Tag Archives: Sharon Drain

WHO IS CLAUDE CAHUN?

★★

Southwark Playhouse Borough

WHO IS CLAUDE CAHUN?

Southwark Playhouse Borough

★★

“Director David Furlong deftly and clearly steers the action back and forth in time”

There are two dramatic themes that are being played out in Rowland Hill’s play, “Who is Claude Cahun?”, that seem to be competing with each other. Essentially it is about two individuals’ fight against the rise of fascism in the 1930s and their experiences during the second world war. On the other hand, it is a love story between a photographic artist and her muse using today’s transgender and queer ideology to explain the dynamics of their relationship. Hill’s writing creates a conflict between the two rather than blending them together into a coherent narrative. The former wins. We get a fine perspective of Claude Cahun’s – along with their lover Marcel Moore – resistance work following the German occupation of Jersey, but the crucial question in the title of the play is left unanswered.

Claude Cahun was born Lucy Schwob into a well-off Jewish family. After attending the Sorbonne, they adopted the pseudonym and began making photographic self-portraits, eventually collaborating in the 1920s with lifelong partner Marcel Moore (born Suzanne Malherbe). Although Cahun received the recognition for their artwork, Moore’s integral contribution went largely unrecognised. Rivkah Bunker and Amelia Armande, who play Cahun and Moore respectively, give mannered performances that are generally too polite to express the groundbreaking relevance of their works and lives. In their struggle to identify themselves we also have little to latch onto either. It is a slow burn, and it is difficult to match the lack of fire with the passion needed to fuel their resistance and activism work during World War II.

Director David Furlong deftly and clearly steers the action back and forth in time, showing us snippets of the young Cahun before returning to the house in Jersey in which Claude and Marcel are forced to accommodate members of the Gestapo; all the while covertly carrying out their activism – or ‘guerilla art’ as they called it – distributing anti-German fliers and poetry under the title of ‘The Soldier with No Name’. Among other roles, Ben Bela Böhm and Gethin Alderman are two, somewhat witless, Nazi officers led on a cat and mouse chase by the couple. There is an overall lack of tension, although glimmers of the danger do shine through when Claude Cahun is finally cornered and questioned. Bunker’s cool portrayal of the resilience of Claude’s character is a quiet and strong episode in an otherwise confused narrative.

Awkward attempts at physical theatre, which are intended to mirror the couple’s affinity with the surrealist movement, are at odds with the naturalism of the cast’s performances. More successful is the use of Jeffrey Choy’s video design, incorporating images of the real-life characters, as well as placing us firmly in time and place with captions. A modern approach that still adds to the old-fashioned feel of the piece.

In the first act, particularly, there is little in the writing or performances to make sense of – or justify – the emphasis on twenty-first century trans self-representation. Nor do we get a sense of the androgyny and the blurring of gender that informed their lives and work. During the occupation, the couple were forced to give the outward impression that they were sisters, living together as ‘good housekeepers’. However, that portrayal was little different from what we see in their backstory as the so-called progressive artists. Tokens of mask work and linguistic gestures are not enough to underline the importance of their work and their pioneering representation of gender identity.

The often-untold story of Claude Cahun and Marcel Moore is a fascinating and vital one that should resonate with everything that is happening today. Hill’s writing certainly brings it to light, without fully bringing it to life.

 



WHO IS CLAUDE CAHUN?

Southwark Playhouse Borough

Reviewed on 20th June 2025

by Jonathan Evans

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Last ten shows reviewed at Southwark Playhouse venues:

THIS IS MY FAMILY | ★★½ | May 2025
THE FROGS | ★★★ | May 2025
RADIANT BOY | ★★½ | May 2025
SUPERSONIC MAN | ★★★★ | April 2025
MIDNIGHT COWBOY | ★★ | April 2025
WILKO | ★★★ | March 2025
SON OF A BITCH | ★★★★ | February 2025
SCISSORHANDZ | ★★★ | January 2025
CANNED GOODS | ★★★ | January 2025
THE MASSIVE TRAGEDY OF MADAME BOVARY | ★★★ | December 2024

 

WHO IS CLAUDE CAHUN?

WHO IS CLAUDE CAHUN?

WHO IS CLAUDE CAHUN?

I Will Miss You When You’re Gone – 2.5 Stars

Gone

I Will Miss You When You’re Gone

Hen & Chickens Theatre

Reviewed – 18th August 2018

★★½

“there’s no reason why this play couldn’t evolve into a very valuable voice in the conversation surrounding grief”

 

Perhaps the main issue with I Will Miss You When You’re Gone is that, despite promising to discuss the effects and experience of living with grief, it gets so caught up in the throes of ghost politics that it all but forgets to do what it set out to. To explain what I mean by this, this play comes in at just over an hour in length. One would think that in this time there could be plenty of discussion of what it means to grieve and eventually move on, but this just doesn’t happen. Instead, much of the time seems to be taken up with the minutiae of who can or can’t see who and why. Certainly, this could be of interest, but it felt to me that it seriously overshadowed what the play allegedly set out to do. There were many points at which it became evident that, for all the talking, the plot was not really growing or progressing. Instead, it felt like it was managing to go in circles without breaking any new ground.

Additionally, while not all of the acting was wonderful, there was also a strong sense that this would be a challenging piece to perform extremely well. Far too many of the lines jarred uncomfortably, and some moments just felt so unnatural that it was virtually impossible to take them seriously. Most of the time, it would be hard to really blame the actors for this. The issue clearly lies far more with Jessica Moss’ original material. However, I didn’t get the impression that the direction (Vuqun Fan) pulled much out of the text. It was frequently hard to discern just why the characters were doing what they were doing as their motivations were never really made clear. Because of this, many of the momentary snapshot scenes (all too frequently sandwiched between painfully extended blackouts) just didn’t quite make sense. Given the simplicity of the set (Aiden Connor) and the small size of the cast, it would be hard to justify any blackouts between scenes at all, and yet these were often long to the point of distraction. If these quick successions of small scenes are to work, there must be a better way to do that than cutting the play off for twenty seconds every time.

Despite these issues, I can’t write this play off. Perhaps if the director and cast manage to hone their focus in on the elements of the text that explore real issues, these can be more visibly drawn out. If that is possible, then there’s no reason why this play couldn’t evolve into a very valuable voice in the conversation surrounding grief, and on how we as a society deal with it. There is some important material in there – there’s discussion of how isolation plays into mental health issues, how humans respond to grief and what it means to succeed. If these issues can be brought to the forefront, that would be a good place to start.

 

Reviewed by Grace Patrick

 


I Will Miss You When You’re Gone

Hen & Chickens Theatre until 29th September

 

 

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