Light Shining in Buckinghamshire

British historians often skipped over the so-called Interregnum decade, between the beheading of Charles I in 1649 and the restoration of merry Charles II.  Cromwell’s period seemed more a puritan aberration than what it was – a brief spark of British liberty and revolutionary equality, before the property-holders brought it all down.

And so the monarchy was restored with more powers and resources than before the Civil War. (And my fervent Welsh ancestor was one of the first to be executed for signing the royal death warrant).

Caryl Churchill’s highly polemical play draws on reports from the 1647 Putney Debates, when the socialistic Levellers and Diggers, like Cobbe (Rebecca Massey), argued for genuine democracy while Cromwell (Marco Chiappi) and General Ireton (Brandon McClelland) insisted that only the landed should have the vote. Soldier Sexby (Arkia Ashraf) complains this would make them mere mercenaries in a kingdom they won but in which they have no rights.

Bothering all is the will of God, and the expectation that Christ’s return is now just around the corner. But Christ never arrives and the disenfranchised poor are left to find their own concept of freedom and godliness.

Dressed in contemporary op shop clothes and staged on Michael Hankin’s barren set, this ensemble of eight actors switch through numerous roles, many of them real historic figures.  But the setting,  direction, design or acting give us few clues as to who they are, even their gender. Younger actors replace invention with shrill screaming.

Premiered in 1976, Churchill’s play captures that wild decade with its declamatory ensemble style, earnest polemic and ballads to boot.  Sin itself is finally questioned by the forgotten and, a harbinger of the 70s, they find truth in sexual freedom.

I relished these debates of political ideals overcharged with religious faith, but over two hours it’s not enough. Directors Eamon Flack and Hannah Goodwin have unnecessarily stripped the play of place, colour or deep character.  What should be a chilling theatrical impact is muted.   

As my ancestor must have felt on the scaffold, it was a wasted opportunity.

Martin Portus

Photographer: Teniola Komolafe