Puttana is an immensely tough watch. Or, should I say, a tough watch and listen. Inviting its audience to wear headphones, Puttana interrogates the sexualisation of women’s bodies through an experimental soundscape and a staggering individual performance from Beatrice Elena Festi.
This is a show with a sharper focus on wider ideas than any clear narrative. Most obviously, the subversion of the innocent is effectively explored: a teddy bear reads out sexually explicit details, a sex worker is paid to dress in a doll costume. It’s all extremely unnerving, and builds to a general critique of the male sexualisation of women. This critique is enabled by a forest of voice-manipulated microphones, which Festi cleverly interacts with to play five different characters, both men and women. Festi’s ability, even when assisted with tech, to completely transform both physically and vocally within microseconds is astonishing to witness. We hear the domineering, violent husband; the reserved and restricted wife; the desperate thoughts of the sex worker.
Though undeniably technically clever, I did long for a touch more impact from the binaural audio itself. Indeed, the most powerful moment of the night came when Festi actually instructed us to remove our headphones and encroached into the audience. I was confronted and asked explicit questions which I refused to answer, yet the shifting power imbalance certainly felt like an attempt for Festi to reclaim the story away from men. Indeed, Festi’s women are breathtakingly human, yet dehumanised by an institution larger than themselves. One wonderful meta turn takes place when Festi engages in an argument with the technical team, as they repeatedly trigger a cue that prevents her speaking. No lulling into a different world here.
It’s a shame that not all of Mirko Corradi’s directorial choices are as sophisticated. Placing condoms onto microphones is a lazy phallic symbol, and Festi shovelling crisps into her mouth as she discusses bodily hatred is also rather obvious. This bluntness undermines the far more ambiguous text it accompanies.
Fundamentally, much of Puttana is unclear, with Michelle Calla’s haunting abstract soundtrack creating a visceral atmosphere of horror. Yet the central examination of male over-sexualisation of women returns time and time again, as the tension is ramped up to almost unbearable levels. Brutal at times to watch, yet a masterfully constructed piece that does not let its audience off the hook.
Listings and ticket information can be found here
