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From the advertising, you would be forgiven for thinking that Charlie Josephine’s new adaptation of the Joan of Arc story would be far from a bundle of laughs. The promotional photographs depict a person coated with dirt – chest bound, head lowered, clearly just returned from battle. All too often, the fictional representation given to the LGBT+ community is through characters who are oppressed, victimised and eventually killed for their queerness, and it seemed like I, Joan might go the same way. We all know, of course, how it’s going to end.
What a surprise, then, when the show itself was unbreakably joyful. At the outset, the audience is introduced to Joan, played with boundless energy by Isobel Thom. The role is so perfectly pitched for Thom that I had to double-check that they hadn’t written the play themself. The gangly, wide-eyed, sprightly performance leaves the audience with no doubt that this is a young person (17, we are told) who is not entirely at home in their own body. I, Joan could so easily have been a pastiche of the trans and non-binary experience, but Thom’s nuanced, endearing performance will be familiar to anyone who has seen a loved one struggle with their gender identity, and Joan settles into their body as the play goes on and find their calling. The play is laugh-out-loud funny, using physical theatre and dance to explore even the darkest parts of the tale. The simplistic set – a wooden skateboarding ramp – and live musicians (Kiyomi Seed, Hannah Dilkes and Hanna Mbuya) add to the upbeat tempo of the show.
The play has received criticism, mostly from “gender-critical feminists”, who claim that this non-binary adaptation of the Joan story erases the strong female role model that Joan of Arc has provided. Yet this is a question which is directly addressed in the play. Charles VII’s wife, Marie, and mother-in-law, Yolande (Janet Etuk and Debbie Korley), are first introduced as protagonists – powerful women who pull the strings in French politics and support Joan in their quest to bring Charles to the throne. However, once Joan makes headway, Marie and Yolande try to marry them off, turning Joan into the same powerful but hidden figure as themselves. When they force Joan into pink, frilled dresses (which fall in a flurry from the ceiling, just one instance of the fun and dynamic use of the Globe’s stage), Joan regains that lanky awkwardness from the start of the play. To the audience, it is obvious that Joan is not trying to erase Yolande and Marie’s inspiring female-ness; Joan simply does not fit it. For anyone struggling to wrap their heads around the idea of non-binary gender, the play provides a clear explanation and depiction of it.
As a history student, I often struggle with the idea that we can uncover gay or transgender people in history. Gender and sexual identity outside of the cis-het norm has existed as long as humans have, but people who had these experiences throughout history did not think of themselves as gay, trans, or any of the other labels that we tend to use nowadays – those concepts did not exist in the same way. I was concerned that a non-binary adaptation of Joan of Arc would fall into the category of well-meaning but oversimplified attempts to “uncover” trans people in history, and consequently feel forced or disingenuous. By contrast, Charlie Josephine’s script showed that Joan was simply not a man or a woman – it was no more complicated or labelled than that. I, Joan provided non-binary and trans representation on the stage, while still feeling like a faithful depiction of people’s experiences of gender dysphoria throughout history.
The gender exploration throughout the play thus felt comfortable and welcoming. The more challenging element was religion. The story is inescapably religious, as is the character of Joan. At some points, this felt trite, such as when Joan claimed, Ariana Grande-style, that their God was a woman. Thankfully, the supporting cast performed with such a genuine frankness – notably Adam Gillen, who played Charles VII’s confidante, Thomas – that they were able to hold up the shakier religious elements of the play.
Overall, this was a timely adaptation. The seamless blend of Shakespearean language and modern slang (echoed strangely by the noisy planes visible through the Globe’s thatched roof) showed that the tale of gender diversity is one as old as time. I, Joan is a dancing, raucous celebration of queerness. If I wasn’t already a groundling, it would have been a standing ovation.
I, Joan is playing at the Globe until the 22nd of October. Tickets start at £5.