A football match lasts 90 minutes, but this heartfelt yet misguided attempt to tell the story of the east London football team, Clapton Orient, whose entire team and backroom staff volunteered to fight in the first world war, has an added 70 minutes. All of it is injury time. The story may be familiar (the lads initially think the war’s going to be a bit of a kickabout, which will be all over by Christmas) but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth telling. However, this plodding account never finds an interesting theatrical language in which to do so, and at times it borders on the inept with rudimentary design, lighting and direction.
There is some potentially fascinating stuff here, particularly in the way the government manipulated public sensibilities to encourage young football players to join up with the “football battalion” and “play the greater game”, but Michael Head’s often anachronistic script merely tries to tug at the heartstrings as it haltingly tells of men who serve, and the manager and women who wail (often inaudibly) and wait for men who never return.
Even the central relationship between star player Richard McFadden, a natural hero, and William Jonas, the best friend even he couldn’t save, is sketchily drawn, although both Peter Hannah and Will Howard are likable as they struggle to flesh out the underwritten roles as best they can. The evening’s not carnage, but it lacks the competence required to make this story move in the way it should.
• At Southwark Playhouse, London, until 15 October. Box office: 020-7407 0234.
