Sutara Gayle, AKA Lorna Gee, is a celebrated actor and reggae singer. As solo performer for the entire show, Gayle sings and acts out her life, playing herself and family figures as well as an entire repertoire of unsavoury individuals who hindered her path, from the troubling school years to a successful singing career finding her female voice in a male dominated industry.
Fragments and shards of her life aren’t really sewn together, but do still pull emotional punches given the tragic subject matter from racist shootings (Gayle’s sister, Cherry Groce, was shot down by the Metropolitan Police, which sparked the Brixton riots in 1985) to her narrative documentation of sexual abuse. Given Gayle’s dark history, watching her live, onstage, grappling with demons in a public space, is powerful and personal to watch, if not at times confusing to follow.
Jo McInnes’s set is simple and does not get in the way of female powerhouse Gayle. There’s a table and chairs, and at the back of the stage is a large sound system that blasts out reggae backed by music venue style lighting. When the play opens, Gayle launches into a reggae rap, naming multiple tracks from the ’80s and ’90s. She stands simply, hovering over a microphone, but her ability to morph both in pitch and tone as well as physically into different characters, from hunched vulnerable teenager to one of her male oppressors, is powerful and convincing. It’s only Gayle onstage, but it often feels like there’s an entire cast up there with her on the bare stage.
The story starts with the early days: a troubling childhood story of poverty and lack of inclusion with misunderstood school expulsions and a mother working round the clock just to make ends meet. Then there’s the spell in Holloway Prison where she hears her first song being played on the radio, telling her god-fearing mother that she is a lesbian and a troubling anecdote involving her being sent to the countryside to reform school—the only black child in a sea of white faces. We are painted a picture of doom and gloom, but also one of deep angst and frustration against a British system that fails young Gayle time and time again.
This is set against the pre-recorded voice of Mooji, Gayle’s mindful guru leader brother, his words echoed on a screen backstage for us to follow like mantras that, repeated enough times, might help Gayle in her painful journey towards self-realisation. There’s also newspaper footage and documentary recordings projected onto the backdrop when Gayle mourns the death of her sister, bringing the event to life.
It’s a painful, sad and sometimes frustrating journey to follow, but one where Gayle is prepared to empty her insides out for us to see and bare her soul. While this is a brave act in itself, it leaves you with snippets of a life more than a curated dramatic journey that arrives at a fixed point. This is fine, so long as you are prepared for an evening of flow and a wash of emotions more than a neatly narrated account of her undisputedly fascinating life.
Reviewer: Rachel Nouchi