This review comes from Night Writes guest reviewer Gabriella Florek
Even before the show began, one of the immediately striking things about this production of Anatomy of a Suicide was the set. The space comprised what looks like a single room with three doors, each one featuring a large window built into it. Hanging behind and above the doors, identical lights, and lastly, also behind the doors, an assortment of household objects, a table, a bathtub, chairs. We had the feeling of being in someone’s intimate space or, at least, the potential for someone’s intimate space. But, at the same time, there was something clinical about it. It was too clean, too bright, too light-filled. It was almost as if by virtue of being here to witness the story, the audience had transgressed something private. The house had been polished clean, hiding evidence of whatever dark horrors had occurred or that might be about to unfold.
An American, an Irishwoman, and an Englishman come together to discuss an exciting new theatre project that will provoke the London scene. Except the distinctions aren’t really that clean-cut and even a gentle nudge throws the balance of identity, religion, and politics into a messy, urgent disaster.
Mardi Gras celebrations are often centred on taking pride in LGBTQIA+ identities and showcasing the many possibilities available in the margins but, simultaneously, this is a time for acknowledging the survival and resilience of a community routinely subjected to violence and systemic persecution. Our Blood Runs in the Street focuses on the findings of the “NSW Parliamentary Inquiry into Gay and Transgender hate crimes between 1970 and 2010”, its reopening in 2019, and the lasting impact of violence.
Three generations of women, a house handed between them, and a long history of illness and trauma. Alice Birch traces the legacy of loss and the intergenerational experiences of motherhood in a family across decades in her Anatomy of a Suicide.