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Boireannach Theatre presents: 'And all the Children Cried'
by J Sydney-Leigh
I went to see an evening of two plays by Boireanach Theatre. Describing themselves as 'An all female, feminist theatre company creating raw, thought-provoking, unadulterated theatre in the UK today,' I was excited to see their debut season of work, entitled 'With a Heavy Heart'.
Play 2: And All The Children Cried
Two women, Myra and Gail, are in prison. Their crimes? Killing children.
This brave play was written by feminist writer Judith Jones and journalist Beatrix Campbell in 2004. When I know I’m about to see a piece of feminist writing, I have preconceptions of how the women will be presented. Strong, relatable, charismatic, loyal, flawed, funny… human. In a play that I figured would attempt all the above in the characters of two murderers, I was excited to see how they would go about it. I certainly knew that I wouldn’t leave the play in awe of these child killers, and wondered whether I would be able relate to them at all. How will they draw the human from the monster, the vulnerable from the killer, the innocent from the guilty? Will they even dare to attempt it? …They sure did, and with astounding success. I sat and watched with an open mind, and in spite of myself, I left with an open heart.
We are all familiar with Myra Hindley and her involvement in the ‘Moors Murders’ of the 60’s, whom one of characters represents. Gail’s fictional character is based on various case studies, which seems to allow the script more scope in her representation. Falsifying or speculating wild truths about Hindley would be tasteless, even 2 years after her death when the play was written. Gail is therefore the most rounded character, commanding the stage whilst Myra is often stationary, listening to Gail and sparking new lines of discussion. The women are awaiting the parole board, and as time passes they go in and out of each other’s adjacent cells, ultimately using one another’s presence to voice their own reasoning and aggravation.
Sally Reichardt gives an electric performance as rough and ready Gail. Her traumatising childhood of sexual violence at the hands of her father is told with hatred, vulnerability and often, a callous humour. The sheer amount of detail given to her story affords her so much audience empathy, that by the time she reveals why she did what she did, you are truly convinced that it was an act of love and protection. The descriptions of things that she was made to do as a child have been irrevocably etched as images in my mind. This is not a play for the faint hearted. The script, however, steers away from its otherwise consistent ‘oh you poor thing’ depiction of Gail. When she has trouble sleeping, she ‘like[s] to think of babies. It’s a good feeling, their fear turns me on and I come.’ Moments like this leave the audience feeling emotionally duped, only to be lured back in with the remorse of a criminal borne of a lifetime of abuse, ‘I’m guilty because I feel guilty’.
Komal Amin has the task of presenting Myra Hindley’s character, and there is something truly scary about her composed impenetrability. Nearing 60 years old, she finds solace in classical music, religion and education; writing entries in her journal that suggest a narrative within her that she chooses to hide. She speaks coldly of the male sex, blaming them for rendering women powerless. This anti-man talk gets repetitive, but the root of it becomes clear when Myra describes her relationship with partner in crime, Ian Brady. ‘I was in love, he was my philosophy. The project was his design. I gave myself to it. My imagination and will. Putting them where he wanted and then I watched and waited.’ The script clearly follows the school of thought that Brady was the murderer, whilst Hindley lured the victims to him. Should this emancipate her from a lifetime of incarceration? By the end of the play, our questions are answered.
There are moments in the play that jar. A voiceover of what we imagine to be a young girl about to be raped or killed is played five times: ‘I want to see Mummy. What are you going to do with me? I want to see mummy’. We are never sure whether it is Gail’s voice as a child, or one of Myra’s victims; that is better left to interpretation. However the track felt contrived and became repetitive.
Read as a feminist piece, this play may appear man hating. Myra claims ‘It was at my father’s knee that I learned about dominion.’ But the play doesn’t attempt to emancipate these women of wrong doing; the women are, after all, locked up for killing children.
And All The Children Cried ultimately forces us to question: Who are we to blame? Myra uses her final line poignantly in this respect. I took it as my answer.
‘I will never tell you what I did. I will not feel it. I am the evidence.’
'And All The Children Cried' by Boireannach Theatre
Written by Judith Jones & Beatrix Campbell
Directed by Harriet Layhe
17th & 19th Nov 2014. 7.30pm.
Tickets £10
Ye Olde Rose and Crown, Walthamstow
