In 1989, Romanian President Ceauşescu was overthrown and eventually executed by his own people. But while the immediate outcome of this revolution was certainly decisive, the events leading up to it, as well as the long-term implications for the Romanian people, proved more complicated. Who kick-started this ‘spontaneous’ uprising and just how revolutionary was it? Did the protestors secure a different, better future for their children or was this in fact a government-led rebellion, engineered to extend rather than crush military rule?

Churchill addresses all these questions and more in her finely expressive play Mad Forest which explores pertinent political ideas without being heavy-handed about it. She looks to her families first, and it is through their behaviour – their reaction to the Sercuritat (or Secret Police), their relationships and their wavering beliefs – that the show’s wider political context is subtly and authentically established. 

Churchill nails this complex political background, right from the opening scene, with typical efficiency and lightness of touch. A mother and father sit huddled around a crackling radio, cold, resolute and still. Their solemn sanctuary is interrupted by the arrival of a scantily-clad lass, who bursts onto the scene, clutching fancy American cigarettes and a box of precious eggs. The mother is enthralled by her daughter’s strange gifts but the father, after some sulking, smashes an egg in defiance. It is an impressively tight tableau, which hints at the destructive impact that clashing allegiances – political or otherwise – will have on this typical Romanian family.

Director (and JMK Award winner) Caroline Steinbeis does an excellent job of staying in synch with Churchill’s script, pinning down the context when necessary but also letting the play run riot in its more impressionistic moments. Stenbeis never pushes too hard to fill in the contextual gaps and instead, patiently and sensitively sketches in the bigger picture as she goes along. Early into the show, we watch a line of Romanians queuing for bread, quiet, shivering and afraid. A man in the queue shuffles impatiently and eventually whispers out, ‘Down with Ceausescu!’ - the crowd ripples and stirs. Fortified by this tentative but instinctive response the man calls out again, louder this time – one by one, the drooped heads lift up and the crowd stands to attention. It is such a slight but effective scene, which instantly establishes the stuttering, simmering discontent of the Romanian people.

As the production progresses, Churchill and Steinbeis find increasingly imaginative ways to express the play’s political concerns. Sometime after the initial violence, Churchill (aided by Steinbeis’ atmospheric direction) conjures up a startling dream sequence, which slams home the guilt experienced by those who failed to back the revolution. With money pinned to her clothes, a frightened woman staggers centre-stage, where a member of the Securitat restrains her. The policeman is in complete control and as he opens and closes the now frozen lady’s mouth, the screaming fury of the repressed masses is released and then silenced. 

Every moment gets thicker and thicker until, by the final scene, all Steinbeis has to do is let her characters squabble on-stage and the play still booms out its insights. This is an enthralling and clever show, which imparts a wealth of ideas, without once spelling them out for its audience.

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