Acclaimed performer Jade Anouka stars in her debut play as a writer with this autobiographical story dealing with love, deception and self-discovery. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the show, to let us know if its straightforward narrative manages to deliver a true, different identity.
Love can hurt. And sometimes, it must. Love can be scary. And sometimes, it will. Love can draw, and even generate, every possible emotion a person can experience. Except for one it should never be touched by: hatred from others. Being LGBT+ is, in many levels, a contradiction in terms. We fight to bring ourselves (and everyone) peace. We shout so we can live without being shouted at. And we build walls towards bigotry so we can extend our hands to anyone else. Yes, it’s not an easy task. And to be honest, we’ve never brought it upon ourselves. And yet, we take it with pride, despite the attempts from others to shame us. We show resilience towards every try at crashing us. Because we’re the first to understand that simple notion that goes over some others’ heavy heads: when a kiss becomes more controversial than a slap, then society has some homework to do.
This a story for everyone… The first words of Jade Anouka’s debut show as a writer make the connection easy. In a world where division and polarization have become the trend for an equal community (which in my book, it’s like preventing forest fires by cutting down the trees – that one’s for you, Georgie), it’s nothing but refreshing to find a narrative intended to bond with its audience, instead of preaching and tell them how terrible they are for just existing. Heart is no work of anger, but a piece of unity and reconciliation. It gives hope and comprehension to everyone that, some way or another, has felt in that situation. And it also gives those who are willing to hear, the chance to sympathize with a reality different to their own.
A one-woman (ish) show exploring the realizations of someone coming to terms with their true self, Heart is a rhapsodic melange of passion, poetry, introspect and entertainment. It sublimes the conflict of a spirit trying to break free from the chains of prejudice and community norms (sadly, still a situation in many households), and reduces the efforts of taking off every shield disguising our souls to one single word: beautiful. This may not be the harshest background a LGBT+ person may have gone through. In fact, I myself could write more than a few harrowing lines regarding my own. But we’re not here to compete, but to listen and be listened. To heal and be healed by. And to let us ourselves be taken by something uplifting, something that answers that durable longing that many of us have had since we faced our honest reflection: you are not alone.
An almost seamless blend of prose and verse, the script manages to move and entice to a much satisfying degree – with only a few minor tweaks being necessary to make some transitions to the rapping moments more palatable and smooth. Its staging is minimal, on the other hand. But that’s what, in some manner, makes it grand. And if not grand, it makes it powerful. Blocked with visual strength, enhanced through rather intricate lighting, the montage exudes confidence, substance and sincerity thanks, in part, to its apparent simplicity. Yet, just as the inner beast the actor keeps referencing (a metaphor I’m not so sure about, though), it’s its the energy and the tenacity that dwell within each word, each movement and each element of its plot that makes the piece not only land, but also stay with you.
This story is for everyone… So easy and yet so haunting. Outcasts come in so many forms you wouldn’t think sometimes how they could be linked together. But that’s exactly what unites them. The fact that we’ve been left behind by those who were supposed to protect us – whoever those may be. This is not that kind of tale, though. Both its evolution and ending are way more encouraging. Yet, even if that’s not been your case, you will relate. Because all that we, as a group, have asked for is love and respect. This work gives that in spades, opening its space to everyone who wishes to enter, and making them feel as if they’re somewhere they belong – as if they matter, just as this show does too.
All pictures credit to Jaime Prada.
Heart plays at London’s Brixton House Theatre until 3 February. Tickets are available on the following link.