Although prostitute-turned?serial killer Aileen Wuornos was executed in 2002, her chilling story seems to be everywhere these days. In 1991, Wuornos, who was already incarcerated, claimed self-defense in shooting to death six of her johns in the swampy Florida woods. She denied killing a seventh, whose body was never recovered. Three films have been made about her--including Patty Jenkins' Monster--and related stories have appeared in many publications.
Now we have the West Coast premiere of Carson Kreitzer's intriguing new play, Self Defense, cleanly directed by Beth F. Milles. Like Wuornos, the character of Jolene Palmer (Cynthia Ettinger) grew up in a physically and emotionally abusive atmosphere and turned to prostitution early on. The only light in her life was her lover, Lu (Adele Robbins), whom Jo cared for dearly, an act that gave Jo a small measure of redemption.
But that changed after Jo was tied up and tortured by a sadistic john--an experience she recounts in vivid, painful detail during her trial. She managed to free herself and, in a blind, hysterical rage, to find her gun and empty it into him. Six more johns followed, and although those circumstances were not as life-threatening as the first, something terrible and irreversible had been unleashed in Jo, and she killed them as well.
Although it covers much the same ground that Jenkins' film did, Kreitzer's drama differentiates itself by examining more closely the legal status of Jo's self-defense claims, situating it against a string of unsolved prostitute murders. Perhaps coincidentally, perhaps not, those numbers went down as her body count rose. The drama also examines the more personal definition of the term "self-defense." In the most intense, intimate sense, Jo defended who she was--her damaged, broken "self"--the only way she knew how to: with a seething anger, a violent temper, and uncontrollable, profanity-ridden outbursts.
Ettinger gives an unsettling performance as Jo, full of delusions and blistering bravado. No soft underbelly is ever exposed, which, although true to the character, could be construed as a dramatic detriment. When Jo bullies her attorney into letting her take the stand, we would gain a greater understanding of her torturous experience if we could see something other than the high-pitched hostility that has become her sole sense of identity.
At roughly an hour and 45 minutes, the show occasionally becomes tough to endure. Kreitzer has built in some humor with strippers and undercover cops, but most of the laughs come from Blaire Chandler's hilarious turn as Lee Ann, a sanctimonious Christian determined to save Jo's soul. But John Zalewski's throbbing sound, the harsh, uncompromising lighting design by Adam H. Greene, and Sibyl Wickersheimer's steely set all superbly assist in keeping up the tension.
All told, Self Defense is not an easy ride. And that's as it should be.