Death and the King's Horseman, by Wole Soyinka (1975). Dir. Rufus Norris, National Theatre (Olivier Theatre), London, April–June 2009.
Rufus Norris’s production of Wole Soyinka's Death and the King's Horseman at the National Theatre was an arresting piece of theatre that demanded a second viewing simply because there was so much to feed the eye. The statue-filled stage that meets you on your entry into the Olivier Theatre immediately sets the tone for this journey into Yoruba existence and philosophy where the spirit world is an integral part of a very active belief system.
The setting is Oyo, Nigeria, 1943. Iyaloja, the leader of the market women's stately entrance to ‘ignite’ the opening of this production, played with so much power and grace by Claire Benedict, situates our story in Abeokuta Market, the arena that serves as the ‘playground’ for the protagonist of this story. Elesin Oba, played by the imposing Nonso Anozie, is the King's Horseman, who has a duty to accompany his dead Lord, the Alafin of Oyo, into the afterlife by committing ritual suicide. It is a duty that demands the ultimate sacrifice from the individual for the benefit of the community, a community that comes alive and inhabits the stage with song and dance, led by the Praise Singer (Giles Terera). The relationship between Elesin and his Praise Singer, articulated through highly poetic and proverbial language and supported by the women's adoration of their ‘Horseman’ through flirtatious singing and dancing through the market place, keeps the audience engaged throughout the first half. This preparation for the journey into the world of the ancestors takes on a more earthly reality, quite removed from the ritual, when Elesin spots a maiden in whom he wants to plant his seed on this his last day on this earth. Act One closes with the arrangement of both a wedding and a funeral.
Act Two opens in the colonialist quarter, where Simon Pilkings, the British colonial officer, hears of the ritual suicide and decides to intervene by holding Elesin in custody, causing him to fail to perform this ritual which can only be done at a ‘specific time ordained by the cycle of the moon, so there is one night that he can do it and one night alone’. Meanwhile Olunde (Kobna Holbrook Smith), the son of Elesin who has returned from his studies in Britain to bury his father because he is aware of the implications of the traditional custom, is confounded when he becomes aware of the catastrophe about to occur and sacrifices himself in a bid to secure the spiritual well being of his people.
Norris's bold choice to use an all black cast which resulted in the ‘whiting up’ of black actors to play the white colonialists released the humour within this text, for which utmost credit must go to Jenny Jules and Lucian Msamati, for their portrayal of these catalytic characters. Drawing from a Caribbean, African and British experience of white colonialists, these performers displayed the integrity of the colonialists, without caricaturing them, which would have reduced the work to a clash of cultures, which the writer warns against. Rather, this choice allows the production to complicate the reading of these characters, because of the glaring fact the words are being spoken by a black person with a white painted face. The multi-layered implications of this choice served as a constant reminder of whose story was being presented. This controversial choice offers a different perspective to this story, which is told, in effect, by the people it actually happened to. Norris's subtle introduction of this idea came in the form of the whole cast of 31 taking the stage, in preparation of a story, where members of the ‘community’ are ‘made up’ to play specific characters within the tale. Essentially, signposts were provided which resulted in a big payoff when the Pilkings are revealed in Act Two. But ultimately, what Norris has done with this production is to provide a rare opportunity for the host culture of the West to see themselves as viewed by the ‘other’.
Visually, this production was a feast for the eyes. The first half was an unapologetic thrust into the ‘exotic’, particularly for a standard white National Theatre audience. The many songs and dances and the lyrical nature of the heightened conversation between Elesin and his Praise Singer with its expected pomp and pageantry exceeded my stereotypical expectations. Norris’s execution of this act was for me very measured and served the story rather than playing to the gallery, which could have been an easy choice.
What I have described as ‘the eye of the outsider’ was what stood out in this production. Coming to this production as an outsider in terms of heritage was perhaps a blessing in disguise, as it afforded the director the opportunity to learn and transfer that knowledge to an audience who are largely ignorant of Yoruba culture. The big tree in the centre of the market which then transforms into a skyline of bundles, the ingenious inhabited furniture, the constant cycle of movement on stage, sometimes barely noticeable, were manifestations of the essence of the spirit life of the Yoruba, not consciously written into the script. With the help of his designer Katrina Lindsay and choreographer Javier De Frutos, the gap was bridged between the two cultures, with Peter Badejo, the associate director/consultant as a much-valued guide. The storytelling form was a natural choice, which aided in the created world of the ensemble telling their story and evolving the environment themselves, literally. A thought-provoking, energised and daring production, which left me wanting more.