Theatre review: Who Killed My Father

Ivo van Hove's work tends to play bigger and higher-profile venues in the West End and on Broadway these days, but the Young Vic, where A View From the Bridge really made his name in this country, still occasionally gets the superstar director's work. In particular, it seems to be the home of English-language premieres of solo shows from some of his Internationaal Theater Amsterdam core ensemble members. A few years ago we saw Eelco Smits in Song From Far Away, now it's the turn of an actor often seen as a patrician figure in the company's work, showing a much more vulnerable side here: In van Hove's own adaptation of Who Killed My Father, Hans Kesting plays the book's author Édouard Louis, who confronts his dying father with the ways in which he traumatised him during childhood; but also with the political circumstances that led both to the father's early death, and the knock-on effect on the son.

There's another connection to Song From Far Away in the wide, shallow set that boxes the actor in; but where for the earlier play it was a bright, modern space that revealed hidden darkness, the grey box Jan Versweyveld has trapped Kesting in looks more like a prison cell.

And there's a corresponding unexpected light: In theory the son's story of his childhood is one of his father's cruelty towards his wife and children, and particularly the way his obsession with masculinity makes him constantly criticise his effeminate son. But in fact the harsh critique the son tries to deliver to his father ends up nothing of the sort: He explores the cycle of poverty and violence that would have made the father the way he was, so it seems like any work needed to forgive him has already been done. And the stories of harsh treatment are outnumbered by those of thoughtfulness, as the son remembers the father's attempts to make their Christmases as good as anyone's with money; after he berates the boy for wanting a VHS copy of Titanic for his 8th birthday, he then goes on to make a surprisingly touching gesture.

When the son moves to Paris and meets other gay men there, he talks about hating his father, but confesses to himself that he loves him. This contradiction is perhaps the most interesting element of the story, but it has to be set aside for the play's blunt political point, as the father becomes permanently disabled by a work accident, but increasingly populist politicians force him into unsuitable jobs rather than pay disability benefits. There's something irritating to me about the lack of a question mark in the title, but it's because Louis isn't asking a question - he knows the answer, and the play names and shames the leaders of France who allowed the vilification of the poor over the last couple of decades (and it should go without saying that many countries including this one could reel off a similar list.)

Kesting is the reason to see this as he subtly portrays the son and father (and occasionally the mother) with little changes in body language. And certainly if like me you've previously seen the actor as Richard III, Mark Anthony and Agamemnon, a camp little boy singing "Barbie Girl" is undeniably a change of pace despite the general heaviness of the rest of the piece. I'm not sure the show as a whole is as good as his performance though - I don't know if it's Louis' original or van Hove's adaptation, but the political element is quite cack-handedly presented, with the coming-of-age story abruptly getting replaced with a rant against the politicians and systems that make the poor poorer, and add insult to injury by blaming them. Recently van Hove seems to be increasingly acting as his own adapter of the text as well as directing his shows, and this jetissoning of a playwright as collaborator has yet to convince me. Kesting's performance elevates a script that doesn't always know how to play to its own strengths.

Who Killed My Father by Ivo van Hove, based on the book by Édouard Louis, is booking until the 24th of September at the Young Vic.

Running time: 1 hour 40 minutes straight through.

Photo credit: Jan Verweyveld.