Brave drama dares to ask: can child sex offenders be forgiven?
As the febrile atmosphere caused by the documentary Leaving
Neverland still lingers, here is a play about paedophilia that will simultaneously outrage us and prompt us to ask searching questions about how we should treat the perpetrators. The result is not simply some bleeding-heart plea for tolerance, but a smart, acutely funny, important piece of work that challenges our Medieval thirst for revenge.
Downstate is a co-production between the National Theatre and Chicago’s mighty Steppenwolf (where the play was first seen last year with an armed guard on standby) and is set in Illinois where four men who have committed sex crimes against minors live in a house funded by the Lutheran church. They wear ankle tags to track them, have their boundaries steadily reduced in accordance with state law and are monitored by a cynical, watchful parole officer.
These men are not likeable (even if the elderly Fred, bestriding a mobility scooter, appears on the cuddly side) – they are all defined by their own delusion regarding what they have done and lie repeatedly to the scant visitors they receive and to themselves. Ironically, the most unappealing of the lot, buff Gio, is also the lowest-grade offender who maintains that his rape of an under age girl was merely “statutory” and uses his proselytising Christianity to gloss over his misdemeanours and assert his superiority over the other inhabitants. Then, into this toxic environment of off-key sexual desire comes Andy, a fortysomething man whom teacher Fred sexually abused 30 years earlier. Armed with a “reconciliation contract”, he describes himself as a survivor and attempts to wring out every last bit of remorse from his frail abuser.
This doesn’t sound like entertainment, but playwright Bruce Norris (who brilliantly skewered East Coast liberal values in 2010’s Clybourne Park, seen here at the Royal Court) has a lightness of touch which prevents the grim subject matter from descending into preachiness. Amid serious discussions about victimhood and forgiveness there are squabbles about soya milk and Fred’s tendency to play Chopin (himself an abuser) at full throttle. The effect is to immerse you into a world that is simultaneously mundane and fascinating.
Norris is well-served by an Angloamerican cast of whom the standout is K Todd Freeman. He plays Dee, a gay African-american – no longer young – who raped a teenage boy when both were touring in a production of Peter Pan. Dee’s nice line in sass is sometimes outrageously off-beam and, while you can never warm to him, Freeman’s performance does elicit some sympathy. He brilliantly captures a combination of outward toughness and a vulnerability so troubling you can hardly bear to contemplate his head space.
Director Pam Mackinnon does her best to keep the momentum going but there is the odd tiny flaw in terms of unevenness of tone and plotting (a shock revelation toward the end was obvious from the beginning of the second act). Yet, if, like me, your feeling towards those committing sexual offences against children was resolutely lacking in nuance, you should go and see this play. If you think (as I thought) that such perpetrators deserve to suffer ad nauseam (as their victims almost always do), then you should consider the implications of Norris’s words in the closing moments as he asks us whether sometimes these men have suffered enough, that sometimes we should simply forgive. It’s a tough ask but one that speaks directly to our human capacity for compassion. In an arena where reasoned debate is routinely shouted down, Norris has proved to be a necessary voice.
Until April 27. Tickets: 020 7452 3000; nationaltheatre.org.uk