Nation at HOME
There are hugely effective moments here, but this provocative exploration of British identity never quite reveals exactly what it is trying to say.
The butcher.The baker. The Pilates instructor. Such is the vision of contemporary Britain that Sam Ward conjures in Nation – a vague blend of nostalgic tradition and tragic modernity.
As both performer and writer, Ward casts a compelling spell over his audience. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a performance in the second-person, present tense before, but it is utilised expertly here. This novel device, combined with an intimate, in-the-round staging engenders a sense of uncomfortable complicity within the audience. Ward first calibrates his audiences’ imaginations – a man on a bicycle, a cow wearing a hat – before launching into a heavily allegorical narrative based around an indistinct British town which is seemingly adversely affected by the arrival of an anonymous stranger.
There are hugely effective moments here, including perhaps the most uncomfortable minute I’ve ever experienced in a theatre. However, it is nigh on impossible to pin down what Ward is trying to say with this piece in the end. To some extent, the ambiguity is the point. It allows the audience to colour in their own detail over the skeletal narrative portrayed on a stage which features not a single piece of set or prop. However, this is the ultimate weakness of Nation. Whilst it may be a clever and effective piece of stagecraft, the soft indecisiveness of the ending leaves the entire performance open to accusations of blatant nationalism. I’m sure that (and I hope) this isn’t what Ward is aiming for, but if one is to wield a weapon as effective as this, one must make sure that it is striking in the intended direction.
