores and attempts to dissuade them from entirely fixating themselves on Oxbridge; the sense of their collective impression in their exchanged glances and body language speaks their comic disbelief without them needing to. The way the cast works together in this sense is incredible. They are able to maintain a rhythmic connection that maintains their united presence, developing their interrelations while not undermining their individualism. Hector, too, is a vibrant character. Even just in how he walks through the schoolroom he is distinct. His most powerful moment, his final words on stage addressed to the audience, are keenly felt. He delivers his final words of wisdom with simplicity, passing through the stage as he speaks, and yet leaving after him an unforgettable moment.
The headmaster (Buster van der Geest) has an unmistakable presence. His utter determination colours his brisk walk and manner. Just as the boys manage to fill the audience with excitement, I do think I sat up straighter when the headmaster took to the stage. In these opening scenes, we meet a recent Oxford graduate, Irwin (Marcus Judd), who is being employed by the headmaster to help prepare the boys for their applications. Instantly, you sense earnestness and a carefully balanced determination and hesitation in his manner. One of my favourite moments of the play is when right when these two rather different characters meet: the headmaster in his resolute, deeply-intoning voice says loftily, ‘There is a vacancy in history,’ to which Irwin, quite misunderstanding his meaning, leans forward, pauses, and then in unobtrusive sincerity professes ‘That’s very true.’
Irwin’s character is a powerful liminal between determination and retreat: his determined pacing and gesturing when he teaches and gets swept up in an idea can be strikingly fixated in a way that makes his hesitation and unease felt, though he hardly moves. He is markedly audacious in his ideas, but he never abandons the impression of his slight doubt in himself. This dichotomy carries through into how there is a sense of certainty and courage in how he says ‘I’m not clever enough. I’m not anything enough really.’
As the boys embark on their lessons, their characters are further developed and each is vibrant and highly memorable. Posner’s (Seb Filho) theatrical flair does not undermine his humanity but heightens his wholehearted presence. Throughout the play, Scripps (Dylan Swain) often steps forward in an aside. It is hard to do justice to these moments. He manages to truly deliver a sense of a moment paused, a reality realised. In his entire manner and expression, he seems to inhabit this pause; and once the spotlight leaves him, the fluidity with which he reinhabits the bustling setting is stunning. True to his ambitions as an aspiring writer, Scripp’s character truly anchors the story in the sense that it is a ‘history,’ though we see it live. In his character, you see both animation of the present and the stilling moments that recall it to its place within history.
Rudge (Finn Jeffrey) is distinct in his frank, humorous manner memorably expressed as both thoroughly sincere and half-unaware. Atkhar (Ajeet Khela) shows a true sense of inquisitive curiosity, standing out in and furthering the dynamic of classroom scenes. Timms (Matthew McCaffrey) stands out for his brightly energetic personality, which shines in the witty dialogues among his friends. Lockwood (Freddie Strange) is distinct in his free manner, posing challenging questions lit by quick, genuine expression. Crowther’s (Hamish Dicketts) presence among his friends is brightly executed and is truly comic while maintaining three-dimensionality. Most impressively, all the boys manage to convey a unique sense of truth and authenticity to themselves.
Dakin (Sacha Murray Threipland) is unmistakable: bold and energetic in every movement. And yet, beyond his bright presence, are carefully carried moments that give him a prismatic quality. In a particularly poignant scene, he asks his friend Scripps if he thinks they’re traumatised, referencing their experiences as victims of sexual assault. There is a moment of pause before Scripps smiles, pats him on the back, says something to make them laugh, and the two leave the stage. It is a matter of seconds, but a part of the play that stayed with me. The two are able to create a dynamic that is heartrendingly powerful in a matter of seconds. Dakin’s half-joking sincerity is felt by the audience as if we too are his close friend.
Dakin’s daring is shown in his subtlety. Often, his implied meaning is half unsaid, and his words are just one component: his carefully measured tone, body language and movement speak his meaning just as much, colouring his character with a striking sense of challenge and tension.
Dakin’s conversations with Irwin are among the most compelling moments of the play. In one exchange, Dakin asks Irwin, ‘how come there's such a difference between the way you teach and the way you live?’. This ties back to the dual hesitation and determination I mentioned in Irwin’s character, that having been developed throughout is finally confronted in a way powerful though seemingly simple, off-hand even. Dakin’s careless ease is touched by a wonder and curiosity that instantly makes the scene feel private, heightening their precarious prospect of romance. Dakin goes on to say, as Irwin turns to leave, ‘how do you think history happens?’. The question halts Irwin and half-laughing he turns and says ‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about.’ They both look at each other. There is a pause, a suspended affinity, a nearness and distance keenly felt.
Mrs Lintott (Margot Pue) is the only woman in the play. Her resolute presence and balance of emotion and force make her a truly unforgettable character. Her brilliantly executed markedly wry humour gives her independence of thought a distinctive edge and enlivens her audacious presence. Among her best moments is surely her bold and unflinching monologue on women’s negation from history. The power of her convictions still everything and everyone around her.
As the boys get their offers from Oxford, the play draws to a close. In the final scenes, Mrs Lintott narrates to the audience the boys’ futures. As they all stand, still in their school uniforms I wonder if the play itself answers Dakin’s question. How does history happen? Perhaps it happens just like that. At the moment the boys, who we have seen live and question the world together, are isolated by a spotlight. Having their individual stories told, they are still connected: still remaining in the shadows of each other and still shadowed by the greater story.
