April 25, 2000: Mitchell, The Force of Change
Royal Court Theatre Upstairs
The newly rehabbed Royal Court is open now. It has been a great inconvenience doing without it all this while, especially since their temporary venue, the Duke of York’s in St. Martin’s Lane, is one of the most cramped, uncomfortable theatres in the West End (but, oh, what great plays we have seen there: The Chairs, for instance, or, earlier, Death and the Maiden). The new Upstairs is a very small but nicely designed theatre with what seem to be movable seats, on the plan of the Barbican Pit: a steep rake, not stalls but upholstered benches; the same as the Donmar. Capacity about 75.
Force of Change is the most gripping play I have seen in an age. The characters are several members of the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) and two criminals, one petty, the other middle range. One of the RUCs is a woman; another, David, is a ruthless dealer with the terrible facts of current life; another, Mark, just does his job; still another, Bill, is a sellout to the right-wing Protestant faction to whom he is indebted (literally, he owes them money, or, conversely, they have bought him). The woman, Caroline Byrne, is up for promotion, but likely to be passed over, as once before, because she is a woman.
Not just a good cop–bad cop play, however, though that’s the basis for it. The play centers on the question of how best to survive in these terrible troubles (the play is set just slightly in the future, in May 2000) and at the same time apply the law in the most honest, even-handed, and — and/or — productive way. There are three choices, represented by three characters: (1) Bill, the conscience-stricken but helpless sell-out, who has surrendered to lawlessness, to which for him there is now no alternative; (2) David, who sees the conflict in amoral and entirely practical terms as a personal conflict conducted by means of stark vengefulness and ruthless retaliation; for him, lawbreaking is wrong, not because the rule of law is primary, but because it damages innocent or neutral third parties or, closer to home, his colleagues on the force; (3) Caroline, for whom principle and the rule of law overshadow any other consideration. David and Caroline are similarly adept at questioning and breaking recalcitrant criminals, but when it comes down to bending the law for extra-legal purposes, she demurs.
For this she will, we come to think, be passed over once again. But meanwhile a more pressing situation develops. The radical right fellow Stanley Brown is about to be let go for lack of evidence. Caroline grills him unmercifully, but he maintains a stony silence. But when she leaves the room momentarily, Brown tells Bill to get details of her private life for him — address, telephone number, car registration, her children’s school, and so on — so that he can take personal vengeance on her for her treatment of him. Bill supplies the information, but slips up and lets Brown use his mobile phone. Caro