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Nic Green's Trilogy @ the BAC
12th - 16th January (before transferring to The Barbican for the 22nd and 23rd)
Samantha Woollard
“Give it to mama give it to mama give it to mama give it to - NO! 5,6,7,and,3,4 mmm, that’s real good Chicken Kebab - This! Is! What! We! Call! A! Woman! Look! How! She! Moves! Make! Like! A! Jelly!”
After proving itself a phenomenal success at the 2009 Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Nic Green's critically acclaimed Trilogy transfers to the Battersea Arts Centre in London. An amalgamation of music, contemporary dance and tongue in cheek humour, the piece tackles negative outlooks of the female body, with Green drawing upon her own perceptions to create a personal response to feminist issues.
In 2007, Nic Green found herself working closely with a cast of eight year old girls; an experience that would later provide the artists with the eureka moment that gave birth to Trilogy. Struck by the obsessive manner in which the young cast members discussed body image and eating habits, Green decided that she needed to take some form of action in order to shift the negativity surrounding the subject. Collaborating with companion Laura Bradshaw, Green began a campaign up and down the country seeking women to volunteer their opinions, stories and even selves for the devised production. The end result of such labour is demonstrated in the forty women that shed their clothes and take to the stage. Something that strikes me as I watch the women thrashing about wildly to The Pixies is their facial expressions. There are no sheepish grins and eyes do not fixate upon the floor: the women are laughing, smiling and even singing along. I realise that these women are enjoying themselves. Suddenly, something that started off rather resembling an advert for How to Look Good Naked shifts the conception of the female form. Green cleverly uses humour to desexualize the body. As the participants jump and dance about the stage wearing nothing but a smile, body parts are allowed to wobble and in fact, many of the chosen movements encourage them to: the breasts and bingo wings become the instruments to an expression of liberation.
It is easy to realise the staging potential that the obscure Edinburgh Fringe performance spaces would have provided the production with as it thrives on the intimacy between audience and performer in subject matter alone. At the BAC, audience members are squeezed tightly into the upstairs space, with little distance between themselves and the stage. At various instances the house lights are turned on, and we find ourselves engaged in conversation with the actors as they frequently (and always politely) address the audience directly. One particularly effective moment is created as the two devisors stand naked before the gazes of their illuminated spectators: two or three minutes of silence passes by before Green turns and utters almost inaudibly to Bradshaw, "it's really good because we get to look at them". Although vulnerable in position, Green's simple murmur quickly turns the dynamics of power on their head. Similar fleeting moments of vulnerability are shown by the otherwise seemingly fearless pair, and it is these rare glimpses that help to blur the barriers between audience and performer. Devices like these are used subtly and sparingly throughout the performance in order to gradually build up a companionship between ourselves and the actors - gradually the barriers constructed through feelings of awkwardness or embarrassment shift and allow for unforced audience participation. Such an example comes at the very closing of the second chapter. We are informed that five audience members (four female, one male) are required to take part in a series of simple movements - Green warns that there will be no announcement, but when the time comes, we'll just know. The action continues until a point where Green and the rest of the cast retire to the back of the stage. Silently I sit and slowly, one by one, audience members calmly descend the steps and make their way down to the vacant space. Without uttering a word, all five audience members begin to perform the pre-described movements in unison. There is something a little magical about the sudden unity of all five strangers and although I can't place the feeling, as they move as one it evokes an incredibly visceral response.
The performance space itself is bare of any constructed set pieces and actors bring props on when required, before swiftly clearing them from the stage, all the while visible to the audience. A huge screen haunts the very back of the performance space, providing the audience with segments of recordings - some filmed by Green and Bradshaw themselves, others such as the infamous Town Bloody Hall of 1971 which act as a basis for cast re-enactments. At one point the cast turn to watch as Jill Johnston takes the podium at the women's liberation conference and delivers her 'All women are lesbians' speech. As Germaine Greer rises to speak, the five actors perform choreographed movement sequences. The sequences are sometimes performed in unison, but predominantly individually: jumping, rolling and spinning, the strenuous movements gradually increase in momentum as Greer's speech itself steamrollers to its climax. A later moment in the piece then sees all cast members perched naked upon stools and gathered round the digital screen as they join the audience as spectators and gaze upwards at the footage.
Make Your Own Herstory is a sub-project that branches out from Trilogy encouraging women to participate in one (or all) of thirteen chapters – these come under titles such as ‘make your own matriarchy’, ‘interview a significant woman’ or ‘write your own womanifesto’. In fact, the inclusion of Bradshaw’s mother in the piece provides another touching moment: via mobile phone link, Mother Bradshaw recites her own written ‘womanifesto’ to a captivated audience.
There are numerous aspects of Green’s opinions that I personally have some difficulty with but the vibrant artist is successful in demonstrating her political opinions without lecturing. Only at one point does the piece wander into dangerous territory when unexpectedly audience members are bombarded with a stream of statistics concerning rape and inequality. Understandably Green is eager to highlight the serious issues that provided the basis for this very entertaining production, but unfortunately the stat-heavy PowerPoint slides come across as a little reprimanding and ever so slightly echo the more bitter and irritable feminist rants of the 1970’s. When considering the audience members that stand beside as we sing a rendition of the Suffragettes anthem Jerusalem, there is a sense that Green may be preaching to the already converted.
A striking highlight of the piece for me personally is an incredibly moving movement sequence performed by Green and Bradshaw as they hum an acoustic rendition of The Clash's 'I fought the law'. As the two bodies move in unison, the dimly lit stage subtly illuminates the almost-silhouettes of the pair and provides an example of the vulnerability that this piece depends upon to work. It is incredibly refreshing to experience a politically driven piece of theatre that hasn't been bled dry of all expression. Trilogy is a joyous exploration of personal transformation that makes audience members want to stand up and participate. In fact, I would urge anyone to do just that: clothing optional.