We Caliban: The wonder of uncovering narrative in the face of colonialism
- Janejira Matthews
- 17 hours ago
- 3 min read
Civilised, or “savage”? Educated, or monstrous? Shakespeare’s character of Caliban is arguably presented as a more lowly character in The Tempest, but even in Shakespeare’s text we see an inkling of something more. Shobana Jeyasingh’s We Caliban tries to paint a picture of these unanswered complications, starting with community, as might be surmised from the work’s title.
In many ways, We Caliban poses the question of many real-life Calibans that have faced Western colonialism in the past, and misunderstood communities that continue to survive in the present. Jeyasingh constructs scenes of Calibans reading, creating art, and helping each other in an environment that feels collectivist. In contrast, the Elizabethan world is riddled with intrigue, violence and hierarchical aggression. Far from the serenity and diplomacy seen in Caliban’s society, depictions of Prospero and Miranda being driven away from home by their own people, or the manipulative behaviour of the ship’s crew, reveal Jeyasingh’s choice to flip the script. Prospero and Miranda are imperfect, crueller and more base than Caliban’s community.
As might be expected, Jeyasingh’s movement choices inform differences between the two groups. Surprisingly, her usual Bharatanatyam influence is less pronounced but still present. Her Calibans sink into deep, turned-out knee bends paired with an arm stretched diagonally downwards to one side, the fingers splayed as if to grab something, reminiscent of a mudra. In other moments, there are hints of old-school Western contemporary or ballet in the lightness of movement, in straight, lifted legs or the brief hint of an arabesque. The subtle mix of styles plays intelligently into themes of language and communication throughout We Caliban, blending seamlessly as a reflection of Jeyasingh’s willingness to experiment as a choreographer. blending seamlessly as a reflection of Jeyasingh’s willingness to experiment as a choreographer. Her own Indian heritage, emerging from a country brutally colonised by the British, lends to an empathetic approach in cultivating Caliban's world as more than what Shakespeare's initial impression - a barbaric language, primal connection with nature - suggests.
Shifting to a singular focus on the character of Caliban, it would be impossible to examine his story without turning to Miranda. We Caliban finds the strongest heart of its narrative with the two alone on stage, Miranda teaching Caliban English. Soft and hard sounds, the slight echo of the ‘p’ emanating from the release of lips, or an abrupt ‘tuh’ puncture the air. As the movement builds - skin-close contact, balances, sometimes surprisingly balletic - boundaries blur, but Miranda appears to hold the upper hand in their relationship. She teaches Caliban to kiss her hand in greeting, at times forcefully pressing the back of her hand against his mouth. In Shakespeare’s play, Prospero directly accuses Caliban of violating ‘the honour of my child’, but not only does Jeyasingh’s re-imagining ponder Caliban’s actions, confusion in translation and power balance, it adds dimension to Miranda’s character. Far from pure and virtuous, there is now another side to her that hints at a sharpness beneath the smooth exterior of Prospero and Miranda’s story. Prospero’s magic is, after all, about illusion and control. It is the characters and their dynamics with each other that make We Caliban a thought-provoking and even an uncomfortable work, willing to engage in challenging contemporary conversations around colonialism and agency.
