My Name Is… is the newest play by theatre company Irruption, a company formed entirely of surgeons who are also theatre-makers. The show, a semi-verbatim piece explores the treatment of illegal immigrants through the medium of a two-hander. The first character we are met with is an anti-terrorist government official who hears about terrorist attacks in Paris. Immediately he rings his daughter who is currently studying there. While he is distracted by trying to get in touch with his daughter, he comes face-to-face with a stranger who seems to be hiding in his house. Upon finding out that the man is a Syrian refugee (and a doctor) who illegally entered the UK, the government official rings reinforcements. They both wait for the forces to arrive and the doctor tells the officer, who is now holding a gun, about his life. The officer is forced to face his own prejudices and finds that he is very similar to the Syrian refugee. The play ends with a decision that the officer has to make: does he still hand over the doctor to the police or does he allow him to escape?

Both characters were played by surgeons, and you can tell. While the idea and situation is rather novel and interesting it doesn’t play out like that. To start with, they accidently broke a glass table on set and while I’m sure that health and safety would have a field day, I respect the decision both actors made in that moment to carry on with the show. Even though one of the actors was barefoot. I hate to think of the state of his feet right now.

The dialogue was hit and miss. Though I understood the sentiment behind the conversation, it was lost on stage. The dialogue was often too long. There was no subtext. The idea may have worked better for film, as the long paragraphs of dialogue would have worked better with flashbacks. The characters weren’t as developed, with the officer, who was South Asian, making no attempt to acknowledge his own race or upbringing when talking about immigrants and all the bad things they have done – a point that would have given depth to the whole play.

I was more interested in finding out how it is being a South Asian anti-terrorist government official while simultaneously living in the UK (a country that still deals with racism on a daily basis) and working for an institution not exactly known for its tolerance. Instead, I heard about why the UK should be excused for its anti-immigrant (read: Brexit) strategies. Aside from the plot holes in the stories being told, there were sudden shifts in emotion without any explanation. A lot of shouting and a lot of aggression. Even after four double whiskies the officer didn’t show a single sign of being tipsy let alone drunk. Maybe he can just take a lot of whisky.

The crew for the show could have used a dramaturg or a director to help them through the plot holes and inconsistancies. It would also help with the character development, and introduce some subtext and subtlety. As most of our English teachers have taught us, ‘show, don’t tell’. And while ordinarily I would cringe at that phrase, I feel this play would highly benefit from observing it.

 

My Name Is… played at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.