In Natasha Marshall’s solo performance for the Soho Theatre and Talawa Theatre Company, Half Breed , which did the rounds of Indian cities over the past month, she delves into her experiences growing up in Wiltshire in hinterland England, as the village’s only non-white resident — the psychological and physical ramifications of which one can only imagine. In real life, Marshall escaped to free and easy London, with its own contradictions and conflicts which still afford its teeming denizens the agency to negotiate a racially-charged turf on their own terms. She has now launched a career in the dramatic arts in which this one-woman show, directed by Miranda Cromwell, is just the introspective first chapter. It is a whimsical outcome that will perhaps be as forthcoming for her alter-ego in the play, the 17-year-old mixed-race kid Jazmine, seemingly stuck in an interminable limbo in a time-warp village with so little to offer anyone who’s even remotely different from the rest. Half Breed is almost a primer that could be titled ‘52 Things I Wish I Could Tell My Younger Self'. Jazmine certainly has herself (that is, Marshall) by her side, whispering softly into her ears that things most definitely get better.
In the play, Jazmine is surrounded by a constellation of other characters, who appear as if they have been hauled out of Marshall’s throat, blood-streaked saliva all over their faces. Then, they become ogres and accomplices. Her facial contortions, all eyes and mouths, half-reminded me of the aliens in Men in Black who reside inside ordinary people, but in that film, the transformations were courtesy visual effects costing millions of dollars, while here, in Half Breed , you could put it down to pure performance, that although over-the-top and predictable was grounded in rigour. And these weren’t aliens, they were regular folk going by the names of Brogan (her best friend with ‘blonde hair and blue eyes’) or Mitchell (Brogan’s Neanderthal boyfriend) — nondescript types if it weren’t for the prejudices (and well-meaning insularity equally) that resided deep inside their hearts. When the gagging and the gasping gets too much and it often does, Marshall reverts back to the serene Jazmine, who is trying hard to keep afloat, trying hard to stay above it all. Her flushed face and gentle voice only bears scant traces of the agonising rites of passage she is going through — the constant needling about her appearance, being the brunt of racist jokes in the local watering-hole, the undermining of her trivial aspirations, the aspersions cast on her parentage. Amy Mae’s unostentatious light design and ambient sounds whirring in the background add to the rural, and occasionally urban, flavour of the piece.
Brogan, of course, despite her own crab-in-a-well mentality and poor choice in men, unwittingly provides Jazmine the sliver of hope that things could turn out differently. A pregnant teen in the shape of your best friend is a cautionary tale in itself, but Half Breed features a heart-warming interlude that’s all about female solidarity and letting go. Their secret hideout under an omniscient tree on a rock-strewn hillside lends the play its one moment of theatrical sleight of hand. The rocks the girls pile up on each visit, either together or separately, come crashing down in a stylised and revelatory moment that restores Jazmine’s faith in her friend and in herself. She heads to London for the drama audition that could make her life. She makes several attempts to negotiate a speech from The Winter’s Tale , spoken by the beleaguered Hermione, who is undertaking her own trial by fire. Of course, plays such as this often come full circle, and an artist’s work stands in as a metaphor for life. It’s in the play’s dying moments that she is able to muster up the perfect rendition — because uplift must necessarily arrive with artistic triumph.
Although fashioned as a testimonial piece, which means we must, from the word go, take the actor/character/individual completely at face value, Marshall resists wearing her victimhood on her sleeve. She uses a few aberrant sorts to make her point, and although, by extrapolation, that means that society itself is complicit in their contemptible deeds, the mirror she uses absolves her audience momentarily. It’s certainly a choice to examine for the surfeit of testimonial work currently being showcased in Indian venues that often seek to haul whole communities over the coals.
There are anticipated arcs of characterisation that point towards theatrical artifice or formulae, but the underlying issues of social inequities that are still extant make Half Breed relevant and even opportune, especially in an India overwrought with its own malaises. Of course, a British Council initiative often plays itself out in select circles that are still beholden to a notionally post-colonial agenda. An exchange overheard in the foyer at G5A Foundation for Contemporary Culture, almost underlines this. When it was pointed out how remarkable it was for an actor of colour to be receiving such attention in a country with a predilection for fair skin, someone said, “Well, she is effectively white, isn’t she?” It was a throwaway comment that almost belied whatever gains Marshall had achieved by tipping over her cauldron of words and wisdom in our collective midst.
