At a theatre fest in Kerala, ‘Feminist Manifesto’ brings Nigerian writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s ideas to life; it was stirring and spectacular, but not without its blind spots
It was the final day of the week-long rural theatre festival at Velur in Kerala’s Thrissur district, organised by Gramakam, a popular people’s troupe, which concluded on April 7. The open-air proscenium stage, set on a high school ground, swelled with a stream of villagers, their excitement palpable in the warm night air. Feminist Manifesto, a play directed by Abhimanyu Vinayakumar — inspired from the ideas of Nigerian novelist and feminist thinker Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie — opened with a wedding procession.
A teenage Phoolan Devi, a child bride dressed in multi-coloured lehenga, was led forward. Her small frame was dwarfed by her much older groom, a domineering figure exuding authority. The music swelled, reflecting her rising anxiety, as he placed the burdens of household chores and patriarchal expectations upon her head. However, towards the end, a simple act of defiance —throwing these burdens aside — was enough to scare him off.
Performed by expatriates living in Abu Dhabi, UAE, and first staged in December 2024, Feminist Manifesto, drawing on Adichie’s non-fiction works, We Should All Be Feminists and Dear Ijeawele, or A Feminist Manifesto in Fifteen Suggestions, resonated with folk vitality and elements of classical and modern theatre. Across five episodes, it unfolded as a museum of womanhood memories, a call for self-empowerment shaped by a diaspora cast.
Egalitarianism as a trap
Phoolan’s prologue set a raw, visceral tone. The narrative then moved to a young girl, barely five or six, asking her mother: “Why are boys and girls segregated at school? Why can’t we touch each other? Don’t we all sleep together at home — me, you, Dad, and brother?” In response, the mother speaks of predators who snatch birds mid-flight just to sever their wings. With that, she leads the child into the exhibits — a museum of memories where the muted history of womanhood cutting across cultures begins to unravel around them.
The first exhibit featured Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen’s character Nora Helmer (the wife of Torvald Helmer, a bank manager in his famous play, Doll’s House) — reimagined in the backdrop of a doll auction, titled Doll’s House. Buyers assessed each doll for utility — cooking, cleaning, obedience and even birthing — with the most “useful” dolls fetching high prices, snapped up by gold smugglers, bandits, and other profiteers of patriarchy. Nora, the emancipatory yet plain, not-so-cute doll, remained untouched — until Torvald stepped forward.
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Torvald sought not beauty or service, but intellect, offering Nora a supposedly egalitarian space. But his version of freedom, too, came laced with expectations of submission. Nora’s refusal culminates in an act of rebellion — in a stroke of scenographic brilliance, Nora steps through that door and into the rain. The downpour becomes a powerful metaphor, both literal and symbolic — a release, a reckoning, a rebirth.
Rising from the flames
Next up was William Shakespeare’s Othello. Desdemona stood trapped between Othello’s fury and Iago’s cunning. Othello’s roar shook the stage, Iago’s whispers twisted like smoke. Desdemona’s silencing hit hard, though the scene dragged a bit. The actors kept it intense, but with tighter pacing, it would’ve landed stronger.
The third piece flowed like a river — its blue-lit scenography gentle and fluid, echoing the ebb of water. At the centre, a round boat drifted silently. This was where Parashara and Satyavati, whose son, Vyasa, who compiled the epic Mahabharata, were destined to meet. She rowed with quiet strength, his towering presence casting a long shadow. Their lovemaking, tender yet coerced, played out in a silhouette — more suggestion than statement. The lighting wrapped the scene in a soft, sorrowful glow lingering like a hymn.
The fourth exhibit brought to life a myth of fire and resurgence from North Kerala. Muchilot Amma, a prominent Theyyam deity and a woman of fierce intellect and independence, was condemned by patriarchy, falsely accused of impurity, and cast aside. Choosing self-immolation over submission, she rose from the flames as a goddess — transcending caste, reclaiming power.
On stage, women shattered cradles and raised brooms, their cries rising in revolt against a predatory masculinity. Men prowled like beasts, their voices a chorus of entitlement and demand. And then, through smoke and fury, Muchilot Amma rose like a phoenix —unyielding, divine.
Overlooking the politics of colour
Vinayakumar’s direction was bold, making full use of the open-air stage — processions threaded through the audience, shadows stretched long, and props were layered with meaning, especially in the Dolls’ House scene. Jos Koshy’s lighting told its own story — stark and unflinching during scenes of oppression, softening into warmth where there was hope.
Sooraj Santhosh’s music, too, deepened the narrative, so was the costumes and props which spoke volumes without a word. The play’s strength was its theatricality: the procession’s immersion, the folk-classical fusion. What it lacked was editing: some under par lines didn’t quite land. The critique of online masculinity (manosphere) — aggressive, belligerent — struck a chord, but without deeper probing, too felt slightly flat.
The expatriate cast, mainly UAE-based Malayalis, brought lots of energy: Ashraf Kiraloor, Murali. K, and Saifudeen delivered standout performances, anchoring the play with their compelling presence. Ashraf was particularly impressive, effortlessly moving between roles — the Auctioneer, Iago, and Sage Parashara — with subtle improvisations and natural ease.
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Saifuddin, on the other hand, brought a brilliance to the stage, his movements deliberate and composed. His portrayal of Helmer often felt like a solo act, as his counterpart Nora occasionally fell short in matching his energy. Murali’s Othello was exceptional — his physical command and rhythmic presence made for a powerful performance. Equally striking was the actor playing Desdemona, whose choreography reached an exceptional level of finesse and control. Yet, the supporting cast faltered at times — most noticeably in the final act. Despite a powerful delivery from the chorus, the lack of nuance in some of the female performances revealed a fissure in an otherwise cohesive ensemble.
Feminist Manifesto is inspired by Adichie’s ideas, but it isn’t a direct adaptation — and it didn’t go as deep. The main theme was self-empowerment, and that came through clearly. The auction scene, with names like Sarvamsaha (the all-enduring) and Chatulaprasavini (the agile birther), cut sharply, while balloons released at the end floated skyward — hopeful, yet fragile.
Still, the play avoided some tough questions. Intersectionality — of caste, class, race — was missing. A line invoking the “whiteness of freedom” rang hollow, overlooking the politics of colour — an omission hard to ignore in a post-classical feminist context. Adichie often touches on these deeper layers; the play merely skimmed over them. It showed oppression and hinted at liberation, but didn’t take the risk to go all the way. It was moving, worth watching, but stopped just short of being truly brave.
