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As the house begins to fill with stylish, groomed bodies, there is a delightful buzz of rustling clothing, bodies settling into seats, and hushed murmurs bearing shared secrets, which is punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or joyous cry of recognition. In 1976, the members of this largely female audience possess the political and economic clout to decide how they will spend a Saturday night, to purchase their own tickets to the event of their choosing, and to make their way to the venue alone, in pairs, or with a select group of like-minded women. Although the feminist movement is still young, these women can afford the price of admission, and they possess the cultural capital to appreciate and assess the aesthetic and cultural values of the theatrical event they have come to witness. We could be in New York City or Baltimore or Nancy, France, or in Amsterdam. No matter. Tonight, this theatre is hosting a feminist audience , which has come to see Women in Violence created and performed by the newly mobilized feminist collective, Spiderwoman Theater. After the show, perhaps, these spectators will gather with their neighbours to enjoy a late supper or nightcap and discuss what they have seen. Others will retire to “rooms of their own” to write about the experience—not in private diaries, necessarily, but also for local newspapers, academic journals—or to prepare an upcoming lecture for the classes they teach or for the women’s groups they facilitate. It is “ladies’ night,” 1976, and it is perfect … It would be perfect, except that amidst the comfortable and congenial groups of the politically astute, politically active, and like-minded, there is one who doesn’t belong. No, it isn’t a man. It’s worse! It’s a bag lady.1 Obviously, that one doesn’t belong. How could she? Certainly, that one could not afford the price of admission! Nor (judging from her tattered clothing and unkempt appearance) could that foolish one have amassed sufficient cultural capital to understand or appreciate the play they have come to see. 263 jill carter Processual Encounters of the Transformative Kind Spiderwoman Theatre, Trickster, and the First Act of “Survivance” But what’s to be done? The front-of-house staff makes no move to eject her, so she must be tolerated. “Now, you will behave—won’t you?” It’s a necessary question after all, tinged with the merest cautionary edge. That one obviously does not know how to dress herself appropriately; how can she be expected to behave appropriately? In accordance with her neighbours’ worst fears, the Bag Lady begins to misbehave; she’s banging on some old tray she’s brought with her! She’s disturbing the peace! “Shhhh! Shoo! Stop it! Behave!” The audience members are outraged. So intent are they in shutting her up and shutting her down that they are scarcely aware of the guttural growling on stage, which answers the Bag Lady’s performance and builds in rhythm and intensity as she persists in her outrageous behavior. This is not what they paid for— is it? Then again, maybe it is … As it slowly dawns on them that this “infiltrator” is part of the show, the spectators begin to relax and perhaps enjoy the fact that they have been fooled. And, as the evening unfolds, more revelations will occur; this group of accomplished, educated, and politically savvy elites will be unceremoniously ushered into a hostile universe peopled with “dirty mashers,” big bad wolves, abusive husbands, violent siblings, betrayers, suicides, and mass murderers by a rag-tag bunch of “clowns,” each of whom embodies the “poor bare fork’d animal” beneath the quotidian mask, which conceals and protects every human actor as s/he goes about the business of living. These include a glittering Chameleon in constant pursuit of herself; a Nun whose mission it is to clean the world and the other women in it; the unruly Bag Lady; a magnificent leonine Trickster who wears a second face on her tail and who both uses and blames this marvellous appendage for all tricks and offending actions against others ; and finally, a Perfect Woman—a chocolate-box blonde—whose final act in the piece is to strip off wig, gloves, and makeup and publicly “come out” as someone other than she first appears. These clowns created by Spiderwoman Theater to carry its artists and their audiences through the stories are archetypes of contemporary feminine humanity; these archetypes are...

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