LAMPEDUSA... AN IMMIGRANT'S EYE VIEW...

Anders Lustgarden’s new show Lampedusa tackles a problem we all seem to be constantly preoccupied with – “them bloody immigrants”. A political activist known for his provocative plays, Lustgarten was definitely a good choice for this piece, commissioned as part of the Soho Theatre’s political party season. Now, I have casually mentioned that I have now taken up training as an actress. I have, in this context, been going to a lot of plays. I can’t afford to do it as voraciously as I watch films but it’s a start! I have always ever been a film critic. I have a Masters degree in Film Studies and thousands of hours of viewing to base my opinions on. Therefore I am rather nervous holding forth about a form of art in which I am very much a novice. That said, I have a rather unique perspective on this play. It filled my head and heart so much, I had to share. So here we have it, my “review”... Now, to understand why I feel this way, you need to know a bit about me. More importantly you need to know what I had been doing that morning. Bear with me for a paragraph – and trust me, it all ties in with the play.  

The thing is, I am an immigrant. Let me clarify that, I’m not exactly the kind of immigrant you see on tragic stories on the news. I didn’t come over in a small compartment of a truck or a tiny boat crossing a stormy sea. I flew over on a plane and – thanks to my inherited citizenship and UK passport – swanned in through border control and started my life in the UK. Half English and half Turkish – doomed to be a Turk here and an Englishwoman in Turkey – I grew up in Istanbul. I now work as a waitress on a zero hour contract even though I have a master’s degree and speak four foreign languages. There are a variety of reasons for this, I have a rather strange CV (combination of some unfortunate educational choices and professional experience in companies back home in Istanbul that people can barely pronounce, much less accept as legitimate previous experience) so an office job, try as I might, was a closed door. I had to eat somehow. So I wait tables. Oh it hurt my pride at first… But I’m over “it” and you should be too – the way I see it you have an office job you don’t particularly like and I have a non-office job I don’t particularly like. Besides, I write, I train to be an actress, my life is very, very full.  The day I went to see Lampedusa, I had had the first job interview – for an office job – I had had in years. Don’t hold your breath, I blew it. I was a nervous, tooth-sucking wreck. As I write this post I don’t know the result of the interview but based on my performance I wouldn’t give me the job. I didn’t cry per se on my way back but, full disclosure, there was a bit of excess moisture here and there. I left home for a variety of reasons and ranging from the intensely personal to the political situation of my home country and all these mean I will very probably never go back to Turkey and call it home again. But that evening I felt beaten. I had applied to this job on a whim and heard a response over a month later, well after I had made my peace with the fact that I had received yet another rejection. Now all this time later a door opens, and like a fool, my nerves and I kick it shut. That was at 10.00 a.m. The day went by in a charcoal grey haze as I weighed up whether or not I could be bothered to make the trek to Soho to watch Lampedusa. I almost didn’t go. Almost. But then again, I am middle-eastern. And on a zero hour contract. Every penny I earn is precious and I had paid for this show.  I would be darned if I would waste it.

Thus I found myself entering the cold upper room of the Soho theatre. Interesting layout, tiny circular stage, inches from the ground proper. No décor or props. Benches placed in a circle around the stage – with the option to sit in stalls a little further away. I opted for the benches, as close to the front as I could. I then looked around me to see what my fellow spectators were doing -  and spotted the opening gimmick. Two of them to be precise. I won’t ruin it for those who want to see it but let me tell you, it’s good. It made me sit up and think “ok, this show was a good choice”. And then, the show began…

  Without the aid of décor or props, Stephano (Ferdy Roberts) and Denise (Louise Mai Newberry) tell us their stories… Stephano lives on Lampedusa. Once a fisherman, he now fishes for a different harvest… His job is to pull the bodies of drowned immigrants out of the island’s stormy waters every day. Denise works on another island, the United Kingdom. She is the hand who knocks at your door when your pay day loan is due. She has a doctorate in desperation and squalor, regardless of the nationality. They both have their own views on immigrants.  And as they unburden their souls, they aim to change yours…

A play that harks back to old fashioned storytelling, Lampedusa relies on its two cast members who tell their stories in turn, sometimes their face inches from yours, sometimes with their back to you from the end of the room, sometimes under lights so dim you can barely see. And yet, the electric atmosphere never flags and I was spellbound throughout. Yes you need to get over the fact that the characters are looking you square in the eye as they speak and that you physically rub shoulders with them at times throughout the show. But once you are draw “in” to this setup Mr Roberts and Ms Newberry’s unflagging energy means you are guaranteed a whirlwind of emotion at the best of times.

But in my case, the play resonated with so many truths. The first jolt came when Stephano said a dead body felt like handling a slippery rubbish bag. I’ll tell you this much, next time a supervisor tells me to take out the trash she is going to get a very funny look from me indeed – being full of food waste a lot of them are quite slippery. The jokes about qualified biologists and geneticists working in kitchens also struck a chord – my colleagues are university graduates almost to a man – though none of our qualifications “count” in the UK. I also nodded ferociously when Denise was talking about being mixed race. I don’t look conventionally Turkish – I am quite fair skinned and eat pork – so you’d pass me on the street without a second thought but talk to me more than five minutes, once you get past my Rp accent (thanks Mom) I get “Wait, where are you from?”. I make everyone who asks guess first, with no exception. I almost never get Turkish, and after that, half the time I get told “I don’t look it”. The odd thing is, it is almost definitely meant as a compliment – and yet it makes me feel very weird when people say it… What can I say, its mighty strange being a stranger in this town… But the best bit for me came when Stephano was telling us that (I’m paraphrasing here) that immigrants brought hope. A weird kind of hope, starry eyed and naïve mixed with knowledge of unimaginable suffering and demons such as war and famine hounding them so much that all they can do is leave. And hope. I wonder if Mr. Roberts would be amused to know that there was an actual immigrant sitting mere feet from him, feeling utterly broken. The comment did make me think though. I had to hope. I had come so far, started from scratch, made a life for myself that I am improving day by day… And if those in the midst of famine and war can find enough hope to drag themselves onto a tiny boat run by shady characters that they know full well might kill them I, with a roof over my head and no fear of deportation, can find the strength to make it through the day. I then went home feeling considerably less grey, went to bed early and slept for almost 12 hours. I am pretty much my old self writing this, the next day.

So there you have it. An immigrants eye view of Lampedusa. I can testify to there being very, very real bits in Denise’s story. I shudder to think how accurate Stephano’s story is. You should go see it before it finishes. Step out of your comfort zone. Get yourself shaken up a bit. Who knows, like me, you might even find a bit of hope…   

Curious ?Missed the show ? Check out the soundcloud recording of the text on the right hand side of this entry!