The BeeKeeper of Aleppo - A Review

The Beekeeper of Aleppo, is a tale for our time. It tells the tale of a family of migrants from Aleppo to the United Kingdom. The trials and tribulations they face, and that’s just navigating the UK social care system. At first, the characters playing the social workers grated on my nerves a little they were often brusque and rude to the clients. As the story developed and we were given an insight to the view of Britain by the rest of the world, perhaps, then I felt that the representation of these characters was at best accurate, and at worst slightly too sympathetic. 

The set design for this piece was absolutely stunning. Through projection and clever use of static pieces of scenery, the actors were able to convey a sense of space, whether they were in Aleppo, suburban England, or a boat in the Mediterranean. The actors responded and treated the space differently as they moved through the space. There was tension in their bodies as they were trying to understand the British social care system that wasn’t present in their bodies in their beloved Aleppo. They absolutely convinced me that nobody chooses to leave home; unless home is the jaw of a tiger.

The actors were excellent, and took on some very technical challenges with sophistication. Throughout the story the two main characters the physical circumstances of the two main characters alter dramatically. The timeline is non linear, so these changes must be depicted with skill and subtlety as the narrative shifts. Although, I may not have agreed with some of the choices they used to depict these shifts. I respect that, as an audience member, I was always aware of how the story was developing at that time. 

All good theatre should bring you to the quivering edge of raw humanity. The theatre has historically been an agent of social change and education. This play certainly painted a picture of Britain as an isolated and elitist bastion of white supremacy. It was the sort of play that should have incited riots, and public outcry for social change. However, judging by the conversation in the queue to pay for the parking next door, people were entertained by how similar it was to the book, and apathetic and hopeless about any kind of real change. That made me weep.

Swimming in Mustard

 

I have this picture from the epic Scott the Painter on my wall. I like how the detail of the hands mirror the ripples on the golden liquid. I find an immense sense of comfort when I realise that I do not have to row.

In the interest of full disclosure, I ordered it as a present for someone and it did not arrive in time, my fault entirely. I benefit from the fact that it now sits in my house. I have spent more than a little bit of time, staring and contemplating this image. I think it’s beautiful.

Anyway about a year ago, a small child asked me why I like that picture. I did not want to tell her. The mystery of art is discovering why you like it for yourself. So, I ask her the question, what does it remind you of and what do you think about, as you look at it?

Swimming in mustard is the only answer I can achieve. I giggle and mutter something about God holding me and me not needing to try. The moment passes.

She visits a few more times this five-year-old who has a way with words. The picture remains on the wall and is never mentioned.

These past few weeks have been tough, personally, financially, and relationally. Difficult, is the best way to describe them. She arrives to visit in a bundle of energy and questions! There’s a reason that I’ve written a little song where she is crowned ‘most curious girl in the whole wide world.’

We have been swimming and she’s a little tired, so I make some pizza and relax next to her on the couch. Part way through eating her pizza, she looks up and says, entirely unprompted

‘You know, God’s holding you wherever you go.’

She resumes eating pizza, as if this profound statement is as commonplace as cornflakes. I suppose that is how I want it to feel.

The point is that often, so much of learning, looks like seeing art and swimming in mustard. We get so much wrong, and that is how we learn. If the moment of unlearning had not occurred, the moment of real impact on my soul would not have occurred either. We are so quick to reach the solution, the correct answer, the resolution. Sometimes, I think we need to remember that we are held. That might just encourage us to swim in mustard a little bit more!