Harrower's "Blackbird' revisited

Something fascinating has happened since I, a family therapist, served as the clinical consultant for Theatre Exile's February production of Blackbird, David Harrower's riveting play about the long-term consequences of sexual abuse. I'm often stopped on the street to discuss this play, and just recently Deborah Block, Exile's co-artistic director, and I were invited to a local foundation to discuss the play in depth.

Deborah, who is married to my stepson, is no doubt tired of attending plays or films with me, only to hear my rant that an actor who may have given one hell of a performance was nevertheless inauthentic and disrespectful to the real struggles of real people. It had to be partly to quiet me that Deborah and Exile's founder, Joe Canuso, enlisted me to work with Joe and the gifted actors who brought Blackbird to life, Julianna Zinkel and Pearce Bunting.

As I said in my earlier BSR essay, "A therapist in the theater," much of my life's work involves working with victims of sexual, physical and emotional abuse, as well as with those who have inflicted the brutal pain of such acts. I see theater and film as opportunities to learn about how hard it is to hold onto one's humanity in a world that's often brutally cruel and unfair. The best theater teaches again and again that before one can truly love another, one has to find justice and connection for oneself. I see a dramatic parallel between my understanding what a therapy client is trying to tell me— to hear the music behind his or her words— and grasping a playwright's clues about what his or her play is really about.

A "'life-changing event'

As David Harrower's followers well know, he refuses to discuss Blackbird, other than to characterize it as a "love story about two people who have been through a life-changing event together." "Life changing" is surely an understatement: When Una was 12 and Ray 41, they had a passionate union that resulted in Ray's imprisonment for more than three years for statutory rape and Una's isolation from any semblance of a life, numbing herself by sleeping with 83 men. Yes, she has counted. The play opens when Una, 15 years after their liaison, tracks Ray down, finding him in a meaningless job. She is determined to scorch his person and soul for abandoning her, but she's also desperate to win him back.

The people who stop me on the street often cannot understand how Harrower could dare to describe such a violation as a "love story." Instead they perceive Ray, purely and simply, as a pedophile. But beyond that obvious response, we must bear in mind that Blackbird is theater— theater that teaches.

Obviously, anyone who takes advantage of a child or otherwise acts horrifically must be held accountable. That said, it's important to understand why such horror can happen. In Blackbird Harrower shows us two people devoid of the capacity to make true contact with others; the first meaningful contact they have in their lives is with each other. All the supposed pillars of their world— parents, lawyers, judges, police, physicians, even a female psychiatrist— have failed them.

What's in a name?

In the Bible, blackbirds are creatures that pick out the eyes of those who are evil, but they're also symbols of peace. Paul McCartney said the Beatles' song Blackbird was written to support America's civil rights movement. And the haunting refrain of Bye Bye Blackbird speaks of the universal longing for a safe and loving home, one free from pain and danger: "Make my bed and light the light,/ I'll arrive late tonight,/ Blackbird bye bye."

As we wonder about the credibility of Ray's apology to Una for "the biggest mistake of my life," Harrower subliminally directs our thinking by the use of names. Una, derived from Latin, meaning one: every child's longing to be the loved and cherished one in a family. Ray, from the French word for king— one who knows what to do. Then there is the association with "a ray of hope"; but Ray has changed his name to Peter, derived from the Greek word for stone. Or is this a reference to Peter Pan, who steals little children? We cannot read him.

So the question is: Can Ray/Peter be an adult? For those who cannot control any dangerous impulse remain children, never crossing the threshold to adult responsibility.

The healing power of apology

In my work I've seen that, regardless of the pain one has endured, if a heartfelt apology is given, one can move on— with scars, yes, but also with growth, newfound confidence and hope for the future. In Harrower's dramatic confrontation between Una and Ray, he not only apologizes, but Una learns that Ray had tried not to abandon her. She learns that her perception of his motives was wrong, that she was not abandoned, and further that he had written two letters to her, explaining this and much more.

Una tries desperately to seduce Ray, but this time Ray backs away. The judge has labeled Una one with "dangerously adult yearnings"; the judge doesn't understand that lonely, isolated children are often prematurely seductive as well as wise beyond their years. But this time Ray knows he cannot, must not. Cross the line.

The actor changed his mind…

In one of the Exile's post-performance "Talk Backs," Bunting explained that initially he did see his character as a pedophile, but as he understood the play better, he saw things differently. During Ray's entire time in prison, no friend or family member visited him, and for eight long years he lived in isolation, until finding a stable relationship. What he shared with Una, was wrong, and he has moved to a far different, less passionate but stable and supportive relationship, now in its seventh year, where Ray and his partner are raising a daughter, now 12 years old.

When we meet this daughter, Harrower presumably wants us to wonder if she too is being abused, as Una was at the same age. I think not. Harrower, I think, wants us to see that Ray has grown as the result of genuine human contact as well as his past pain and suffering.

In apologizing, in resisting his impulse, I believe Ray did achieve adulthood. I have seen again and again that when a client can understand the pain and fear within, and feel respect and caring— often for the first time— dangerous or frightening impulses stop ruling his or her life.

…and so did the audience

During the discussion group on the psychology of this play, a member of the audience said he hoped that Una would win Ray at last, because their passion was so intense. But at the conclusion of our discussion he said he had changed his mind. Theirs was a love that could go no further.

Another audience member told me privately that she believed that Una would keep trying, but fail, and then move on to a different quality of life, a far better one. Harrower gives us clues to this also. His script refers to a man Una may love but was taking a break from seeing.

The most moving post-play contact I had came from a woman who told me that she was a victim of sexual abuse. She could never get an apology from her abuser, she said. However, seeing the apology on stage, she believes, can help her to heal.