The Vagina Monologues

This is a brave choice of play for any group, since the title probably dissuades men as much as it encourages women. CTW’s audience was perhaps 80% women on the night I attended and I can understand why. As one of the few people attending without a vagina I felt somewhat excluded, trying to relate to a private conversation largely between and about those with a vagina. It was impossible to compartmentalize my thoughts about the subject matter, the action and the slight sense of voyeurism I felt as someone on the outside looking in and yet the overall feeling I had was that something of great significance was taking place.

The additional material at the beginning of the play was an excellent way of framing what was to come as well as introducing the hugely important topics of human trafficking and female genital mutilation.  The musical introduction and the less well known song (I certainly hadn’t heard it before) Love Your Vagina, sung part way through the play, were also clever devices for lightening the mood and varying the pace of the production. Well done to Alice Masters for complementing the narrative and not dominating it.  These additions allowed four more women to take part and provided extra interest and, quite honestly, length to a play that would have been quite short without.

Setting the production in the round, with audience on the stage as well as in the body of the hall worked well and the twinkly light cloth that surrounded us all created a night club feel.  Having the members of the cast sit with the audience when they were not needed added a further sense of intimacy – a sense that heightened as performers addressed individuals directly during their monologues.  The small size of the studio and the consequent proximity of cast and audience certainly allowed for active engagement and it was clear that for some audience members this was embarrassing but this was perhaps a price worth paying to be able to feel the pain, shame and embarrassment of the women’s stories that unfolded. 

Laura Bradley’s Jewish lady blended humour, pathos and loneliness as she revealed how her heightened sexual response to a simple kiss, in her teenage years, led to a self-imposed barrier between her and the opposite sex. Caroline Dunsmuir’s victim of gang rape and extreme sexual violence during a recent war led us all to that throat-crackling, mouth-drying silent intensity of emotion that brought tears to the eyes. While Kelly McGibney’s young girl, raped by a family friend and exploited by a lesbian adult elicited waves of sympathy and sadness that her childish innocence should be stolen as she was propelled into a series of sexual misadventures with her own coochey snorcher.

This was a great night out, at times uncomfortable or embarrassing but for all the right reasons. It is easy to envisage how the same material could have been handled in ways that simply shocked and offended for its own sake. All credit to the directing team and cast, walking the fine line between offence and dramatic and educative entertainment and never crossing it.

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