Review: A Family Business, Tobacco Factory Theatres – ‘Part quiz, part history lesson, part collective gasp of exasperation’

When was the last time you and your friends sat down and had a good ol’ fashioned chinwag about nuclear arms? Huh? When was it?

Maybe last year to be fair, when Nolan’s regular masterpiece Oppenheimer thrust the physical and political butterfly effect of nuclear bombs into the limelight.

But maybe not. And it’s probably safe to assume you don’t discuss it often… All of which is part and parcel of why Chris Thorpe – the much-lauded writer and performer from Manchester – is touring with his latest show A Family Business.

The story is straightforward enough — it’s the late 2010s, and curators of The Nuclear Weapon Ban Treaty lobby for countries to a) sign it and b) ratify it.

The magic number in this case is 50 ratifications, whereupon the treaty will stick around and become international law. The treaty posits a big, sweeping no to nuclear weapon development, testing, production, stockpiling, stationing, and threat of use.

Andrea Quirbach is wonderful as Veronique, a leading proponent of the treaty who moves heaven and earth to get it ratified. Layla, played with aplomb by Efé Agwele, is a diplomatic official who represents the anti-nuclear sentiment of the global south. The lineup is completed by James (Greg Barnett), the slightly smarmy face of Uncle Sam – a cynical suit opposed to the ratification, albeit with occasional glimpses of cognitive dissonance by way of empathy.

The narrative direction of the piece is set by the professional roles and pursuits of these three characters. But you’ve also got Thorpe, whose presence and projection drives the topic forward. He serves as a narrator and engages the audience on the topic of nuclear arms more broadly – half-in and half-out of the story.

It is an entertaining and informative play, though a little clunky. In fact, it’s not so much a play as it is a 90-minute back-and-forth – part quiz, part history lesson, part collective gasp of exasperation. The focus falls on nuclear (dis)armament and morality through the lens of these three ‘ordinary’ folk, making decisions and guiding policy of absurd importance. At the core of these grandiose themes is the crux, I think – the people whose job it is to ensure we’re not all blown to smithereens are just that: people.

They go for coffee. They have their own unexciting dinners on idle Tuesday evenings. They have their own conversations, catch-ups, foibles, and unconventional connections. As Thorpe puts it: “They’re just people in a room… much like we, here, are a bunch of people in a room”. That being so – what qualifies them to speak on the behalf of each and every one of us? On behalf of entire nations? That could be the focus of a whole play in itself, but it’s not the core here.

What’s more prominent is normalising the conversation around nuclear weapons. When discussing the environment, economy, public health or any other political posturing, you’re not all that likely to hit upon this topic. Why? Maybe it’s too big or too bleak – granted, I left the theatre feeling a little bluer. Maybe it’s not in our zone of influence. But it’s a reality that’s not going away fast. And this is Thorpe’s point. How are we just burying our heads in the sand and hoping the ordinary fingers stay off the bafflingly extraordinary triggers?

It’s impossible not to be concerned by the seeming inevitability of all-out-nuclear-warfare. In a dramatic final monologue, Thorpe supposes it “might be intentional, it might be accidental, but it absolutely will proliferate”. It’s impossible too, not to allude to current global instability and harrowing contexts such as Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. And thirdly, it’s impossible not to wince at the thought of factions, groups and ideologies – entities not necessarily tied to nations – developing their own nuclear weapons.

Evidently, there’s an argument for shining a renewed spotlight on such matters. Thanks to Thorpe’s writing and Claire O’Reilly’s intelligent direction, the play does it well, turning out scary facts and insightful exchanges in equal measure.

The simple, square stage is lined by a gnarly volume of sockets and plugs. Above the space hovers a dense cluster of yellow wiring. Much like the topic: it’s a real pickle to untangle. Scene settings are shown briefly on the white sheet behind the stage, which doubles as a surface for videos of blasts and Nukemap demonstrations on which Thorpe commentates at intervals.

Nukemap? Ah yes, Nukemap. It’s like Google Maps but you can drop a pin and then drop a nuclear bomb on the pin, having, of course, tweaked the number of TNT kilotons or flicked through a nice long list of specific bombs on the right hand side of the page. There’s an air of grim comedy in the show, for sure.

The 50 ratifications come and pass, but with little uplift in optimism (despite the fleeting celebratory bout of karaoke by Veronique and Layla). So what of the treaty, in reality? Honestly? All of the nuclear weapon states – from US and Russia through to Pakistan – refused to vote on its admirable objectives. As did any country under a nuclear umbrella (i.e. “protected” by a nuclear weapon state). As did all NATO members. Except the Netherlands. They voted against it.

So is this what we’re up against? The only nations ratifying the thing are those without major sway in the nuclear space. Has this treaty, like the NPT that exists alongside it, actually advanced disarmament? It’s a fizzling geopolitical mess when you look into it, which is perhaps precisely why Thorpe has opted to do so.

This brand of theatre is not particularly performative. Nor is it activism. Rather, it’s a staging of conversation – a prompt to leave the theatre thinking a little deeper, to connect with the topic more, and to perhaps slot a word or two on the matter into your next conversation with friends. Unless you’re at a party. Or a wedding. Might be a bit of a dampener there to be honest.

A Family Business is at Tobacco Factory Theatres on February 7-8 at 8pm. Tickets are available at www.tobaccofactorytheatres.com.

All photos: Andreas J. Etter

Read more: Chris Thorpe comes to Bristol with his play on human stories of nuclear disarmament

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