i hate when family comes over and theyre like howās the job going. howās the education going. and iām just like donāt talk to me unless itās about the Show i just watched
me: i like this thing!
my brain: excellent, itās your reason to live now. you wonāt be able to think about anything else for a few days, weeks or even months. talking about virtually anything else will be a nightmare, but so will be talking about The Thing, because no one shares your level of enthusiasm. have fun!
Prima Facie Made Me Confront My Own History and Biases Toward Sexual Assault
*Massive trigger warning for discussions of sexual assault, both personal and in the legal system. Iāll also only be discussing women as victims in this context, because itās what the play addresses. Iām well aware that plenty of men and children are also victims.*
Itās over 3,000 words, so strap in!
WHATāS UP WITH THE PLAY?
National Theater Liveās Official Summary of Prima Facie:
āTessa is a young, brilliant barrister. She has worked her way up from working class origins to be at the top of her game; defending; cross examining and winning. An unexpected event forces her to confront the lines where the patriarchal power of the law, burden of proof and morals diverge.ā
The latest run of Suzie Millerās award-winning play was performed solely by Jodie Comer (Tessa) and directed by Justin Martin.
It ran for nine weeks at the Harold Pinter Theatre in Londonās West End starting in April 2022. One of those performances was filmed for distribution in theaters in multiple countries for one day only: July 21, 2022.
It was that night, in a random AMC movie theater in Chattanooga, Tennessee, that I had the privilege of seeing the recording of this raw and devastating performance, which is understandably on its way to Broadway in Spring 2023.
CAVEATS TO THE STORY AND MY PERSPECTIVE
I discussed the premise of this play with one of my dearest friends before seeing it. She and her husband happen to be attorneys, ones who fervently support āinnocent until proven guiltyā as the bedrock of the justice system. The play actually takes that route too, with Tessa being adamant that even āguiltyā people deserve a legal defense, one within the confines of established law. While defense attorneys, especially those of violent crimes, get a bad wrap, the truth is theyāre doing their jobs.
Prosecutors and defense attorneys both have a role to play and it is the jury who decides, based on the evidence presented. Itās not a defense attorneyās place to judge. There are other positions who serve that role in court.
Thatās not to say there arenāt defense attorneys who are horrible people. Itās to acknowledge there are horrible people in every profession and the job title doesnāt denote a lack of humanity. Plenty of defense attorneys adamantly believe in the system and are simply playing their parts to ensure evidence is properly presented on behalf of their clients.
The justice system needs defense attorneys as much as any other member that makes it function.
My attorney friendās biggest qualms about the story have to do with the specific events. Sheās very much not in support of the crux of the story being ādefense attorney who works with those accused of sexual assault gets raped herself.ā It can feel like punishment for Tessaās profession and something those with a bias against defense attorneys can easily read as comeuppance for her ever winning a case that keeps even one guilty man out of jail.
Iād not considered this at first because I was very āyay, womenā about this work. However, sheās very much made me appreciate and even agree with her perspective.
With that in mind, the play still has something very personal to say and I can understand why the storyline is what it is -- even if it can feel uncomfortable as the central narrative. In a fictional setting lasting only 100 minutes, it makes sense that someone embedded in the justice system can speak directly to all sides, having served as both defense counsel and later a victim navigating a trial as the sole witness.
Anyway hereās the assumption Iām making going forward: that the narrative doesnāt intend for what happens to Tessa to be punishment and that itās only meant to represent a heinous crime committed against far too many women. A crime thatās indiscriminate of status, race, or wealth and can happen to any of us.
*Hereās where it gets personal for me.*
WHAT HAPPENED TO ME
I often explain to people that I believe thereās a stark contrast between forgetting something and not being able to remember it. By that, I mean I have instances in my life -- 3 to be exact -- where I have detailed memories of specific events up to a certain point, and then it all goes blank. I didnāt forget. My mind has apparently made it so I canāt remember.
Two have to do with potential sexual assault. I want to talk about one of them. (Okay, I donāt want to talk about it, but I feel as though I need to in the context.)
Back in 2000, I went to a friendās graduation party the summer after my junior year. It was at a hotel party filled with a bunch of 16-19ish year olds. Her parents did have a friend of the family, well over 30, there to āsupervise.ā Sure, whatever. Pretty sure she stayed in the hotel bar most of the time.
The alcohol was flowing, of course. I donāt recall where it came from because the night gets real hazy, real fast. This is what I do know: I had one drink. ONE. I find that to be pertinent because someone inevitably wants to take the āwell you were drunkā route in instances like these.
No, I was not drunk. I was drugged.
Being drunk wouldnāt have made the experience any less valid, but that simply wasnāt the case here.
So yeah, one drink. One drink and I woke up a couple hours later next to a friendās younger sister, who also remembered having one drink. We were just laying on this bed acting like weirdos, looking out the blinds at cars in the parking lot and having nonsense conversations. Ok, odd event, but whatever. For some reason, I didnāt think much of it.
I also remember this stupid detail later of waiting for an elevator and tossing out a chicken wing in a potted plant. So random. Why was I even waiting for the elevator? No idea.
I know there was a guy with me, but I couldnāt tell you what he looked like if my life depended on it.
The next thing I knew, I came to several hours later: in a bathtub, in someone elseās clothes, with the adult jamming her fingers down my throat to get me to throw up, and a couple friends standing watch.
Between the chicken wing and the bathtub? Nothing.
Once I got a bit of Sprite in me and Captain Supervisor was apparently satisfied by my overall consciousness, well the night is still hazy from there, isnāt it? The mere fact I was awake didnāt mean I had the slightest clue what just happened.
While still sitting in that tub, clothed in someoneās boxers and t-shirt in a few inches of water, I realized a male friend had stayed behind with me. I tried to discern from him what in the world had gone on in the past few hours.
His version of the story went something like this: some guy was trying to leave with me and he intervened, basically āsavingā me from this dude. Of course, no one knew who he was. Super helpful.
What he so casually mentioned to me next, a bit out of the blue, was that I was a great kisser. I was so confused. Nothing had ever happened between us. As it turns out, for reasons Iāll never understand, once he supposedly saved me from that random guy, he proceeded to start something with me himself?!
I guess I laughed it off. What else was there to do at the time? I was still confused out of my mind and in that terribly vulnerable position.
Did this guy just tell me he saved me from what someone else was going to do, only to then⦠take advantage of me himself?
I think I told a couple friends later, friends who were at the party. I donāt remember. If I did, certainly no one took it seriously. Heck, I didnāt either.
I was sick for three days after that, often throwing up my guts and feeling like Iād been hit by a semi-truck. I had to pretend to function because, of course, I was only 17 years old and my parents didnāt know where Iād really been that night.
I never followed up with anyone else there to try and piece the night together, and I certainly didnāt report it. What would I report? I had no details, no coherent memories, and you know, āmaybe nothing happened.ā Because isnāt that always what we try to talk ourselves into when something happens thatās too big to process? Must not be real. Shrug. Move on.
But when I think about everything that mustāve happened just to get me from the hotel elevator to a tub in someone elseās clothes, those scenarios each require a lot of events. And honestly, I mostly never wanted to think about it.
Ultimately, it just became a strange anecdote I told in college as if it was normal. Maybe the biggest problem is that it was, that it is. These kinds of situations occur so frequently and many have had it so much worse than me.
Iām not holding my trauma up against anyone elseās. This is merely the direct incident that connected me to Prima Facieās themes and subject matter on a personal level.
I will never know what happened that night. Part of me feels lucky for that. Part of me feels not great when thinking that man went on to pull the same kind of shit again, likely succeeding at some point. Part of me feels guilty for the girls or women I was not able to help. Part of me⦠a lot of things.
Which brings me to the intersection of fiction and non-fiction.
HOW I RELATED TO PRIMA FACIEāS NARRATIVE
In most instances, though the narrative toys with a non-linear narrative in certain places, Tessaās overall story is happening in real time. We hear in her own words whatās happening as it unfolds.
And the āunexpected eventā the summary promises sheās forced to confront, is being raped by a colleague she really likes, who she has a recent, yet pre-existing history with.
I wonāt detail everything, but essentially theyād first had sex in his office days before, which of course would be counted against her, and on the night in question, theyād gone out, gotten shitfaced drunk and had sex earlier. The atrocious attack happened in the middle of the night after those consensual events.
Everything she explained in great detail made me cringe, because I knew every sentence was a strike against her narrative. Every bit of confusion she expressed, every doubt in herself, made even me momentarily question her too! I think thatās how we, as women, protect ourselves. She said the same thing to herself as I said to myself, as I know many other women have said to themselves. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Iām overreacting. Maybe it didnāt happen.
Every miniscule matter she discussed made it less and less likely people would believe her.
Overwhelmingly and unsurprisingly, they didnāt. He had too good a reputation. Even Tessa continued to try and convince herself it wasnāt true because of this. That maybe she was wrong about the attack because he, a man sheād known and worked with for years, wouldnāt really do that, would he?
But. He. Did.
He did.
The first thing she does after, traumatized and not thinking about everything she knows, is take a shower. We all watch TV. We know thatās the last thing you want to do after an attack. It will wash away physical evidence, which is the best and many times only chance you have to prove your case.
But what about her shame? What about how she felt violated and disgusting and dirty? She says sheās already scrubbed herself red before she realizes what sheās doing. And then, itās her fault for having taken a shower when she shouldnāt have.
Well maybe, I donāt know, he shouldnāt have raped her. That way she can take showers as normal, without feeling like she just contributed to ruining her own life ā but I digress.
For everyone who doesnāt believe her, everyone that asks āare you sure?ā, for each time sheās revictimized over and over by having to be physically examined or retell the story, the cracks in the system regarding the way sexual assault is handled come into view.
When she finally takes the stand, the prosecution grills her about every detail and her answers make her seem confused, unreliable, and sometimes even dumb.
Unlike many people are apt to believe, a traumatic event does not sharpen one's senses and memories. Itās exactly the opposite in most cases. There is confusion, questioning, and incoherent timelines.
As Tessa herself describes, the overall instance is fully experienced, but itās the peripherals that are vague and often inaccessible.
HOW I REACTED TO PRIMA FACIE
I went in assuming I would cry. First of all, itās very easy for me to cry. I have an extremely tender heart and tons of feelings. Second, Iād heard from many others how many tears flooded the theatre during live performances.
I thought I was prepared.
I balked when Tessa was accused by the defense of fabricating the story because she and the defendant were the only two people up for a job at new chambers. So, obviously this was for her benefit and his detriment. The kicker: even if the shortlist thing was true, which is debatable, she didnāt know about it. She was wholly unaware either of them were being considered at the time. She was told about the job offhandedly, offered it without interviewing, and took it specifically to get away from her attacker. Because, you know, they still worked together.
I was touched when Adam, a former male colleague who Tessa cut off like most everyone else in her former chambers, not only told her he believed her but said he was aware of a similar complaint previously made about her attacker. It was hearsay and couldnāt be admitted as evidence, but he believed her and showed up in court to support her, even though they had barely talked since the attack over two years ago.
I was relieved at the way Tessaās mom responded to her, even knowing Tessa didnāt want to have to reveal so much of her sexual history in front of her mother.
I was frustrated that it was evident her mother had once experienced the same type of event in the past and that they would never discuss it.
I was thankful for the young female officer, a stranger, that stayed with Tessaās mother throughout the trial and comforted Tessa at every chance.
I shook my head fervently in disbelief well before the inevitable conclusion of the narrative.
But what did I not do?
I did not cry, even as Tessa was willing herself not to. I did not cry.
In fact, I had very few feelings during the show. I was logically disgusted and emphatically wanted to protect Tessa with my life, but I couldnāt connect to the feelings of disgust and empathy.
I dissociated. Disconnected from my own sense of self as I looked on in complete shock.
I couldnāt fight for her. I could only watch on in horror, absolutely sure of what was coming.
After 782 days of waiting, 3 days of trial, and one time on the witness stand, Tessaās perpetrator walks away scot free. And it is this woman, whose life has been distinctly split between before the attack and after, that has to watch him, his family, and his old college mates cheer about it.
Heāll never serve time. Heāll never have to apologize or even admit what he did. But that doesnāt change the truth that he did do it. Unfortunately, she is the one who continues to pay the price.
She will carry this with her forever. I will cry later.
REAL WORLD CONSEQUENCES
Worldwide statistics estimate as many as 1 in 3 women are the victims of sexual assault (or attempted sexual assault) at some point in their lives.
1 in 3.
As Tessa says toward the end of her narrative, āLook to your left. Look to your right. Itās one of us.ā
Now, as I walk through a crowded place and look around, I canāt imagine that kind of impact. Studies show it may be closer to 1 in 5 women in the United States, because locations obviously differ, but thatās not a significant improvement by any means. Especially when you factor in that more than 30% of those women were 11-17 years old when the first incident occurred.
It was only an attempt in my case, but yep, 17 years old. Kids. Children. Young humans full of confusion and unwarranted shame that donāt know where to go or who to turn to after. And because we donāt openly talk about matters of this nature, because there is so much victim blaming and secrecy, sexual assaults go largely unreported -- much less prosecuted.
And for the ones that are reported? Victims are examined and questioned over and over, being forced to retell their story, reveal their sexual history, and relive the events of a trauma thatās likely changed the entire trajectory of their lives going forward.
If the case makes it to trial at all, it can take years. It was a little over two in Tessaās case. Two years of it hanging over her head before she could even begin to put it behind her. And then there was the actual outcome, another blow to her very personhood. Another violation in itself. āThey didnāt believe me.ā
Honestly, how can we even measure the impact? Itās repulsive.
And as much as we love to delude ourselves into a sense of safety from the big bads of the world, the idea of the random criminal on the street is simply not the norm. Itās overwhelmingly men -- ones already known to each victim -- who commit these acts.
Then, it is these same men who the victims will try to protect. Or worse, it is these same men who will act as if theyāre the victims themselves, having to be dragged through something that may affect their reputation and livelihood.
Itās not right, itās not fair, and the justice system canāt be left like this if its intent is to actually provide justice in these types of cases.
Thatās what Suzie Millerās words and Jodie Comerās performance ultimately said in Prima Facie -- something has to change.
----
Prima Facie is set to add more showings to theaters in the near future and is scheduled to premiere on Broadway in Spring 2023.
Look at this sweet everywoman who canāt wait to get away from the violent psychopathic assassin and back to normal life with people like her šš
Villa-No-They-Didnāt: How Killing Eveās Final Season Took a Stab at Women Everywhere
Or alternatively, Goodnight, Sweet Psycho: In Defense of Villanelle
It took me 3 months to dissolve my anger into something coherent and I debated whether or not to post this here because tumblr is weeeiiirrrddd, but whatever, I am too.
Itās over 3,500 words, so Iām dropping the link and not the content.
It is so beautiful. Authentic, probing, pointed, and excellently written. Some of my favourite excerpts pinpoint why the narrative established in Season 1 matters, who and what Villanelle is, why we love her, what she represents, and why the showās finale represents a concerning attack on all women:
Villa-No-They-Didnāt: How Killing Eveās Final Season Took a Stab at Women Everywhere
Or alternatively, Goodnight, Sweet Psycho: In Defense of Villanelle
It took me 3 months to dissolve my anger into something coherent and I debated whether or not to post this here because tumblr is weeeiiirrrddd, but whatever, I am too.
Itās over 3,000 words, so Iām dropping the link and not the content.