English Kings Killing Foreigners
I feel guilty for even thinking it. But almost every time I see a Shakespearean revival, whether it be on the stages of The Globe or a small off-West End playhouse, inevitably, I come away with the same thought: Should we just… not… do Shakespeare anymore? In all honesty, I was a bit averse after seeing the show description to English Kings Killing Foreigners for this very reason. The two-hander follows actors Nina and Phil, who are apart of a brand-new, groundbreaking revival of Henry V set in a kebab shop by a hot shot director (I now fully expect Jamie Lloyd’s upcoming Romeo and Juliet to take place in a chicken shop in Lewisham, by the way). Following an incident within the cast, Nina is promoted from Soldier 3 to to the show’s namesake, “the warlike Harry” himself. Phil, also a proud RADA graduate, is not fussed though. No small parts; only small actors. Remember?
I mentioned I was already apprehensive about the Shakespearean element, but then Nina Bowers and Philip Arditti enter, promising a show that will require “audience participation.” The thing about Nina and Phil? They have a way of pointing to this uncomfortability- the inherent awkwardness between audience and performer, auditioner and auditionee- in a way that instantly puts you at ease. It’s as if we’re all in this together, on the same level. That charm, if I may call it that, cannot be learned from any prestigious acting school. Nina and Philip poke fun at their own actor personas through semi-alter egos Nina and Phil: they begin with an ‘audition’ to the audience to determine who will play ‘King’ and who will play ‘Foreigner’, and they frequently interrupt the action of the play with games that aren’t necessarily ‘theatre games’, but rather, build camraderie and community in the room. It’s a strange structure, but it works to prep the audience for the more intense moments in the play.
Just like any auteur, Bowers and Arditti, also the writers of the show, go to great lengths to ‘pack everything in’. As Phil prepares for his Act II speech, for instance, Nina mentions an acting technique called ‘substitution’, whereby an actor substitutes a word that they can’t quite connect to with another that they can. Since Phil is from Turkey, they replace ‘England’ with ‘Turkey'. But then there is mention of a Christian; Phil is Jewish. But a Turkish King can’t really be Jewish, Nina argues. So naturally, you would have to be from Israel, right? Phil is baffled. It does not track. This was the moment the production fully won me over. Without going into depth about the conflict everyone seems to have been posting about for the past 7 months, Phil’s reaction says everything I’ve been thinking but have been far too afraid to say in this country.
At the heart of this work is the complexity of identity and how to hold that complexity. Arditti and Bowers expertly acknowledge and embrace this complexity without lecturing or ranting about it. We already know it all, even if we don’t know it all. In another moment, Phil makes an accusation that I’m sure so many theatre people say only in the comfort of our own homes: ‘You know exactly why you were cast in this role’. The sudden recognition, at least in my mind, also shows my own expert ability to label people simply because of how they look or sound or where they are from. I take it from the audience’s cavorting when Phil says, ‘Maybe there’s a young Black girl in the audience’ who will see Nina onstage and be inspired. ‘Or a mixed race girl’, he qualifies. ‘Or a nonbinary person’. Nina glares. The audience is in stitches.
It is truly impressive just how much Arditti and Bowers manage to tackle by only lightly touching upon it. So many times, issue plays can devolve into a rant or lecture, leaving the audience feeling nothing but attacked and intrigued. Instead, they decide to befriend us. In turn, we feel a kinship and strange alliance to the both of them. And even if they haven’t changed our minds on theatre or identity politics or major news items, they certainly have made sure the wheels keep turning.
⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️
