Confronting our fears in a dark theatre
FULL STOPS ON YOUR FACE. Written and directed by Penny Youngleson, with Iman Isaacs. At Rosebank Theatre, Wednesday to Saturday until September 26 TRACEY SAUNDERS reviews
THESE are the headlines we are confronted with on a daily basis – “Girl,8, in second rape attack; Icon’s grandson in court for rape; Cop shoots girlfriend then himself; Girlfriend sjambokked to death by ANCYL official.”
Abuse, rape and murder have become staple items in the news coverage in South Africa. We don't want to read them. They evoke rage, sadness and a deep sense of despair. Penny Youngleson teaches at a school where the headlines are not only in the newspaper. Children in her classes experience violence in their homes and on the streets. Her experiences in the classroom led her to write and direct Nat earlier this year. It detailed the insidious and pervasive effect of gang culture on young children. The skewed dynamics of gender relationships and the normalising of violence were central themes in this hard hitting two hander.
She has returned to the terrain of urban violence and domestic terror in this piece. Full Stops on Your Face (FSOYF as it is referred to) is a manifesto against the violence which we have become accustomed to.
As the audience enters the theatre, the voice of Lulama Xingwana, Minister for Women, Children and People with Disabilities until May 2014 booms out. The hackneyed speech trotted out on each National Women's Day decrying the level of violence fades as Imam Isaacs, dressed in white, begins swinging two fierce looking machetes. Her agility with the sharp steel knives is something to behold and her character’s familiarity with weapons is confirmed in her opening monologue. This is no mere prop, these are some of her weapons of choice. “I stripped my rifle and two handguns. My 9mms, Glock specials. Made sure they were oiled. When you picture someone killing a crowd you probably think about AK 47s and AR 15s. Because they‘re quick. But there‘s no skill in that. There‘s no pace, you know? No decision.”
With that verbal punch in the guts you are introduced to a woman who has become tired of the headlines, of being a silent witness to the abuse and violence meted out with relentless regularity. She is about to do something about it. She reminds us that nobody wakes up like this. Over the course of the next 60 minutes her plans, as well as the impetus for her actions, are revealed. She is not alone on stage. Her mother’s voice reminding her to wear clean underwear, mourning her loss are heard.
An elderly resident in Sea Point bemoans the futility of marching in the streets against war, and reminds us that violence against women is no new phenomenon. “Birthing our babies or crying for them and what they‘re doing to each other. They keep striking us. And all that comes out is water.”
President Obama makes a brief appearance, a news reporter references the trial of Oscar Pistorius and a young girl questions the morality of war against children. The references are topical and universal, no one is spared. The many voices are overwhelming and I wished for less characters.
The original iteration of the play performed in 2013 had more weapons and less characters. The use of the machetes on their own is entrancing and highlights the woman's singularity of focus. The central female character is strong enough to hold the stage on her own and while the additional voices add to the text and flesh out the broader narrative, some of them are unnecessary and detract from the undiluted power of the very strong female voice.
This is the woman who is the secret envy of many. The woman who refuses to be beaten down and put in a box. “Grey hairs and grey ideas that don’t fit the storyline of what a nice girl is. A girl who deserves to be. A girl who doesn’t ooze into places she isn’t welcome.”
Isaacs is a powerful actress and she oozes in to every single conceivable uncomfortable space. She slips between the characters seamlessly, but it as the central female narrator that her ability to transfix the audience is most evident. With each word she draws you in closer and closer. When she has you close enough to feel the heat of her breath you are complicit, no longer a bystander, a consumer of head- lines. Now you are faced with a call to action. Her rage is relentless and exhausting, it fills the theatre and ricochets off the walls as she leaps between the multiple roles. Despite the grave subject matter the play is not without its humour.
The stereotypical investigating officer spouting criminal theory and perpetrator profiling provides an hilarious counterpoint. His posturing is capably portrayed by Isaacs who appears to slip on a decorated officer’s uniform for the duration of his animated lecture. The writing is mesmerizing and it is at times like this that I wish that published scripts were more accessible.
Theatre has the magical ability to take us away from the world and to bring us face to face with it. Often fears that seems impossible to face are confronted in a darkened theatre. That is not to say that it is easy, but knowing that one is in a contained space with some assurance of safety mitigates the unbridled terror that accompanies facing life threatening situations.
Full Stops on Your Face is neither an easy or comfortable production. It is confrontational and requires an introspection of the values that we unconsciously subscribe to in a world where femicide is rampant and gender privilege is so often left unquestioned.
“This is a story about something inside of you that gnaws through something else. And something hatches and needs to eat. Under your skin. And burrows it’s way through your cells and into your skull and makes new holes in your head to hear with.” You will leave the theatre shaken, but with new ears and a conviction to do something.
This is the woman who is the secret envy of many. The woman who refuses to be beaten down and put in a box.