Splintered review: Queer Caribbean cabaret is overflowing with joy and catharsis
Yolanda Ovide in Splintered. (Harry Elletson)
Splintered explores the challenges of being LGBTQ+ in the Caribbean while revelling in unadulterated queer joy.
Across the Caribbean, LGBTQ+ people are made to feel unloved, unwanted and unsafe. In many countries there are harsh laws which can see gay people put in jail – in all cases, these laws were instigated by British colonisers.
Splintered makes the case that this is patently ridiculous. After all, so much of Caribbean culture feels inherently queer – not least carnival, with all its colours, costumes and frivolity in the face of oppression.
Splintered leans deeply into the spirit of carnival. Performed by a trio of talented young actors, it’s a cabaret that’s both intensely funny and deeply political. Things kick off with one of the trio pouring a shot of Wrap and Nephew into a moon cup, to symbolise that they’re the MC. From there, it’s a fast-paced journey through sketches, song-and-dance numbers (including a relatably gay reworking of “Cell Block Tango”) and verbatim pieces replaying the voices of queer women from Trinidad and Tobago.
There’s a lot pain in these stories – from experiences of coming out and unrequited love to being made to feel unsafe in your own home. There are also some important questions raised: why, decades after independence, is homophobia still so rife across the Caribbean? Why is it that so many can recall Sean Paul’s biggest hits, but have no idea of the history of slavery in the Caribbean? But writer-director Emily Aboud does an impressive job of balancing this with unadulterated queer joy – while this is an important show, covering important topics, it’s also incredibly cathartic and overflowing with hope. As we’re told towards the end of the show, it’s about resisting and rebelling, finding light in spite of the darkness.
Splintered is at Soho Theatre in London until 29 April.
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