We’ve known for some time that white British students, particularly white, working-class boys, are among the worst performers at school compared with other ethnic groups – but why?
Earlier this month a report by the think tank Centre Forum claimed that the poor performance of white British students was because of a fundamental lack of parental engagement. White British parents simply don’t support their children as much as parents from other ethnicities, the researchers argued. They don’t attend parents’ evenings, don’t have family meals together, and don’t enforce regular bed times.
There is of course certainly some truth in this. Think for example of those now infamous parents who appeared at the school gate in their pyjamas. But does it not seem reductive to lay the blame for the widespread failure of the young white British on poor parenting?
The Almeida, as ever, has its editorial finger on the pulse. They are currently staging Leo Butler’s new play Boy. A timely production, and a nuanced text, which places the marginalization of working-class white boys under an intense, but subtle spotlight.
Reminiscent of a Stationendrama, but without any spiritual awakening on the part of the protagonist, Boy follows one working-class, teenage boy through a series of recognizable vignettes of modern London.
Butler chooses his scenes well. Foreigners, fast cars, and yuppies populate a landscape which is incessantly, and dramatically transforming, leaving our boy behind. Clever direction from Sacha Wares, and designer Miriam Buether, brings this idea of constant flux vividly to life.
Their stage is a conveyor belt, upon which the familiar markers and characters of London life materialize and vanish as the belt circles unremittingly. A bus shelter advertising the National Lottery where two young black girls are eating chicken, the self-scan supermarket checkouts where solitary yuppies anonymously pick up their groceries, the road works manned by Polish construction workers, and the drunken Sloanes asking for drugs outside a West End night club.
These scenes are such realistic portraits of modern London life that they serve as satire; a dark one which at its core highlights an underlying self-absorption in its personae.
We open, for example, in a doctor’s surgery, the boy is failing to explain his symptoms to the impatient, overworked doctor, mumbling words and interjecting with yelps of “cool” and “yeah”. She fills in the blanks, assuming he must have some kind of sexually transmitted infection. Upon examination, however, she cannot identify any symptoms, and so sends him on his way.
For our doctor there is no question – the boy is yet another time waster clogging up a strained NHS – but for the audience Butler lightly props up a shattered mirror of a society so burdened with individual responsibility, purpose, desire, and obsession that we cannot see outside of our own personal substructure.
The play doesn’t grandstand on a single theme though. Butler has written a delicate drama, which nimbly weaves its way through contentious motifs such as race and economic hardship through a vivid verisimilitude with London life. Every single character is utterly believable, drawn from an acute observation of the personalities of the city, and as such the production offers up a meticulously well-drawn petri dish of London for our examination.
But our full examination relies not only on what Butler has included in this petri dish; but what he has left out. A characterful, black mum on the council estate admonishes the boy for his lack of purpose; yet her presence is not as significant as the unexplained absence of the boy’s own parents who are never seen on stage. It’s nuanced stuff, which is made entertaining by strong performances from a sizeable, and diverse cast of young people. Their unsullied enthusiasm and vitality underscores the play’s authenticity, creating a believable, energetic production.
And yet I do feel this nuance stops the play from packing its punches; it doesn’t go close to the bone – I wanted to see more conflict, more direct action, more anger. The subject matter is hugely controversial and draws seething, bubbling criticism from all sides of the political spectrum. For the left the boy’s predicament is caused by a Thatcherite culture which destroyed white, working-class culture; while for the right it is a political correctness which failed to instil a British culture of hard-work, fair play and personal responsibility. Whatever the actual cause is, it would have been entertaining to explore these strong opinions.
For with this nuance, Boy becomes a play which illustrates the manifold, and convoluted problems, which affect white, working-class boys. And with this myriad of different issues we ultimately leave feeling overwhelmed by the sheer complexity of London life as we did upon entering the theatre. For what is to be done for boys like this in a world of such incessant change?
Boy at The Almeida until 28th May 2016. Production images by Kwame Lestrade. For more information and tickets, visit the website.
