Howie the Rookie to be revived at Cockpit Theatre

More than 25 years after its debut, Mark O’Rowe’s Howie the Rookie returns with undiminished force. In this new production, Burning Coal Theatre Company brings the play’s twin monologues to life with visceral intensity, exploring masculinity, violence and the fragile possibility of empathy in a world that rewards neither. Speaking to director Jerome Davis, we uncover why this brutal, darkly funny portrait of two young men still feels urgently alive today.

Howie the Rookie feels strikingly contemporary despite being written in 1999. What was it about the play that made you feel it needed to be staged now?

There’s a strong part of me that rebels at the question of why a play “needs to be done”. I feel like any good play (and this one certainly is) is examining a facet of human behaviour. Those kinds of behaviours don’t really change the way, for instance, fashion in clothing does. If they change at all, it is over centuries and brought to bear by influences as diverse as weather patterns, technological advances and migratory trajectories.

A play may seem more relevant today than it did yesterday, or will tomorrow, but typically those plays are short-lived. I think Howie the Rookie will be around long after a lot of flash-in-the-pan works have faded from view because it deals with real human beings in a real setting, dealing with real issues.

If you think about it, there is no more foundational idea than the question of empathy. When animals want food, they go get it. They don’t ask “whose turn is it?” or “who needs it most?”—they just fight for it. Human beings often behave in similar ways, but we do have within us (most of us) the ability to empathise. Howie the Rookie asks: what elements of our society are repressing our instinct toward empathy, and how can we fight back against those elements?

The play examines how masculinity is performed - often through violence, status and emotional detachment. How did you approach directing that without simplifying or moralising the characters?

It’s very clear to me that the two young men at the centre of this play are each capable of empathy. We see it early when Howie offers Skip Susan a babysitting job. He’s feeling guilty about walking out on his family and leaving his younger brother unattended, and he’s also concerned about Susan, who has recently suffered a traumatic injury. He puts these two things together and comes up with something he can do about it. It isn’t ideal, but within his limited arsenal of reasoning, he does something.

We hear of him trying to teach his younger brother how to deal with bullies on the playground. Again, he has very few options, but within those limitations, he feels something and moves on that feeling.

As for the question of how masculinity is “performed”, I think it is performed the way any other available instrument of achievement is performed. No one would expect the drummer in a band to pick up the saxophone and wail away on it. Why? Because the drum kit is the instrument of achievement. No one would expect the clarinettist in a symphony orchestra to crash their clarinet into the gong. That clarinettist has one thing they can play, and that is what is expected of them. Masculinity isn’t a performance; it is an instrument, just as femininity is.

Structurally, the piece is built from two interlocking monologues. What does that form allow you to explore theatrically that a more conventional dialogue-driven play might not?

It’s a showcase for actors because it requires flexibility and presence. It’s also a showcase for the imagination of the audience. Part of the fun of playing when we are children is stretching our minds and our capacity to imagine ourselves in the shoes of other people—in other words, strengthening our empathy, a most useful superpower in this and, unfortunately, any time period.

The driving force behind empathy is curiosity, I think. As children, we instinctively want to know about things. That’s why we put our hand on a hot stove and learn from the experience. But it’s also why we play dress-up, why we imagine worlds, and why we act out stories with our friends.

Bruce Springsteen once said (talking about rock bands), “A good one introduces you to people you’d never have met, in civilisations you’d never have imagined.” Or something along those lines. But he could easily have been talking about theatre. The more “play” there is involved, the stronger our empathy muscle is exercised. Maybe the one-person show is the most extreme example of that?

Burning Coal’s work often focuses on re-examining overlooked or modern classics. What draws you to revival as a practice, and how do you ensure these works feel urgent rather than retrospective?

I think you have to look closely at them. I’ve found that if you do—and if that creative muscle is tuned up—you will find things in plays that perhaps no one has ever found. I’ve been involved in several such moments in rehearsal rooms.

When we did McPherson’s The Weir a few years ago, we landed on the idea that Jim is on the autism spectrum. It unlocked so much of the play from that character’s point of view. Has anyone ever thought of that character in that way? I don’t know, but I’m not aware of any production that did.

Another was when we were doing 1776 and the director, Matthew Earnest, said: “This is a play about a man with a great idea—and he can’t get anyone to listen, so he’s slowly going mad.” That idea resonates today. But even then, 20 years ago, it made the play open like a flower, so that when we get to that wild, discordant closing number (“Is Anybody There?”), the strangeness of the song suddenly made perfect sense.

None of the things I’m talking about involved setting a play on Mars or dressing everyone in spandex—it was just about looking closely at the play, and then letting the other work you have done as a human being come to bear on the material.

You’ve spoken about theatre as something that should be experienced viscerally. In practical terms, how does that philosophy shape your approach to staging and performance in this production?

For us, it begins with the space. I was fortunate to work for a year at Trinity Repertory Company in Providence, Rhode Island, under the direction of Richard Jenkins. Their big space, an 800-seater, was built by the legendary director Adrian Hall (Texas boy!) and Eugene Lee (Sweeney Todd), and the space is magical.

For a year, I got to study why it worked so well, and I came to the conclusion that it has to do with the actor’s ability to surprise the audience from within their midst. There are three audience entrance levels on all sides, and stairs leading from the stage to the very back of the theatre on each side. This means an entrance can happen at your elbow, or 60 feet away across the room—or basically anywhere.

We wanted a space like that, in miniature, so we worked hard to make it as flexible as possible. This makes the audience feel like they are part of the play, but also keeps them on their toes—not comfortable that they understand the play’s “boundaries”.

The play suggests that environments shaped by isolation, boredom and lack of opportunity can push people toward violence as a form of identity. Do you see theatre as having a role in interrogating, or even countering, those dynamics?

Yes—but we must keep our eyes focused on what shapes those environments, rather than ladling resentment, anger and name-calling onto those who inhabit them.

We have to remember that old Watergate-era adage: “Follow the money.” When jobs leave a region, they aren’t going away just for the fun of it—someone is making money off that decision. While in democratic societies it’s hard to say “no, you can’t make more money”, we must remember that the companies leaving town almost always began on the blood, sweat and tears of those being left behind.

There should be some way to organise protests that use the people’s freedom of speech to make it worthwhile for those companies to stay. In order to do that, mass media must be on the side of the people, not the advertisers.

That’s really what the question of this play is: how do we shake the chains of poverty and rise up against the oligarchs? Fun stuff, no?

Howie The Rookie will be at The Cockpit Theatre for a limited 10-performance from 24th April - 2nd May. Tickets available from https://www.thecockpit.org.uk/show/howie_the_rookie