Four-Legged Heroes in the Great 'War Horse'

The number of people who remember the Great War dwindles every year.

For most of us, knowledge of  World War I, as it is more commonly known, comes from grainy sepia-toned newsreels of soldiers scrambling over bomb-shredded landscapes; old photos of baby-faced doughboys smiling at pretty nurses; or from movie clips of Irving Berlin singing his own “Oh How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning.”  If you neither slept through History class nor were absent the week the teacher covered the Great War, you might piece together some of the basic facts: the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, that set off Germany’s invasion of Belgium, which in turn dragged in Austria, Russia, Britain, France, Italy, and finally, the United States. The war reorganized Europe’s face; centuries-old empires collapsed, and new nations came into being.  Millions of men died.

So did eight million horses.

It is against this blood-soaked backdrop that “War Horse” (which trotted away with five Tony Awards, including Best Play), currently performed by the National Theatre of Britain (with an all-American cast) at Lincoln Center’s Vivian Beaumont Theater, unfurls a majestic and deeply moving story of love triumphing over mayhem and death.  “War Horse” is also a tale that combines the enchantment of puppetry with earth-bound human beings to create a powerful witness to ingenuity and imagination in the service of truth.

Based on the novel of the same title by Michael Morpurgo, and adapted by Nick Stafford, “War Horse” tells of Albert Narracott, a 16-year-old lad of meager means living on a Devon farm with his parents, Arthur and Rose.  Arthur is the sort of well-meaning ne’er-do-well who seems to inhabit every struggling village and who can show his nastier side when in his cups.  Rose is the kind of woman who knows every one of Arthur’s flaws yet loves him just the same.  Arthur spends the farm mortgage money on Joey, a foal that quickly becomes Albert’s friend and pet.  When Joey becomes full-grown, he is soon sold to a British officer to serve like the other millions of horses engaged as cavalry mounts in the war.  Devastated by his separation from Joey, Albert enlists in the army, although underage, so he can fight in Europe, but more to find his beloved horse.  Albert’s decision sets in motion an adventure perhaps equaled only by “Mother Courage.”

Joey – and later his stallion companion in battle, Topthorn – is not a real horse, but a fantastically designed life-sized puppet.  Co-created by the Handspring Puppet Company founders, Basil Jones and Adrian Kohler, Joey and his fellow equine creatures are a concoction of water-soaked cane, silk patches, and gauze to approximate skin. They are brought to life by three puppeteers, two on the inside of the beasts’ frame, and one outside.  Manipulating cables, and bike brakes, the men can make Joey twitch his ears, move his head, swish his tail, and walk or gallop.  It is suspended disbelief at its best, in that after a while the human manipulators disappear leaving only the “horse” behind; and, in the words of Patrick Healy in his 2009 New York Times review, “they are as much living, breathing, and emotionally aware beings as any award-winning actor here today.” 

At a time in the theater where the special effects seem more important than the storyline or even the actors, in “War Horse” sound and light effects are used only to convey warfare; models of heavy artillery, such as tanks and carts are all moved onto and about the stage by secondary actors.  I think this approach was a refreshing respite from the typical onslaught of bells and whistles that can squelch rather than encourage imagination.

Joey and Topthorn are the central characters of this story, through whom every shot, utterance, or atmospheric occurrence is reflected.  In fact, it is Joey who narrates the novel, giving new meaning to the expression “straight from the horse’s mouth.”

Joey and Topthorn have personality, attitude, unending courage, and a nobility which their human counterparts often fail to display.  Although there are some characters who give us occasional glimpses of honor, arrogance and intolerance are the prevailing traits.

For all of the compelling artistry of the puppets, this play is not just a sweet story of a boy and his horse.  Its deeper power lies in the tough and larger questions it raises about the relations between man and beast; or rather man’s treatment of beasts – in this case horses.  Horses had no say in their involvement, and like the men who rode them, fell on the battlefield.  But the story also tells us that combat was raised to a new level when the surprise, speed, precision and ruthlessness of the horse cavalry was totally upended by the introduction of barbed wire, machine guns, and finally, the ultimate weapon, the tank.  It could deflect bullets, crush wire, and was far more mobile than its four-legged predecessors.

Yet, it is Joey and Topthorn that make “War Horse” a fully-realized theater experience where mind, heart, and spirit are engaged.  Were it not for the convincing look and movements of the puppets, it is unlikely that “War Horse” would have made it to any stage, and which is why cheering and crying for the horses feels right and natural. As we witness their story unfolding, in some way our existential aspirations become entwined with theirs: our need for love, our right to be respected, and our struggle to survive. 

That is not just good theater; it is transcendent.

image by Suzie Katz >