Dressed in a bridal gown, Magda Van Kuilenburg finds herself at the mercy of Sharon Bezzina and Daniela Vassallo in Pretty Lisa. Photo: Elaine Bugeja

Theatre
Pretty Lisa
Manoel Theatre

Billed as “a theatrical piece to raise awareness about domestic violence,” Pretty Lisa was an attempt at bringing the intimate experience of abuse, hidden behind closed doors, to the Manoel Theatre.

Under the direction of Marcelle Teuma and with a stage dressed by Nicole Cuschieri, an oppressive atmosphere pervaded the performance. The work was informed by the true stories of women who have survived domestic violence, interpreted by accomplished actresses Sharon Bezzina, Magda Van Kuilenburg and Daniela Vassallo.

While their acting succeeded in showing the damage wrought by an abusive situation, elements of the abstract direction (cut through with moments of intense emotion) did not always translate effectively, given the gravity of the subject matter. The roles vacillated between fully-realised characters and caricatures, with no life independent of their trauma. In the process some disservice was done to victims of domestic abuse, closing down the possibility of dialogue and reducing ‘awareness’ to a relentlessly sententious narration. The sincerity of the stories was caged in and as a result rang somewhat hollow.

The performance chose to focus on one note by demonising abusers

Rather than explore the dynamic of a dysfunctional relationship characterised by fear (emotional and physical), oppression and control, the performance chose to focus on one note by demonising abusers.

While that might feel cathartic and natural, it doesn’t stop or even address the cycle of anxiety and violence. Rather than expand the context of the performance, the possibility of growth was rejected in a move that speaks to a limited appreciation for the complexities of a victim’s experience.

At times it felt like the women whose stories we heard, strung together piece by piece, were fading into the background and we were in the presence of some other voice, a redactor whose agenda had eclipsed the authenticity of the survivors’ narratives.

Sometimes the performance seemed too out of its way to avoid offering an actual critique of abuse. At certain points it felt like a very dark celebration of despair rather than a celebration of the strength of those women who survive and stand tall to offer their testimony as role models and spokespeople.

In its fractured monologues the performance described the harassment and physical abuse of women but gave no analysis to explain the dramatic fragment-ation, seemingly unable to step out of its mono-dimensional public service announcement register into something genuinely moving.

And yet this remains an issue of intense importance, that deserves to be highlighted. One of the play’s more important implications was how vital it is, if any of us suspect that people are being abused, not to ignore the situation or brush it off as a private matter. We must act before it’s too late, and fully engage in securing the well-being of one another – especially when it comes to the most vulnerable.

Ultimately the performance was provocative, if not always for all the right reasons. It led us to ask, with Kathleen Waits (a noted authority on domestic abuse legislation “why do we see abuse as torture when Argentinian generals do it … but not when it’s the guy next door?”