Is Trilogy really just theatrical Gok Wan?

It was heralded as "an intoxicating celebration of women and feminism" ; a proud declaration of sisterhood that would leave us euphoric . I went along to Friday night's performance of Nic Green's Trilogy at the Barbican with a weight of expectation heavier than usual. Still, I was confident the show could withstand the hype: plenty of folk I trust had already been wowed by its intelligence and artistic triumphs . Why, then, after nearly three hours of rousing dance, audience participation and feminist seminaring, did I feel so deflated? Not just disappointed, but lost. I'd been primed for theatre that made a bold and compelling feminist statement: I came out wondering whether, really, it was just theatrical Gok Wan . At base, Trilogy aims to make women feel empowered not through their social, academic or historic achievements, but via a celebration of their bodies. The first part climaxes with a self-selecting group of 200 naked "real women" joyously dancing to the Clash's I Fought the Law, presumably to make us appreciate all our individual lumps, bumps and wobbly bits. This is followed up with a re-enactment – through more naked choreography, naturally – of Town Bloody Hall , the seminal 1971 debate on women's liberation in which a group of feminists, notably Germaine Greer and Jill Johnston, took on a boorish Norman Mailer. The final section, one part agitprop to two parts pep talk, encourages women to make their own herstories, run for the hills and sing Jerusalem (again, naked) at the top of their lungs . It's not that I wasn't convinced by Green's enthusiasm – nor her ambition to make women feel good about themselves – but I found it bizarre how short the work sold itself. Instead of presenting us with a thoughtful new discourse, one that might have shown us how far women have come since second-wave feminism, Trilogy was stunted by a naive and simplistic veneration of Greer and Johnston. Overly self-indulgent in places (the extended repetitive sequences of movement; the performers prostrating in awe in front of Town Bloody Hall), it felt as if sections of the piece might have been better left in the rehearsal room. And while the nudity of the performers was deliberately un-erotic (but often witty, daring and beautiful), did that necessarily mean it marked progressive empowerment? To me, the naked protest was stripped of its ability to shock – itself a comment on the ubiquity of nudity – and thus felt redundant, even predictable. Considering that it's nearly two decades since Naomi Wolf's The Beauty Myth was first published, three since Susie Orbach's Fat is a Feminist Issue and four since Greer's The Female Eunuch , that mainstream feminism – and subsequently, feminist art – is still so preoccupied with female physicality is depressing. Arguably, we've never lived in an age that's more fixated on body image, but I would have hoped that by 2010, allowing ourselves as women to be defined by our bodies would be considered – well, somewhat quaint. I wasn't expecting Green to present us with a dialogue in postcolonial and transnational feminism, but I had anticipated something more radical and inclusive. (I was born and raised in England but never knew the significance of Blake's Jerusalem, much less found myself moved enough to undress and sing along for the finale of the show.) Where is the theatre that addresses gender equality, disparity in pay, the rights of sex workers? Where is the work that gives voice to women who are oppressed by race and/or class, and which goes beyond the dominant priorities of white and middle-class women? Although Trilogy succeeded in celebrating the diverse shapes and sizes of women, it failed to engage with the diverse range of contemporary feminist debates. This was a piece of theatre in desperate need of more meat on its bones.