A couple of weeks ago I went to the National Theatre to see Enda Walsh's new play The Walworth Farce'.
After leaving the glorious green pastures of Cork, a father and his two sons arrive in the grey paved roads of Elephant and Castle. Where they spend many years in total solitude replaying the story of the moments before they left. The play is shockingly similar to that of the Fritzl story from earlier in the year. However, I felt pity for this man who made a massive mistake but is ultimately doing everything in his power to keep his family safe; whether this is for the right reasons or not.
By the end of the play, it was as if the audience had been hit by a truck. I went from love to hate, from laugher to crying all in the space of two hours. The play hit on themes of poverty in inner city London and the ignorance achieved when children are literally kept under lock and key. Although, a huge mix of emotion; a ‘tour de force’ my Grandmother tells me, the actors achieved an engaged audience, who seemed to respond to Enda Walsh’s portrayal of a father’s warped way to keep his family safe.