#Sarah niles i may destroy you how to#

#Sarah niles i may destroy you how to#

вЂIвЂ™m here to learn how to avoid being raped, there must be some way, because if there isnвЂ™t, that means it would happen all over again and I just вЂ¦ I donвЂ™t know what kind of world that would be,вЂ™ Arabella vents to her support group one day. He leaves the station feeling hurt and alone. KwameвЂ™s queer, Grindr-using desire is seen as inherently devious and corrupt. Terry, too, finds her consent obscured, as does ArabellaвЂ™s friend Kwame (Paapa Essiedu), a gay man who unblushingly says: вЂIвЂ™m into everything.вЂ™ When Kwame approaches the police to report an assault against him, he is met with an awkward, reluctant police officer that visibly operates from a homophobic bias. вЂ put themselves, and others, into necessary context.вЂ™ Coel gives survivors a context in which to hold our own hypocrisy, desire, inner darkness and proximity to (even, complicity in) acts of violence. вЂThe memoir is, at its core, an act of resurrection,вЂ™ writes Carmen Maria Machado in In the Dream House (2019), a startling, moving book about the authorвЂ™s queer relationship that turned abusive. Coel manifests how surviving is about power вЂ“ claiming it and saying, without hesitation: I get to define, and evidence, what happened to me. Arabella, while addressing her support group, declares, вЂin that place where rules, clarity, law, separation, cease to exist we will show you exactly what we mean by violationвЂ™. In fact, it contests the very premise upon which survivorsвЂ™ stories are judged. Coel вЂ“ rather stunningly вЂ“ does, and there is nothing palatable about this show. In a post-#MeToo world, mainstream culture has rarely taken on the contradictions, intimacies and untidiness of sexual violation. CoelвЂ™s character, Arabella, is a writer too вЂ“ and she has a sharp, almost enviable, ability to articulate the messiness of living with the memory of abuse. As a Black woman writing a nuanced script for a primarily Black cast, Coel has spoken openly about her struggle with racism and misogyny. It was also a story over which she fought to have creative control. I May Destroy You is loosely based on CoelвЂ™s own experiences of assault. In ArabellaвЂ™s world, like in ours, вЂeverything and nothing is normalвЂ™. Her storytelling is too clever for that, too subtle: she is more preoccupied with what we internalize, and what remains blurry. CoelвЂ™s writing never sensationalizes violence. Sometimes we reach for the things that hurt us most. Terry tells Arabella: вЂSurround yourself with people that affirm you.вЂ™ But Arabella makes a surprise trip to her gaslighting ex-boyfriend instead. Terry quotes from a вЂrecovery toolboxвЂ™ вЂ“ arranging special self-care activities like yoga and painting вЂ“ but the toolbox keeps failing. Her friends support her as best they can. She stashes the plastic evidence bags under her bed at home. Arabella was raped but can only remember the slightest details. The burden of proof is too intense: especially when sexual violence is so often rooted in ambiguity. Her friend, Terry (Weruche Opia), gently nudges her as they sit in the waiting room of the police station: вЂI donвЂ™t know how healthy it is to be here any longer.вЂ™ This is CoelвЂ™s pointed critique of an unhealthy and re-traumatizing justice system, which is rarely able to protect survivors. Arabella is dumbstruck by the lack of judicial closure. Funmi hands over the вЂevidenceвЂ™ вЂ“ plastic bags filled with soiled clothes. Nine months later, after a lengthy but inconclusive investigation, the case is closed. She pulls the collar of her T-shirt over her face вЂ“ and sobs. вЂWhoвЂ™s he looking at?вЂ™ Arabella shakes her head, her cognitive dissonance beginning to clear. вЂYou can see his eyes?вЂ™ Funmi asks Arabella. The next morning, as I sat at the breakfast table picking at my plate, he casually chatted with my flatmates. Years ago, I fell asleep next to a friend. Something dropped in me as I watched this scene. While there is a calm bravado to her voice, her face вЂ“ which is intensely expressive, making visible the slightest tremor вЂ“ is softly quaking. Funmi (Sarah Niles), an officer assigned to the case, uses the word вЂassaultвЂ™, which makes Arabella balk, and snap back: вЂWe should refrain from talking about things like theyвЂ™re facts вЂ¦вЂ™. But a forensics team finds bruises on her knees and a small cut in her mouth. вЂYou canвЂ™t even call it a memory,вЂ™ she says, wondering if she made it all up.

She has woken up after a roofied blackout with a bleeding scar above her eyebrow and a smashed-up phone.

вЂItвЂ™s also вЂ“ cathartic.вЂ™ In the second episode, Arabella вЂ“ played by writer, director and producer Michaela Coel вЂ“ is at the police station, trying to report a crime that she is only able to recollect in flashes of images: a bathroom stall, a manвЂ™s nostrils, fumbling at an ATM.

вЂItвЂ™s triggering,вЂ™ a friend says to me, describing the television show I May Destroy You (2020).