UNWOMAN Part III, a new theatrical series with, in almost Star Wars style, a first and second part expected to debut in Melbourne in November 2019, has been touted as a “highlight” of Dublin’s 2018 Fringe only a week into the festival. In the year of Repeal the 8th and #metoo, UNWOMAN is intended to be a “theatrical response to a charged conversation around bodily autonomy in Irish and International law.” Part III of the series presents a woman almost permanently giving birth to a succession of cumbersome jagged stones while harnessed to an overhead lighting rig. Trapped in unbelievable pain and at the mercy of unending contractions, renowned actress Olwen Fouréré gives a dance performance perfect for sharply uncomfortable viewing.

From the beginning, Fouréré sits with a bulging stomach, completely still except for feet rising, then writhing, to an uncomfortable soundscape of electric humming  and the occasional clink of stones. Fouréré’s hands run around the protruding bump, before she is overtaken by waves of pain and the inability to escape the circular blue stage floor. The first act of this theatrical piece is focused on the recurring cycle of birth, repeated actions and routine: sitting in a chair, writhing in pain, attempting to run through the Samuel Beckett fire door only to be ripped back to the centre of the stage by the harnessed rope. She crouches  on all fours only to stand and rip a stone from her loins and fall into the foetal position. The scene occurs three times and with every repetition gets harder and harder to watch. This is in due to the combined effect of Fourére’s heart wrenching screams, and the fantastic composition of co-creator and TCD alum Maeve Stone; the latter also contributed to the sound design with UNWOMAN co-creator Emma Valente.

Following the climax of one of the final birthing scenes, the rope that had tied Fouréré to the ceiling drops to the floor as she lies in the sweat of performance. It’s a hard moment to watch as a viewer, a moment that feels as fickle as it does dramatic. It appears to represent  the capricious approach of states worldwide to women and their reproductive rights. After centuries of pain, you may now have freedom. In a few years, you may not. Here today, gone tomorrow.

It is at this moment that the performance moves from a contemporary dance piece to a visual spectacle. The second and third acts of the performance take a surreal turn with the use of live cameras streaming onto the concave screen at the back of the stage. Images of the edge of  water, stones and rock pools fill the stage as Fouréré lies silent beneath a blanket of green sponge before finding herself projected onto the screen by means of a bird-eye camera stream.

The rest of the piece is arguably more reflective with, notably, no more attempts to escape. There’s a stunning scene wherein Fouréré spends twenty minutes building a small mound from the rocks nearby on stage. Spitting on the rocks and shaking them until the spit is propelled onto neighboroughing surroundings, it is filmed in extreme close up and streamed onto the screen surrounding the stage, effectively allowing her to build a wall around herself from this small collection of stones. She may be said to  trap herself on her own terms. The use of the overhead camera teamed and side stage camera along with beautiful black and white imagery of rocks at the edge of the sea leads to some arresting moments of visual art. It perfectly exemplifies what makes live performance such a wondrous and unique spectacle.

In the final act, the fourth wall is rejected in order for the unnamed woman to grab a tripod and camera. . This set up to give audiences a live profile view of Fouréré while streaming a full face shot reminiscent of Atom Egoyan’s reimagination of Beckett’s Eh Joe for the stage. The intimacy is disturbing yet liberating, with Fouréré’s character emerging as fully in control of her reality, what she projects and allows us to see. Glistening is what could be sweat, spit, or a mixture of both, Fouréré’s woman makes herself part of the soundscape, then finally discards g the impact of the soundscape with her words. In the final moments of UNWOMAN Part III, audiences are left with Fouréré reciting a short poem, eyes closed, questioning to what extent women in today’s society have control over anything. I don’t think UNWOMAN Part III particularly tries  to answer that question for us, but it wants audiences to reflect on what they’ve just seen and campaign for their own conclusions.

UNWOMAN is one of those rare pieces of theatre that leaves you squirming in your seat and shocked by what you see, even while enjoying being pushed that bit further than the usual theatrical fare. Like Fouréré’s woman, I arrived sweaty, exhausted, and hoping for the sweet cathartic release of tears and anger. UNWOMAN is a triumph for  groundbreaking Australian theatrical company The Rabble and the rising talent of Maeve Stone. With only a few performances left, UNWOMAN is one of the finest theatrical visual art pieces I’ve seen in my four years at Dublin Fringe.