Based on the biographical story of the legendary French actress Sarah Bernhardt, Sarah Quand Même offers an anatomy of this extraordinary star through the eyes of Susie Lindeman
Based on the biographical story of the legendary French actress Sarah Bernhardt, Sarah Quand Même (literally “Sarah Despite All”) offers an anatomy of this extraordinary star through the eyes of Susie Lindeman as both the writer and performer. Bernhardt emerged as one of the most renowned actresses of the 19th and early 20th centuries, known for her performance of male roles such as Hamlet, sleeping in a coffin and having lion as her pet. Often referred to as “the Divine Sarah,” her fame spanned Europe and the US. Despite facing personal challenges, including the amputation of one of her legs later in life, she continued to perform onstage until her death in 1923.
Lindeman begins the production by asking Hamlet’s eternal question in French: Être, ou ne pas être, telle est la question, and concludes with a definitive answer at the end of the play: être. This embodies her view of Sarah: always striving to survive, always bold, always ready to shine. This answer, as positive affirmation of life, is explored extensively through Sarah’s expansive almost 80-year life.
Condensing an 80-year life into 80 minutes is challenging, and SARAH Quand Même shares some common pitfalls of recent solo shows. One issue is the inclusion of too many trivial details from Sarah’s life, which can make the narrative feel chaotic and disorganised. For instance, it remains to me unclear the relevance of mentioning figures like Hugo or Sigmund Freud, aside from providing us with some historical facts. These details are crammed into the play, meandering without a clear focus. While there are moments of reflection, they often appear as shallow, whether it is about feminism, the nature of acting to tell truth or lie, or the pride and loneliness of being a world-famous actress. The play merely skims these topics without delving deeper.
The pacing of the performance could also be adjusted. It starts too hastily and flattened, with little variation in emotional intensity or inflection and emphasis in tone and pitch. This issue improves in the latter half as Lindeman becomes more emotional, but her frequent nose-blowing with a handkerchief can be disturbing. Furthermore, I also feel that the performance is not engaging enough for a solo show performed in a pub theatre with a maximum capacity of fifty one. The fourth wall here remains too intact and unbreakable.
The direction also struggles with scene transitions, lacking lighting or soundscapes to indicate changes, which again re-contributes to the production’s squeezed and unorganised feel. Additionally, it is a pity that the set, created by Justin Nardella featuring a cosy chaise lounge and a beautiful dressing room mirror, fails to convey connotative or symbolic messages beyond the word. Especially when you think of the dressing room mirror, a place so rich of embodying female actress’ stories and emotions, it’s really disappointing that the exploration does not go further.