Writer: Everleigh Brenner
Director: Maria Cristina Petitti
What if a friend took you to a pub, sat you down, and then was hilarious and wildly vulnerable about her sexual assault, revenge plots and sexual blackmail for a straight 50 or so minutes?
The reaction would depend on how strong the friendship is, really. It’s a relief then, to know we in the audience are Em’s best friends – she tells us this plainly. It may go some way to explain the comfort and ease with which our short time together goes.
Within minutes we care deeply about her, and are fully along for the ride as she details a complex and morally fascinating period of her life. There’s the ex-friend-with-benefits (they “chilled” and were “cool” apparently) who she lets get accused of abuse after circulating pictures of the bruises on her neck gained from a sex game. The creepy boss she gives head to in full view of the CCTV camera. The diary full of dates (she calls them “blackmails”) with attached men who she extorts cash from. And the semi-redemptive entanglement with Axel, a boy from her childhood who she seems to have a genuine and touching connection with before we learn has previously raped her and then does so again. Luckily, perhaps, she’s more equipped for the situation this time.
Originally devised as episodic in structure, there is a certain sectional rhythm that lingers. The pace makes it hard to follow however. Enthusiastic editing means we clip along rapidly but miss some nuances along the way. Her journey is fairly clear though we are left to make our own inferences and connect the dots (like with her rapid journey from fellatio with the boss to mass blackmailer). The mix of projected video and live performance makes this a little easier. This is a narrative spooling out at the speed of thoughts entering and crashing around a mind, however, so there’s a virtue to this chaos.
Em is played by the piece’s writer Everleigh Brenner. She delivers a vulnerable, charismatic and intimate performance, smashing through the fourth wall to engage with us so often it’s oddly impossible not to feel anything but tenderness for Em, though she’s doing some pretty objectionable things. Through Brenner’s performance and writing, we’re left with a lot to try and work out. These are not simple questions either. What, for example, would Em be like if not so damaged from her abuse? Is her enjoyment of rougher sex part of this effort to come to terms with her past or is it a healthy expression of a kink? To what extent is she taking ownership and direction with her life on her own terms versus responding to what men and misogyny have done to her?
In the frantic pace thoughts are dropped, questions left hanging and the character isn’t developed hugely. That would all be nice to have, and maybe as this work grows thanks to the requested and encouraged audience engagement and feedback someday those things will come
Giving volume and time to a public representation of the complexities around sexual assault, consent and recovery strategies is one of the more important responsibilities performance art has. These are the themes of many women’s lives, whether they’ve made them part of their public presentation or whether they wear a brave face with which to greet the world. This evolving work from Hoo Hah House lays down an admirable challenge, to strip niceties and metaphor from abuse stories which make them more palatable, and show the trauma in a raw and ugly form. Originally meant to be shown at the Vault Festival, it’s great that it found a space at the Drayton Arms, and looks set to continue spreading its chaotic, disruptive message through other stages and for other soon to be enlightened audiences.
Runs until 10 February 2022
