Agathe by Angela J. Davis follows the early phases of the Rwanda genocide 30 years ago. The subject, Agathe Uwilingiyimana, became prime minister on 18 July 1993 but her tenure ended abruptly when she was assassinated by a rioting mob which surrounded the UN compound where she was sheltering on 7 April 1994. She saved her children, according to some accounts, by sacrificing her own life. This is a rough-and-ready play that tells the story impressionistically through monologues, rap lyrics, news broadcasts and reconstructed scenes at the UN headquarters. It doesn’t pretend to offer a full historical account but it generates a horrible mood of impending doom.
The most disturbing figure prepares his radio listeners for genocide with poetic propaganda
Agathe is an anomaly, a member of the majority Hutu tribe who entered politics with very little preparation. She was a chemistry teacher whose vocal support for women’s education led to her appointment as minister for schools. She rose to more senior positions by accident and she was always more interested in people than in public life. Like others in Rwanda, she knew the risks of inter-tribal violence and she’d heard rumours that ‘50,000 machetes’ had been imported from China. The Hutus were ready to turn on the Tutsis at any moment, and even professional people, such as teachers and doctors, carried concealed knives.
The show criticises the UN peace-keepers, ‘with blue helmets, blue eyes and white jeeps’, and yet some of the UN personnel were desperate to protect the Tutsis. When the slaughter began, they received fresh instructions warning them not to let ‘peace-keeping’ turn into ‘peace-making’. It’s a classic of bureaucratic double-speak. The UN were effectively ordered to stay in their barracks instead of halting the bloodshed. Agathe expresses no surprise at the UN’s indifference and she expects little help from the Americans either. President Clinton, she says, will put on ‘big headphones’ and deafen himself to the cries of the dying.
The play’s most disturbing figure is a radio shock-jock who prepares his listeners for genocide with poetic propaganda. ‘Time to roll up the sleeves and get rid of the fleas,’ he trills. He blames the Tutsis for social problems and says they ‘must be rectified with insecticide’. These fascinating lyrics demonstrate how mass murder can be fomented by manipulating the prejudices of ordinary citizens. The Tutsis are denounced as verminous, parasitical and lower than human. And the message of hate is spread with rhyming couplets that infiltrate the unconscious mind and bend people’s thoughts towards slaughter. This seems significant today. Those who argue that the refrain ‘from the river to the sea’ is just a harmless jingle may be wrong.
The TV flat-share sitcom used to attract millions of viewers but the genre has fallen into disuse. But the demand still exists among playgoers. A popular new comedy, Artificially Yours, examines the lives of three bickering couples who slug it out over the sofa and around the dinner table. Leslie Ash stars as Pippa, a divorced mum whose sexy Italian boyfriend is reluctant to commit. Her estranged husband keeps dropping hints about repairing their broken marriage. Pippa’s home is equipped with a robotic therapist, Agape, who eavesdrops on the action and suggests solutions to romantic problems. Agape can detect lies as well, and she honks out a danger signal whenever a character dissembles or tells a half-truth. This lie-detector device, which might easily have dominated the play, is used very sparingly.
The centrepiece of the action is a gruesome dinner party involving Pippa’s clueless son, Noah, and his ambitious new girlfriend, Ellie. Noah (brilliantly played by Jake Mavis) is a handsome goofball who lives on benefits. ‘I know I’m not the sharpest bulb in the lamp,’ he says. He hopes to make his fortune with a groundbreaking new healthcare product, ‘protein powder that you smoke’. Ellie throws a Mexican-themed tapas party for her colleague, who brings her boyfriend, Ash. Unfortunately, the couples don’t know each other and they have nothing in common. The hilarious emotional battle that unfolds is worthy of Mike Leigh at his best.
If the BBC has a mind to break its run of comedy flops, it should contact the writer of this show
Ellie proposes a toast to Lilah which she accompanies with a tear-stricken Hollywood speech expressing her pride and joy at her recent successes at work. What Ellie can’t conceal is that she detests Lilah and envies her professional achievements. And she regards her as a sexual rival, too. The mood darkens when Lilah half-admits that she fancies Noah, which forces Ash and Ellie to pretend that they haven’t heard the bombshell confession.
This is an exquisitely funny scene that deserves to be enjoyed by millions of viewers. But our TV bosses have lost the habit of giving audiences what they want. If the BBC has a mind to break its run of comedy flops, it should contact Aaron Thakar, the writer of the show, who also stars as Lilah’s well-meaning boyfriend.
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