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Arts:Blog

Across the Festivals: Nirbhaya

Michael Cox reacts to the acclaimed production.

Every year, the Edinburgh Festival has one production that, for some reason or another, transcends the review format. For me, this year that production is Nirbhaya.

I find this an impossible production to review because I personally found it impossible to view while wearing my critic’s hat. I could easily chip away at it by highlighting flaws, of which there are some: I feel it’s in the wrong performance space, it’s terrible one-sided, it doesn’t give men much of a fair shake and the whole 90-minute show could be seen as one major emotional manipulation. That is the type of stuff I’d usually look at when fulfilling my role of reviewer.

But I play other roles in my life: son, husband, uncle, nephew, cousin, friend, teacher. Women are a constant in my life, and I have unfortunately encountered a few people who themselves have been victims of sexual violence. And it is for them that I, for this production, struggle with my usual role of critic.

Because at its heart, Nirbhaya is a production that demands to be experienced, nit-picks and flaws be damned. There was a chorus of sniffles and tears throughout the entire performance, some of which I freely admit were mine. More strikingly were the four teenage girls I sat next to. All four were transfixed by the dramatic action. I found myself as compelled in watching their reactions as I was by what was unfolding onstage. Of particular attention was a red-haired girl, who couldn’t have been older than 14, who was so shaken that she spent over half the performance balled up in her chair, rocking back and forth while trembling.

It takes a strong stomach to sit through the experience of Nirbhaya. We watch a handful of women (and one man) not only dramatically enact the horrific attack that the world’s press reported on in India last year but also act out their own stories of abuse. Every woman on that stage is a survivor, and it is frankly sickening to hear again and again what each of these souls have endured.

It is for this that I have told everyone I’ve spoken with since seeing the production that they must buy a ticket, for as members of this society we owe these women our ears and our eyes. It isn’t easy, but they deserve our audience.

Which comes to perhaps this production’s greatest flaw: it is probably preaching to the choir. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t believe the people who really need to see this will go. That isn’t a fault with the production—just an observation.

Political theatre isn’t just about informing but about change. Maybe this production will spark debates and awareness. Maybe some will see it and actually have their views changed. I don’t know. I do know that I will carry two things with me. I believe the stores the cast portray will haunt me for years. I also believe I will never forget the image of a red-headed girl rocking herself, silently sobbing into her knees.

A star rating might measure a production’s effectiveness and skill—it can’t rate humanity.

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