Review: Masterful Ralph Lawson Gives Life to Alan Paton in A VOICE I CANNOT SILENCE

In the months since its premiere at the National Arts Festival last year, Greg Homann and Ralph Lawson's A VOICE I CANNOT SILENCE has played seasons in Johannesburg and Durban, garnered critical acclaim and won three Naledi Theatre Awards. Finally making its bow in the Mother City at the Fugard Theatre, the play lives up to its reputation as a finely-crafted exploration of the inner force that drove its real-life protagonist, Alan Paton, to speak out against apartheid and write anti-apartheid literature like CRY, THE BELOVED COUNTRY and AH, BUT YOUR LAND IS BEAUTIFUL. And although the production does not quite get to grips with current debates around white liberalism, it certainly manages to reference the conversation through the conflict of a man whose work extends beyond that for which he is remembered.

Homann and Lawson have created A VOICE I CANNOT SILENCE using primarily Paton's own words, sourced not only from his fictional works and autobiographical writing but also from his personal correspondence. Paton's characteristic literary style, lyrical and flowing with a masterful grasp of imagery, is preserved in the play, as is the frank and even cantankerous tone that characterises his letters - at least, in those included here. The integrity with which Homann and Lawson treat Paton's voice marks the text with a unique rhythm, one that elevates it above the typically generic trappings of the biographical drama, even as it uses many traditional devices of the genre.

Narrated from post-1994 setting, A VOICE I CANNOT SILENCE begins in 1968, some months after the death of Paton's first wife, Dorrie, from emphysema. Alan - so-called in this synopsis and elsewhere to distinguish the character from the literary legend himself - employs the recently divorced Anne Hopkins as his secretary. In the first months of her employment, Anne observes Alan grappling with the dissolution of the Liberal Party, which he founded in 1953, as well as with his memories of being the Warden of the Diepkloof Reformatory, an experience which ignited in him the voice of the play's title. Anne's fate as a witness to his life is sealed by their marriage the following year, and the action moves fluidly through the rest of Paton's days, during which the apparition of a young black man, Sponono, confronts the ageing writer as he contemplates his life work.

The tone of A VOICE I CANNOT SILENCE is, commendably, conflicted rather than reverent thanks to Homann's intelligent and cohesive direction. That said, his work is also, perhaps, a little too measured and the piece consequently appeals to the intellect more than to raw emotion. One never quite gets the feeling, for example, that Sponono might fly off of Paton's page to triumph over Alan as he wrestles with the spectre that returns time and time again to haunt him. The physical staging of the climactic scene between the two sees this Jacob's angel letting him go long before the dawn breaks on his Penuel, although the text certainly supports the idea that Paton's anguish continued throughout his life.

Ralph Lawson delivers a magnificently full-blooded performance as Alan. His approach, playing the man rather than the persona that exists in public legend, is exemplary. His work is so fully realised that it becomes difficult to remember that Lawson exists as actor distinct from this role, that he has had a distinguished career during which he has played other characters with equal skill. It is equally challenging to imagine anyone else bringing the role to life in such idiosyncratic detail.

Clare Mortimer is a sympathetic Anne, serving well a character that remains relatively static in its conception as narrator, witness and confidante. As Sponono, a figure constructed as a foil to Alan from a recurring character in Paton's writing, Menzi Mkhwane breathes invigorating life into a role that could easily dissemble into trite symbolism.

Nadya Cohen's set design surrounds a semi-circular interior office space with a gravel path that defines a complementary exterior space. The office space is defined by tangible objects - books and papers, teacups - while the outdoors is defined by sound and light - Evan Roberts's soundscape, the crunch of shoes on stones. There are times when Michael Broderick's lighting design bleeds too far across the boundary between these two worlds, although his choice of colours in the rig differentiates the two areas well. Upstage, two further areas behind scrims allow the audience to see Sponono brought to life and Anne typing up letters and manuscripts, which allow for some beautiful moments of juxtaposition. But at the very edges of the stage space, at the borderline on which disbelief must be suspended, the set and lighting flounder, colluding to reveal awkward entrances and exits to and from the outdoor area that leave the actors exposed in the vulnerability of negotiating these key moments in any staging of any play.

One of the Naledi Theatre Awards that A VOICE I CANNOT SILENCE won was for Best New South African Script. It is an excellent piece of writing, and may certainly have been the best of the seven scripts nominated, but what would have made it truly outstanding would have been a more cognisant engagement with the theme that links Paton's story to contemporary South Africa: the challenges of white liberalism. Some of these, such as white guilt, intellectualisation of the issues, the anti-racist résumé and masochistic shame, are inextricable from his life narrative, reminding audience members who are struggling with those and other related concerns that the man who wrote CRY, THE BELOVED COUNTRY also had trouble dealing with these demons. Like him, we need to work towards keeping the national socio-political dialogue focused not on ourselves but on where it needs to be, lest we perpetuate the very systemic racism that South Africa is attempting to dismantle.

A VOICE I CANNOT SILENCE, which carries an age restriction of PG13, runs at The Fugard Theatre Studio until 25 June on Tuesdays through Saturdays at 20:00, with 16:00 matinees on Saturdays. Bookings can be made at online at Computicket or by telephone on 021 461 4554.

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