Two weeks ago, playwright Ralph McCubbin Howell turned 25. He was not yet born when the 1981 Springbok Tour happened, but grew up with its legend: “fundamental to our concept of who we are”, according to his writer’s note. His initial inspiration was a 2006 radio interview with John Key (coincidentally 25 years McCubbin Howell’s senior at Burnside High School). Key was asked where he had stood during the Tour – had he been anti or pro? He claimed quite improbably not to remember. 

The script runs two parallel timelines (1981 and 2008), switching between the two with projected titles, video and an evocative soundtrack. The two principals are Key and Helen Clark, who is depicted by Harriette Cowan. She has the voice nailed, with a statesman-like demeanour to match, donning long hippie hair for the 1981 scenes. Contesting the seat of Mt Albert for the first time, her staunch views and progressive lifestyle meet the reality of electability. 

The two timelines come to their climaxes on specific days: 12 September 1981, the day of the third All Blacks-Springboks test at Eden Park; and 8 November 2008, the day of the General Election when the success of John Key’s National Party ended the Clark Labour Government. While Clark’s journey as depicted in The Engine Room isn’t particularly revelatory, it stands in opposition to Key’s much more uncertain past. 

John Key is played by Alex Greig (his third portrayal of a National Party MP this calendar month after Slouching Towards Bethlehem and Public Service Announcements). His impersonation is broad, closer to caricature than fine nuance, and his vocal mimicry isn’t nearly as precise as Harriette Cowan’s for Helen Clark. That said, he delivers a strong performance which stands on its own merits, and scores audience points every time he talks about “New Zullunders”. 

In the 2008 timeline, Key’s non-confrontational nature is illustrated perfectly by the choice of drinking vessel: he uses a smiley-face coffee mug, while his political advisors consume Starbucks takeaway cups. Both the Key and Clark camps contend with the announcement of the election date, a televised debate, and election night itself. In 1981, the battle lines are drawn early for Key in a rugby locker-room before the Springboks even land in the country: he is literally in the middle as the growing political tension polarises his friends and team-mates. His struggle is not against apartheid or for rugby, but rather in resisting the extremism of both sides. 

This is where the play gets really interesting and starts raising questions. For a start, how many New Zealanders in 1981 had no strong feeling one way or the other? Was it possible to do so? How many were uncomfortable with apartheid but comfortable with following a match if the TV was on? And most importantly, how many didn’t get involved on either side but tried to reconcile people close to them who held strongly opposing views? Surely not every man, woman and child swung one way or the other. 

The character Ralph McCubbin Howell has drawn and Alex Greig plays not only doesn’t commit to a pro- or anti-tour stance, he doesn’t even commit seriously to being a peace-maker. He makes small gestures in all three directions, but ultimately Key doesn’t stand for anything. Would this have been acceptable, or even credible for member of the general public in 1981? I’m under 30, so it’s hard for me to say. When you’re running for Prime Minister, does such past behaviour indicate a spineless lack of conviction or the necessary flexibility for leadership? I’ll stop here to avoid getting seriously off-topic, but there’s room for more personal response in the comments below. 

Director Hannah Smith has elicited an energetic sense of pace, with effective use of split stage and sudden flips in orientation to cut between simultaneous scenes. Uther Dean’s lighting design supports this well and William O’Neill’s operation is quick and sharp. The main set item (design by Nick Zwart) is a bank of changing room lockers and a clever device it is: aside from using it literally as lockers, opening out one or two doors at a time reveals new backgrounds to change location. 

The four actors cover 21 named characters. John Key and Helen Clark I’ve addressed, but between their main roles, Alex Greig finds variously outrageous hairpieces to play Heather Simpson, Peter Davis and Phil Goff; and Harriette Cowan hams up Steven Joyce and his back-room manoeuvrings. 

Paul Harrop’s first appearance as Kevin Taylor, Key’s Senior Press Secretary, is an amusing contrast from the last role I’d seen him in (an anti-Tour protest leader in Tom Scott’s Rage). His range, from the sedate Jim Anderton and the furious Dick from Burnside Rugby Club is impressive. 

However, the frequency of Erin Banks’s character changes is mind-boggling: she and her malleable face pull off a tour-de-force of voices, costumes and comic timing. From the grossly caricatured (Mark Sainsbury, Don Brash – two lines added there since Sunday morning did not go amiss) to the straight and sincere (Bronagh Key, and a long-time friend of Helen Clark’s), she plays everything amazingly. That said, surely John Key’s mother wouldn’t have sounded completely Kiwi; there should be some Austrian in that accent? 

Special mention must go to AV designer Tane Upjohn-Beatson. Working with pop songs and photographs from the time; footage and audio from Merata Mita’s documentary Patu!; and devising original soundscapes, Upjohn-Beatson has created visuals and a soundtrack that lift the performance and turn it into a piece of total theatre. The crowning moment of this approach comes in the simultaneous climax of all four character-timelines in a tightly-choreographed mix of sport and politics which teeters on the edge of overblown and unfocused, but pays off deliciously well. 

Throughout the play, the audio is unobtrusive when it needs to be but sounds great when it’s in the foreground; levels are impeccably balanced; and the whole package of pre-recorded material and the actors’ live performance is incredibly well integrated. I haven’t seen enough Wellington theatre this year to be sure, but I’d suggest Upjohn-Beatson deserves a Chapman Tripp nomination for Best Sound. 

The Engine Room leans fairly clearly to the political left: while not exactly a hagiography for Helen Clark, many moments paint her in a very positive light, especially alongside John Key. Ultimately, in context, this makes Key a more interesting and challenging figure – ironic for his lack of strong conviction.

The play is live and loud, some characters are coarsely drawn, but it’s all steeped in thorough research and attention to detail. Best of all, it plays with resonances between the realms of sport, politics and media; allows for further connections with the issues of today; and opens up questions and uncertainties to be chewed over in the bar afterwards.

It’s a vital piece of theatre which should get people talking, and I encourage you to do so in the comments section below.