6 minute read

A LITTLE LIFE REVIEW DISABILIDIT

embroider a Pride Froggy

Content Warning: Contains strong language, nudity, blood, drug references, smoking, content about suicide and graphic depictions of violence, self-harm, and sexual violence. Readers are also advised that this review contains discussions of chronic pain and ableism.

Received with a standing ovation, director Ivo van Hove’s A Little Life (adapted by Koen Tachelet from Hanya Yanagihara’s critically acclaimed 2015 novel) is a horrifying, yet spellbinding exploration of a trauma-burdened psyche that transcends time, culture, and social categories.

At a runtime of 4 hours and delivered entirely in Dutch (with English surtitles courtesy of Kitty Pouwels and Josephine Ruitenberg), the production centres around Jude (portrayed by Ramsey Nasr in a heart-rending performance), a successful lawyer with a mysterious and demon-plagued past, across decades of his life, who represents the permanent, cyclical scarring impact of childhood sexual abuse. This show is not for the faint-hearted and those with lived experience of its thematic content. Audience members should heed graphic depictions of sexual violence, self-harm, and nudity, alongside topics of suicide, chronic pain, and ableism.

Nevertheless, the narrative is uplifted by the all-male ‘found family’ who rally behind Jude in his darkest periods. There are his friends: Malcolm (Edwin Jonker), an architect, JB (played by assistant director Daniël ‘T Hoen, seamlessly subbing for Majd Mardo due to illness), an artist, and Willem (Maarten Heijmans), an actor; as well as Andy (Bart Slegers), his doctor, and Harold (Steven Van Watermeulen), his adoptive father and former professor.

The action takes place on a traverse stage, creating an intimate setting for us to bear witness to Jude’s trauma and short-lived joy which makes us feel as though we are inside his headspace. The set pieces (designed by scenographer Jan Versweyveld and assistant Bart Van Merode) function as the protagonist’s apartment and the living spaces of his four friends with one side of the stage containing a kitchen and a medical practice alongside one another. The naturalist style - everything you see, hear, and smell feels realistic - lends itself to the raw and highly distressing emotions represented throughout. Most significantly, a bathroom sink merits central positioning as the site where Jude returns time and time again to engage in self-harm, highlighting that no matter how successful his career is and how sizeable his support network is, these painful memories are always at the forefront of his mind. The blood stains on the marble floors are symbolic of the deep-seated, chronic impact of childhood sexual abuse: once stained they can never be removed.

The most memorable aspect of the production was the portrayal of positive male relationships in opposition to the toxic masculinity perpetrated by Brother Luke, Caleb, and Dr. Traylor (all portrayed by Hans Kesting), alongside the naturalisation of homosexual love as seen in the heart-warming romantic relationship that blossoms between Jude and Willem. It is extremely rare to see a queer relationship depicted in media that is not the source of tragedy - the characters could have just as easily been straight.

Additionally, its connection to broader social themes struck on a personal level, chiefly ableism and lived experience of chronic pain and disability which are also sorely lacking in media. Throughout the play, Jude resists his increasing dependence on others and assistive technology, as he believes that succumbing to his spinal injuries serves as a win for Dr. Traylor; a semblance of maintaining control over his body and emotions post-trauma.

Although the depictions of abuse and trauma feel gratuitous at times, A Little Life is a theatrical triumph that was undoubtedly a highlight of this year’s Adelaide Festival. Directors and playwrights can take many notes from this production on how to effectively portray the intersectionality between the queer and disabled experience.

A quickfire way to find a fellow member of the LGBTQ+ community is to identify the sustainably made tote bags adorned with catchy politically relevant phrases and semi-ironic doodles, or to locate the reusable water bottles embellished with a variety of biodegradable stickers that are usually accompanied with some ethically sourced snacks. This is to say, that wherever there is a group of people caring about the environment, there will ultimately be a high proportion of queer-identifying people. As ecology and social justice are intimately tied together, queer people have always been advocates for the environment.

If you’ve ever done a humanities course or engaged in any level of online discourse, you’re probably aware that capitalism is bad for all of us, and pretty atrocious for the environment as well (picture the mounds of poor-quality fast fashion in landfill). You may also be aware of the Gray-Green divide. In this divide, we see richer neighbourhoods being surrounded with lush green parks and well-manicured footpaths, whilst the many shades of concrete grey, forgotten sidewalks, neglected roads, and unmaintained dirt patches, are all reserved for lower income neighbourhoods. The Gray-Green Divide is one of the main reasons that the movement of Guerrilla Gardening came into existence.

The popularity of Guerrilla Gardening rises during times of strife, when landowners refuse to see land as a community resource, and instead as a commodity to be neglected. The Guerrilla Gardening movement is largely a reaction to community land theft and misuse. The term comes from the Green Guerrillas of the 1970’s, but the concept of gardening on land without a legal right to do so has quite a longstanding history. The earliest known case of Guerrilla Gardening can be traced back to enslaved African farmers, who braided seeds into their hair to retain bodily autonomy, for food security, and to maintain a connection to the homes they were torn from by European colonial forces. The secret gardens of these enslaved farmers grew in abundance on the land of their oppressors’ (land that itself had been violently stolen from Indigenous communities), and in stark contrast to their forced work, the gardens showcased resistance, survival, and sovereignty.

Guerrilla Gardening emerged as a way for people to make use of neglected public and private space for the benefit of the surrounding community. This can be done in multiple ways, including beautifying the urban environment with pretty flowers and native vegetation or by cultivating the space as a community garden. Thing is, the terms ‘trespassing’ or ‘breaking and entering’ are quite applicable to Guerrilla Gardening, as in most cases the land belongs to either private individuals, organisations, or government.

The reclamation of space and challenging of social norms and power structures through Guerrilla Gardening is reminiscent of an experience queer people are all too familiar with. Queerness has always searched to challenge and redefine traditional notions of gender and sexuality, thereby reclaiming space for marginalised identities. The connection between marginalised identities and Guerrilla Gardening is not one that is new, and queer people have long been part of this radical challenge to the conventional use of public space. One such person, artist Paul Harfleet, has been planting a solitary flower at the nearest available soil to where homophobic abuse has occurred. Named the Pansy Project, Harfleet photographs each planted pansy and names it after whatever abusive phrase was thrown. Ultimately, it’s this spirit of resistance against rigid norms and formative power structures, that made me think about our long history of resistance as a community.

Guerrilla Gardening can be viewed as a form of rebellion, born out of the powerlessness that many of us living in lower income neighbourhoods are forced to endure when it comes to our surroundings. The creation of green space within our grey filled neighbourhoods benefits us by creating a more connected and ecologically diverse community, and the making of a community garden helps feed our neighbours in times of need. In the end, Guerrilla Gardening is not the most effective way to get involved within conservation, but it is another way to take care of our community when organisations and governments fail us.

Now, if you don’t have the greenest thumb or access to native seeds, there are many more effective ways to get into conservation and environmental rehabilitation. Getting in touch with local non-profits that are already doing conservation work and offering up your time or money is a good place to start. Some of our top personal sustainability picks include the Forktree Project, Greening Australia & Landcare, plus the great work of community & Lions clubs in cleaning their local areas. You can also reach out to us at the Adelaide Sustainability Association as we start to organise volunteering days with local revegetation and sustainability organisations!

The Adelaide Sustainability Association (ASA) at the University of Adelaide are a social group interested in learning more about sustainability and getting to know like-minded students. You can learn more about the ASA & chat about our Sustainabili-dit articles via our social media channels: @Adelaide Sustainability Association on Facebook @instainable on Instagram.

References

Corbane, C., Martino, P., Panagiotis, P., Aneta, F.J., Michele, M., Sergio, F., Marcello, S., Daniele, E., Gustavo, N. & Thomas, K. 2020, “The grey-green divide: multi-temporal analysis of greenness across 10,000 urban centres derived from the Global Human Settlement Layer (GHSL)”, International Journal of Digital Earth, vol. 13, no. 1, pp. 101-118.