My Real War 1914 -? at Trafalgar Studios

My Real War 1914 -? at Trafalgar Studios

08 October, 2009
by: Sandraleong

By all accounts, My Real War 1914 -? is a rather modest production. It has a tireless cast of one, with most of its set condensed – rather comically – into a wooden trunk.  Studio 2, where it's staged, is also about as big as a postage stamp, seating only a gaggle of theatregoers.  Stepping into Trafalgar Studios on this wet Wednesday evening, it doesn't take you long to realise that the crowds thronging the bar are here to see the marquee-hogging Othello, not this comparatively low-key monologue about the Great War by Two's Company.  Yes, it's tough going up against the great Lenny Henry.

But I'm not saying that size and budget matters in art – it shouldn't. However, the problem with My Real War is that it starts small and then stays small,  never really blossoming into something remarkable or particularly powerful. Adapted by director Tricia Thorns from a series of privately published letters by a junior British officer during World War I, it is perhaps too faithful to the original material. A young man's musings about the futility of war may shed light on the Zeitgeist of the generation, but too much of a good thing – one and a half hours of it, to be exact - at times renders his words prosaic and pointless.

My Real War is a tragicomedy about 2nd Lieutenant Havilland Le Mesurier – or Lem for short – who leaves Oxford University to enlist with the armed forces in 1914.  His exploits are documented in letters written to his family, narrated by the protagonist who is in turn played by Philip Desmeules. The story is standard fare: a eager and naïve soldier becomes disillusioned, eventually declaring the war of attrition 'sordid and crude'.  Light-hearted observations of military life slowly take on dark undertones, with Lem yearning for a 'blighty' – army-speak for a non-fatal wound serious enough to warrant a discharge.  But as he weaves in and out of anecdotes in an endless stream of consciousness, conforming to a wispy shadow of a plot, you begin to wonder: Where oh where is this all going?

To be fair, perhaps this is more of a mood piece than anything else. Lem's fate is clear from the start – he is to be slain in battle – so it is maybe too harsh to grumble about the lack of a dramatic arc. The themes of wastefulness of war and youth do trickle through. You feel a twinge of sorrow and regret when Lem walks off stage to his death. Still, it's but a twinge.

There is a redeeming quality to My Real War, though. The one-man show is thespian nirvana, an opportunity for actors to display their range. Indeed, Desmeules suffers for his art.  He throws and contorts himself everywhere to depict the action in the trenches, recounts every anecdote with fervour and hits each mark with admirable timing. If there's one reason to see this, the valiant Desmeules would be it.

Otherwise, you might want to see Othello instead.

Check out more Theatre in London
Check out more Things to Do in London

Sandraleong