Review: Counting and Cracking Presents the Post-Independence Story of Sri Lanka Through One Family

Why are you here? Why do you inhabit the city, state, and country where you find yourself reading this review? In almost all cases, it is because someone (perhaps an ancestor or perhaps you) decided to move to that place. For the most fortunate, this is a choice powered by hope and aspiration. For too many it is prompted by desperation and the instinct to survive.

Radha belongs in the latter camp. She is the central figure in S. Shakthidharan’s Counting and Cracking, now making its North American premiere with the Public Theater at NYU Skirball (it was originally produced at Sydney’s Belvoir St Theatre in conjunction with Kurinji). This ambitious epic, a Sri Lankan counterpart to Tom Stoppard’s Leopoldstadt, leaps across the Indian Ocean to tell the story of one Tamil family and how the tumultuous events of the 20^th century brought them to Australia — those family members fortunate enough to escape, that is.

At the top of the play, Radha (Nadie Kammallaweera) oversees her son Siddhartha (Shiv Palekar) as he scatters his grandmother’s ashes in Sydney Harbor. Radha arrived in Australia in 1983, fleeing the anti-Tamil pogroms that heralded the beginning of Sri Lanka’s long civil war. Siddhartha was born shortly after and is as Australian as Vegemite on toast. But he wonders about his mother’s country, a curiosity that kicks into high gear following the sudden reemergence of Thirru (Antonythasan Jesuthasan), a significant figure from Radha’s past that she long assumed dead.

Over the course of three hours and 30 minutes, Shakthidharan uses a series of flashbacks to show us exactly what happened: In 1956 we meet Radha’s grandfather Apah (Prakash Belawadi), a mathematician turned politician whose algebraic faith in pluralism makes him believe that this is the only way forward for Sri Lanka. “Two languages, one country. One language, two countries,” he warns.

His faith is tested when his colleague in the ruling United National Party, Vinsanda (Dushan Philips), informs him that the cabinet has moved to adopt Sinhala as the official language to undercut the momentum of a Sinhalese populist politician running against them. Increasingly, Apah finds himself not a founding father of a newly independent Ceylon, but the chief representative of an increasingly besieged Tamil minority, all culminating in the events of 1983.

The grand sweep of the narrative is greatly aided by Eamon Flack’s direction, which exemplifies the simple invention evangelized by Jerzy Grotowski and Peter Brook. While both Tamil and Sinhala feature prominently in the script, English translations spoken by offsides actors prove to be a vastly superior solution to supertitles. Actors portray telephones and racks of clothing, and no element of Dale Ferguson’s uncluttered yet evocative set impedes the forward motion of the plot. Ferguson’s costumes signify the time and place (although helpful road signs hanging over the set and displaying the date and location do this more effectively). And much of the play is underscored by Stefan Gregory’s original music, performed by a three-man band (I particularly enjoyed the flute arrangement of the Skype ringtone). It’s the ideal combination of old and new, perfectly setting the tone.

Kammallaweera gives the standout performance as Radha, instantly conveying a character who suffers no fools. We recognize elements of her personality in the performance of Radhika Mudaliyar, who plays a younger, more idealistic Radha. Jesuthasan delivers a haunting performance as Thirru, a character who has stewed in his abandonment for two decades. And Ahilan Karunaharan makes a particularly smarmy impression as Sunil, a visitor from India who smells opportunity in the misfortune of others.

Fascinating though it is, the post-independence history of Sri Lanka (and really all South Asia) is not well-known in the Anglosphere, leading the characters to say things they probably wouldn’t say were an American audience not listening. “All of the Tamil parties merged into the Tamil United Liberation Front. The T.U.L.F won every single Tamil-speaking seat. They are the new opposition,” Young Radha says to a wedding party that includes multiple parliamentarians who are surely already aware. Shakthidharan hasn’t devised a better way to convey this information (such as a timeline in the program), resulting in clunky exposition and a script that feels shaggier than it ought to.

Still, Counting and Cracking chugs along at a brisk pace thanks to excellent performances and direction. It certainly doesn’t feel like three-and-a-half hours. And if it encourages audiences to learn more about the history of Sri Lanka, that’s a good thing. It is a cautionary tale of the waste and devastation that can result when craven politicians stoke the worst impulses of an insecure majority. That is absolutely a story with which Americans can connect in this election year.