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| Laura Jane Turner in SLUT by Patricia Cornelius |
A man is dead, we’re told. A good man. A man with a job. Not
a drunk. Not homeless. He’s a hero really. Just wanted to help Lolita and now
he’s dead.
We’re told this story – this anecdote – by a trio of young women,
friends of Lolita, who have known her from a very young age. In fact, there’s
some question about who knew her better and who knew her the longest. Because
the better they knew Lolita, the better they might understand her. And the more
they understand her, the more righteously they can pass judgement.
Lolita was a carefree child. Used to love riding a bike.
Ride it fast. Feel the ache in her legs and sweat on her face. All she had to
worry about was staying on the bike and enjoying her lovely, lovely life. She
stopped riding bikes when she was nine-years-old.
Her friends tell us that everything changed for Lolita when
she turned eight and grew breasts. Huge ones. When she was eight years old. A
child with breasts. And boys went into a frenzy. As did her grade five teacher,
Mr Markham. And her friends wondered, is this what it’s like to be liked? So,
they studied the interaction between Lolita and Mr Markham.
They knew it could teach them something, but what lesson did
they learn?
Slut by Patricia Cornelius is a short, sharp one-act
play about internalised misogyny. Cornelius’ writing is poetic and hilarious
and brutal, sometimes within the space of a line. This new production at The
Burrow heightens everything in its intimate space.
Director Rachel Baring centres Lolita as the audience enters
the space. She is walking a straight line, balancing, learning to understand
her body as a child does. But as soon as the chorus of friends appears, Lolita
retreats into the seating bank and occasionally monologues from there.
The chorus of young women are children to begin and they
grow alongside Lolita and we watch them laugh and play, drawing as children do.
But as they get older and they are unsure of themselves, they turn on Lolita –
she is an object of examination and rumour and innuendo. They dominate the
space. They take over the narrative. They tell us all what Lolita was like.
And that’s the simple power of the play and the key choice
of Baring here – she centres the chorus of judgement, which we are all prone to
be a part of, and keeps Lolita’s truth hidden at that back of the theatre.
Actually, from where I was sitting, I could watch Laura Jane Turner’s masterful
performance as Lolita. The monologue where she talks about joining her father
and her brothers fishing until one year, when she is no longer invited, is
heart-breaking.
Some of the small audience will bear witness and see what
Lolita thinks and feels. The rest of the audience will hear the words, but
won’t see the pain on Lolita’s face and won’t connect with her the way they do
with the chorus of schoolgirls who think they have the answer to everything.
The trio of young women – Michaela Bedel, Lauren Mass,
Jessica Tanner – all bring vibrancy and energy to their roles. The balance of
dark and light in each character, and the way they play off each other, is a
remarkable piece of ensemble work. Baring’s clear direction has helped all the
performers to find real, complicated individuals in the words, as well as create
a clique of girls who feed each other’s sexism. Maybe each of them is a friend
of Lolita, but together, as groups so often do, they become her enemy.
The play runs 45 minutes but the production is so
masterfully put together, it flies by, tickling your ribs and punching you in
the gut.
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| Lauren Mass, Laura Jane Turner, Michaela Bedel and Jessica Tanner in SLUT by Patricia Cornelius |
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