Written by Neil LaBute

Directed by James Haddrell

Review by Marina Funcasta

The King’s Head Theatre

While entering the King’s Head Theatre, I wonder whether I am alone in sensing an immediate paradox upon hearing the words ‘America’ and ‘beauty’ in the same sentence. I blame Sam Mendes’ 1999 film. But the more I thought about it, the more I realised how many stories have surfaced in the past fifty years which not only take issue with the American dream but exposes the falsities it hides. It has become almost a cliché. From Succession to A Little Life, to even Real Housewives – the dark forces which simmer beneath the pristine veneer of the Land of the Free are far from unknown.

And yet, watching the first chapter of Neil LaBute’s triptych of plays, it seems these dark forces are not only expanding, but ubiquitous. If you think enough has been said about the chaos of modern America, I urge you to watch LaBute’s thirty-minute duologues.

Both on a public level (sexuality, religion, class) to personal likes and dislikes (a joke about a cheese Danish in particular springs to mind), everything is a source of contention. LaBute’s characters are broken people living in a broken world, with only the intensity of their emotions as guides. There is violence at the heart of every scene; anger and fear spills over as we see the characters try and control, as well as locate, their emotions. But it is murky ground, and we aren’t provided a moral framework through which to judge LaBute’s stories.

This sentiment was best achieved in the central scene, performed as a monologue by Borris Anthony York. York stuns in his malleability and stamina, achieving a slick transition from gay conspirator to interrogated army officer.

This isn’t to say the ensemble isn’t strong. Effervescent, original and richly detailed, the characters LaBute constructs may be from different backgrounds, but they are all united in their failure: of finding love, of misplaced anger, of repressed violence. And , to be sure, they feed of one another. Maya-Nicke Bewley and Anna María’s final duologue is particularly generative. But even despite the release achieved at the end of their scene, the characters remaind embattled both socially and personally. Indeed, LaBute’s script has friction written into it’s very framework.

Tension is a crucial tenant to the production, and palpable from the onset. The set, designed by Jana Lakatos, is made up of grey blocks, landing on the stage like concrete bricks. The characters reconfigure these blocks to create each other’s news worlds. These transitions were directed well by James Haddrell, providing important opportunities for the audience to process the intensities of each scene. They also provide balance – which is easily lost in a play which takes form in such volatile exchanges.

Overall, the script is lucid, and the acting is slick. Although the humour fails to land, this may well have been a cultural barrier. But even though a despondent exposé on American society is sure to go down well among a London audience, especially today, America The Beautiful is unmissable for what it has to say about the ordinary people who make up the nations dominating the world stage. Indeed, LaBute’s script may have a lot to teach its British audiences, if we are keen enough to listen.

---