Review: War Horse at the Liverpool Empire *****

During the First World War, more than a million horses were shipped across the Channel to the battlefields of Belgium and Northern France.

While many started their journey in Britain, many others arrived from places like Canada – disembarking at Liverpool’s docks before being transported by rail to Ormskirk for training at nearby Lathom Park.

Some were cavalry steeds, an idealistic guts-and-glory, sabre-wielding force straight out of 1815 pitted naively and hopelessly against the mechanised war machine of 1915. Others were conscripted to do drudge work in horrific conditions.

Muscle mass verses machine gun, steed against steel tank. The slaughter was on a monumental, senseless scale.

There’s monumental scale too in the National Theatre’s magnificent and imaginative staging of Michael Morpurgo’s War Horse, a visceral theatrical experience which remains as resonant now as when it first exploded on to the stage nearly 20 years ago.

Yet while it’s a sweeping drama it’s also an intimate story of love, loyalty and friendship – and a tale of heart, humanity and hope amid the horror and brutality of Flanders’ killing fields.

There have been plenty of war dramas, but Morpurgo’s great decision, sparked by a conversation in a Devon pub, was to create a character who was outside the norm of friend and foe, goodie and baddie.

Joey the titular 'War Horse' holds no allegiance to flag or country, King or Kaiser. He does as he is bidden, to the best of his ability, responding to kindness from whoever offers it and inspiring acts of humanity in return.

Above: Albert Narracott (Tom Sturgess) with Joey as a foal. Top: The cast of War Horse. Photos by Brinkhoff-Moegenburg.

While Morpurgo echoes Wilfred Owen in his depiction of war and the pity of war, his tale begins in a bucolic pre-war Devon where another bitter feud – between brothers not countries – results in the arrival at the Narracott farm of a young foal.

Teenage son Albert (Tom Sturgess) forms an unbreakable bond with this skittish newcomer, and through him, so does the audience. On opening night, the first appearance of the adult Joey prompted spontaneous applause.

So clever is the storytelling that we forget Joey is made of cane and fabric worked by three dextrous puppeteers (head, heart and hind). His flanks become flesh, he becomes real, and we become invested in his fate.

Meanwhile Albert and Joey’s isn’t the only fast friendship – Joey and the towering thoroughbred Topthorn, and Albert and comrade-in-arms David Taylor (Ike Bennett), find similar closeness in the cauldron of war where bonds are forged and fractured.

Above: Albert and fellow soldier David Taylor (Ike Bennett). Photo by Brinkhoff-Moegenburg.

Both war and peace are perfectly realised on the Empire’s sweep of stage – through the production's harmonious large cast, Handspring’s brilliant puppets, Toby Sedgwick’s intelligent choreography and composer Adrian Sutton’s evocative score, and also through Rae Smith’s sparse but cleverly malleable set, Rob Casey’s striking lighting and Christopher Shutt’s complementary sound design.

One small note of caution if you’re bringing young people to the show (and there were a fair few children in the audience on the first night). Parts of the second half are decidedly dark and harrowing, and some of the language on the battlefield is, let’s say, uncompromising.