SNAKEFACE

In SNAKEFACE, written and performed by Aliyah Knight, there’s a moment where the protagonist Maddie gets up from the slab of clay they’re sitting on, and begins to tear large, fleshy chunks. Maddie’s hands get covered in clay, making a satisfying squelch, and soon the clay starts dripping all over the floor. What originally gave an impression of solidity now reveals itself to be messy and not what it seemed.

It’s simple yet effective creative choices like these that bring out the central thesis about how people cope (and are expected to cope) in the aftermath of trauma. SNAKEFACE is a delicious, messy and confronting revenge fantasy, which unpacks the politics of sexual violence and asks how far someone will go after being hurt.

SNAKEFACE, inspired by the myth of Medusa, follows modern feminist retellings that centre Medusa and interpret her as a victim of sexual assault. Knight’s writing is visceral, bloody and extremely evocative (lots of fizzing, gurgling and sizzling, and metaphors centred around food and body), with clear inspiration from horror films. Their poetry is projected onto the background in some scenes, punctuating moments where Maddie doesn’t speak, and letting us into how Maddie feels disoriented, unreal, and rightfully angry at what’s happened.

Not only is SNAKEFACE’s version of Medusa affected by the curse, but the play deftly and heartbreakingly shows the ways in which men have wronged her and used her for her body, even before the curse. Knight and choreographer Fetu Taku do an amazing job on Maddie’s movement design, all angles and forceful movements and contortion, showing what Maddie is wrestling and wrangling with what’s in her head coming out through her body.

SNAKEFACE pulls no punches in exploring race, gender and sexuality. It’s about the feeling of needing to hold onto art, to make something to ground you and work through trauma, which is a prescient observation that challenges how victims are sometimes portrayed in contemporary culture as helpless, or defined by their trauma. But Knight, through their performance, brings to the forefront how structural power dynamics can influence the narratives others hear, who is allowed to make art, and who others believe.

Knight’s writing is poetic, which mostly works in their favour, but it also creates quick sketches of colourful characters - including a genderqueer wrestler who crochets in their spare time. It’s the tender and romantic interactions, with first loves and well-meaning friends, that are some of the most impactful parts of the play - and bring out the brutal loneliness that victims of trauma and sexual assault can feel.

Rachel Lee’s moody lighting design and Marco Cher-Gibard’s delicate sound design invite audiences into Maddie’s conflicting headspaces, and the spaces she occupies (including the best - and only - dyke bar in town). The design team, director Bernadette Fam and producers Fruit Box Theatre, bring out tough questions about when violence is justified, and how hurt people sometimes become used to feeling hurt and then inflicting that on others. As an audience member, you begin to brace for the confronting parts.

SNAKEFACE is a dark play which pulls no punches, and is at times a difficult watch because of its rawness. But ultimately, what shines through is its humanity and compassion for people who have experienced violence and discrimination - in all their messy, complex glory.

Review by Jeffrey Khoo

Photographer: Abraham De Souza