Review: Trilogy, The Arches @ St Stephens

Written for Culture Wars

At its very pinnacle, art has the ability to make criticism redundant. Trilogy does just that. It is so important, so intelligent, so passionate, bold, heartfelt, honest, amusing, absorbing and valiant that such words simply fade into insignificance. No matter what gets written, criticism will never muster even the tiniest fraction of its worth.

Nic Green, a 28 year old artist based in Scotland, asks what it means to be a young woman today. In two attitude-altering hours teeming with ideas, politics and, most of all, courage, Green and her company dissect an inherited, outdated feminism to find a voice that is resolutely, powerfully their own. At one point, they manage to physically envelope the past, extending immense respect and gratitude while taking hold of its baton and stepping onto its podium. The guard has been changed. Now is their time – and, alongside them, through them, thanks to them, it is ours.

To start, Green and Laura Bradshaw step onstage and introduce themselves as an apple and a pear respectively. Fifteen minutes later, as the culmination of the first part, they share the stage with thirty other naked woman and dance. Together, washed in a sunset-like glow, they are an impressive group: markedly individual yet simultaneously abstracted.

In the second – and most accomplished – section, the company recreate and riff off the 1971 Town Bloody Hall debate, in which Germaine Greer delivered her notorious ‘Mozart’s sister’ speech. Under this microscope, the feminist leaders of the seventies seem a curious mixture: we respect what they are saying, but, at times, not the manner in which they say it. They disrupt proceedings, catcall and undermine their counterparts, in particular, misogynistic writer Norman Mailer. They seem like adolescents that have elevated themselves in their own mind, with adult opinions but childish actions. We respect them deeply, but they are no longer electable ambassadors.

Finally, Green proffers a lecture on Jerusalem, the adopted anthem of the suffragettes and, ever since, the Women’s Institute. Alongside this, she introduces a web-based extension of the project – http://www.makeyourownherstory.org/ – providing instructions for participatory use. Here, perhaps, is the first trace of immaturity in her work, as one or two of her suggested activist actions, such as re-facing a male statue in honour of a female inspiration – retain traces of student-esque irony. That said, it remains empowering and forceful.

By the time we come together to close with a rousing version of Hubert Parry’s hymn, your feelings of solidarity are deep-set and heartfelt. There is only respect for those earlier volunteers and members of the audience who similarly opt for nudity. Clothed, you wish you could do more than sing.

Trilogy is, without doubt, one of the most important, profound, challenging and transformative works I have ever seen. It stands heads, shoulders, knees and toes above the majority of the Fringe programme. To go is to hang off Green’s every word, to soak up every image, and, most of all, to feel long-held assumptions, anomie and apathy slipping away.