National Theatre Live: Prima Facie

Thoroughbreds!

Every single one primed for the race.

Every muscle pumped, trained, and ready for the sprint.

Hold it together, hold back.

Keep the blood at just the right temperature,

just below boil.

Waiting at the starting gate then...

All rise out of the stalls.

Hold back, push forward, know when to have restraint,

when to find an opening,

ready to jump when the prosecution falters poised.

Watching, waiting, nerves taught.

Mind operating on 10 tracks at once.

Blood pumping, muscles tightly wound,

waiting to spring, waiting.

It's starting to open up, wait, wait, careful.

This is a measure of your skillset,

the calm before and there it is.

Instinct pushes me forward.

Your honor, I am on my feet, eye zooming in on me.

Application granted, yes, yes.

My client, big guy looks stunned.

He doesn't quite know that I've won a point,

but he feels the shift, likes it.

My client hates the witness,

but for me, the witness is just the witness. I sit down.

The prosecution finishes, then it's time.

The judge looks at me.

It's your witness, Miss Ensler, yes.

The witness is mine.

The witness breathes in, I stand up.

Slowly do up the button on my jacket.

Courtroom. Silence. Charged.

Waiting for me, the thrill of this.

Play it cool, yeah, cool.

Voice measured and confident, play it...

Play it, it's yours.

You're holding it in the palm of your hand.

Play with it.

Stretch it out.

It's yours.

Cross-examination, it's the best part.

All instinct.

Ask the question.

Repeat the answer.

Repeat it again.

Watch the witness's face.

Let him think I am getting mixed up,

that I'm a bit slow in understanding what happened.

Flick through some pages.

Let him think I have lost my way here breathing.

A snicker from the prosecution council, good.

Good, very good.

Again, flick through some pages.

My client shifts uncomfortably in the dock.

Good, then I repeat the question.

Watch the witness relax.

Shoulders roll back.

This one doesn't seem to know what she's doing.

Judge, expressionless.

But this judge has seen me before, seen the likes of me.

Question one, question two, look worried about the answers.

This emboldens him.

Watch, yes.

Here he goes.

Let the witness talk over, talk.

Let him clarify.

Good.

Thanks for that.

I wasn't sure.

See his eyes dismiss me.

This one must be straight out to you, something.

She's not that good.

Ho, ho, ho.

This, it relaxes him.

He's got the upper hand.

He is now not careful, not afraid, no longer.

Vigilant, he says something inconsistent.

I let him explain it to me.

Nodding, I'm nodding while he digs himself in deeper.

Okay, I say.

That's a bit clearer now, but he volunteers more information.

I see the prosecutor put a finger to his own forehead.

He knows and I know, but the guy about to bury himself,

he talks on and on.

I circle, nodding approval.

Oh, I see, but why did that happen?

Judge's face, a mask, but the judge knows

there is blood in the water.

And I let the witness swim on.

No one can help him and he swims.

Right into it, he leans back.

Flash of confidence across his face.

I let him feel his control, feel safe.

Then tip toe, tip toe.

He crosses his arms as I approach.

I circle, circle again, stop.

Flick through some pages.

The judge and the other lawyers,

they know what's coming, they know.

They cringe for him, but they love it.

They lean forward, the jury.

People in the gallery, no idea and him.

In the witness box, the one I'm talking to, no clue.

Still, no fucking clue.

And I'm sorry, but just to clarify,

I do have one more question.

I hope you don't mind.

It will help me get the full picture.

Was that an eye roll from him?

Perfect, but if he was watching the prosecution council,

the guy turning his head down to the table,

he might know, he might sense.

If he wasn't so sure, so cocky, he'd feel it.

Danger.

Something is about to go down, but no.

He's in his element.

He thinks he is the cat and I am the mouse.

It is perfect.

The prosecution council looks up.

I stop moving.

I stop paper shuffling.

I look right at the witness.

I ask my question.

A strange flicker across his face.

He glances quickly to the prosecutor.

The prosecutor can't say anything, but his eyes.

His eyes are straining, trying to say, don't, don't.

Keep your wits about you.

Don't fall into this trap.

And my last circle, then bang.

I fire full questions like bullets.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, face, shook utter annihilation

and the look that I get.

Dawn me.

You fucking idiot.

You thought you had this.

But here I am.

Watch the witness sweat silence.

People in the gallery lean forward.

Wow, she's good.

My client, the accused, is awestruck.

My eyes are on the witness's face.

Now for the first time he actually sees me.

He is furious.

Answer the question, please, Mr. Bateman. Professional.

The prosecutor sits at the bar table.

Head down, it's all over now.

He knows it.

I know it.

The judge knows it.

The witness is about to really know it.

Your honor, the witness is not answering the question.

Sweetest voice ever.

The judge reminds Mr. Bateman that he

must answer the question.

Answer counsel's question, please, Mr. Bateman.

I look at sheer hatred at me.

He's cornered.

He is fucked.

His head is down.

He mumbles something.

I'm sorry I didn't hear that, Judge.

You must speak into the microphone

for the transcript recording, Mr. Bateman.

I smile, benevolently.

Is it a yes then, sir?

So you agree with me then?

The judge has had enough.

The man is destroyed.

He knows my tactics.

You have your answer, Ms. Enslair.

Yes.

I do.

Thank you, your honor.

I have no further questions.

Judge, any re-examination?

The prosecutor stands, but no, no.

There is no point taking his witness in fear.

It's a no-brainer.

The witness walks past me, flashes me a look--

Utter confusion.

What just happened?

It's not emotional for me.

It's the game.

It's the game of law.

I stand up again, completely professional.

I submit there is no case to answer.

Corporate dismissal.

The judge is swift.

It is all over now.

The barristers' room is the winner can't flaunt it.

Every winner might be the one who loses the next day.

We don't call it losing.

We call it coming second.

Today, the prosecutor came second.

I pack up my files.

Not thanks to the counsel for the prosecution.

Don't make eye contact, blah, blah, blah.

Motion for my client to up and leave.