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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
Entertainment
Anya Ryan

I, Joan review – non-binary Joan of Arc proves a rousing protest piece

Kinetic vigour … Isobel Thom, centre, in I, Joan at Shakespeare’s Globe, London.
Kinetic vigour … Isobel Thom, centre, in I, Joan at Shakespeare’s Globe, London. Photograph: Tristram Kenton/The Guardian

You might not expect Joan of Arc to incite a similar amount of controversy today as in the 15th century. But Charlie Josephine’s reimagining, which makes France’s patron saint non-binary, got a barrage of criticism last month, before anyone had even stepped foot on stage.

But the mass fury hurled at this production has only shown it to be all the more essential. And as for the cries of historical inaccuracy? Well, the decision to make Joan non-binary has parachuted the tale into current times. Beginning with a monologue on the divinity of trans people, Josephine’s script is as much protest as play. Driven by a God characterised as a deep, internal instinct rather than a deific force, this Joan urges us to follow our own authentic truths.

It is a joyous few hours directed by Ilinca Radulian. On Naomi Kuyck-Cohen’s stretched-out wooden ramp set, actors slide and climb as if they were in a playground. Brightly dressed chorus members are lifted from the crowd and up on to the stage for rousing, marching, dance breaks. An onstage band makes each scene feel like we’re preparing for revolution. Together, this company is one of jubilant power.

Isobel Thom (Joan) in I, Joan
Authentic truths … Thom. Photograph: Tristram Kenton/The Guardian

Still, they need their leader, and in the freshly graduated Isobel Thom, they’ve got as good as they can get. In a staggering professional debut, Thom owns the stage with a childlike, pixie quality. Entirely spontaneous, Thom gives a performance that is visceral, courageous and from the heart.

By the second half, the play’s indisputably important sentiments start to feel like they’re running in circles – but perhaps that’s the point. We have to keep hearing them. For, above anything, I, Joan is a space that lets the usually voiceless speak. And Josephine has written a refined lesson in the trans experience: the horrors of having to explain your being, the sense of misplacement, but with beauty and wonder too.

With the risk of wind, rain and loudly passing aeroplanes at the Globe, I, Joan is performed with kinetic vigour. Ignore the Twitter storm – this politically charged sensation is a much-needed whirl.

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