Sarah Hopfinger daringly delves into her profound and multifaceted relationship with chronic pain
Pain and I, created and performed by Sarah Hopfinger at Summerhall, intimately explores the trials and tribulations of living with chronic pain. Hopfinger renders viscerally palpable the relentless torment – both emotional and corporeal – of life with chronic pain. Through an exquisite interweaving of playful yet gripping choreography, avant-garde dance rituals, and raw autobiographical admissions, Hopfinger compellingly envelops the audience in her disquieting and pain-afflicted psyche. The spectral musical compositions by Alicia Jane Turner elevates Hopfinger’s already heightened moments as well as providing momentary support and sanctitude. The rich and peaceful soundscape is a strong constant throughout Pain and I and serves as a soothing and smoothing-over agent to the chaotic, sporadic upheaval chronic pain wrecks that is untethered to rhythm, logic and routine.
Hopfinger not only discusses the social isolation and pressures attributed to having chronic pain within the show’s context but also expresses how difficult it is to be a performer or spectator of theatre while suffering from it. For this reason, I loved how accessible, comfortable, and inclusive she made the theatre space for audience members. In the Pain and I handouts and in an announcement delivered by Hopfinger at the beginning of the show, she encourages the audience to take however long they need to settle in, sit, stand, stretch, stim, snack, drink, make noise, look away, close their eyes, lie down, lean, move around, leave and come back. I admire how the audience were encouraged to prioritize doing what is most caring and comfortable for their bodies and minds rather than being a polite audience member. This decision perfectly served Hopfinger’s message of the whole show – to care for our bodies and ourselves and each other even or especially in times of personal and collective pain. This directly and powerfully challenges the setup and strict convention of traditional theatre spaces and the regimented rules that they pose. Headphones and fidget toys were also provided which further demonstrates how much Hopfinger took the comfort, accessibility, and inclusion of her audience into consideration. It acts as a productive response to the problems she expresses in the show as well as how theatre could be a more diversified and accessible place to those with disabilities.
The whole performance is incredibly honest, moving, and authentic and we are able to emotionally access and receive Hopfinger very well because of the minimal staging. The only thing apart from her onstage is a glass of water to rehydrate herself after exerting a lot of energy in high-energy and buzzing choreography. She takes moments after these very active sections to catch her breath and drink water which I think adds yet another layer of realism and genuinety to the stories she’s telling. It also demonstrates the self-care that she encourages in the show despite the pain and self-hatred she may experience at times. It also breaks barriers between her and the audience and removes the hierarchy of the performer above audience member. This is also cleverly demonstrated with the audience being placed at a very similar level and height to Hopfinger onstage, making the audience and her even more equal in their positions. This adds to the idea that we share collective pain and Pain and I provides a platform in which people can empathize, feel heard, validated and understood.
Her nudity onstage and lack of any set, costume, or props exposes us to her and focuses our attention on her body as a working vessel or machine, which is sometimes defective but also expansive in what many other things it can still do. Michaella Fee’s stark lighting design uncovers Hopfinger even more and leaves her no place to hide – all or her quirks on show and facing the reality of her chronic pain in badass starkality, despite her chronic pain being an “unwanted lover”. The movement is cleverly designed for a naked body and instead of a straight reading of it as being vulnerable and fragile, this indefinitely proves to be a bold gesture of acceptance, goodwill and owning and appreciating what she’s got.
What Hopfinger does best in Pain and I is express, in a superbly simple and relatable way, the contradictory and convoluted feelings she has towards her body. As an audience, we can relate to the insecurity and fear of our own bodies’ shortcomings and the potential for pain they hold, despite not directly suffering from chronic pain ourselves. One particularly poignant moment that moved me to tears was a sequence of short statements delivered by Hopfinger, including, “I can’t see you,” “I can’t trust you,” “I can’t leave you,” “I can’t make love to you,” “I can’t forgive you,” and “I can’t forget you.” These thoughts, coupled with Turner’s music, hit the audience profoundly, conveying the agony this invisible, immaterial, and unwelcome pain has caused Sarah and many other people who suffer from chronic pain and also her struggle to address it without self-loathing, as it has become an inextricable part of her being. Through these scenes of repeated dialogue delivered with varying intonations, volumes, pitches, and tones, Hopfinger masterfully demonstrates the quaking, unpredictable, stinging terror of chronic pain and how disruptive it is to her personal life and view of self.
Throughout Pain and I, although terrified of what her body might cease to allow her to do, Hopfinger treats herself with ardent, disciplined gentleness and tenderness. Her slow, careful caresses provide fleeting but meaningful moments of relief, emblematic of her efforts to protect, care for, and love herself instead of attacking the things she hates and cannot change. Through this, Hopfinger gains a sense of peace, agency, and empowerment, taking back the power and autonomy over her body. It made me appreciate the day-to-day functionality of my body instead of fixating on the aesthetic and superficial image society constantly pressures us to conform to.
Ultimately, Pain and I beautifully examines Hopfinger’s complicated companion, chronic pain, and shows just how intricate this relationship truly is. She not only does this but challenges traditional theatrical rules by having the setup and content of her performance actively rebel rigidity. What she and her team have achieved is inspirational, and they have created an innovative and memorable performance. Be sure to catch Pain and I on its tour around Scotland!