Poignant screams of an emotionally distressed man reverberate against the walls of the theater.
“Who put all this junk on the ground?” he cries, standing on a barren land of sand and waste. Pieces of rusting scrap metal and old appliances scatter the ground, forming clusters here and there atop of heaps of sand. His eyes search the face of the black gravedigger, pleading to find an answer. Why do the bodies of the dead rot below mounds of sand in this waste ground, not wept for, not honored, not remembered? Why did a suicidal woman shatter his life during her own death? And where do the remains of this nameless woman lay?
There is no answer.
Anthol Fugard’s The Train Driver awakes your emotion unlike any other theater performance. It grabs you by your clothes and takes you to a place where human misery has no asylum: a graveyard of sand and garbage, where only the nameless and unwanted lie buried.
Surprisingly, this place is not hard to imagine. The seats in the Perishing Square Signature Center are so close to the stage that within minutes, the audience is integrated into the performance.
There were no flashy costumes, flamboyant characters, or extravagant set design. Instead, simplicity created something very realistic. Especially noteworthy was the control of lighting to suggest the time of day and temperature. The lights shone brightly at what seemed to be noon, hitting the characters so intensely that it seemed to make their skin perspire with sweat. To represent night, a single dim light shone over Simon’s tin house while the surroundings were encased in darkness. Even the air felt cool, as if the temperature had been intentionally changed within the theater.
The actor Ritchie Coster convincingly portrayed the last few days of a South African train driver who, after accidentally killing a woman and her child, is overcome by trauma.
Roelf (Ritchie Coster) descends to the stage with a slumped back, uneasy steps, and an unrecognizable murmuring. Though his Boer accent is thick and his words are sometimes indiscernible, his riveting portrayal of emotion fills in the gaps of the story. Through incessant rambling, bursts of outrage, and impulsive jerks, he identifies his need to Simon, the old gravedigger, to find the woman that he killed. Leon Addison Brown, playing Simon, fits the stereotype of a haggard old man almost too perfectly. Wearing a dirty beige janitorial uniform, he moves about the set slowly. He seldom speaks, yet his deliberated and well-enunciated words are redolent of his many years of struggle. Though Brown is not old, he does a good job at portraying a character advanced in years.
Photograph from Signature Theater
One of the most memorable moments, not entirely unlike the others, occurs when Roelf runs from grave to grave, rearranging the rocks upon them to form a cross. Though he is exhausted from insomnia, he scurries about the graveyard. He drops on his knees before each mound of sand, forcefully picking up the surrounding rocks and slamming them into the center of each grave. The veins on his arms bulge out, the sweat on his back shines underneath the bright light, and frantic expressions run through his face. Whether it be rearranging rocks or imploring Simon to remember where he buried the nameless woman, Roelf fights to understand the other way of life in South Africa. What he finds is a life without hope.
After moments of agonizing self-hatred, Roelf leads the story to a very predictable climax by claiming the unknown woman. He realizes that he has the same fate as the woman, regardless of their different colors or status within society. Shortly following is what seems to be a second climax, this time filled with sensationally blinding lights and booming sounds that draw everyone back with a gasp.
A social commentary, The Train Driver reflects on the lasting impact of the apartheid in South Africa in the early 21st century. For those who do not have background knowledge about the play, it is very difficult to understand that it revolves around the greater theme of apartheid. Regardless, it is quite memorable. Lacking a distinct hero or villain, it shows life as it truly is: without explanation.
Nice observation how the air in the theater felt cool — as if night had actually descended.