Who Am I and If So Why?

Three files of "me". Scene from "We Who Are Hundred". Photo: Martin Kaufhold

They are standing on the edge of the abyss, each of them with different strengths and weaknesses, and yet they are one and the same person, the facets of humanity. They bicker and fight against each other, share laughs and memories and long to commit suicide together. However, the three women will never again feel as united as they do at the beginning of the play, as they face the end of their lives: “We can’t do it.” Disheartened, the women discard their knives, pistols, Kalashnikovs and explosives and are left to look at each other helplessly after yet another failed suicide attempt. Are we too cowardly or do we just need more time? Do we regret everything we’ve done in our lives or do we wish we could go back? A fresh start is the answer. One last chance.

“Who Am I, and If So, How Many?” This title of the best-selling book by popular scholar Richard David Precht is sure to pop into a few audience members’ heads in the course of this evening of theatre. Yet even those who do not have this association will ultimately be confronted with questions: What is my identity? Do I have multiple, and if so, which one is the most dominant? What kind of life do I live, or at least, believe to live?  Rooted in the conflict that these questions spawn is Swedish author Jonas Hassen Khemiri’s “We Who Are Hundred,” a commissioned work from the Gothenburg City Theatre, whose powerful production can now be seen at the Biennale.

In a fast-paced, staccato tempo, the trio tell of their new life – everything from birth and graduation, marriage and children to their greatest, unfulfilled dreams for the future. In beige, skin-colored trench coats, bright red dresses and fitted bald caps, the women appear androgynous and identical. Yet no matter how much they may resemble one another, their ideas of a perfect life are utterly incompatible. Magnificent performances by the leading actresses (Anna Bjelkerud, Nina Jeppsson, Frida Röh) make these differences in their character profiles completely distinct. It is a battle of wills against something they all fear: insignificance. Once one of the woman’s facets, the revolutionary side, becomes more dominant, everything seems possible: Wars could be won, poverty could be eliminated. Later, the woman’s professional career as a dental technician begins to take precedence, but the sequence ends with a humiliating lecture. When all else fails, the women realize they are glad to have one another to lean on: “Thank God we’ve got each other!”

Director Mellika Melouani Melani finds impressive imagery for these “multiple personalities.” With the help of camcorders mounted on tripods, the women document each other’s actions and project what they’ve filmed onto three screens. Unlimited identities are created. At one point, the woman has an absurdly humorous conversation with Arthur solely by means of the camera, which leaves the audience marveling at the director’s imaginative abilities.

Together with well-planned doses of light (set and light design: Bengt Gomér), these dramatic elements are so strong as to render the multiple props used – everything including kitschy porcelain – largely unnecessary. They only serve to make the production feel overloaded. The same can be said for content: When grief is so intense that it can only be expressed with splutters of sound symbolizing the loss of speech, other emotions seem two-dimensional in comparison. One example occurs during the woman’s first sex scene with Arthur, which is staged as an array of collective tennis groans.

At the end, another question must be faced: “Do we have enough energy left?” The three main characters are ably backed by an amateur chorus of 21 people, who initially promote the idea of “we” before ultimately deciding that the youngest ego must die. Then the oldest ego dies as well, and the chorus along with her. At the end, the last surviving woman sits amongst corpses as if on a battle field. She is left alone with her memories.

English translation by Lynnette Polcyn