September 28, 1985, London Brixton. Cherry Groce, a 37-year-old mother of six, was shot in the chest and severely injured by police during a botched raid on her home, leaving her permanently paralysed. This shooting thus sparked widespread outrage and led to two days of riots in Brixton, fuelled with the long-standing tensions between the black community and the police, exposing the nation’s over-policing in black neighbourhoods and systematic racism.
Written and performed by Sutara Gayle, with Nina Lyndon as dramaturg, The Legends of Them revisits this collective trauma of Brixton, entangled with Gayle’s own personal stories, her “blueprint,” as she calls it. This one-woman narrative is accompanied by the voiceover of her brother Mooji, a master spiritual guide. If there exists a “key takeaway message”, then it must be encapsulated in Teacher Mooji’s preach: the only weakness is the weakness of the mind, and the past is also just a matter of mind. Instead, live in the moment, here and now.
To some extent, it is a shame that the story of Cherry Groce’s shooting is just briefly touched upon through projection footage reflecting the riots, given little milage for sufficient exploration. The narrative of Gayle’s personal growth also feels rather chopped up, shifting hastily in between different characters from Gayle as the rising reggae artist Lorna Gee, Gayle’s alter ego, to her mother Euphemia, a pious Christian raising a large family, and to Gayle’s hypocritically pretentious school teachers who led to her frequent school transfers, and her eventual placement under a care order. While Gayle’s extraordinary performance captures each persona’s essence through nuanced facial expressions, changes in physicality and voice, it remains somehow perplexing for the audience to follow the narrative flow.
Gayle gives a fair (re)presentation of lesbian desire on mainstream London stage which is quite rare. Gayle’s description of her flaming desire, as if in hell, upon seeing a stripper is a straightforward yet powerful depiction of sheer, unfiltered same-sex attraction. Such treasured visibility almost feels like a line of escape. Similarly, Gayle’s connection to her sewing machine, described in slightly exaggerated manner, also feels quite poignant.
As the sole performer, Gayle literally renders the play as her own legend. She manoeuvres every movement, teasing her audience with great humour and exposing her own trauma in front of us like a sharp scalpel. She certainly knows the power of humour to keep the audience engaged in a monologue for 80 minutes and she’s generous, but she never shuns away from the true darkness and tragedy, especially in the penetrating, heart-wrenching moment of being told of Cherry’s shooting.
Director (aka co-creator) Jo McInnes clearly knows how to let a play breathe by balancing more vibrant chanting moments with more delicate and vulnerable moments where Gayle recounts the history. There is no rush-off in this production; instead, McInnes creates ample pauses and silences between chunks of words, enabling both Gayle and the audience to meditate upon their own beings when memories are stripped away.
Joshie Harriette’s lighting design is exhilarating, creating a colour palette on the back wall, both sides of the proscenium, and the high ceiling loft. It seamlessly transitions between light-hearted illumination when Gayle’s the singing diva, icy tones that reveal the trauma, and warm, uplifting hues when she eventually climbs on the top a mountain peak made of huge floor speakers. Harriette’s intricate and logical design bridges the emotional gaps that enhances the coherence in the narrative.
The Legends of Them is deeply personal yet carries great potential to be universal, as history must be told, for the sake of a better “here and now.”
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