Originally conceived as a punchy monologue, Paul Herzberg’s expansion of this story, leaning on the writer’s own experiences of forced conscription into the army during the Angolan Border War and his experiences of apartheid, struggles to find as much impact as its shorter predecessor in this ambitious but bloated piece.
The Moth centres around the fraught connection that forms between Black British journalist John (Faz Singhateh) and ex-soldier, white South African Marius (Micky Cochrane). The pair clash after an awkward first encounter when forced together on a crowded train from Edinburgh to London, with Marius’s revelations about the violent, racially motivated actions from his past horrifying John, who is scarred himself by his family’s persecution. John’s permanent refusal to hear, accept, or understand Marius’s experiences is completely understandable, yet the static nature of both men, refusing to budge from their own traumatised standpoints, creates a play that begins to go in circles. Framed as part of John’s ‘Confessional’ TV series, the structural decision to rely on so many monologues reiterates the detachment between the pair but also becomes repetitive, leaving the play struggling to reach its full potential.
Undoubtedly, Herzberg’s script, authentic in its retelling of the reality of apartheid, is rich in its attempts to unveil the complexities of living in such times for both sides. There is a nucleus of a strong story here, with both men haunted by their past and desperate to move on from it. However, both characters have traumatic upbringings, lingering hauntings, and fractured parental relationships that unfortunately serve as repetitions of each other rather than elements that complement.
As John, Singhateh cuts a mercurial figure. Decked out in a dark jacket, trousers, and turtleneck, the journalist stands with piercing eyes and a powerful, controlled stance. This is a character very much assured of himself and his beliefs, with the play’s exposition, decorated with advertising banners for John’s show, promising a shock-jock interview that, sadly, never fully comes. Indeed, the revelation that John’s career was catalysed by his first encounter with Marius is one worth exploring, but one the play only fleetingly recognises. Singhateh’s portrayal of John’s painful disconnection from his absent mother draws some fraught emotion, but Jake Murray’s direction pushes the performers to rely on melodramatic expressions and explosive fits of anger that negate any nuance of Herzberg’s script coming to the fore.
Meanwhile, as Marius, Cochrane leans heavily on the character’s traumatic past, primarily his violent upbringing at the hands of a Nazi father, to explain his bursts of anger and lingering stares. Marius’s description of the racist violence he committed is horrifying, yet told matter-of-factly as Herzberg’s script tries to nod to the notion that it is an event Marius has semi-processed, thanks to unseen therapist ‘English Norman’, and much to John’s abject horror. In this theatre’s intimate setting, though, Marius’s loud and at times unpredictable rage is overwhelming and disconnecting, preventing, much like John’s dismissal of Marius, any real development.
Indeed, it is the complexities of each character that bloat the production out too much. The play is much sharper when John interrogates Marius, but it drifts too much with focus elsewhere on institutional racism, Nazi ideology, absent parents, and abusive fathers. In their own right, all of these plot avenues promise something interesting, but combined there is simply too much going on, not helped by each character’s collection of speeches that seem to repeat old ground constantly. The ‘in-yer-face’ inspirations are clear here, but actually the production would benefit from drawing back a little and remodelling some of its content to build a little more tension and intrigue between the two men.
As a result, nothing gets to breathe for very long, and this too is hindered by some of the production design by Amelia Mitchell. Unnecessary sound effect choices overlap during the characters’ train journey, while the moving backdrop of the countryside while the characters are on the train feels needless. The use of images to project both characters’ pasts is a useful tool in evoking the TV programme concept, supporting the stories both men are reliving, yet unfortunately many of these get blocked from view.
Herzberg’s decision to have John unable to forgive and forget is perfectly reasonable, but the piece eventually stagnates, falling into lengthy monologues that sadly drag. Given that there is good chemistry between Singhateh and Cochrane during their infrequent duologues, it is a shame the play does not offer more of these, and it could certainly benefit from trimming solo scenes much more severely. It seems odd to frame the play as a TV programme styled in a recognisable way where conflict and confrontation should naturally, and then never really lean into that. With neither character budging, the piece spends two hours saying something that seems a given from the first five minutes.
Herzberg’s central symbol, the moth, appears only a couple of times, and that should be a sign that the piece is overdone. Ultimately, the core idea of the play, that the Angolan Border War and Apartheid have long-lasting consequences that still resonate today, is a strong enough premise to carry a show, and the concept of the pair facing off in a volatile TV confrontation is a good one, yet it is an opportunity that this play does not fully embrace.
