Haunted by a dead solder: Review of 'The Body of an American' at Wilma Theater
Please note: This article is published as an archive copy from Philadelphia City Paper. My City Paper is not affiliated with Philadelphia City Paper. Philadelphia City Paper was an alternative weekly newspaper in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The last edition was published on October 8, 2015.
But rather than actually exploring these events and issues, we hear the correspondence of two circumspect, distant, depressed guys.
BEHIND THE PHOTO: (L-R) “Superb actors” Harry Smith and Ian Merrill Peakes speak as each other, overlap lines and assume other roles in The Body of an American.
ALEXANDER IZILIAEV
ALEXANDER IZILIAEV
In 1993, Canadian photojournalist Paul Watson took his Pulitzer Prize-winning photo of a dead American soldier dragged through Mogadishu’s streets. After writer Dan O’Brien heard Watson on NPR’s Fresh Air in 2007, O’Brien wrote The Body of an American.
The play’s not about the photo — it receives only a few minutes’ consideration — or about Watson’s book, Where War Lives, which receives only passing mention. O’Brien chose to write about he and Watson’s oddly tentative friendship, which developed in fits and starts primarily through email until they finally met in the Arctic Circle.
This winner of the 2014 Horton Foote Prize for Outstanding New American Play and other honors lurches and stumbles in director Michael John Garces’ production. Superb actors Ian Merrill Peakes, as Watson, and Harry Smith, as O’Brien, do a great job of making their email exchanges interesting, sitting on a small platform in front of large projection screens showing pixilated maps, generic pho-tos and — too briefly — Watson’s actual work and story specifics. They often overlap lines, speak as each other and assume other roles.
We’re told “This Is True” (in big projected letters) and often reminded that Watson feels haunted by that dead soldier, William David Cleveland; Watson heard him say, “If you do this, I will own you forever” as he took the photo. We’re told about propaganda’s power, how if we kept all the other events but removed Watson’s photo all would have unfolded differently.
But rather than actually exploring these events and issues, we hear the correspondence of two circumspect, distant, depressed guys. It’s fair to wonder why this is a play. When we’re treated to quick impressions of all the people on a plane and a list of all the TV shows in the Arctic, all while approaching two hours without intermission, the question becomes urgent.
So why is this a play? Because O’Brien wants it to be. Watson avoids him, but O’Brien keeps nagging. Gee, will it ever be finished? It’s hardly a dramatic question for us watching. “I don’t know if this play is going to be any good,” he confesses. Hey, right back at ya.
The few minutes when we see Watson deal with the enormity of his photo’s effect — not just on American policy and world events, but on Cleveland’s family, revealed in a few brief yet devastating scenes — almost redeem the evening. Now, there’s a play! If only O’Brien had dared a plunge into Watson’s psyche, rather than using his unique and terrible experiences as a framing device for O’Brien’s own self-absorption.
Through Feb. 1, $25, Wilma Theater, 265 S. Broad St., 215-546-7824, wilmatheater.org.
