I, Joan | Shakespeare's Globe

 

© Helen Murray

In the 2 hours and 50 minutes of I, Joan, there is a lot of talk about power. In this adaptation, the story of Joan of Arc - unlikely hero of the 100 Years' War, fuelled by god and doubted because of her gender and social status - is an especially fitting starting point for a metaphor for the fight for intersectional justice. I, Joan eloquently elaborates not only on Joan's fight against the British armies, but also the one they must wage against the obtuse patriarchy, too blinded by their desire for power to realise that Joan carries one that outshines them all. That power is unique, because it comes from within. While the reason why man-child Charles or his stuffy advisors should have any agency on an entire nation (bloodlines and titles simply cannot be enough), Joan has confidence in themselves, their people, and their mission - and that makes all the difference.

I, Joan is an impressive piece of theatre that puts queer characters and narratives front and center, in the context of a historical theatre. Being an audience member certainly feels like witnessing, and participating in, a moment for history books. While some points are intentionally repeated and obstinately hammered home, Charlie Josephine's writing never lets you immerse yourself in the original narrative for too long, constantly interspersing dialogues and monologues with crystalline observations about unity, necessity, and privilege. Who created the language we are using, and why? Who has the privilege of biding their time? Who can afford a revolution? Ultimately,  who has the power and - more importantly - why? 

The explosive choreography work (Jennifer Jackson), perfectly complemented by a distinctively clanging music (Joley Cragg), vigorously carries the production on its shoulders; the impressive movement routines - quintessentially queer and collective, as it should be - are driven by joy and strain in equal parts. The energetic ensemble, led by the magnificently obstinate Isobel Thom as Joan, is the pulsating heart of the show. 

Costume design (Laura Rushton) is one of the most intriguing aspects of I, Joan. The cleverness in the use of colour highlights the difference between the worn down, blue-violet armours of Joan's army, and the shiny, brand new king's uniform, never used and yet already covered in medals. The same attention to detail is visible in the coronation scene, where Charles, Yolande and Marie - the three poles of hegemonic power - are dressed respectively in white, baby blue and pastel pink; a palette full of lightness, diplomacy, and subtleness, in stark contrast with the bright oranges, blues, and greens worn by Joan and their allies. 

Ultimately, I, Joan shines for its clarity and purpose, nailing a striking tension between activity and passivity, urgency and hesitation. A safe space for queer people, advocates, allies, "sin, sinners, and everyone in between". And a testament to the power of a night at the theatre. 

© Greta Rilletti Zaltieri, 2022