It is a most unenviable assignment to write a negative notice for the latest play by our greatest playwright. More the pity, since none of Fugard’s last five plays has had as much care and love lavished upon them as in this production by director Ross Devenish. The attention to detail is extraordinary. Designer Saul Radomsky’s set is an aesthetically accomplished work of art in its own right, transporting us to the very heart of the Karoo. Fugard should be pleased.
Unfortunately, no amount of direction except the right to cut at will, can rescue a play that although inoffensive in its errors, is overwritten, repetitive, sentimental and prosaic.
Coming Home concludes the sad life of Nieu Bethesda’s prodigal daughter, Veronica Jonkers (played by a lacklustre Bronwyn van Graan), started in Valley Song, Fugard’s first play after democracy. Much of act one is an unnecessary and contrived retelling of that story. The play picks up thereafter, thanks to Devenish accomplishing the difficult task of extracting a largely convincing performance from Devan Walbrugh in a substantial part for an 11-year-old actor, and to David Isaacs as the chuckleheaded Alfred Witbooi, who does a highly commendable job swimming against a tide of dull nostalgia for an imagined past.
Fugard proceeds to tick off the issues of the day, giving each distant and thinly informed treatment: Veronica has AIDS; her husband was killed in a xenophobic brawl; her child, a budding wordsmith, must assume the head of the household.
The most poignant result of Athol Fugard’s Coming Home is that it reveals just how far from home its author now is. At one point, he seems to criticise his own dotage, asking, what is the value of a whole lot of useless memories? He has not given us a satisfactory answer here, except to suggest that hopefully a grandson will write a better play.
