Theatre review: Word-Play

Conceived during a Royal Court writing fellowship in 2019, postponed from a planned run last year and now finally making it to the Jerwood Theatre Upstairs in 2023, it’s not hard to see where the inspiration for the inciting event in Rabiah Hussain’s Word-Play might have come from: The unseen politician who kicks off the story’s action isn’t named, but he’s a chaotic Prime Minister prone to gaffes; pretty much any words are liable to come out of his mouth at any time unless they include an apology. Some words have come out of his mouth at an 11am press conference: They include “can” and “seen,” and which way the emphasis falls on them could be spun to mean a variety of things, but like the politician’s name the whole sentence and what it means are never explicitly spoken in the play, most of which takes place over the next twelve hours following the incendiary gaffe.

Issam Al Ghussain, Kosar Ali, Simon Manyonda, Sirine Saba and Yusra Warsama are the hard-working cast playing very varied roles in a series of sketches that build up a picture of the day, and the fallout – some of which may be long-term – from the words.

The title Word-Play has a couple of meanings here, apart from it being a play about words: Thematically, it comes back to the cliché “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me,” and the insidious ways that words can indeed cause a lot of harm, and shouldn’t be toyed with. Stylistically, the word-play is the way the characters and the script play around words without saying them, and one of the most interesting things about it is how easily the clues provided by context make it abundantly clear what’s being discussed even when we’re dropped into the middle of a discussion by new characters.

Most centrally, the play deals with Islamophobia but never explicitly says so; but as soon as the PM’s media team suggest they deal with the fallout by arranging a photo-op in Bradford, we recognize the shorthand being used. The show is building to a depressing reminder of the way words can lead to soul-destroying limitations being imposed on people’s lives, even children’s. But it gets there via this panicked meeting of spin-doctors, interfaith couples confronting tensions that had previously lain unspoken, dinner parties turning uncomfortably awkward, and return visits to a group WhatsApp chat, including a running joke about Manyonda’s character always being an hour behind the rest of the conversation. (I also couldn’t help getting distracted by wondering if Ali pronouncing “gif” differently from the rest of the cast was something that just happened, or the subject of hours of discussion in rehearsal.)

Rosanna Vize’s set design is based around a large, bare, central thrust stage, but adds some visual flair with a colourful mural on one wall (never referenced but presumably a response to the recent news story about murals at detention centres being painted over lest immigrant children feel in any way welcomed or comforted by them) and the Downing Street scenes taking place behind a window upstage. Nimmo Ismail’s production makes good use of the set’s various nooks and crannies to keep the show visually interesting, and the cast bring energy and humour to what can be a bleak subject.

These are necessary, because like many shows with a strong central conceit, the play’s biggest strength can turn into a weakness: After a while the way the script skirts around the language it’s actually dealing with becomes repetitive and frustrating, and you kind of wish for Hussain to present us with a twist to the evening. The more serious monologues are also a bit hit-and-miss, with some carrying real impact while others* fall flat – perhaps another consequence of the self-imposed linguistic limitations. At least the sketch-like format constantly refreshes the action and keeps proceedings from getting dull†; even if it doesn’t quite come off this is certainly a new approach to a much-discussed topic.

Word-Play by Rabiah Hussain is booking until the 26th of August at the Royal Court’s Jerwood Theatre Upstairs.

Running time: 1 hour 35 minutes straight through.

Photo credit: Johan Persson.

*a scene set in the theatre itself tries to question the audience's own attitudes, but feels like it's there more because that's the sort of thing a Royal Court play does, than because Hussain's heart is really in it

†personally I enjoyed the subsidiary thread about growing up bilingual - I can relate to random words blurting out from your other language even if you don't use it regularly