Religion, and a sense of the revival of belief, is such an important part of everyday life that it is one of the stranger facts about contemporary theatre that so few plays tackle this subject. In fact, that last new British play to do this at the National Theatre was David Hare’s Racing Demon in 1990. Now, 20 years later, the same Cottesloe Theatre space bears witness to a new play about the same subject.
Canadian-born playwright Drew Pautz’s Love the Sinner begins with an international meeting of church leaders in a hotel in Africa. As these Protestant bishops – led by the conciliatory Stephen – debate the role of gays in the ministry, divisions between believers in the West and their co-religionists in Africa emerge. At one frustrating point, an ugly streak of racism is also in evidence: one delegate suggests that black bishops are culturally backward. Meanwhile, in one corner, Michael, a lay volunteer, sits quietly typing the minutes of the meeting.
In the next scene, this silent typist comes alive. He is in his hotel room with Joseph, a local black man who works as a porter. The two men have just had sex. Gradually, the awkwardness between them evolves into an argument: Michael, who has to check out, wants Joseph to leave. Joseph has other ideas. He wants to come to Britain. Being gay in Africa, he argues, is a risky business. It’s illegal and punishments are draconian. Besides, doesn’t he deserve a slice of the Western cake?
When Michael returns to Britain, a lingering sense of guilt makes his relationship with his wife Shelly just that bit edgy. To save himself, he has started reading his Bible more intensely. Naturally, she is suspicious: she knows he’s lying about something, but isn’t sure why. Besides, her main preoccupation is with having a child – that biological clock is ticking loudly. But can this couple reconcile IVF treatment with religious belief, and can Michael hold things together at home and at work?
Drew Pautz excels in dramatising conflict, articulating the arguments, showing psychological manoeuvres and desperate evasions, always contrasting true feeling with bad faith. In his hands, an innocuous phrase such as “I’m surprised to hear you say that” can feel as dangerous as a declaration of war. The mix of understatement, subtext and sheer venom is cumulatively exhilarating, and the contrast between the wishy-washy liberalism of the West and the violent convictions of the Africans turns this story of a marital unease into something much bigger – an account of global inequality, material as well as sexual. The knotty nexus between religious belief, personal emotion and the wider politics is confidently drawn.
In Matthew Dunster’s perfectly pitched production, Jonathan Cullen plays Michael with the kind of sincerity that gives you an excruciating sense of a human being unconsciously flaying himself alive. He manages to convince you that his lack of self-knowledge is tragic and this makes for a compelling human drama. On the thorny path to his personal Calvary, he collides with Charlotte Randle as Shelly, his initially incredulous and then increasingly angry wife. There is also excellent support from Fiston Barek as Joseph, part vulnerable, part threatening, and Ian Redford as Bishop Stephen, plus Scott Handy as his controlling spin-doctor.
This is a play of ideas and emotions that both articulates current anxieties about global inequalities and shows how religious belief can be fuelled by psychological distress. By avoiding easy answers to the issue of gays in the church and fielding a powerful image, in the character of Joseph, of a vengeful Africa haunting the repressed and unfaithful English imagination, the drama is both complex and satisfying. So yes, I do love the sinner – not the character so much as the play.
