Some people like to be manipulated by their theatre – you only need look to the storming success of the invasive Internal to see evidence of this phenomenon. I like the space to think and feel for myself in theatre, however. And though Judith Thompson’s Palace of The End might reveal some shocking truths about the atrocities committed in the name of democracy, the dehumanising effect of a war in Iraq that is supposedly fought in the cause of human rights, Thompson’s thin but heavy monologues bark out facts, rather than whispering more complex and malleable ideas.

Thompson’s monologues depict three unwitting victims of the Iraq war, and each is as painstakingly long and mystifyingly ‘undramatic’ as the next, unaided by Greg Hersov’s uninspired and fairly inconspicuous directing. First up is soldier Lynndie, who was thrust into a political shit storm when her smiling face was pictured next to a pyramid of naked Iraqi prisoners. As is the case throughout, there is no dramatic framework holding this monologue together, no reason for this character to sound off, which strikes me as a lazy way of writing for theatre.

The girl’s background is laboriously sketched out, which isn’t entirely necessary, since there isn’t much to it. She comes over as a simple lass from the American South, whose chief concern is how pretty she looks in that damning photo, rather than its appalling implications. Kellie Bright is a solid actor but there’s no texture to her role and nothing particularly juicy to grapple with. There’s just no conflict here – yes, she was abused as a child and her behaviour is continuing a cycle she did not begin and yes, this is her way of making a mark in a world that simply isn’t interested in here, but the fact she doesn’t understand the ramifications of her actions lends a pallid tone to proceedings.  It is essentially a long and not particularly insightful moan from a rather vapid individual, and it grows dull, repetitive and hard to take. 

The characters are too broad and the writing too thudding to make up for such a static and preachy set-up. The second monologue is from David Kelly (Robert Demeger), set moments before his death, but it is written predominantly in the third person and actually takes us further away from Kelly, rather than delving in the messier, more contradictory aspects of his personality and his situation. It feels like a fact-finding mission – as if we haven’t heard these facts countless times before – and feels flat, clinical and at times horribly self-conscious. Despite establishing an inherently dramatic situation – we know Kelly is set to die in a matter of minutes – Thompson’s writing fails to incorporate this ticking time bomb and Kelly’s monologue is consequently loose and tension-free.

The last monologue is stronger, scarier and more compelling, but it is too late to pull in a disengaged audience, who have been given little chance to connect with the characters on-stage. I’m sure there are some worthwhile ideas here, but the framework is too loose and the characters too weak to contain or sustain them.

Various times till Sunday 30 August 2009