The Yorker - Review: The Guinea Pig Club

Mon 15 Oct 2012

Written by Elisabeth Shuker

Susan Watkins began writing The Guinea Pig Club after she met one of Sir Archibald McIndoe’s ‘Guinea Pigs’. McIndoe was an experimental reconstructive plastic surgeon during the Second World War who treated victims of war with serious burn injuries. Watkin’s play presents not only the physical achievements of McIndoe, but also captures the essence of the pain, desperation and eventual hope that the patients, known as the Guinea Pigs, experienced.

At the very start of the play, the stage appears to be an aeroplane hangar, empty and grey. Archibald McIndoe (Graeme Hawley) enters the space and addresses the audience directly. The fourth wall is broken by Hawley throughout the play and he is the only cast member to do so. Hawley’s addresses are powerful as he places the audience as McIndoe’s contemporaries; we are considered to be the superficial and safe public on the home front, made uncomfortable at the site of a disfigured soldier returning from war. Addressing the audience is not only a means to explore the reaction of the Second World War public, but also challenges a modern audience on their ideas of image and wholeness.

During McIndoe’s first address, the empty space is filled with hospital beds, turning the hangar into a military ward. The use of the set was interesting and effective, particularly during the first half; the hospital modesty curtains were used to hide set changes, preventing such practicalities from inhibiting the flow of the play. Furthermore, the drawing and drawing back of the curtains between scenes highlighted the passing of time; not letting the audience imagine that the reconstruction of these men was a quick and simple process.

All five actors playing the wounded soldiers must be commended on their performances, but the most endearing characters were Tom (George Ure) and Rusty Rushford (Stefano Braschi). Tom and his ventriloquist’s dummy fill the play with cheekiness and musical comedy, but the dummy is also disturbing as it serves as a constant reminder that these men are psychologically damaged by their injuries. Braschi's performance is raw and heart-breaking, convincingly presenting the complete spectrum of Rusty’s emotions: depair, shame, self-loathing, hope, betrayal and pride. Playing opposite Braschi, Anna O’Grady’s performance as Alice Harwood sometimes feels as though it lacks the same honesty of emotions, but not so much that their story is not engrossing.

The only real weakness of the play is the inclusion of Sarah Applewood’s portrayal of Frances Day; she has a beautiful voice but is unfortunately over-used. There are two or three moments when the glamorous American cabaret singer shares the stage with moments of terror, such as when the patients desperately seek some protection under their hospital beds during an air raid, all hindered by their physical disabilities. The juxtaposition of Frances Day and an air raid is powerful as the harsh reality of war is presented on the same stage at the same time as the glamorisation of the war on the home front. However, at other times during the play, a short and sweet song attempts only to distract the audience from the more complicated set changes. It is at these moments that the inclusion of Frances Day as a character feels ridiculous and unwanted.

The uncomfortable moments are, however, greatly outnumbered by the brilliant. Susan Watkin’s play is both disturbing and beautiful; celebrating the triumphs of Sir Archibald McIndoe and his Guinea Pig Club without failing to address the harsh realities of terrible injury.

Read the review on The Yorker website.