Prima facie
Latin / adjective
Meaning ‘on its face’; based on the first impression; accepted as correct until proved otherwise.
Ask anyone in the legal profession what makes a ‘good lawyer’ and they will tell you it’s someone who can distil complex ideas or concepts into plain and simple terms.
This is exactly what Suzie Miller, an escapee from the profession turned story teller, does in Prima Facie. Over 90 minutes, Miller strikingly exposes some key deficiencies of our criminal justice system through Tessa, played by Sophia Forrest in the Black Swan Production.
Set against the backdrop of the adversarial justice system, Prima Facie takes us on a journey through the lone voice of a young, brilliant barrister Tessa Ensler. She’s a woman who’s climbed the ranks of a profession steeped in privilege, tradition and male dominance.
With minimal, but effective, changes in staging and only the power of Forrest’s conviction, we are transported from the courtroom to the most vulnerable corners of the human experience. The moment the ‘pillars’ of justice lift from the stage and are eerily replaced by shadows of their former selves is a particularly breathtaking moment. The tension is palpable as the protagonist’s once-flaunted faith in the law is unceremoniously dismantled.
Sophia Forrest in Prima Facie. Photography by Daniel J Grant.
Tessa’s transformation over the course of the performance is clear, boarding on overt. Our learned friend visibly transforms from a powerful and authoritative advocate, treating matters as if she were a prized mare, blinders on, galloping towards the finish line – to the raw, unfiltered turmoil of one who finds herself on the other side of the bench cross-examining herself internally and being cross-examined by defence counsel in parallel about the night in question.
Miller’s script absolutely doesn’t require a law degree and distils some of the basic systematic flaws in our court system’s treatment of cases of sexual assault. It is highly descriptive in its portrayal of sexual violence and so should be approached with caution by anyone with lived experience.
As a young, female lawyer, it is somewhat disappointing to see a portrayal of myself on stage as someone who can’t or won’t empathise with an alleged victim, or challenge established ‘legal truths’, in the sole pursuit of ‘testing’ the evidence – that is, until I become an alleged victim. It felt reminiscent of Scott Morrison declaring he could empathise with Brittany Higgins after he ‘spoke to Jenny’ and thought of his daughters, and not because Ms Higgins was the victim of a crime and not because of basic human understanding.
I truly believe women (and some men) in the profession have been, and continue to, prioritise empathy and respect in tandem with their duties to the Court regardless of what side of the bar table they sit and whether they have lived experience or not. Lived experience shouldn’t be a prerequisite to empathy, and empathy can (and should) co-exist with our obligations as practitioners to the Court.
The significance of being a woman in the robes and roles historically reserved for privileged, white men is not lost on Miller – but only when its Tessa’s turn as the complainant. It seems somewhat trite that Tessa only notices she’s the only woman in the mix when she’s the witness, rather than as defence counsel. Instead, as a barrister, she exploits her gender by playing dumb when seeking to take advantage of a myriad of condescending male witnesses. This somehow misses the mark – surely to challenge the prima facie position that women are manipulative liars we shouldn’t lean into these stereotypes – even if it means forgoing an easy ride to giving an a**hole witness enough rope to figuratively hang himself.
Sophia Forrest in Prima Facie. Photography by Daniel J Grant.
With such a broad audience, it seems like a missed opportunity to identify and call out behaviours in our everyday conduct that contribute to the stigma of sexual assault, prevent reporting and presume women are not to be believed until proven otherwise. The production is an opportunity for the ‘reasonable person’ to understand the embedded injustices and misogyny of the criminal law system, and what can and should be done to practically influence a change. For example, questioning our collective tendency to dismiss sexual violence because ‘she was asking for it’, ‘she’s easy’ or ‘she shouldn’t have put herself in that position’. Prima Facie sadly only mentions these issues in passing.
Further, when the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court is sitting in row J of the theatre, it doesn’t seem like enough for Tessa to simply say she will change and only as a result of lived experience.
I know – I know – the system is still paralysingly stacked against us in a way that feels insurmountable and it’s not Suzie Miller’s responsibility to fix it singlehandedly. Look no further than the four year Luhrmann/Higgins saga, the current epidemic of violence against women in Australia and, well, *gestures at everything, broadly*.
I simply think we need to have adult conversations about the multiple systems and structures which combine to achieve a synergy to deny victims justice. To have an adult conversation we have to take responsibility to handle a lot more nuance and information and also be challenged more directly. Prima Facie could have been the vehicle for this. Instead, I just seems like we get the temporary 90 minute package of yet another injustice against a woman who then manages to ‘find her voice’ in a redeeming arc, notwithstanding admittedly striking and raw account of it all.
Ultimately, Prima Facie confronts us with the uncomfortable truth about how the legal process often becomes a battleground where the concept of consent is dissected but not always understood, and where the scales of justice seem irrevocably tipped by power dynamics. The show challenges the audience to question the very notion of truth in a system where it is supposed to be held above all else.
Prima Facie is presented by Black Swan State Theatre Company and is on at the Heath Ledger Theatre until July 21.