“Mother doesn’t bring your way what you’re not ready to witness.”
Mother might be right, but I was still left in a state of (positive) shock after witnessing Monsters, a new show co-written by Venus Patel and Shauna Harris and performed by Patel, Harris, and Ciarán McGannon, which debuted at the 2024 Dublin Fringe Festival.
The play opens on a sacred scene. Awaiting the spectators is a black lectern decorated with velvety fabrics, and a keyboard and a guitar in the corner of the stage. This seems to resemble a traditional Catholic altar, except for one minor detail: the undefined, triple-bodied animal statue that looms over the stage. It is later revealed that this statue represents the Tri-Goddess, the divine spirit born out of an animal orgy between a purple octopus, a green bird, and a blue leopard; hence her peculiar anatomy and complexion. She personifies the boundless primordial queer energy that has, throughout the centuries, been set aside in favour of conformity – or, in other words, heterosexuality. The Tri-Goddess sends Mother Daisy, the mistress of gender defiance portrayed by Patel, to share her Transgenderification commandments. “The end of the world is nigh”, Mother Daisy chants – people must accept the Tri-Goddess’s doctrine and embrace their hidden queer origins. Among these people figure Lorcan, a devoted follower portrayed by McGannon, and Anya, the most recent disciple to join the cult, played by Harris. Despite her willingness to surrender to the Tri-Goddess, Anya still longs for conformity: she admits to wearing grey and, most of all, to desiring, having, and liking heterosexual sex. Worried about Anya’s fate, Mother Daisy spends the entirety of the show forcing her into the Tri-Goddess’s doctrine, letting her in on their musical, and bacchanal, celebrations. But her attempts are in vain: Anya can’t abandon her (apparently) sinful identity, nor the culture of conformity she grew up in and still recognises as her own.
At last, the end of the world arrives – at least on the Lir Studio 2 stage. Anya is quite convinced that she will be condemned to the Tri-Goddess’s destruction. Yet the unbelievable happens: the Tri-Goddess speaks from her immobile icon, officially welcoming Anya for who she is (grey clothes and all the rest) and encouraging Daisy to do the same. Her doctrine, the Tri-Goddess recalls, does aim at a genderless and label-less society, but not at the expense of self-expression. Daisy, Anya and Lorcan reunite with one last dance, where they finally free themselves and display their monstrous personalities – as shining cockroaches and furry polyps.
One of the main features that immediately struck me was the attention to detail, particularly to costume design. Whether it was a golden ray-crown, crimson shining vests, or much bolder animal onesies with rhinestones, tentacles, and fuzz – Amie Egan and the multi-talented Patel did it all, wowing the audience with their masterfully crafty skills.
This attention to detail is certainly not limited to show design. It is captured even in Harris’ effective portrayal of Anya’s external enjoyment and internal anguish. When Anya confesses her sins to Mother Daisy, the spotlight illuminating her face reveals a rather troubled individual. She is torn between her wish to adapt to the Tri-Goddess’s church and her unsuccessful effort to abandon her boring, conforming side. In the general light-hearted tone of the play, her existential distress is often downplayed by Daisy’s witty remarks on polyamorous relations and the abolition of straightness. Yet Harris’s brilliant performance still casts a darker shadow on the production, suggesting a deeper meaning and pleading with us to find it.
This brings me to the script. Much has been written about it; I have read reviews where the show was thought of as disconnected, almost as if it didn’t follow a clear plot. The scenes do not follow a chronological sequence, resulting in seemingly blurred passages between the origins of the Tri-Goddess church and its contemporary struggles. In addition, the play merely alludes to several topics without successfully exploring them. For example, the end of the world seems to play a pivotal role in the production, yet its causes are never elaborated. In short, this show had a lot of potential that was not quite fully developed.
“Monsters may also be interpreted as an (un)veiled critique of traditional Catholic practices”
I’ll admit it – this accurately reflects the nature of the show, if it is examined through a non-contextual lens and just as a light-hearted gay comedy. However, this impoverishes its underlying message. In fact, I believe that Monsters may also be interpreted as an (un)veiled critique of traditional Catholic practices. Everything from the set, to the costumes, to the subtle dramaturgical references, is staged as a Catholic mass. There are processions, choral and musical intervals, and liturgies at the lectern all throughout its duration. Mother Daisy herself is presented as the certified messenger of the Tri-Goddess and her doctrine, a role that parallels her with the biblical (Catholic) figure of Jesus. Even the show’s appeal to the “end of the world” replicates the phantomatic Judgement Day set by the Lord himself. Moreover, this interpretation fully explains the audience participation as a major component of the play. We are not participating through explicit interactions with the performers – although this sort of participation did occasionally take place. We are actively participating by simply attending the show. We are the believers in a mass, gathered to listen to the prophet’s words, only this time it is queer and inclusive words we are listening to.
In this sense, Monsters daringly combines the conservative understanding of Catholicism with its controversial opposite: an anti-heterosexuality gospel. Monsters reimagines our world from an exclusively queer perspective, where being gay and trans and sexually explicit is the norm, and sometimes – as Daisy portrays – the only accepted norm. Unconformity becomes the new conformity as heterosexuality is forced to abide by queerness. In this way, Monsters creates another religious extreme – diametrically opposed to our society’s Catholic propaganda, but an extreme nonetheless. By doing so, it cleverly exposes the deepest prejudices that see us queer people as all understanding and forgiving creatures, caring enough to include everyone, even our privileged oppressors, in our environments. To this, Monsters forwards an explicit reply – in the form of a very common swear word.
“Monsters shows how much learning and unlearning we still have to undergo as a society”
Yet, the ending seems to return precisely to this idea of all-encompassing acceptance. It is impossible, the Tri-Goddess recalls, to expect everybody to flawlessly conform to all the Transgenderification commandments. Rather, we need to accept everyone as they are, even in their imperfect heterosexually conditioned behaviours. What then is the sense of this cyclicality? Perhaps Monsters is suggesting that there is an alternative to both the strict Catholic and the unlimited queer doctrines – a medium measure between two extremes. That conformity – despite its problematic character – might still reflect someone’s self-expression, much like it does for Anya. We cannot all be born rebels; some need guidance and a pat on the back instead of excommunication. In this light, Monsters shows how much learning and unlearning we still have to undergo as a society, and how valuable a role the queer community can play in this process, if only we care enough to shut up and listen.
In the end Monsters looms as a deeply revealing piece. It demands for us not to succumb to societal expectations of queer individuals, either too oppressed to be angry or too angry to care. Instead, we are called to reunite with our visceral identities, to connect with our monstrous energy and to unapologetically be ourselves, whichever shape or form that may be. So let’s unleash our beast – be it a glittering cockroach, a furry polyp, or a grey hoodie.
