“Body of an American” finds photographs haunting
The country seems haunted by war zones past: The Civil War won’t leave the headlines, and the ghosts of “Vietnam” are on TV. So it’s a perfect time to explore the haunting and the haunted on stage. ★★★5
“The Body of an American,” the taut, two-man play by Dan O’Brien that is having its regional premiere at Curious Theatre, takes as its starting point the shocking yet familiar 1993 Pulitzer Prize-winning photograph of the body of American soldier William David Cleveland being desecrated on the streets of Mogadishu.
The possibility that the photographer’s work is, in effect, an additional layer of desecration is a key point. The unintended effects of a photographer’s work — originally meant to document and inform but used instead as a propaganda tool — are explored through rich, poetic language.
The story builds on the email exchange and eventual meeting of the chroniclers, Canadian photojournalist Paul Watson, who was haunted by the experience, and playwright Dan O’Brien, who, while writing himself into the story, confronted his own ghosts.
“The Body of an American” is more than a disturbing look backward. The play considers the ongoing role of journalists, particularly war correspondents, and their peculiar remove from the reality of their subject. Are they crazy or altruistic or just craving the next adrenaline rush? And what happens to such jour-
nalists in a collapsing news industry? (A virtual appearance by Sam Zell, foulmouthed billionaire boss of Tribune publishing company, cements the idea that serious journalism is endangered. The play recounts the time Zell famously told a conference of journalists, “Hopefully we get to the point where our revenue is so significant that we can do puppies and Iraq. OK? (Expletive) you.”)
O’Brien also draws parallels between shocking global news and personal family tragedy, demonstrating how early traumas have lingering effects. A psychological reading of Paul’s demons spells out the message. Paul swears that as he was about to snap the shot, he heard the dead man’s voice caution him, “If you do this, I will own you forever.” The therapist suggests that was Paul’s superego talking. Either way, his soul is, in fact, owned. His guilt endures, his depression and cynicism deepen.
Citing war zones from Vietnam to Iraq and Afghanistan, the play reminds us how enduring trauma is, personally and nationally. O’Brien doesn’t mention Civil War photographer Matthew Brady, and Brady wouldn’t have known about PTSD, but Paul represents anyone throughout history who has served as a witness to human violence.
Under director Chip Walton, the pacing is brisk and the feel is muscular. The actors maintain a distance while exploring male friendship. Michael McNeill is steadfast and somber as Paul. Sean Scrutchins is more emotionally expressive as Dan. They take turns depicting both characters, sometimes switching roles mid-sentence, holding a clenched fist to indicate Paul’s birth defect. They make the interplay of photographer and playwright, old-school globe-trotting correspondent versus poetic creative writing student a lively source of tension.
The set design is a simple affair of geometric shapes that the actors assemble and reassemble to represent a variety of locales. The lighting plus video projections do the heavy lifting in terms of tone and storytelling. The result is a gutsy, thoroughly haunting production.