In the dimly lit confines of Brass Bullets bar, circa 1988, Too Early for Birds presents us with a theatrical paradox that would make even Gotham’s most complex antiheroes pause for reflection. Badassery written by Hellen Masido, Kagichu Maina, and Richard Oyamo, and masterfully directed by Wanjiku Mwawuganga, refuses to offer audiences the comfort of clear moral delineations. Instead, it thrusts us into the uncomfortable space between heroism and vigilantism, between justice and brutality.
The play opens with the stark reality of Patrick D. Shaw’s death splashed across newspaper headlines, setting the stage for what becomes a profound meditation on the nature of justice in a broken system. As five characters converge in this seedy establishment, Hamisi (Justin Mirichi), Kamene (Mercy Mutisya), Abdul (Kiptoo Kirwa), Liv (Foi Wambui), Katana (William Mwangi) and Oti (Tobit Tom), we witness the unraveling of stories that challenge our fundamental assumptions about good and evil. But the true seventh character is the audience itself, positioned as the “baddie,” the seventh person in the room, forced to witness these individuals grapple with what they would do with Shaw’s infamous list of criminals.
History is replete with figures who occupy this morally ambiguous territory. Spartacus, branded a terrorist by Rome, became a symbol of liberation. Robin Hood, technically a criminal, evolved into a folk hero. Even in contemporary storytelling, characters like Rorschach in “Watchmen” or my personal favorite, Frank Castle’s Punisher, embody this complex relationship between criminality and justice. Shaw emerges from this narrative tradition, a police reservist whose methods blur the lines between law enforcement and extrajudicial execution. But when Shaw recruited students from Starehe Boys as his informants, what was he then? A protector of society or a predator exploiting the vulnerable? When young Samson died as a consequence and the realization that Samson could have been any of us, what moral calculus justifies such collateral damage?
Consider Nicholas Arodhi, one of the criminals on Shaw’s list. Born into a system already stacked against him, was Arodhi the villain or the victim? The play forces us to confront this uncomfortable reality: that our “criminals” are often products of structural violence, their choices circumscribed by circumstances beyond their control. In our contemporary Kenya, as history repeats itself with chilling precision, these questions become more than academic exercises, they become urgent moral imperatives.
The production’s genius lies in its refusal to provide easy answers. Foi Wambui, Mercy Mutisya, Justin Mirichi, Tobit Tom, Kiptoo Kirwa, and William Mwangi deliver performances that oscillate between vulnerability and menace with the fluidity of seasoned professionals. Their portrayals force us to confront an uncomfortable truth: in a system rigged against the marginalized, conventional morality becomes a luxury few can afford.
The technical elements serve the narrative’s complexity beautifully. The lighting design and sound effects become characters in their own right, instead of merely complement the action, they punctuate moments just rightly while creating an atmosphere that mirrors the moral murkiness of the story. Abu Sensei’s voice-over work provides the needed comical relief and crucial narrative scaffolding, guiding audiences through the intricate plot without patronizing their intelligence.
What makes “Badassery” particularly compelling is its exploration of systemic oppression and the limited options available to those trapped within it. The criminals Shaw pursued weren’t born in a vacuum; they were products of a system that offered few legitimate paths to survival or dignity, sounds familiar? This context doesn’t excuse their actions, but it complicates our understanding of them in ways that shallow morality plays typically avoid.
The play’s temporal setting in 1988 Kenya adds layers of historical significance. This was an era of political upheaval, economic uncertainty, and social transformation all conditions that naturally breed both criminality and the vigilante justice that seeks to address it. Shaw’s list, the central plot device around which the narrative revolves, represents more than names on paper; it symbolizes the attempt to impose order on chaos, to create accountability in a system that historically has provided none.
However, some elements feel uncomfortably forced to mirror our current political climate, occasionally sacrificing narrative authenticity for contemporary relevance. This heavy-handedness momentarily breaks the theatrical spell, reminding us we’re watching commentary rather than story. Yet even these moments serve the larger purpose where we are witnessing our own reflection in these characters’ moral dilemmas.
The performance occasionally struggles with pacing with some plot developments feel rushed while others meander, and at times the delivery by the cast feels more like narration than lived experience. Yet these minor technical issues pale beside the production’s thematic achievements. The cast’s ability to seamlessly transition between narrative modes, slipping in and out of character to provide exposition and commentary, demonstrates both their versatility and the script’s sophisticated structure. A particular moment that stands out is Tobit Tom’s channeling of Bane’s iconic monologue when describing Dansone Gachui’s final moments. The appropriation of this villain’s words to describe a Kenyan criminal’s death is both jarring and brilliant. It demonstrates that when the production hits its stride, it creates genuinely memorable theatrical moments that resonate long after the performance.
The true power of the piece lies in watching each character wrestle with what they would do with the list. Sell it for personal gain? Expose government shortcomings? Embark on a revenge mission? Each option feels plausible in isolation, but the play’s genius lies in revealing that their real strength comes from unity, a fitting resolution that speaks to collective action over individual vigilantism.In our contemporary moment, when questions of police brutality and systemic justice dominate public discourse, “Badassery” feels urgently relevant. It asks the hard questions: When the system fails, what options remain? When justice becomes a privilege rather than a right, who decides what constitutes acceptable resistance? When heroes and villains share the same methods, what distinguishes them?
Badassery deserves particular credit for its narrative restraint. Rather than spoon-feeding audiences predetermined moral judgments, they present the evidence and trust their audience to grapple with the implications. It provides the intellectual framework necessary for audiences to wrestle with these moral complexities themselves. In a theatrical landscape often characterized by didactic messaging, “Badassery” stands as a testament to the power of nuanced storytelling that respects its audience’s capacity for critical thinking.
Too Early for Birds has crafted something rare: a piece of theater that functions simultaneously as entertainment and philosophical inquiry, leaving audiences not with answers, but with just the right questions, perhaps even right enough to go against the grain and change a country?
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