It is clear that this evocative show will continue to impact people; to shock and to move them
Traplord by Ivan Michael Blackstock is a visceral exploration into black masculinity. Winner of the Olivier Award in 2023 for Best New Dance Production, Traplord is now playing at the Sadler’s Well’s Theatre this month. Through spoken word, music, dance, mime, this is performance art interlaced with horror, moulded in fear and deep melancholy, and brandished in vulnerability.
Traplord also delves into themes of street culture, peer pressure, black-on-black violence, police brutality, crime, stereotypes, mental health and what it means to be a human in an increasingly virtual world. Stories are also told through light and its absence, as well as the physicalising of things we see first on screen, alluding to the increasing discrepancies between virtual and reality. The designers for this show are spectacular; we are whisked away to different realms reminiscent of dreamscapes – or nightmares.
In-keeping with this idea, the show is an occasional nod to Lord of the Flies, the classic tale where boys crash down onto a remote island and go on a dangerous murderous rampage, having been displaced from civilization with only one another to hold them accountable. In Traplord, the pig is the monster, created by society. But it makes the point that violence and monstrosity is a self-perpetuating cycle, and one we must find a way to break. Significantly in Traplord, the only way it can be broken is to kill the monster, another act of violence perpetrated by one of the victims who initially refuses to be complicit within the herd; as a voiceover in the show states, ‘the citizen reflects the city’s sin’ – and we must hold each other accountable.
Personally, Traplord was reminiscent of a stained-glass window of mis-matched pieces of different shapes awash with different tones, colours, visuals, form and emotion. The emotional and intellectual journey it took the audience on sometimes felt like a somewhat random rollercoaster, but perhaps this unbalanced, turbulent and fragmented dramaturgy is supposed to reflect the tumultuous, dangerous experience of being black in a contemporary modern world.
The show also moves from being very symbolic and figurative to the point where the beginning of the show feels a little murkier, and then quickly moves into the very literal, which sometimes gave me the feeling of whiplash. Thus, the meaning felt sometimes a little convoluted, but on the whole it was very effecting, with bold storytelling, brave heatrical decisions and a powerful, electric performance given by all. The performers
were incredible; they were masters of movement, showing intricate subtleties in their character’s physicality as well as awesome choregraphed dance. I was captivated, especially by the spoken-word performers, who delivered the poetry as though they were embodying the words.
Traplord exists in my mind as an insurgence of images – blinding, accusation, damning search lights reminiscent of police searches, disembodied cars twisting in the darkness, lonely black figures lingering in shadows, a mechanical figure with a silver shin guard and rabbit ears, bare-chested men bolstering their muscles as they prod and push each other, a woman’s reflection blurring into a virtual figure, a pig-headed man wielding guns, feathered angels by a mirror, twisted arms, wielding arms, violence and death.
Ultimately, though, Traplord’s final image and dialogue is what will remain rooted in my mind. It felt aglimmer with hope, an answer to the spiralling, chaotic nightmarish scenes. These glimmers continued to refract in my mind long after I left the theatre, the light penetrating through the cracks – the shadowy spaces between the different sections making up the piece. Blackstock himself described this show as a ‘love letter to black men navigating this world’ – and as the audience are suspended in time as we draw a collective breath at Traplord’s final moments, it is clear that this evocative performance will continue to impact people; to shock and to move them. It feels urgent; it is a call to arms, a mirror reflecting truth, and a raw expression of grief.