I cannot remember the last time I filed into The Lowry’s Quays Theatre with so much anticipation for an upcoming performance.
La Merda (which translates to ‘The Shit’ in Italian) is an intriguing concept.
The first thing visible to the audience as they take to their seats is the show’s star Silvia Gallerano.
Sat atop a high platform she is completely naked, contorted with her back to the audience as she mumbles some semi-audible lyrics into a microphone.
On closer listening it is apparent she is mumbling the lyrics to L’inno nazionale, or Fratelli d’italia, the Italian national anthem.
The lights in the theatre drop and a piercing spotlight illuminates Gallerano, who by this time has swivelled to face her public.
The blinding white light reflecting from her white skin, contrasting with her black hair, dark eyes and bright red lipstick means the image is at first rather difficult to behold.
Gallerano launches into a monologue by reaffirming with the audience, and herself, that what you really need in life is courage: if you have courage you have everything.
She then loosely links this to the courage her father must have needed to throw himself in front of a train. It is clear that she idolises this man, but as she continues she makes it clear that courage alone will not get you where you need to be.
You need to be willing, you need a lucky break, you need for your thighs to not be a fat and you even occasionally need to be able to agree to unsolicited sexual acts…these are the things that will get you on TV, these are the various keys which will unlock a world of fame and fortune.
The endless search for fame is the main theme of the three-part monologue, but it is unclear whether this fame is the cause of the result of what would appear to be some form of mental illness in the solo character.
She argues with herself and wrestles with ideas with fictitious model agents, interviewers and members of the public.
Each section of the monologue ended with Gallerano screaming into the microphone, stating her desire to be recognised, and to be loved by the public, and to be accepted by her mother. The shouting was uncomfortable to listen to, but it didn’t really move me the in the way I believe it was intended to.
I believe the monologue’s translation into English was very well done, it managed to explain areas which were synonymous with, if not unique to, modern Italian culture, without losing the feeling behind the words.
Gallerano’s performance may have been at time extremely difficult to witness, but perhaps that was what was intended.
Her portrayal of the character was meticulous though, and even when screaming, shouting, hysterically laughing or in a fit of rage, she delivered her lines perfectly.
The performance drew to a conclusion as the spotlight went off and plunged the theatre into darkness. When it reappeared Gallerano was off the platform she had perched on all evening, draped in a tricolore (the Italian national flag) she muttered a few lines from the anthem and then left the stage.
The audience left the theatre in complete silence. Were they moved, shocked, confused, or like me, were they a mix of all three?
