As Christmas Day is fast approaching, there is always so much left to do. Getting everything right so we can spend time with loved ones. Preparing a celebratory feast. Buying a few presents that are symbolic for the joy of giving unto others. Not all of us participate in this ritual due to our differences in religious beliefs or lack thereof. Some people, like myself, relish the opportunity to have a fixed time on the calendar where we can engage in good tidings towards others and wish them a Happy New Year. This year, The Jungle has tugged my heartstrings and shined a beacon of light on the term “generosity of spirit.”
The Good Chance Theatre was founded by British playwrights Joe Murphy and Joe Robertson, the authors of this immersive, timely and important play. In 2015, they established their first temporary theatre at a refugee camp in Calais, France. Inside a twelve meter geodesic dome, these gentlemen spent seven months promoting freedom of expression, creativity and dignity for this struggling community. The Jungle is based on their experience of living and working with migrants in this emerged city of hope. That original dome is now inside the (once again) completely transformed cavernous space at St. Ann’s Warehouse in Brooklyn. This is the first international production of this piece which originated in London.
Imagine yourself sitting in an Afghani restaurant in a refugee camp filled with citizens who fled the countries of Afghanistan, Syria, Pakistan, Eritrea, Iran and others. Imagine yourself surrounded by those lucky enough not to be killed on their journey. Imagine reading this on an exhibit as you exit the theater: “The Jungle was home to 1,496 children, 1,292 unaccompanied.” Most of us are acutely aware of this global humanitarian crisis and the political football being played on the grandest of stages. This unforgettable play is a time capsule of now.
The audience sits inside a restaurant within this sprawling self-governed refugee camp. Different peoples are trying to make life bearable in a makeshift city near the motorway, some having travelled thousands of miles from war, poverty or genocide. Many are dreaming of the white cliffs of Dover and salvation in the United Kingdom. Some negotiate with smugglers or attempt life threatening rides inside trucks to cross the border. Good Samaritans attempt to provide help in the form of housing, legal advice, medical care, supplies and empathy. Everyone is angry. Everyone is hopeful. Despair is the oxygen starving these people. Survival is the gut instinct driving them forward. The Jungle tells the story of these individuals in a hyperactively urgent style.
Directed by Stephen Daldry and Justin Martin, the experience is overwhelmingly intense, heartbreakingly difficult and surreal. The superlative cast conveys (and often screams) the written words but it’s the body language and the facial expressions which put this complicated camp into focus. As you might expect, the play is definitely left leaning but miraculously is much deeper and a lot untidier than a simple liberal treatise. You will laugh hearing these stories. You will find the monologues riveting. You will marvel at how the human condition can summon up hope under these circumstances. The Jungle will exhaust you emotionally.
And then you will be inspired by these two young writers who were part of a much larger story. A group of disparate people linked by a desperate desire that The Jungle will only be a temporary home. Was it temporary or a blueprint? The living conditions were certainly tough but from the mud emerged a multinational place with playgrounds, churches, theaters and restaurants.
The food critic of the London Times visited the camp in February of 2016, an event which is mentioned in the play. The reaction back home to a theater in a refugee camp caused the most “eye-rolling, brow-furrowing, exasperated exhaling.” He was told that a theater in a refugee camp was a monument to bleeding heart liberalism. His response: “if I ever find myself lost and penniless, I hope it’s the liberals with leaky valves and a penchant for quoting Shakespeare that find me, and not the sanguine, pity-tight realists. When are you too poor, too bereft, too unappreciative to need or deserve art?”
Never.
I stopped by Sur La Table yesterday for a Christmas gift. I watched people of privilege vocalizing their frustration about the way the checkout lines were organized. The wait was only a few minutes and fairly painless. Another woman went on a tirade about their online customer service which could not (could not!) tell her which specific Le Creuset pans were in stock at a particular store. I guess every city has it share of pain and tales of woe.
Should you be interested in learning more about how you can help, here are a few links: