All Else is Sinking Sand

Once Upon Four Robbers is a drama written by Femi Osofisan and published in 1980. This popular play has been reenacted several times and is loved by both readers and theatre goers. When it returned to the stage in 2024 under the direction of Dire Badejo, it reminded me of two things. One, the theatre’s ability to mirror society. Two, the way it can constantly evolve under different directors.

Badejo’s play enhances Osofisan’s script by unsettling the audience. Harsh lights trap the robbers in tight corners, while the ensemble’s movements close in on them like a tightening fist. The robbers are constantly moving their feet, their heads twitch nervously, eyes constantly scanning the audience as if trouble might appear from their midst. The other actors add to this feeling of urgency, moving quicker than normal across the stage, recreating the sense of a busy, unpredictable street that keeps pushing the people on it forward. The drums start at a gentle tempo and then rise like a quickening heartbeat. The choreography has sudden steps and sharp turns. Lighting switches from bright to shadowy in an instant. We are jerked around rapidly, as Badejo wants us to know this is an unstable world.

And in this tottering world, we are better able to appreciate the humans in the story - four men who turn to robbery, not out of greed or wickedness, but because the system has failed them. Four robbers who speak softly about their families, whose voices break when they remember what they have lost. The actors deserve praise for their delivery: a shaky smile, a whispered line, the hesitation before a difficult decision. All these cast against the urgency of everything else remind the audience of what is immutable - these are humans like you. Sons, brothers, and fathers. We are walked through scenes that give us glimpses of their private lives. One talks about a mother waiting for him, another mentions a child he wishes he could provide for, and another remembers the brother he disappointed. The actors lean into these memories with tenderness, softening their voices and slowing their movements, as though holding something fragile.

The temptation for exposition in a story like this is significant, but it was successfully ignored. There is no soapbox, where the audience is asked - who are the real criminals? Yet, the juxtaposition between the robbers and the rulers, the people who have installed and perpetuated an unequal system, is thought-provoking. Yes, a few scenes stretch, but even those moments have a kind of honesty to them. Pain lingers.

In the end, this staging of Once Upon Four Robbers leaves you thinking long after the curtain falls. A call for compassion and a reminder of what is solid ground in an unstable world.

Once Upon Four Robbers is a drama written by Femi Osofisan and published in 1980. This popular play has been reenacted several times and is loved by both readers and theatre goers. When it returned to the stage in 2024 under the direction of Dire Badejo, it reminded me of two things. One, the theatre’s ability to mirror society. Two, the way it can constantly evolve under different directors.

Badejo’s play enhances Osofisan’s script by unsettling the audience. Harsh lights trap the robbers in tight corners, while the ensemble’s movements close in on them like a tightening fist. The robbers are constantly moving their feet, their heads twitch nervously, eyes constantly scanning the audience as if trouble might appear from their midst. The other actors add to this feeling of urgency, moving quicker than normal across the stage, recreating the sense of a busy, unpredictable street that keeps pushing the people on it forward. The drums start at a gentle tempo and then rise like a quickening heartbeat. The choreography has sudden steps and sharp turns. Lighting switches from bright to shadowy in an instant. We are jerked around rapidly, as Badejo wants us to know this is an unstable world.

And in this tottering world, we are better able to appreciate the humans in the story - four men who turn to robbery, not out of greed or wickedness, but because the system has failed them. Four robbers who speak softly about their families, whose voices break when they remember what they have lost. The actors deserve praise for their delivery: a shaky smile, a whispered line, the hesitation before a difficult decision. All these cast against the urgency of everything else remind the audience of what is immutable - these are humans like you. Sons, brothers, and fathers. We are walked through scenes that give us glimpses of their private lives. One talks about a mother waiting for him, another mentions a child he wishes he could provide for, and another remembers the brother he disappointed. The actors lean into these memories with tenderness, softening their voices and slowing their movements, as though holding something fragile.

The temptation for exposition in a story like this is significant, but it was successfully ignored. There is no soapbox, where the audience is asked - who are the real criminals? Yet, the juxtaposition between the robbers and the rulers, the people who have installed and perpetuated an unequal system, is thought-provoking. Yes, a few scenes stretch, but even those moments have a kind of honesty to them. Pain lingers.

In the end, this staging of Once Upon Four Robbers leaves you thinking long after the curtain falls. A call for compassion and a reminder of what is solid ground in an unstable world.

Once Upon Four Robbers is a drama written by Femi Osofisan and published in 1980. This popular play has been reenacted several times and is loved by both readers and theatre goers. When it returned to the stage in 2024 under the direction of Dire Badejo, it reminded me of two things. One, the theatre’s ability to mirror society. Two, the way it can constantly evolve under different directors.

Badejo’s play enhances Osofisan’s script by unsettling the audience. Harsh lights trap the robbers in tight corners, while the ensemble’s movements close in on them like a tightening fist. The robbers are constantly moving their feet, their heads twitch nervously, eyes constantly scanning the audience as if trouble might appear from their midst. The other actors add to this feeling of urgency, moving quicker than normal across the stage, recreating the sense of a busy, unpredictable street that keeps pushing the people on it forward. The drums start at a gentle tempo and then rise like a quickening heartbeat. The choreography has sudden steps and sharp turns. Lighting switches from bright to shadowy in an instant. We are jerked around rapidly, as Badejo wants us to know this is an unstable world.

And in this tottering world, we are better able to appreciate the humans in the story - four men who turn to robbery, not out of greed or wickedness, but because the system has failed them. Four robbers who speak softly about their families, whose voices break when they remember what they have lost. The actors deserve praise for their delivery: a shaky smile, a whispered line, the hesitation before a difficult decision. All these cast against the urgency of everything else remind the audience of what is immutable - these are humans like you. Sons, brothers, and fathers. We are walked through scenes that give us glimpses of their private lives. One talks about a mother waiting for him, another mentions a child he wishes he could provide for, and another remembers the brother he disappointed. The actors lean into these memories with tenderness, softening their voices and slowing their movements, as though holding something fragile.

The temptation for exposition in a story like this is significant, but it was successfully ignored. There is no soapbox, where the audience is asked - who are the real criminals? Yet, the juxtaposition between the robbers and the rulers, the people who have installed and perpetuated an unequal system, is thought-provoking. Yes, a few scenes stretch, but even those moments have a kind of honesty to them. Pain lingers.

In the end, this staging of Once Upon Four Robbers leaves you thinking long after the curtain falls. A call for compassion and a reminder of what is solid ground in an unstable world.