Thursday evening saw the opening night of the revival of the National Theatre’s War Horse at Festival Theatre – and most importantly, an incredible standing ovation. Nick Stafford’s adaptation of Michael Morpurgo’s incredible classic is nothing short of phenomenal.
A homage to the horses in the Great War that lost their lives, War Horse is a beautiful tale of the friendship between Joey and his owner – or more appropriately, surrogate brother – Albert Naracott. When World War I breaks out, Joey is sold to serve in the cavalry on the frontline, for “he is old enough now.” Morpurgo tells the story of the catastrophic effect of the Great War on a microcosm of a small Devon village miles from the Somme. Most significantly though, he focuses on the way in which humans had more care for animals rather than each other. They are children, they need to be protected – beyond language barriers and frontlines dividing enemies, horses bring out the humanity in this hell and horror.
We begin in a small village in Devon. A jagged tear of thick drawing paper hangs across the stage – we later learn that this is the base for the projection of black and white sketched animation. This mirrors the rip in the drawing book that Albert takes to find Joey in war-torn France. It is a play of storytelling – the paper base almost resembles white rock, as if this story has been etched and immortalised into the pastoral land.
The puppetry is beyond majestic. The balletic movements of both Joey and Topthorn were mesmerising, uncanny, and comfortably humanistic. It is purely masterful, and a tantalising watch especially when both horses gallop off stage seemingly about to jump into the audience, who catch their breath when the blackout comes. Tom Sturgess as Albert is similarly spellbinding, and poignantly captures the essence of boyhood and nervousness in his moments of both loneliness and friendship.
Direction by Marianne Elliott and Tom Morris is outstanding, particularly in the front line scenes which were terrifying. Shadows, blackouts, and sudden bright white lights pointing directly at the audience gave the effect of total immersion, as though the audience couldn’t escape either. Particular staging features, such as the horse corpses in the Christmas scene, were a stark reminder of the savagery of war that infiltrates every crevasse of life. These heavy scenes were occasionally sweetly relieved by the angelic voice of Sally Swanson – folk melodies interwoven in the thunderous polyphony of war echoed back home to Devon. The ensemble singing was equally arresting.
Joey was more than “just a horse,” and he could not be replaced by a bike. He is a vessel for peace-making and friendship — one that can jump over the metaphorical and literal barriers of barbed wire and division. A catalyst for friendship, most audience members were in tears for Joey and Albert’s final reunion, which I also succumbed to. War Horse was an incredible piece of theatre.
Image by Brinkhoff Mögenburg, courtesy of Festival Theatre