The tragedy in question is the 1988 bombing of Pan-Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland, a terrorist act that left 270 people dead — including 11 people from the small town itself. As The Women of Lockerbie begins, we find Bill (Mitchell) searching the hills around Lockerbie for his wandering wife Madeline (Mulligan), who set off in search of a sign — any sign — of their dead son Adam’s remains. Helping him are three women of Lockerbie, led by Olive (O’Donnell), who are themselves embroiled in a struggle with the U.S. Embassy over the fate of the victim’s clothes. The intersection of all these characters — which eventually comes to include U.S. official George (Shampain) and his maid Hattie — lies at the crossroads of sorrow. It is arguable to what extent they represent a repetition of quasi-archetypal characters. Madeline’s grief, for example, borders on a familiar insanity. Though she certainly stands in contrast with, say, Frances in Sharmin MacDonald’s The Winter Guest, who quietly shuts down from the loss of her husband instead of exploding in hysterics, Madeline could teach Ophelia a thing or two. Bill embodies the quintessential (read: stereotypical) male response of battening down the hatches, stiffening that upper lip and limping along as best he can. It works, largely thanks to Silas Weir Mitchell’s poignant and rich portrayal, a luminous performance that generates considerable sympathy for Bill where Mulligan’s performance tends to evoke a strange contempt in addition to pity for her Madeline.
The Sum of the Play
Yet whatever feeling of déjà vu there is to be had from these characters is significantly mitigated by the eloquence of Brevoort’s dialogue, the precision of her portraits, and in the honest drama that relates the characters to each other. In answer to the fledgling criticism above, the sum of the play suggests a genuine grasp of the contradictions, turbulent emotions and damage that come from an unimaginable tragedy. In other words, the pieces may wobble a bit when taken by themselves, but they gain a definite solidity when joined together.
At most, Brevoort is guilty of sloganeering by proxy. Some of it is merely condescending, however much it may ring true for the characters. The loss of a child is the worst loss anyone could experience, we are often told, as if grief over the loss of child, can really be measured, weighed and compared against the loss of a spouse, a parent or anyone else. Most of the slogan-tossing is just a case of driving the play’s point home too forcefully when the events and dialogue are sufficient by themselves. Given how the loose plot involves attempts to take the victim’s clothes and wash them, thereby symbolically washing away the evil with love, it falls to the sheer conviction and authenticity of the cast’s performances to let Brevoort get away with none-too-subtly reminding us how love is the antidote of hate.
At least when the heavyweight issues of God, hatred and the like are thrown in, the play doesn’t force a pat philosophical resolution on the nature of evil and our response to it. The Women of Lockerbie analyzes the forms grief takes, criticizes the hate that perpetuates endless cycles of violence, and ultimately goes the distance by proposing the only worthwhile solution. But it’s all for the sake of achieving a kind of emotional catharsis rather than put forth an academic sermon.
In this post-9/11 world — if there really is such a thing — The Women of Lockerbie is a much-needed and magnificent ode to the capacity for humans to overcome their suffering. Bravo!
The Actor’s Gang presents The Women of Lockerbie. Written by Deborah Brevoort. Directed by Brent Hinkley. Starring Kate Mulligan, Silas Weir Mitchell, Mary Eileen O‚Donnell, Terri Lynn Harris, Anna Sommer, Patti Tippo and Robert Shampain. On stage at the Ivy Substation through April 28. 310.838.4264. www.theactorsgang.com
