For or better or worse, Robin Thicke’s frustratingly catchy tribute to the apparently) “Blurred Lines” of consent provided a focal point for feminist debate in 2013. Now it lends its name to the brainchild of Nick Payne and Carrie Cracknell, a piece of devised theatre that doesn’t shy away from either the big – or the small – issues.
Although the directors were denied permission to perform the titular song, the show illustrates how undeniably serious issues take place against a backdrop of the kind of chirpy, low-level misogyny peddled by Thicke et al. Whether it’s having The Crystals’ He Hit Me (It Felt Like a Kiss), crooned with unsettling sweetness, or being forced to question the common trope of scantily clad women in sexually violent scenes, the piece never lets the audience forget that incidents of sexism do not take place in a vacuum.
Having a female actor play an arrogant male director foregrounded the domination by men of both physical space – lounging in a chair, legs akimbo – and of conversation – cutting off, patronising, and even speaking for women.
The women in the audience responded with a ripple of knowing giggles and snorts: everyone, it would seem, recognises him in a male friend or acquaintance.
Appropriately for a show that explores the paucity of nuanced dramatic roles for female actors, the cast of eight women more than demonstrate the talent that is so frequently wasted when women are cast as polarisations of purity and degeneracy. The play is incredibly funny too, with on-point satire and great
laugh out loud moments, highlighting the ridiculousness of sexism as well as its callousness. While there’s a lot to be said for short, snappy political theatre, the play takes much of its seventy minute running time building up to getting its teeth into the very meaty material it presents. Nevertheless, Blurred Lines is a great advert both for feminism and for female actors being allowed to realise their full creative potential.
