Set in early 20th century Sydney, Chloe Lethlean Higson’s The Strong Charmion is a testament to the emerging tendency of modern productions to critically reflect on history. Higson’s choice to set a play about identity in a circus is clever. Historically, circuses have always displayed and exploited society’s outcasts while ironically giving them communities and voices for the first time. That fascinating contradiction brings the play to life as strongwoman Rosalie (Gabrielle Bowen), simultaneously commands the stage while also depending on those who fetishize her for that power. While the play never quite nails its context, The Strong Charmion’s poignant and sensitive performances reclaim a dark period in western cultural history.
The circus is initially framed as a physical and mental trap. The floor is full of straw and the tent is old and tattered. In contrast to the glamour of traditional circuses, the set looks like the back alley of an industrial city. Rosalie’s entrance is cast in shadow, highlighting the contours of her body before we ever get to see her face. Leopold, her trainer, prays on her desire to become stronger with every performance. Her fans spread hyperbolic rumours of what she can do. Bowen manages to live up to that strength. Even when Leopold tells the audience her real name, something she never wanted, Rosalie never cracks.
Beyond constraining the characters, the circus also acts to stress that Rosalie’s entire life is inherently performative. We hear the voices of the crowd and film static when she is not on stage. When she is, the audience is encouraged to clap and boo. A mirror and dressing area are placed in the corner of the stage, a false private space that characters constantly walk into. This performance is not always negative. Juniper Treewick (Alyssa Peters), an outspoken kid who is labelled a “hysteric” looks up to Rosalie and her power despite her differences. Juniper’s electro therapy torture and asylum confinement remind the audience how high the cost of creating ‘freaks’ was.
This performativity is interesting in the context of the history of strongwomen. Higson based Rosalie on Laveire Vallee, a Californian strongwoman who performed in the late 19th and early 20th century. Thomas Edison famously captured a video of her strip tease trapeze performance. Two men are on stage with Vallee clapping intensely and catching her clothes. The circus was not sure men in the audience would feel okay enjoying her sexual innuendo and felt the need to prompt them. The audience throughout the play goes through the same process. We often don’t know if we should clap along or be revolted at Rosaline throwing a man to the ground. The authority and pre-eminence Rosalie has on stage may still not be normalised. Bowen told me, “even today society has a problem with ‘strong’ women.”
Roselie’s journey to accept her identity is told through her relationships with two men, Frank and Ross (both played by Niky Markovic). Cast much shorter than Rosalie, they worship her on stage. Rosalie calls Frank her “silly little boy,” and Frank responds by saying “you would be an honour to do other things too.” He plays a domestic role as well, cooking her food on command and cleaning the set. There is an innocent and endearing aspect to Markovic’s performance that positions the audience to root for them, even if Rosalie seems way out of their league.
Ross, an old lover from her hometown, follows her to Sydney even though he has a longtime courtship with Kitty Livingstone (Emily Crow). Having the same actor play both characters worked in the sense that Rosalie performs for two foil characters, but it sometimes felt like Markovic’s performance of Frank outshined their rendition of Ross.
The interactions Roselie has with both characters mirror the physicality she depicts on stage. Frank playfully wrestles with her to “practice” and “train”, while Ross gets beaten by her in the ring after she challenges his masculinity as an audience member. Perhaps she beats Ross because she fears the power his emotions have over her. It would have been fascinating if Rosalie had put the spotlight on a few audience members first and challenged their masculinity while they sat still.
While the fights with Frank are private, the way she propositions him in her tent is the way she teases and dominates men on stage. She has been conditioned to perform for men. When Frank rejects her in the tent because of his body, “I was born with a cunt,” Rosalie is humiliated because her power comes from men wanting her. Frank later confides in her that he has been intimate with a girl with his clothes on before, but his body also bars him from affection.
Both Higson and Bowen related how helpful it was working with intimacy coordinator Rikiah Lizerraga, a position only recently common in mainstream productions. Bowen mentioned that often there is a false perception in acting that good intimacy has to be “super authentic.” She argued a good intimacy coordinator can broaden what love on stage looks like. For that reason, there were no climactic or aggressive kisses but rather the intimacy between Rosalie and her interests was awkward and exploratory.
The Strong Charmion also tackles the domesticity of the 1920s through Ross and Kitty’s relationship. Rosalie “does not fit into the 1920s flapper vibe,” as Higson put it. However, while trapped in a circus she may have more freedom than the average woman. Kitty is the opposite. Quiet and obedient, she is desperate to leave Ross but fears she won’t ever be seen as material for marriage again. The extreme lengths she goes, at one point saving her period blood to fake multiple miscarriages in an attempt to drive Ross away, are chilling.
The circus performers are trapped but not alone. Kitty is a brilliant inclusion because she places Rosalie’s struggles with her gender and sexuality in the context of a much larger battle. Kitty at one point stands outside the tent, almost longing to get in before timidly retreating again.
As a whole, the production’s broader context is never cemented. The backstory of Ross being a conscientious objector in World War 1 and Frank’s drug trade are clear attempts to link the play with a 1920s aesthetic, however what’s lost in that frame is Sydney. Higson said the play was originally set in America and besides mentions of Sydney being a “new and exciting city,” the play could have been set in New York or San Francisco. A clear urban space existed, but personally I wish it was more Australian.
The play concludes with Rosalie realising she does not have to escape or become something else. Maybe she realises she has been doing this for herself the whole time. The circus now fuels her, but it doesn’t have to be everything. “You make me feel on display…as me,” she tells Frank as they head for New York together where her wish, “I want to be bigger,” can be fulfilled. While she chose Frank, the display itself is still front of mind.
The Strong Charmion is playing at The Flightpath Theatre until January 27th.
