Writer: Chris Bowers
Director: Mark Giesser
The world of theatre would probably be a happier place if noble intentions automatically translated into great plays. The sympathy that playwright and diplomat Chris Bowers has for the Kurdish people is very apparent. Oppressed by Iraq, Iran, Syria, and Turkey, inhabitants of one of the most inhospitable regions of the planet and serially hung out to dry by the Western powers that fought wars against Saddam Hussein’s Iraq, the Kurdish people endure, waiting for the day they are permitted a homeland to accommodate their ethnic integrity.
The play Safe Haven explores the diplomatic shenanigans that occurred after the first Iraq War. It involves multiple tiny scenes in multiple locations, indicated by projection and minimal stage sets; it is perfectly clear who the characters are, where they are, and what is happening to them. This applies as much to the Kurdish refugees barely surviving in the snowy mountains as it does to the diplomats finessing meetings with the Prime Minister and U.S. military high-ups, in altogether more complex if less life-threatening contexts.
The scenelets are all pretty static and talky, some of the acting is a touch shouty and one-note, and there is a disconnect between the worlds of sheer survival in the Zagros mountains and reputational risk in the corridors of Whitehall – the plight of the refugees is the reason for the urgency of the diplomatic manoeuvres, but the individuals involved are only tenuously connected.
Switching back and forth between sets of characters feels filmic rather than theatrical, and makes the diplomatic discussions seem very low energy, despite the play being a validation of diplomatic solutions as a vital step in humanitarian solutions. Additionally, possibly because of his employment history, Chris Bowers makes the Foreign Office game-playing much more credible, and indeed more vivid, than the experiences of a pregnant Kurdish refugee slogging across a snowy mountain while being strafed by helicopter gunships.
This play is passionate, compassionate and engages with a significant and under-reported humanitarian crisis, but is insufficiently alive to make the audience feel much. We leave the theatre with more knowledge of what happened in Northern Iraq in 1991, but without much engagement. Illustrative of this dilemma is the performance of Mazlum Gül. He doubles as a noble Kurdish doctor in the UK, worried about his sister, worried about the conditions of his Kurdish comrades, almost entirely static and disconnected. He then returns as Al-Tikriti, Saddam Hussein’s corrupt son-in-law. In this guise, he is energised, malevolent, and engaging. A classic example of bad characters being more fun to play than good characters, and also indicative of how much more fun they are to write.
Maybe if the play had more nasty characters? Even the pompous Colonel turns out alright. The conflicts are all off-stage and unrepresented, the main battles are bureaucratic, and the energy is minimal. Very worthy, very illuminating, insufficiently engaging.
Runs until 7 February 2026
