‘How do you deal with coming out joyfully in a homophobic culture?’ This is the awkward question asked by Emily Aboud in her prize-winning show Splintered. In truth, same sex love isn’t overly celebrated anywhere on this melting, agitated planet. It’s geographical lottery that decides the level of homophobia one might experience should you start waving a rainbow flag. In Brunei, Iran, Mauritania, Saudi Arabia, Yemen and in some northern states of Nigeria, coming out might end in state enforced death sentence. Coming out in Cheam may be easier than in Chechnya, but unicorns and glitter aren’t guaranteed.
Attitudes to queerness in the Caribbean stem from a very complex tangle of elements. It’s only quite recently that there’s been an understanding that laws criminalising homosexual relations in former colonies are an ugly hangover from Imperial rule. Out of the 53 countries in the Commonwealth – most of them former subjects of British monarchy – 29 have laws that criminalise homosexuality.
Splintered is a lively mix of cabaret, theatre and dance and makes a bold play at unravelling the roots of a grim history, but ultimately succeeds in merely scratching the surface. There’s heaps of joyful dance, comedic takes on teenage angst and a consistent party vibe, but it felt like the (largely white) audience would benefit from more hard truths and less entertainment.
The verbatim pieces, replaying audio diaries of queer women from Trinidad and Tobago were powerful, rich and moving. It was those lived experiences, delivering nuanced and detailed observations, which left a haunting presence long after the show. One woman drily pondered the irony of homophobic straight men at Carnival, wearing women’s’ lingerie and drinking grog from baby bottles. There’s a lot to unpack there.
The cast made a decision to abandon patois and Caribbean accents, and acknowledged this flex, but didn’t explain their reasoning. Fear of perpetuating tropes and stereotypes? Perhaps, but Anglicizing the rhythms of Caribbean voices proves a double-edged sword. Scenes set in Trinidad and Tobago lacked emotional impact and authenticity when delivered in the tones of the Thames estuary.
There’s a satirical nod to the impact of (imported) religion on the attitudes towards homosexuality, which twinned with colonial law prove an enduring legacy. However, the persistent resistance to LGBT progress in the Caribbean has a truly horrific element that is often overlooked. It’s possibly unsuitable for an exuberant cabaret show but remains key to the question of queerness in the region. Slave owners used sexual abuse as a weapon, to maintain order and punish any who dared to revolt. Men were raped in front of their wives and children, a psychological (and physical) form of torture that’s left a complex scar on the collective psyche. It was known as ‘breaking the buck’ and casts a very long shadow.
There’s a fine line between mining black trauma and sharing untold stories, but in the right hands, that can be powerful and necessary content. The audience at Soho Theatre left the show in a carnival mood, buoyed by the giddy queer energy of three talented performers. It’s hard to argue with people getting buzzed up and optimistic in the current climate. Fair play and party on but leaning into the upbeat angles and physical comedy meant the personal testimonies got lost in the LOLs. There’s fun to be had, but a few tricks missed. Splintered is at the Soho Theatre until 29th April 2023, https://sohotheatre.com/
Reviewer: Stewart Who?
Reviewed: 21st April 2023
North West End UK Rating: ★★★