Does justice serve the people or only the institutions which deliver it? That’s one of the questions at the heart of this latest slippery piece from Valentijn Dhaenens, which takes place on a revolving stage where a series of arrestees are brought before a prosecutor and different arms of the law. Initially, it’s a bit like watching the Jeremy Kyle show but with moodier lighting, fewer questions and musical accompaniment. Every now and again somebody plays snatches of hymns on a piano as if we are at a parlour party. Meanwhile, the accused are paraded before the prosecutor to protest that either it’s all been a misunderstanding or that they only lashed out in self-defence.
The words are verbatim transcripts and the inspiration is the photographs taken within the French justice system by the Magnum photographer Raymond Depardon. The whole thing captures the heightened hypnotic, wired, almost listless quality of a long night spent waiting around and drinking bad coffee. Which doesn’t make it a particularly enjoyable experience, but does make it an interesting one.
This is a series of transformations and conjuring tricks, a bit like justice itself. The prosecutor in a slinky dress becomes a young prostitute who was discovered hot-wiring a car but who insists, in her defence, that she can’t drive. They are almost identical except for the membrane of wealth, privilege, education and opportunity that keeps them separated. There but for the grace of God go all of us.
The performances by Dhaenens, Clara van den Broek and Korneel Hamers are absolutely crystal. And if the style does little to help the audience engage with the material, it does point up the fact that the justice system doesn’t care why crime happens – it is merely a procedure designed to process people and make them disappear as quickly as possible.
- At the Traverse, Edinburgh, until 30 August. Box office: 0131-226 0000.
