Trigger warning: sexual abuse.
“They, Themself and Schmerm” is straight-up, hilarious, vivacious and human.
There is nothing remotely humorous about the recounting of a life filled with molestation, gender discrimination and fractured family relations. Despite this, Becca Blackwell, taking full ownership of their pronouns and autobiography, performed their hour-long stand-up show to a full crowd of smiles and laughs, and in the end, a standing ovation, at the Academy of Music in Northampton Saturday, Oct. 26.
Becca Blackwell is a gender-fluid ginger enigma. The show begins with a trigger warning and dives right into a declaration that Blackwell was molested. They play off the stereotype that all trans people have been molested, and yes, it was the 70s, so “if you weren’t molested, you weren’t cute.” Blackwell pulls no punches, hitting their audience where they know it will be uncomfortable and then making them laugh in the next second with the whiplash of a joke.
The show is no outright declaration for trans rights, nor is it exceptionally self-indulgent in any aspect. Blackwell is not asking for condolences, nor empathy. Except for when crouching to imitate how one might pee in the women’s bathroom, they stand tall and proud, moving around the stage in a comfortably charismatic manner. The story is one that might educate the audience on a trans person’s experience, but rather than a generalized summation of all trans people, “They, Themself and Schmerm” is incredibly personal. Who else would have joined a socio-political circus in the middle of New York? And who else could have extracted a coin from inside of their niece in a prison bathroom?
The audience, in equal parts elderly Northampton natives and Smith students, held on to Blackwell’s every word. Most came because, according to one show-goer, “you need to know about these things.” And that’s what Blackwell delivers. There is no censorship in this show. Everything is honest, authentic and incredibly touching.
In a town like Northampton, Becca acknowledges, a stuffy vibe often infiltrates the activist environment, à cause de the “woke” people who think they know it all about the queer experience. This show feels like a rock to that window-pane, breaking any and all stereotypes about trans people. Transitions are not always immediate, body modification surgery is not always necessary and people don’t always need to change their names.
There are sharp vocalized confrontations with societal norms (women should be able to fart, and proudly!) and unexpected displays of compassion, with a call for an acceptance of masculine intimacy. Blackwell’s piece holds an equally important voice amongst the socio-political din that has so rapidly saturated our contemporary times. It touches a place far more vulnerable than the statistics ever will. Their work does not turn from the hardships of body dysmorphia or growing up outside of the norm in a more conservative era. Rather, they accept their past, and reach out, only asking that other people accept them as well. “Like Jenga,” Blackwell comments, “the events in my life make me who I am … without them I wouldn’t be fun at parties … I wouldn’t give up anything in my life.”
Becca Blackwell’s show is a must see. For the laughs, for the drama and all of the tragedy, their work is an invaluable individualized piece of culture. It says: this is me, this is who I am. I am They, Them and I am Schmerm.
