OUT by Ray Young plus q+a – review

Ray Young’s OUT is a poignant, vibrant exploration of multi-faceted identity and self-discovery. Exploring Caribbean queer culture through embodied storytelling, OUT carves a new space for Black & queer experiences.  Having already been nominated for the 2017 Total Theatre & The Place Award for Dance and winning the 2017 South East Dance ‘A Space to Dance’ Brighton Fringe Award, OUT has arrived in its third iteration at the Lilian Baylis Theatre.

Once a performer in the show themselves, creator and director Ray Young collaborated with two new performers for OUT 2024, Azara Meghie and Bambi Jordan Phillips, and was supported by Movement Director Nandi Bhebhe and Assistant Director Esme Allman

With a focus on movement and music, Young aimed to express queer experiences beyond words: “We were having lots of conversations about the challenges between our queerness and our Blackness. It felt really important to be exploring our culture and identity, and the only way that felt safe to do that was using my body.”

The show moves through three distinct sections by utilising skilful lighting design by Nao Nagai, set design by Naomi Kuyck-Cohen, sound design by Naomi Jackson, and costume design by Mia Maxwell. Each section is marked by the performers’ undressing from their dancehall fits.

We begin with a proud celebration of Caribbean dancehall, which transitions to include elements of voguing, wacking, and pauses with stereotypically masculine statures.

Young explains,” When I first moved to London I went to queer Black raves, and I felt so seen. So that’s where we are at in the beginning of the work. I grew up listening to dancehall but leaning into my queerness, I realised it was also preaching hate about who I am. But it’s still within me and part of my culture. So, the work is about grappling with those two sides of yourself and coming to a place of acceptance.”

Then the pace of the dancing slows.

“As Black people, we’re never allowed to be slow and soft; we’re only allowed to be strong.  So this part was about revealing ourselves, knowing that the gaze is ours rather than the white art institution’s. And saying ok, they see us, but it will be how we want them to see us.”

A voiceover interrupts the dance and explains the legal status of LGBT rights in Jamaica. Although homosexuality isn’t technically illegal in Jamaica, being transgender is, and in reality, consensual sexual intercourse between same-sex partners is punishable by imprisonment.

Violence towards LGBT people is common and accepted in Jamaica, reinforced by homophobic narratives of the prominent Christian and Rastafari movements. As the show moves into the second section, a voiceover begins and repeats a popular hallelujah of the Black church.

The repetition, paired with rigid movements by the two performers, lasts an uncomfortably long time. It’s unexpected and hammers home the relentlessness of homophobia and the pressures to conform. You might desperately want the chant to end, tasting a tiny fraction of the helplessness the LGBT community experiences.

The performances by Azara Meghie and Bambi Jordan Phillips are magnetic; they move without a flinch as their faces are hidden in shadow. Their perfectly timed animations slowly transition to familiar voguing shapes.

Suddenly there’s an explosion of the out-and-proud 80’s queer dance scene we all know and love. The Studio 54-esque lights and camera flashes highlight Meghie and Phillip’s dancing prowess, showcasing their backgrounds in breakdancing and vogueing.

And suddenly – oranges? The pair sit with a bucket of oranges and slowly hand peel them, competing to see who can get the most one-piece peels. Comedy ensues, with the audience cheering on the performers, brought even further into the piece as the orange slices are finally shared.

Young explains, “You’ve got your Black card if you can peel an orange in one piece! And before the show I couldn’t do it, but I was taught, and that’s beautiful. Like a passing down of ancestral knowledge. We use the UK’s standard oranges in the show, but in Jamaica the oranges are greener. So the (Sainsbury’s) oranges represent assimilation, queerness being a ‘white’ thing, and the scare of it being ‘catching’.”

Comedy ensues as Meghie coyly begins to express romantic attraction to an orange. The energy ramps up quickly to both performers reenacting graphic sexual scenes with the oranges and all their juices. They drown and choke on the juice they squeeze until the performance ends.

Despite the expressions in OUT being completely unexpected, they make sense. The show completely cuts through the norms of dance theatre. I was absorbed throughout, as were the rest of the audience – you could hear a pin drop in moments of silence. I think that’s because the show has something to say and says it unapologetically. That despite the discord, we can create spaces to reclaim Caribbean queer culture in the present.

Young says it best; “In 2016, we first took the show to Glasgow, and now it’s 2024. The show has changed in its performers and iterations. But what surprises me is that in some way, we haven’t really moved forward. The political climate for queer people, disabled people, people with mental health problems – anyone that’s different – is not good. So I think the show still stands up and feels relevant and important.”

Need to know: OUT by Ray Young was at the Lilian Baylis Studio on 25/26 April 2024. Find out more