Pink Mist

'Pinkk mist’ is, apparently, a fairly literal description of what’s left behind when a soldier gets vaporized by high explosives. As a turn of phrase it’s both upsetting and poetic, something that could be said about Owen Sheers’s bombastic war play of the same name.

It’s a gutpunch of a show that follows three directionless lads from Bristol who sign up for the army and find themselves shattered in the crucible of Afghanistan.

There’s something slightly retro about John Retallack’s production, which relies on old-fashioned movement routines from its six-strong cast to flesh out its world. But it hardly feels toothless, thanks to the constant, muscular movement, the thunderous soundtrack and lights that flare like molten metal. But the real weapon is Sheers’s language: a poetic, sympathetic examination of small town emptiness, the thrill of battle, and the pain of trying to adjust to normal life when the fighting stops. It is relentless and pounding but also desperately tender and understanding of these boys who didn’t quite fit into society before they went to war and certainly don’t after.

Still, despite its undeniable power, ‘Pink Mist’ didn’t quite win me over. I couldn’t shake the nagging sense that it’s all laid on a bit thick. Though it’s not for me to pass comment on the reality of modern warfare, the odds of three friends going out to Afghanistan together and all ending up casualties are surely fairly low – it almost feels like Sheers really wanted to write about the Pals’ battalions of the First World War but settled for the present day. And in focussing so fully on the tragedy of young men, ‘Pink Mist’ feels myopic – how does war affect older soldiers? Or female soldiers..?  It’s unfair to criticise a play for what it’s not rather than what it is, but I couldn’t help but think that in spite of its big heart, ‘Pink Mist’ is a little contrived.