Written by Meghan Tyler

Directed by Dominic Hill

Tickets from £14.00

”Flag Wanker”

If you’ve been on social media for more than an hour you’re likely familiar with the charming turn of phrase for those who utilise their personal biographies to plaster it, instead, with a smattering of nationalist flag emojis. But this latest entry into the national discourse is not a new beast. Nor is it as docile and innocent as the computer screen may suggest. The aggression, possessive control, and sectarianism associated with the Fleg you wave can lead to more than some online trolling and harassment.

Making full use of their time ahead of the Glasgow Citizen’s Theatre reopening, scheduled for next year, Citizen’s artistic director Dominic Hill directs Newry-born playwright Meghan Tyler’s FLEG, an unrestrained and troublingly authentic humorous one-act three-hander set in east Belfast in the days of mourning, celebration, apathy (pick your poison) following the death of Queen Elizabeth II. The event hits our cast of three differently; for Caroline, it’s grief: republican council worker Tierna wants to get on with their day. For Bobby, well, for the devoutly Unionist Bobby, the death of the monarchy ignites a crisis of identity. One recognisable in many since the passing, one frequently stoked and capitalised on for political manoeuvre.

The penultimate production in this season’s A Play, A Pie, and a Pint season, FLEG makes a distinct impression by flaunting an enormous Union Flag high into the backdrop of Òran Mór, a sight few in the audience thought they would ever see. Gemma Patchett and Jonny Scott’s set design is minimalistic but the use of this encroaching backdrop and a few brilliantly welcomed protrusions into the space of the venue from Hill’s staging make FLEG an appropriately in-your-face number.

The flickers and inspirations from Belfast-born David Ireland’s Cyprus Avenue have more than a fleeting resemblance, but Tyler’s work takes a more white-knuckled contemporary anger to the entire affair – which strikes as more emotional, more intensive, and even more believable. The satire wielded is striking, and if anything could flourish more with a touch more shock and venom – though for a luncheon show, perhaps the literal flag-wanking is far enough.

It’s just one of the many forms Bobby’s grief manifests, and so are the hallucinations as the Union Flag at the end of the road morphs into a young, ravishingly beautiful woman who conducts themselves with the clearest of Queen’s English. Francesca Hess takes delight in donning the union-jack dress, one the nineties has evidently loaned them and sticks it (quite literally) to Bobby for failing to preserve and defend her empire, her honour. The grief-stricken Caroline, played by Beth Marshall, elicits a tremendously empathetic performance as Bobby’s frustrated wife, who slowly chips down the xenophobic barrier which was blinding her. Laceratingly comedic, and only slightly (if even) caricaturist, Harry Ward’s terrific performance as the emasculated Bobby is carried to full fruition from the groaning belly-roar of the white national to a sad, isolated man with nothing but his rather crusted and stained flag to keep him company.

Similarly to their 2019 Crocodile Fever, which remains one of the most remarkably inventive and awakening productions we’ve covered, the eye-opening frustration which Tyler captures in a refreshing form is unchallenged by many playwrights. And when parcelled with Hill’s tight direction that utilises space, comedic performances, and a terrific balance between the three, FLEG makes for a strong set-up to close out the PPP season with The Guns of Johnny Diablo closing it next week. And a week on from the King’s Speech, FLEG’s decisively well-stitched rhetoric pulls the nationalistic perverse obsession with flag-flying to ribbons. And with every strand torn, a small healing breath can be taken – ready for a large exhale of laughter.