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Review: WE WERE PROMISED HONEY, Summerhall Roundhouse

A dazzling meditation on human transience

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Review: WE WERE PROMISED HONEY, Summerhall Roundhouse
Review: WE WERE PROMISED HONEY, Summerhall Roundhouse ImageSomething of a modern-day Icarus, in 2018 an ordinary man called Richard Russell stole an empty plane from Seattle airport and, despite having no training as a pilot, managed to fly it and pull off aerial tricks.

Referred to as the '2018 Horizon Air Q400 incident', the story is strangely melancholic, both a celebration of human achievement against the odds but, and also, a tragic tale ending in the pilot's suicide.

It's also the kind of story that resists interpretation but nonetheless demands reflection. Sam Ward, the writer and sole performer, is aware of this and uses it as a springboard to contemplate the nature of human transience and the stories that we tell ourselves to make life worth living.

The result is quietly radical and beautiful but understated. For something so vast in its scope, We Were Promised Honey is grounded, maintaining a silky-smooth focus on Russell's story but also on our collective story as a species in the face of inevitable destruction. Ward mirrors this perfectly in the play's form. He forges a collaborative theatrical experience that democratises his storytelling by treating his audience as fellow theatre makers.

He asks them if they want to carry on with the story, invites them to read dialogue, and to become part of the narrative. In doing so he slowly unravels what it really means to tell a story. Nobody, not even a writer, has a monopoly on emotion or truth. The comedy and the tragedy at the core of Russell's story are universal.

Ward himself is at total ease with his audience. There is no sense of heightening his presence or adopting a persona. He is casual, calm, yet totally endearing to watch. Armed only with some microphones and slick and subtle tech design, the connection he is able to forge with his audience is captivating as it is palpable.

The opening line of Walt Whitman's Song of Myself feels appropriate here:

"I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you."

We Were Promised Honey runs until 28 August

Photo Credit: Mihaela Bodlovic

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