“Slut: The Play,” by Katie Cappiello, came out of a workshop at the All-Girl Theater Company in NYC, where students were encouraged to share their experiences and give these voice through the art of performance. The high schoolers began discussing how the word slut was used as both a badge of honor and a label of shame. Some of these girls enjoyed being sexy and desired. They thought it was safe to flirt and hook up with guys they’d known all their lives, some of whom were their best friends. “Slut,” and the recently released Netflix series, “Grand Army,” based on the play, explores what happened when that line of safety was crossed by sex that wasn’t so clear-cut to the boys, but permanently changed the girl.
The play itself is solid. A high school girl, Joey, is alone on stage reporting the incident of sexual abuse to the Assistant DA as scenes from her social circle play out around her. The monologue of her report weaves together with the dialogue of the scenes, playing off one another and heightening the emotional effect. I like this device, it feels poetic, but I think this play uses too much of it – at least in the experience of reading it on the page.
The series is better than the play. It gives us more of Joey, while the side characters in the play become characters in their own right. This strengthens the depth and shadow added to Joey in the play, as well as shows the various reactions of classmates while they struggle through their own issues. It feels very real. The first episode is so cinema verite that the ambient noise distracts in outdoor scenes. But the production gets it together, and the effect is raw, honest, alive and fresh. The cast is integrated racially, not just touched up with token reps from a race here and there, and the script broaches nuanced conflicts within cultures.
The one thing the play did better than the series was give us the exact details of Joey’s sexual assault. I’m not sure why they left it so nebulous in the series, but it frustrated me because understanding felt important. I’m not sure if the writers thought vagueness would heighten the sense of instability, feel more inclusive of viewers’ real experiences, or shouldn’t matter, but I found it distracting, and kept expecting a reveal that never came. The details in the play added to my experience.
In 1997, I founded a similar group for young women, called Velvet Ink, which fell apart after four years. So the respect and admiration I have for Katie Cappiello and Meg McInerney, who founded the All-Girl Theater Company in 2007, and the bravery with which these girls revealed their experiences of sexual abuse and shared them through art, is profound and personal.