CW: Gore, CSA, MMIWG, Trauma

Deer Woman, a visceral, profoundly moving play written by acclaimed playwright Tara Beagan, leaves an indelible mark on the psyche of the audience. Presented by National Arts Centre Indigenous Theatre, and brought to life by the deft production of Article 11 on location at “Patty Fraser and Norm Gagnon’s Place”, this riveting drama provides a harrowing exploration of the confrontation of violence, gendered and racialized power, trauma-as-transformation, and Indigenous autonomy. Under the precise and sensitive direction of Andy Moro and the playwright, the one-woman performance seizes attention from opening to finale, skilfully delivered by Cherish Violet Blood. Blood gives a commanding and layered performance, seamlessly oscillating between starkly contrasting emotions, often within a single take. Likewise, the sound design by Andy Moro and Luca Caruso Moro and original music by Lacy Hill adds depth to the haunting narrative, each auditory cue enhancing the tension inherent in the script (NAC Indigenous Theatre). Deer Woman is not an easy read or watch — it is a painful and poignant exploration of the harsh realities of violence against indigenous women and the profound lengths required to pursue true justice. Despite its darkness, it’s also a testament to human resilience, sisterhood, and the impossibly enduring spirit of Indigenous culture.

Deer Woman challenges western views on power and justice, presenting a nuanced, authentic narrative of Indigenous experiences. The play utilises theatricality to create a distinct Indigenous lens — Lila’s assertion of power is imbued with a sense of reclamation an Indigenous identity and territory against oppressive forces. The importance of ancestral land represented by the hunting blind, and the deer as metaphor for Lila’s empowerment and protection, sitatues the Indigenous experience at the centre of the narrative. Indigenous peoples have long been depicted as powerless and victimised in mainstream narratives; however, Deer Woman subverts this pattern by presenting Lila, an Indigenous woman, in a position of absolute power. Lila exercises this power over a white man, evident in the brutality of the ending, “I want you to know I will be crushing your skull” (Beagan 30). This line encapsulates her firm grasp of power, breaking away from the stereotypical portrayal of Indigenous people as victims. Her role is not a passive one; instead, she actively confronts and asserts control over her oppressor.

Lila’s description of violence throughout the performance is confrontational, both in content and in tone, as she fiercely addresses her audience, demanding us to face the harsh realities of violence against Indigenous women. As she states, “[h]ow many of those people ever tried one little bit to help find one killer of one single Indian, hey? How wrong is that, to just flip the channel and go ‘oh, well. Another one. Oh, well’” (4). The play further delves into confrontation as Lila grapples with the consequences of her experiences, the pervasive silence around her, and her own emerging agency — the act of the man at the fair, coupled with the trauma she experiences at the hands of her father’s friend Ron, forces her into a confrontation with her reality, depicted when she explains, “So next week — next bowling Monday — I’m different. I’ve learned things I can’t unlearn,” (12) and marks Lila’s transformation from a passive recipient of injustices to an active participant in her own survival narrative, signifying her readiness to confront the embedded patriarchal and colonial systems — the perpetrators of her trauma. Lila’s confrontation with her two-spirit identity and the discrimination faced by her Auntie Gary also manifest the struggle of being different in a heteronormative society; however, this struggle is potent source of transformation — and the breath of the dying fawn entering Lila is a transformative, sacred moment, as Lila states “parta me became part deer, though. Like that fawn breath went into me and changed me.” (19) Her supernatural transformation underscores the Indigenous tenets of the flux of nature, and the interconnectedness among all beings.

When Lila utilises her experiences as a means to shield her sister, Hammy, an act of the reclamation of power and confronting the injustices are meted out of her — Lila’s decision to use the door stopper signifies her proactive role in transforming her trauma into a source of strength, declaring how “me and Hammy are wedged in for the night,” (13) demonstrating a refusal to let these repeated patterns of abuse continue, stepping into an autonomous role of protector, despite her young age and vulnerable position. The play also acknowledges the transformative power of imagination and creativity as a tool for resilience and resistance — when Lila and Hammy create their dream house, an act of defiance against the existing social structure and a sign of reclaiming control over their lives. By creating a “house that has blue skies and fluffy clouds on the inside, and flowers that smell good and sit up straight every day,” (13) the two not only defy their oppressors but also cultivate a sanctuary that signifies hope, joy, and resilience.

The physical act of confronting Squanto, however, marks a turning point in her journey — the imagery of Lila’s transformation is strikingly encapsulated when she states, “[s]tarting then, I got my antlers. And I knew they’d help keep me and Hammy safe. Anything that came at us, I’d gouge them out with my antlers and never say sorry about it,” (23) highlighting her shift from victimhood to a figure of virtuous vengeance. Transformation, though, is only fully realised as Lila reconciles her traumatic past and regains her strength and dignity. The act of killing Squanto is metaphorical of her personal transformation, an ultimate catharsis allowing her to break free from her oppression. Lila’s promise to crush Squanto’s skull and her description of the visceral process of removing his organs and spilling his guts illustrate Lila’s retribution. This act is the reclamation of power from a society that miserably fails to protect Indigenous women and girls. The stage directions, denoting the props and movements, play a significant role in evoking the grotesque imagery and visceral impact of the scene. The inclusion of specific visual elements, such as the tossing of his penis and testicles and the close-up camera shot, heighten the intensity and provoke discomfort in the audience, forcing them to confront the brutal reality of violence against Indigenous women. This transformation is powerfully conveyed through the medium of theatre — Lila’s actions are physically manifested on stage, birthing a visceral experience for the audience. The theatricality of the play is grounded in the directness of Lila’s actions, amplified by the physicality of her confronting and overpowering Squanto. The image of Squanto, “[n]aked, covered in blood and his own excrement” (27) contrasts with Lila’s newfound power and resolve, embodying a shift in power dynamics.

Trauma permeates every aspect of the play, particularly Lila’s personal journey — her narration of the sexual assault by her father’s friend, Ron, highlights a deeply entrenched culture of sexual violence, the lamentable reality for many Indigenous women and girls, magnifying the gravity of the MMIWG crisis. Her mother’s passive reaction to the abuse underscores the dire lack of support systems for victims, consequently perpetuating this cycle of violence. Lila’s assertion, “[h]ow many pervs get away with shit because kids don’t wanna be rude, hey? Like… FUCK!” (8) starkly brings attention to the silence that often surrounds these experiences, and societal norms encouraging this silence. Lila’s oral storytelling of these horrific events does more than just convey trauma — it actively resists the objectification and victimisation of Indigenous women often seen in mainstream narratives. Her antlers symbolise her resilience and her role as a protector. Her antlers are her coping mechanism. Her antlers are her way of maintaining strength in the face of adversity. Her antlers are the phantom pains of her murdered little sister. Lila’s question to the audience, “[d]o you see my antlers?” (23) pierces through the fourth wall — a direct challenge, a demand for recognition of her strength, resilience, and transformation, and an unwavering call for accountability; thereby reaffirming the crucial and transformative role of theatre in fostering empathy, challenging biases, and amplifying silenced voices in our society, the question ultimately encapsulates the essence of Tara Beagan’s Deer Woman — a haunting call for virtuous retribution and the shedding of our sinful velvet.