In a 90-minute high-octane exhibition featuring various dark comic portraits of modern femininity and sexuality, playwright Amy Gijsbers van Wijk gives us philosophy, Greek mythology, strobes, snakes, camgirls, sign language, shotgunning beer, karaoke, palmistry, dance and a lot of glitter.
‘feminine octagon [or Aristotle can eat me]’deals with themes of feminism, patriarchy, capitalism and the way women, femme and women-identifying people experience them.
With a form-shifting cast of restless characters, the play is fast-paced, fun, loud and wild. It is also disturbing: Van Wijk openly acknowledges that the root of traditional femininity is the threat of harm and seeks to undermine and explore it.
Jessica O’Hara-Baker directs this world premiere produced by Down The Rabbit Hole. The last show will be in Christianias Bรธssehuset on 17 September.
Spring break meets ancient Greece
The story follows American college students Allure, Candy, Orpheus and Flowers when they meet at a potluck dinner. Individually, they seek validation, love, comfort and power … but overall they are just looking for the afterparty.
Along the way, best friends Allure (Michelle Bowman Bak) and Candy (Seren Oroszvary) – roomies and wannabe viral vloggers – are transformed into goddesses representing chaos and sensuality in feminine power.
Meanwhile, Orpheus (Viktor Hugo) stumbles into a meeting with camgirl, Eurydice_19969, whom he begs for wisdom. “I can give you the hell of wisdom,” she replies from a video projection on the wall. “It is as applicable to real life as true wisdom.”
Sharp comment … but harsh metaphor
Camera technology and the Internet are once again falling apart as validation vehicles that mimic the male gaze. It’s an appropriate if obvious metaphor – one that blends into the general tapestry of production of obvious metaphors.
Still, the webcam projection scenes are creative, engaging theater. Bak is convincingly tragically comic with spider lashes and a hungry, yet boring voice.
Her authority on camera points to female dominance, while her deft portrayal of performative virginity versus actual vulnerability raises troubling questions about genuine female agency.
Dirt, a stone-dweller resident in cracked fishing nets, straight hair and a college-jock leather jacket, is played by Tjarli Simone Majumdar Selvig. She delivers the perfect target for arrogant swagger to allude to frat culture without overcooking it.
But a dance scene between Dirt and Allure closes the armor of the performance with an overwhelming performance.
For a play that is all-singing, all-dancing and everything in between, it is an understandably missed detail โ but it is a pity that almost all of the play’s serious moments are outcompeted by heavy-in-the-cheek scenes.
Refreshing nod to underrepresented sexual identities
Flowers, a humble, asexual tarot card enthusiast who remembers the myth of Oracle of Delphi, is played by Liff Monica Thomsen.
Thomsen’s performance is strongest when she interacts with her dream vision of the author Mary Shelley, sensitively played by Gertrud Magnusson.
The two wonder about the nature of love and how to express intimacy without sexual contact. It is a touching rumor about the physical language of human proximity โ highlighted by Magnusson’s use of sign language.
Not only is it refreshing to see deaf representation in ordinary performance art, it enriches the question at the core of the game about how we connect and communicate.
Furthermore, the age difference between the two women encourages reflection on what society considers ‘acceptable’ in non-binary relationships โ especially given that their bond is one of the most authentic in production.
Despite the weirdness, all the characters are very likeableโฆ which helps the audience stick to van Wijk’s smooth plot. Of course, there is an element of what can be expected in a play that openly challenges Aristotle’s beginning-between-end-narrative theory.
A block of information
This is a play that gives a lot and therefore can not help to exceed itself. It is a barrage of references, light, music, dialogue and various performance formats.
Although the overall message is muddy, the whole consists of individual moments that shine: Eurydice_19969 recites her weekly grocery shopping and childhood memories in camgirl getup; when Mary Shelley shares her ‘essence’ with Flower as a form of contactless intimacy; Orpheus’ Disneyesque karaoke performance; Candy’s furious, self-hating diatribe in front of the mirror.
‘feminine octagon [or Aristotle can eat me]’is well done, with great enthusiasm and infectious energy, while momentum leaves little time to dwell on imperfections.
The ideas it evokes are complex and multifaceted – admirable conquests … but the fused nature of the narrative dilutes some otherwise very powerful reflections on the experience of femininity.
Source: The Nordic Page