Month: October 2016

Whose Sari Now is a thought provoking, heart-warming, and touching play that allows the audience to see the world from the perspective of an Asian woman who defiantly maintains the culture that she knows best, in spite of those around her. Halfway through, Rani Moorthy cuts into the performance with a sharp, hard-hitting monologue on the life of an Asian trans man pursuing acceptance from his family, society and himself.

The play opens with sweet, soothing music that softly asks the audience “whose sari now.” Rani Moorthy strolls onto the stage, pulling along a shopping bag and greeting the audience as she passes. She is ecstatic about the new fabric she has purchased, drawing each pattern from the bag as if it were a surprise or a gift.

“I have a sari for every aspect of my life.” Moorthy takes great pleasure in enumerating the saris in her collection for weddings, funerals, markets, Marks & Spencer’s, being stressed, using public transport, and more. In this moment I feel as though I am in the living room of a kind, humble lady who is sharing the story of her life. Rani Moorthy also seems to think so; she converses with the audience, and shares her joys and her sadness. She laments the fact that “no one wears them these days, not even my nieces at home”, explaining that some perceive the bold Indian culture as a shackle from which they wish to free themselves. In particular, she refers to a friend of hers who is also Indian, but who has made every attempt to assimilate into British culture and values. While Moorthy sees her sari as a “second skin”, her friend’s uptight and newly nationalistic demeanour is symbolised through the tight hair that she describes, as well her decision to vote Leave.

Whose Sari Now is an important play; as is the case with many contemporary theatre productions, the use of humour combined with factual information gets the audience’s attention and seals the information in their memory. Rani Moorthy knows this—the caring, honest character she presents onstage forges a relationship with the audience that ensures we are listening to her and trusting what she says. So, when she tells the audience of the troubles she faces whilst wearing a sari at prestigious events, we are all ears as we consider the objectification and gawking that such events bring. However, Moorthy draws on this new found relationship in an incredible way when she suddenly bursts into an emotionally charged piece from the perspective of a trans man, which depicts the struggle to accept gender and the ramifications of going against the grain.

The spoken word was powerful, gripping—I didn’t take my eyes off Moorthy the whole time—and incredibly informative; the challenges mentioned throughout the piece were those of a cultural and personal intersection that I hadn’t considered deeply beforehand. Rani Moorthy throws religion into the mix, asking the man’s mother’s question as to what God she must have prayed to, answering “you prayed to a God with infinite possibilities”. The mood and atmosphere changed instantly as the monologue began: the room that was hitherto filled with laughter and nostalgia was now hanging onto the every word of this self-aware, unapologetic male persona. Every line was poetry; the words flew out into the audience in patterns and rhymes. In a post-show conversation, Rani explained that this persona is based on a transgender person she knows, and that she was inspired by her newfound knowledge of the fluidity of gender.

Suddenly, with a change of lighting and a spluttering cough, we are back in the cosy living room.

The topic of conversation doesn’t get much lighter. Moorthy describes the story of a woman whose creativity once flowed in her job creating saris; before the costly machine takeover she could identify the origin of a sari immediately from the thread. After the technology influx, however, she was resigned to working in a mobile phone factory. She tells us of the people in authority that wanted to showcase her culture, but not in a way that is too authentic or unpalatable. She refuses: “I wanted you to be the first to know that you’re going to sack me tomorrow.”

The perspective is then moved to that of a woman giving birth to twins all alone, and we listen in as she tells her children emotional and heartfelt tales of the world they will soon be departing as they seek pastures new in Canada. This scene is accompanied by videos of Sri Lankan people mourning their destroyed country after shootings, a beautiful juxtaposition of the loss and the birth of new life; of the terrible, fatal shootings; and of the mangoes, communities, and beautiful roofs that the mother describes.

The play ends with the original persona, who proudly tells us of her new enterprise encouraged by her son: selling her saris on eBay. She recalls a moment with her son telling her how lovely she always looks in a sari, despite her previously believing that he never paid attention. Dressed in a white sari and standing centre stage, the show ends, leaving the audience with the stories, tribulations and joys of multiple characters that would stay with them for at least the next week. I would certainly recommend this play as it is an intriguing, expressive, and entertaining piece that invites the audience to consider new perspectives and appreciate the cultures to which they belong.

Having been performed first at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe and described as a ‘wonky homage to the woman damned for destroying the Beatles’, you might expect ‘O No!’ to be a damning indictment of Yoko Ono, a woman whose avant-garde art has been perpetually divisive throughout her long career.

That is not the case. Instead, the play is a whimsically self-aware traipse through some of Ono’s conceptual art instructions and while gently prodding fun at the hippy message of universal love, which it ultimately embraces, resulting in a hugely comic but heart-warming play from Jamie Wood.

The play unfolds as a series of performance art pieces taken directly from Yoko Ono’s book ‘Grapefruit’. Initially it begins with Wood in full clown mode, alighting himself on members of the audience, while hilariously linking mundane patterns of clothing to a higher, spiritual energy that “connected” the crowd.

This and a further sketch entitled ‘cut-piece’ invites audience members to cut a section of a dress that Wood adorns, represent the fun-poking aspects of the play. The image of Wood slowly losing his sartorial integrity as the audience (this reviewer included) chopped away at his dress was a purely comic one and perhaps did not result in the high-art function intended by Yoko Ono.

The ‘art pieces’ slowly increase in intensity, inviting more and more audience participation, with a lot of the play’s hysteria rising from audience members own interpretations of Yoko’s (via Wood) instructions. Strange, guttural cries erupted from audience member’s mouths when asked to do impressions of clouds. Inflatable suns whizzed about the crowd and things got intimate in ‘touch-piece’ a rather uncomfortable few minutes to say the least. While this level of audience participation may put some off (indeed- some audience members left the show prematurely) it is designed to be wholly embraced; the more you lose your inhibitions the more fun you will have.

As well as having Yoko’s book of art instructions hovering (literally) above the play, there are also other voices that lend the show its heart. Clever use of tapes interrupts proceedings, which feature Wood’s partner Wendy. The tapes help to ground the performance and remind Wood not to get too cynical or jaded about Yoko’s art. Wood’s parents are also present in tape form, wistfully ruminating on the nature of love and how to maintain it through the years. This was the subtext of the play; behind the absurdity of the performance was a message of universal love. One piece, involving ‘bagism’ (look it up) was genuinely moving, with an extremely brave and sincere audience member talking to Wood about love and loss in all its exquisite pain.

By the end, Wood managed to engage the audience in a full song and dance act, and the most striking thing is that the quality of the last ten minutes of the show depends entirely on the audience. This was a very apt ending to a unique show. Wood wanted the audience to feel, not just to see through the pretentiousness that sometimes hung over John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s art, and embrace their message of open communication and losing your self-consciousness. After all, all you need is love.