All language subtitles for 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.

Everybody watches my walk.

Leather satchel across my chest.

Undo my jacket, buttern, saunter.

Turn at the door, not to the judge.

Gesture for my client to do the same.

Outside the courtroom, he's free.

He gets to go home.

His mother is weeping.

She holds my hand to her heart.

I like the mothers.

They know.

They understand.

I tell them I've got to run.

I've got another case to prepare.

I don't want to see you in here again.

My client nods, shirks my hand.

Respect.

Power.

Today, I was a winner.

Today, I came first.

...

Outside the court, I turn on my iPhone.

I call Alice to debrief on my case.

Someone else picks up, its Dewes.

He asks me how it went.

I won.

What's new, he says.

I throw files into a
cab to the train station.

I'm laughing on the phone.

I hop out.

The cabbie calls me back.

It's not an Uber.

I forgot to pay.

Shit.

I hang up.

I feel bad.

I give the driver a tip.

I tell him my uncle drives the cab.

Cabbie smiles at me.

...catching the train to Liverpool,

and I finally start to let it go.

The adrenaline.

The pace.

I listen to some music.

It's a long ride to Mums,
and the gloss of this legal life

melts into my seat
as the train makes its way

to where I started out.

I walk up the high
street, stop at the corner shop,

pick up Mum's
favorite drink, a big bottle

of Fanta.

The guy behind the counter remembers me.

We talk about how his
business has slowed right down.

The new Tesco Express on the corner.

Mum is in the kitchen when I get there.

Little brother Mick.

Can't hear me.

He's playing his PlayStation.

Older brother Johnny is in bed.

Mum, he had a big night last night.

Again? The telly's on,
and the news is blaring outrage.

Some poor family have
been paid too much benefits.

Me Mum lights up a ciggy,
tells me the Fanta isn't sugar free.

Fail!

Asks me to chop the veg.

She's been cleaning
offices all day, offices

like the one I work in.

Chop, chop.

Chop.

Chop.

I won a case today.

Oh, you got more criminals
out on our streets then, did you?

No fucking point replying.

She goes out to her room,
comes back, hands me a hot pink 100%

polyester shirt.

I saw it on sale.

It looks like what a lawyer would wear.

It's not.

But this is my mum's
way of saying she is proud.

She is tentative.

Do you like it?

I love it, Mum.

I stopped chopping.

I put it on for her
right there in the kitchen.

Yeah, brother, he
got into a fight last night.

What?

Not again.

As I hug her, I feel her
stiffen a little.

She pulls away.

Mum, he should be working full time.

No, paying his way, not out
at night drinking and partying.

Mum, he's a fucking loser.

I turn.

There's Johnny, my brother,
standing right at the door.

His face is contorted.

Over his eyebrow is a dry bloody mess.

He erupts.

He almost spits at me.

Fancy fucking lawyer, didn't you?

Fancy fucking pink shirt, eh?

Johnny lurches at me.

Mum screams.

Mickey can't hear
anything with his PlayStation.

Oh, go on.

Go on, hit me.

Show me what a big guy you are.

And we are right back there.

He doesn't hit me.

He's never hit me.

I feel bad that I've just said that.

I just-- I want him to be
better, not be this guy, the one

with the blood encrusted forehead.

What-- breathing out
last night's fumes as he speaks.

This man, he was once my best mate.

He did everything with me.

Johnny swoops at the wall.

Vegetable pieces fly everywhere.

I am just going to leave.

And the last thing that
I see is my mum on the floor

trying to pick them up.

Pieces of carrot and broccoli--
on her hands and knees.

First day, University Law School.

Cambridge, yes.

200 faces each, with
three A stars at A levels.

I mean, all of us
on almost perfect scores.

You know, all
summer, everyone has looked at us

as if we are something.

No longer a spotty sixth former.

Now, someone to watch.

I mean, society tells us
law school means you're important.

Everyone seems to believe it except me.

I'm still pretending.

We take our seats
in the induction lecture.

I look around, secretly
fearful that perhaps I've fluked it.

That someone's
going to bear through the door

of the induction hall.

Call out my name and say,
there's been a terrible mistake.

But I get swept up in it all.

The dean stands telling
us, you are the creme de la creme.

She actually said that.

I mean, we like it.

Top law school, top
city, top marks, top people.

We like to hear this.

You will be the
ones to change the country.

Then just like a lawyer, she stops.

But look to the person to your left.

We do.

Me, I'm shy.

Guy on my left is bloody gorgeous.

And confident, I can tell
he is from a posh school, yeah.

He already knows he will
be the one to change the country.

We nod at each other.

He takes in my outfit.

I wither.

It's obvious I'm
not from where he's from.

Now look to the person to your right.

The girl on my right has a haircut

that screams private school.

I hold back.

But she gives me a warm
smile and then pulls a funny face.

I let out a small noise.

That is a laugh.

Look back and hear this.

One of the three of
you will not make it, yes.

One of the three of
you will fail, make no mistake.

You are all in
competition with each other.

You are not friends.

You are fighting each other.

The game starts now.

I can't look at either of them.

One tick, two tick,
third one gone, the other two.

They think it's going to be me, yeah.

Yeah, I am the one who won't make it,

because you can tell I don't belong here.

I get angry at them.

The girl starts typing on
her phone, an expensive phone.

I can tell we won't talk again, yeah.

She'll be a top lawyer
and won't remember my name.

It's OK.

Out of those of you
who even make it to the bar,

only one in 10 of you will get pupillage.

Only five of those might get silk.

And only one has the
chance of being a judge each decade.

I look to the boy to my left, Benedict.

Of course he's called Benedict.

He glances at me.

He has already dismissed me.

Fuck you.

The dean stands, talks to law.

Never assume anyone is
telling the truth, even yourself.

There is no real truth, only legal truth.

Don't trust your gut instinct.

Trust your legal instinct.

You will get it wrong if you think

you know what will happen.

You are the best of the best.

Prepare for the fight of your life,

because law school is just the beginning.

The boy on my left, Benedict.

He gets through, just as I predicted.

The girl on my right, Mia.

She drops out after
first year to go to acting school.

But before she goes, Mia
becomes my best friend for life.

Yes.

Instincts can be wrong.

Never assume you're
telling yourself the truth.

Don't trust what you think you know.

This, this is not life.

This is law.

Another three sentence
matters, and I head back to chambers.

Once I'm in my room, I
go through the evidence of a big

case tomorrow.

It's a complex
matter, but it's in good shape.

It's been a long week, this one.

We head to the pub.

There's a group there from law school.

Those from my
chambers, Alice, Julie, and Adam.

Oh, he never comes out, all of us there.

Too many bottles of
Prosecco and four tequina shots each.

Julian's hand lingers
on my back as he talks to me.

Everyone up.

Dancing.

Suit jackets--

flying on the backs of chairs.

Noise I smokes outside.

1 AM, still dancing.

Julian's hand is on my waist.

He's telling me he's
just on a massive drug appeal.

Bloody incredible.

Said he maneuvered his way
around the rules in the growth appeal.

Oh, I'm dancing a--

I'm dancing real sexy now.

Let go of it all.

What?

Oh, criminal defense barristers.

Yeah.

We believe in the law.

We believe in the system.

Jules's eyes all over me.

We believe in
innocent until proven guilty.

No, no.

It's not just a catchphrase.

It is the bedrock of how
you keep a society civilized.

Music has Jules up real close.

I'm liking it.

Prosecutors, do you wick with the police?

No, no, no.

You say you're fighting for justice.

You.

You are fighting for jail time.

Defense is about human rights.

Yes.

Human rights.

The right to innocence.

Unless there is reasonable doubt,

I put my hand on Jules's waist.

Moving close.

Your liberty.

Your life is in our hands.

I toss my hair.

You want the best of the best, yeah?

You want the smartest.

You want the most agile minds.

I flick Jules's wandering hand.

A-- a-- everyone is watching those.

Those who do not
prejudge you, who trust the system.

That is us.

Jules is kissing my neck.

It's nice.

Alice gives me a look.

Eye roll.

It's our job to find holes in the case,

keep the police honest, protect society.

Alice knows I won't go home with Jules.

I'm going to be prime
for our big case tomorrow.

Shit.

I peel Jules off me.

I order an Uber, kiss Alice goodbye.

I grab my jacket,
and I stumble out of the bar.

By 8.30 AM, after two
soy lattes, I'm back in chambers.

Julian smiles at me.

He's already there.

I barge into Alice's room.

She pours me a green tea.

Mm.

Ask me what I'm working on.

Well, a bagel wreath for Monday.

But then I've got two
sexual assaults next week.

Mm.

Tough, she says.

I'll get them off.

One of them has PTSD from Afghanistan,

so I'll milk that if he goes down,

make sure he's not potted, sent away.

You're doing a lot of
sexual assault at the moment.

It's the cad rank rule, she nods.

I don't choose them.

They choose me.

If your court diary is free, and you

get a brief for anything
in your field of law, for me.

Criminal law, you have to
say, yes, it's like at the airport.

Cabbies can't pick and
choose what ride they want.

They get what they get.

It's the cab rank rule.

You don't think they're
using you because you're a woman,

and it looks better.

So what?

Cab rank is cab rank.

I think barristers tend
to hide behind the rule, is all.

No.

We play by the rules.

Alice, she came second
in the last four hearings, yeah?

Not good.

I tell her I can flick her
some small matters

this week I'm overbooked.

She nods.

She's pretty anxious about where.

I wouldn't like to be her.

You know the barristers catchphrase:

You're only ever as
good as your last brief.

Adam and Jules call me in.

Need to pick your
brain on a complex matter.

I haven't lost a case in months.

I mean, it feels good.

Adam and I, we go down
to the local bread for lunch.

We're in the queue
with the corporate lawyers.

Solicitors who specialize in company law.

Italian suits, nice.

Like really nice ties.

Women in silk
shirts, group of five of them,

they are a different breed.

They're all corporate contracts.

[SNORING]

Yawn!

You know, they
think barristers are arrogant.

Yeah, well, I mean, maybe we are a bit.

Adam is talking about a
law graduate who wants to come

and work with him.

We laugh about the
previous pupils we've had in chambers.

I tell him about Sophie
Young, new to criminal law.

He vaguely remembers her.

I'm supervising her in
a client conference.

The client says he
wants to plead not guilty.

And she says to him,
no, I swear to you, she says,

but tell me the truth.

Did you do it?

Adam shakes his head.

So I jump in, you
know, hold everything Sophie.

Take her to one side.

What the fuck are you doing?

She's all, what, what?

I'm telling her.

He's pleading not guilty.

What if he now tells you he did it?

It limits what you can say in court.

She goes, so--

No idea.

Adam jokingly slaps his forehead.

You're walking an
ethical tightrope, Sophie.

You don't get to ask him if he did it.

You take his
instructions, and that is it.

If he has a case,
you run it, end of story.

You don't play God.

You don't decide.

Or judge.

Adam is laughing now.

She said to me, no, I
swear this is word for word.

But what if he did it?

Would I still have to defend him?

Adam bites into his sandwich.

Did she apologize?

Are you kidding?

She left, and she never came back.

We both laugh.

Adam and I, we got
voted the best criminal,

senior, junior,
defense barristers in chambers.

Well, I mean, I have
to admit, Adam is the best.

Everyone knows it.

He's a nice guy, too smart.

And Adam cross-examines so politely.

When he cross-examines a
sexual assault victim--

alleged victim,
he gently moves them into thinking

he is on their side.

He never goes in for the kill.

He lulls them with sympathy
and then analyzes their answers.

His view is there
is no need to cause pain.

They're usually so uncorroborated,

and the law is the law.

If there is any doubt,
then it's about uncovering it.

It's helpful for me to talk to Adam.

I mean, it makes me, a
better lawyer, stand outside.

Don't take sides.

Test the law.

Test it.

Test it.

And if the story has
holes, then point them out,

because it's not just your case.

It's the law that is at
stake, and the law, it is there

to protect everyone.

To protect those who accuse.

Protect those who are accused.

Protect the police that
don't cut corners.

The police that do are exposed.

We can't just prejudge someone.

OK.

OK.

If a few guilty people get off,

it's because the job was not
done well enough by the prosecution

and the police.

Due process, it's
everything, but there is always

that question every dinner party.

How do you act for someone
who you know did it?

But a lawyer's job is not that grand.

No.

The job is not to know.

It's to not know.

The only way the
system works is because we all

play our roles.

My role is defense.

The prosecutor prosecutes.

We each tell a story, and the jury

decide which story
is the one they believe.

They take the responsibility.

A good lawyer just tells the best version

of their client's story.

Nothing more, nothing else.

Just a storyteller.

A voice piece, never
judge, never, ever judge.

Never decide.

The minute you do that, you are fucked.

You've lost.

Well, you are lost.

Julian and I, we burn the
midnight oil night after night.

We are both booked out for weeks.

Adam, he seems to
somehow go home and work from there.

Adam, he has a kid now.

I mean, I don't know how he does it.

He might just be the cleverest person I know.

He can recite whole sections

of the Criminal Justice Act.

He's a freak.

But I like that he sees
me as an equal, a brain to trust.

Julian comes in,
asks me about his GBH case.

That's tricky.

Looks bad for his client.

Should he plead it
out and get a lesser sentence,

we head to his room so
he can pour us each a vodka.

If his client pleads,
he'll definitely do a few years.

He has a past.

But a guilty plea gives him a discount

on the time he will serve.

On the other hand,
there is a strong chance

the facts don't work for the police.

It's a hard decision.

I spot something.

Looks like some of
the officers fixed something

to make it look better.

It is a fundamental mistake.

We laugh.

Jules' eyes are on me.

Moves in close.

Too much vodka.

Whoops.

I find myself kissing Jules.

He is more gentle
than I thought he would be.

Boyish, sheepish Jules.

Who would have thought
he is not a look I would usually

find attractive.

He's all clean and well pampered.

He smells of
expensive aftershave sun of a QC.

But right now, he is exactly what I want.

We fuck on the corner sofa
in his office.

We laugh about the cliche.

We are barristers doing it
in chambers.

He nozzles up close to me afterwards.

Says he was sure I
would have a boyfriend.

It's sweet.

How did I become that girl?

I tell him things I
don't usually talk about.

And he listens.

But my family, my life
losing my dad, he's surprised.

Says he always thought I
was another private schoolgirl.

I laugh.

Watch this.

I can do private schoolgirl
better than private schoolgirls.

He's not sure how to take this.

Am I mocking him and his people?

He snores slightly as he falls asleep.

I-- well, I read a case.

I wake him at four.

I tell him, I need to get back
and got to feed my cat.

We dress.

I order an Uber.

He gets in the car with me.

You're coming.

Or I could--

I could not, if you prefer.

Well, I need to sleep.

Jules is nervous.

Could we do something this week?

Jules is nervous.

Or we don't.

We don't have to, if you feel--

if you feel weird.

I do feel weird.

Our rooms are on
the same floor in chambers.

It is Julian.

I do want to see him again.

Cross-examining police
officers can be kind of fun.

I know.

I know.

Sounds bad, right?

Some of them.

Some of them can be
so friggin' self-righteous.

Show me an officer who
hasn't run their story past their

partner trying to close the gaps.

If you try to play God
in the system, you are damned.

But the police--

they forget.

They think they are the system.

So the trick is to get under their skin.

If you aggravate them, they get
defensive and they make mistakes.

And you can discredit anything
they have said before.

Just last week--
Snares Brook Crown Court.

I suggest you are a man
who is quick to anger, Constable.

No.

And it's not Constable.

It's Sergeant.

I suggest you are a
man who is likely to make

mistakes, Constable.

No.

And it's Sergeant.

But you have made some
inconsistent statements here in

court today, haven't you, Constable?

Oh, I am sorry.

Sergeant, I made a simple mistake.

But you did read your
partner's statement before you

wrote your own, didn't you, Sergeant?

I don't know.

I suggest that you do know, sir.

Yes.

So, well, that's interesting.

Because your partner has
said the exact opposite here in

court today, Constable.

It's Sergeant.

Oh, I am sorry.

I didn't mean to make you angry, sir.

But thank you so much
for your frank answers and for

assisting the court today.

Judge: Miss Ensler.
Thank you, your honor.

I have no further questions.

But cross-examination in
a sexual assault case,

i t is a completely different thing.

In sexual assault cases,
it's usually just one person's

word against the other.

Yes.

The sex act happened.

But was it consensual or not?

The story.

It has to make legal truth.

The defense doesn't
have to prove she did consent.

You just have to
point out he did not know

there was no consent.

Was it reasonable
for him to think it was OK?

I feel for the alleged
victim, the complainant, I really do.

I can tell they're
scared of what I might ask them.

Some of the male barristers, they still use this tone,

make them look like liars, doubt themselves.

I am clear and concise, nothing more.

A complainant doesn't
realize it, but they are actually

lucky it's me doing this.

Testing the case without destroying them.

And yet sometimes...

I remember this one case.

No screening court.

Her choice, this woman,
she looked at me square in the face

and she said, I'm not
getting anything out of this.

I don't want to be here.

I'm just doing this to protect
other women from this man.

Jenna, it shocked me and I admired her.

It is just I am
trained to think differently.

Jenna lost.

She was so composed
throughout all her evidence.

But afterwards, I saw
her fold into, what if he did it?

I got him off.

Shit.

I can't think like that.

The prosecutor
should have done a better job.

My job is just to point out
holes in the crown's story.

Because you know, I mean, we all think

we know the absolute truth of our lives.

But how many times have we--

have we swore the
dress we wore to a party was red

and then seen a photo of a blue dress?

Swore we put our keys
here but left them there.

People are fallible.

And they're weird.

It has to be tested,
especially if someone's freedom is

at stake.

Did he intend to cause harm?

Her word against his, I test her with.

Her version of the story in court.

Test it.

Test it.

And it's the jury wh
take the responsibility.

I don't make the decision.

Not me.

I'm sorry, Jenna, but I
need to ask you a few questions.

You said you
removed your clothing yourself.

Is that right?

And we know that you had been drinking

that night at a club.

But would you agree with me that you had three glasses

of gin and tonic, two
vodka lines, and two or three

glasses of wine?

And would I be correct
to assume that these were all

at least standard bar sizes?

And then you invited
my client back to your home

where you both consumed more alcohol.

You agree.

You both drank vodka.

And is it possible
that you were intoxicated?

And while you were intoxicated, you agree,

that the events of that evening

were a bit blurry, as you stated.

So when you took off your clothing,

you were not saying 'no', were you?

And if in your mind
you had perhaps reconsidered,

you didn't manage
to say this at any stage.

And I suggest to you
that it wasn't until your sister

asked about the
evening a few nights later

that you first indicated
it might be sexual assault.

Thank you so much.

I am sorry if I've
caused you any distress.

You understand,

My role is to ask questions
that can shed some light

on the evening.

She hates me.

Call Mia!-- In a different time zone.

Oh, she's in Australia.

She's doing some acting gig.

I miss her.

I mean, we talk about everything.

A long, long call.

I'm on my balcony in my
dressing gown with a cigarette.

I tell her everything about Jules.

She laughs.

She asked more questions.

Mia said she thinks I'm falling for him.

Maybe she's right.

No, maybe.

Tessa and Julian.

Julian and Tess.

Oh, stop.

Well, I told Alice the next day, well,

you know, we might
have been flirting a bit.

She said she could
see it heading that way.

Told me to enjoy it.

Said he's a great guy.

That I look really happy.

I never told Adam.

I'm not sure why.

Maybe because it's a chambers thing.

Also, him and
Jules are really good mates.

Or did I not want Adam to
think of me as Julian's girlfriend?

I'm not sure.

Still not sure.

Alice and I, we go shopping, have lunch.

I wear it that night.

But before I leave,
I prep my brief for Monday.

I pack my horse hair wig
into my barrister's bag.

Robes folded in there too.

I run into a QC in the square outside.

He says he was very impressed
with the work I've been doing.

It feels great.

What a compliment.

He asks if I'm interested in
a tenancy that's become available

in his chambers.

It's a prestigious chambers
with top level silks.

I'm speechless.

It's a huge honor.

He suggests I come
by and grab coffee with him.

I-- I dare to nod.

I am not sure I could ever justify

the cost of the new chambers.

But I mean, it gets me thinking.

You know, I mean, if things
with Julian go well, maybe moving.

Eventually, it might be a good idea.

You can't be a
couple in the same chambers.

Stop.

Julian meets me at the
Japanese place on the corner.

We talk about work,
life, books, everything.

We pour saki for each other.

There are a few people we know

at the other end of the restaurant.

We giggle as we duck our heads.

We leave.

Shall we-- shall we get some wine?

Get some gelato from
the posh place up the road?

We Uber it to mine.

Kissing in the back, slowly, warm.

When we get to my place,
he...he... he pours us some wine.

I'll get the-- I'll get the
sound system happening.

Fuck!

Alexa, play a-- play
something like a-- Coldplay.

Oh, because I know he's a fan.

We both grab a spoon,
dig into the gelato box together,

feeding each other.

The wine is a nice red smooth,
mixed with the cool gelato.

And we kiss in the icy bliss.

And talk.

We talk about past relationships.

Well, mine are not that
many, but, oh, he has a few.

We drink.

He's telling me he's been
doing pro bono work in a legal center.

I love that.

I swoon a bit.

We talk about his family.

His dad is a top barrister, and his mom

is a physiotherapist, of course.

We kiss.

I feel dizzy.

I'm not sure if
it's the kiss or the wine.

I take off my dress.

Julian takes off his
shirt and cups my breasts.

Somehow, my bra is also gone.

It's hot and sexy.

We move to my room.

Head to the bed
seem to fall into having sex.

It's nice, smooth,
different from the time in chambers

we doze off.

I'm not sure for how long.

Later that night, kissing
and touching, I close my eyes.

We are in sync.

It's nice.

Until I get this...

this overwhelming desire to a--

to vomit.

I push him off me.

I rush to the loo, just make it.
Vomiting my guts out.

I feel everything, hideous. Vomiting.

The dank smell of the toilet bowl.

Am I naked?

Squatting on the
floor, and Julian is in my bed,

hearing me vomit.

Are you OK?

Yeah, I'm fine.

It's just the red wine
mixed with the ice cream.

I feel crap.

I can't move.

I must have been there for a while.

I feel Julian lift me, carrying me
carefully back to the bed.

I keep my face away.

I must smell dreadful.

He whispers in my ear, are you OK?

Yeah, I'm just a bit--

O h, I fall partly asleep.

And then Julian's face is kissing mine.

I try to move.

I need to brush my teeth.

I can't kiss like this.

I still feel ill.

Dizzy drunk,

I laugh.

I feel gross.

He tells me I am beautiful.

Keeps kissing me.

I move my face.

His hands are all over me.

I feel-- I feel sick still.

And then somewhere
from the corners of my mind,

I hear him say, just lay there
and let me make love to you.

I squirm again.

I feel his hands and legs
pushing against me.

Suddenly, I am very awake.

He is on top of me.

But his hand is over my face.

Hang on.

This is all too-- no.

I can't breathe.

Stop.

I need to brush my teeth, Julian.

Julian-- I try to push him with my hands.

But he takes my hands, and I can't move.

And he's inside of me.

It's rough and painful.

And it hurts something horrible.

I feel myself leave my body.

This is not happening.

No, no, not happening.

I should find a way to want this.

Yeah, yeah.

Oh, scream.

But I can't.

I can't scream.

His hand is over my mouth.

I feel such panic.

I struggle to get out from under him.

It goes on and on.

I try to bite his hand.

I writhe around, and I try to kick him.

I can't breathe properly.

He...

he is in a different place.

I am not there with him.

He doesn't seem to know.

He does not seem to care.

Or is he-- is he a
completely different person?

How can he not know?

How can he not know?

I feel a searing pain inside of me.

I want to vomit again.

There is no way out.

His hand is gone.

But I am not speaking.

Her eyes on the
ceiling, and there is just this--

this strange denial.

Julian slumped on top of me.

I am there, but I am not.

Julian snores.

I cry silently.

I struggle out of bed.

I stagger to the loo naked, and I vomit.

And I vomit, and I
vomit, and I brush my teeth.

I scrub my body skin red.

I sit in the shower thinking,
just trying hard to think.

The restaurant bill indicates
there was a lot of saki

drunk by the both of you.

Witnesses saw you laughing, yes?

You said you removed
your clothing yourself.

Is that right?

There are two empty
red wine bottles at your house.

Wouldn't you agree?

You told people you were
hooking up with him.

Had you slept with the defendant before?

Did you invite him
to your home, to your bed?

I sit in the shower.

What do I do now?

Should I call someone?

I get out of the shower,
skin red from the heat.

I dress in clothes
that I have in the spare room,

summer clothes, because
I am not going back in there.

I clean up the living room,
even though I know I should

leave it in case--

just in case--

I want to hear the wines.

And mostly he's in my bed, I see me.

I see my life, the
one I've built, my career.

My career, what do I do now?

Because here I am.

What do I do now?

Let him take everything away from me,

become a witness in my own
courtroom with Jules, Julian...

All his dad's contacts
running his defense

by Adam, brilliant Adam,
calling witnesses, Mia, Alice,

Uber driver, waiter at the restaurant,

people who saw us laughing,
gelato server, off-license guy.

No.

No.

This is the legal truth.

This is how the law tries to understand.

No.

No.

I can't do it.

I don't know what to do.

I leave my own place.

I'm not sure why.

Where to go?

I wander down the street,
freezing in a skirt and sandals.

I walk for three hours
until I cannot walk anymore.

I come to a cab rank.

I get in the first taxi.

I want to get to Euston
Station, catch the train to my mom.

Sorry, love.

I'm only doing airport
rides this morning.

What?

Love, I haven't waited
an hour for that lousy ride.

Well, guess what, mate?

I mean, you don't get to choose.

It's my taxi, you.

You're at a cab rank.

You go where the ride goes.

That is the rule.

Not this time.

You can get
suspended for breaking the rule.

So if you don't
take me, I will report you.

And I will make sure that you go down.

I want you to open the
door and get out of my cab.

No.

If you don't get out,
I'm going to call the police.

That's not fair.

The guy tears around.

I see his face.

Take me in.

It changes.

It is not fair.

[LAUGHTER]

Come on, I can think of this my mom.

But I just want to be home with her--

I want to wrap myself up
against her on the old floral sofa.

I want to feel the rough heat of her.

The cabbie hands me a tissue.

How much time passes.

Blow my nose.

I see his eyes in the rear view mirror.

Kind eyes now.

I don't know where to go.

The cabbie waits.

I look at the car clock.

6:09 AM.

Legal instinct tells me
this is a losing case.

But I-- I ask the cabby.

Can you take me to the
nearest police station, please?

When you've just woke up in the morning

And the sunlight finds your face

I will always love you like that

We'll make a peaceful trace...

This is me, outside
looking in, watching myself.

Moving through the door, sound of my
heels on the floor in a London Crown Court.

This is me, moving through the security system detached, objective.

This is me. Bag on the belt.

This time no lawyers ID,
no easy pass, just me.

Moving through the metal detector, alarm rings.

Take off my shoes,
back through again.

This is me being swiped
by the handheld metal detector

This time I'm over there,
I see black robes swishing,

horse hair wigs leaning in
toward each other, paper folders,

confident chatter.
Did one of them see me? Oh God.

Head down, this is
me, picking up my bag mobile

walking to the lift with the
witness support service.

This is me,Tessa Ensler.
This time no barristers wig, no robe.

This is what it feels
like, same court, no armour.

This is me, digging my
nails into my wrists, this is me.

Walking into the lift,
look at the floor, door shut--ding!

Barristers, solicitors,
police, exit enter, exit--ding!

Level two, this is me walking
out of the lift, find the meeting room

This is me, in a small windowless room.

White plastic table,
green chair waiting, waiting...

I've been waiting for
782 days and now today is the day.

Three years at
university, one year at bar school

and seven years of practice,
I have always believed that now, now

I need to know that I was not
mistaken, that I can still believe in you

can trust, can still hold on
to you, believe

that you will show me that
before the law there is justice.

But I am here and you
look so different from this end,

from this seat in this windowless room.

The prosecutor
Richard, he comes into the room.

Richard Lawson, I'm lucky he is well
respected, he knows the law and here we are

in a London Crown Court.

Richard, in his silk robes and wig, ready to run the case.

After all those adjournments,
paperwork, yeah.

Me, thinking, frustrated,
just weighed down by it.

Today is 782 days since
the first day at the police station--

The officer was a big guy

Posters of missing people, one, have
a sad looking woman with bruises on her face.

This is not love.

A sticker: Be a Hero.

Stop crying before it happens.

Not stock straight. Someone,
someone's tried to deface it

but it looks like the pen didn't work
properly on the shiny sticker.

I was led into an interview room.

I've only ever seen video
footage of rooms like this one.

Watching my client's interrogation
with my feet up on the desk in chambers.

All my satin outrage
at the tricks the police play.

It's different when you're in here

I'm cold, shivering,--skirts,
tops, sandals, dress from the spare room.

I want to ask for a woman,
I need to

but I don't want to get the big officer offside.

He must have read
my mind.

He's telling me I can come back
when the sexual assault unit is on

or a woman on duty but I
just, I want to get it over with.

He puts his coffee on the table,
scratches around, then the questions start

Uh, yes

Tessa Jane Ensler. No, no thank you. yes.

Yes, I recognise I'm being recorded, yes.

I wanted to report

because I think, because I was

Something happened to me, I was just

Last night, this
morning, I was sexually assaulted

and I wanted to--
yes, yes he is known to me.

Julian Brooks. No, no, we,
we worked together, I don't know,

about five years.

Relationship? Sort of...

No, well I mean, no, last night it
wasn't the first time that we'd been together.

We hadn't defined anything so...

So, no, no, not a relationship, no.

Last week we had...
we had sex

No, no, well it
was at work, no, no, no, no

It was after hours, his office,
it just, it sort of happened like that

Yes, I consented, that time--

Silence as he takes this down.

Then he asks, this is where
I have to describe the rape.

I don't want to be a victim--
damage--no, no, I want to be a survivor.

But where was this hand?
Your leg? His arm?

So did you use your other hand
to push him away, fight back?

Will he have marks where you fought him,
on his hand, where you bit him?

Then other body parts--
more questions.

I can't look at the officer anymore.

I don't know, I don't know.

Humiliation, distress, wrong or foolish behaviour.

Was it me? What did I
do wrong? I mean was I foolish?

What should I have done? The
officer wants my phone. No, no, I need it.

He's not happy about this.
He leaves the room.

I'm alone again.

Waiting...waiting...

He returns.

Again, about the phone, I can't,
won't it, it's my family, friends, my work.

The officer gives me a look.
I know I am being difficult

but he tells me a car
will take me to the Havens--

A forensic medical examination.

I have to tell him, it might not
come up with much

because I, uh...
I had a shower straight after.

Oh my god, I am a, I am a fucking idiot.

I've had a shower. I have washed
everything away. I mean...

What if he says we did not
have sex, how can I prove-- No.

No, he is not that stupid. He would
have to admit to that factually.

He would just say, he would just say
that it was consensual sex, won't he?

I look back at the officer.
He's chewing gum!

"Wait till he gets a bastard defence barrister!"

"They could say anything!"

Then I tell him,
Julian is a bastard defence barrister.

He stops chewing, rolls his eyes,
looks at me as if I've done it deliberately.

Pick the most challenging defendant.
I hear myself, small voice

I mention, I...
I too am a defence barrister.

I don't know how to
interpret the look

that I get.
Is it smug or is it genuinely sympathetic?

I can't read it, not now. Flat voice:

"Ah, now you need us though,
don't you?"

Sorry?

Richard asks me a question.
Something about being ready, calm.

I answer but I don't, I can't,
I don't know what I said.

Eyes on the table.
White plastic turning dirty cream.

Richard asks me if I'm sure about
refusing video evidence. Yes.

I want to look Julian right in the eye.

This is me, waiting for the court to call
the matter with Julian's name on it.

The Queen v. Julian Brooks. It's on the court list
for every single person to see.

The Queen v. Julian Brooks

This is me knowing the jury are being
empanelled, Courtroom One.

Julian's barrister is QC, He's probably hoping for
as few women as possible, talking strategy.

Julian in there, giving his opinion,
making sure he has the best

possible chance of being found
"not guilty".

Me? I sit here, waiting till I'm allowed in.

Richard has to return to the courtroom.
He puts his hand on my shoulder.

I flinch.

Can't help it. Richard is talking to me, mouth moving.

Is someone coming to be with you?

Fuck, I will not cry.

Hospital bed at the Havens.
The forensic medical examination.

White gown. Waiting for the nurse.

Name please.

Tessa Jane Ensler.

Oh my God, it's him.
it's Julian.

Date of birth?

"Where are you? Don't tell me you've gone into work, J.
Kiss. Kiss"

The phone feels contaminated.
I delete it.

Instantly regret deleting evidence.
What is wrong with me?

I keep doing this, I should have given
the officer my phone.

Residential address?

I go cold.
He is still at my fucking flat.

I overcome my urge to throw the phone
to the ground, smash it to bits.

It beeps again.

"P.S. Hope you're okay after everything?
I'm heading off home."

After everything, question mark.
I'm confused.

Blood pressure.

Is he worried about himself?
About what he did?

Temperature.

This time, I am smart, I save the text.
I even screen shot it.

It's 8.30 AM and a woman with gloves
is examining my vagina-- photographs.

Eyes on the ceiling,
gritted teeth.

And Julian is in my flat.

Taking a shower in my
bathroom, looking through my fridge.

Yesterday, I had imagined, hoped that we might
be having breakfast together this morning.

And what am I doing here?

I tell the nurse I am not sure.
She stops.

Stands the nurse, says something
kind, I don't register it, she is done.

I will not cry.

She asks if I have somewhere to go,
someone to be with.

I don't know, I feel out of control.
What if I am overreacting.

I am not. I am not, but I know Julian.
I have known him for years.

This is not love.

Are they going to arrest him now?

The nurse is not sure.

She asks if I want to speak
to a social worker.

No, no thank you, Can I just leave?
The nurse calls the police officer in.

The big officer says he will take the forensic
evidence with him. He will be in touch.

Are...

Are you going to arrest him?

Yes. Unless--do you want us to arrest him?

I can't say yes and I can't say no.
but he can't just get away with it can he?

Pretend it didn't happen.

I want him to know what he did.

I don't want a text asking if I am ok.

I am not fucking ok. I am not ok.

Will you be willing to give
evidence in court?

I don't want to discourage you from
moving forward but it will be tough.

Then he says

The Crown Prosecution Service will decide
if the case is good enough to go to trial.

I know this, of course I know it, but it is like a slap.
I don't get to decide--no.

My life is in the hands of the police,
the CPS, the court system, I have no control.

So much at stake, my privacy, my family,
my friends, everything.

I am scared.

But there is this person inside of me...

that girl who fought and fought
to be seen.

Look to your left, look to your right.
Who won't make it?

She is brave.

And if I do nothing, I...

I think I could lose her.

Yes. Yes I will give evidence in court.

My mum arrives--
sensible pants, sensible shoes.

Clutching her straw bag, the one who
gave her for a beer, say "It's a beach bag!"

I told her, "Pop your sunscreen and your towels
in it and off you go!"

"When do I have time
to go to the beach?"

Fail!

She looks so afraid.
But she is here because of me.

Everything feels like
my fault these days.

After 782 days I cannot stop
all the voices:

you fucked a guy on a sofa in work,

you invite him back to your home,

you're so drunk you even vomit.

Berating myself:
you didn't scream or kick enough,

you just froze.

In the middle of it all, you just froze.

What is wrong with you?
No, you're pathetic.

You let him sleep in your bed
after he'd done that to you

while you cried in the shower.

Julian, he is a good barrister.
He does lots of pro bono work--

What are you doing to him?

What if he really thought
you were consenting?

I dig into my thighs with my nails,
make myself feel the pain.

Come on Tess, remember, the law says, it says:
you cannot do this to a woman.

You can't hold her down, keep her trapped while
you...you push...you push yourself inside of her.

You can't rape, and then pretend
it was consensual, can you?

Mum, she hands me a
sandwich, strawberry jam.

My stomach can't take
it, but she looks so worried.

She looks so old now.
deep bags are under her eyes.

Silent, two white bread, the
overly sweet taste of strawberry and butter.

She gets up,

and she gets up, and she completely
engulfs me in this gruff hug.

Be your strong self.
Don't let the bastards get you down,

even if they get away with it.

You don't let them ruin our Tessa.

I won't cry. I won't.

I won't.

The trial is set down for just three days.

it's only me giving evidence,
not Julian today.

Julian is pleading not guilty.
He won't admit what he did.

B ut I know he knows.

I mean I know he must know.
He's not stupid.

He's just convinced himself and
all the people he asked

And all the people he asked to write
letters of support for him, people I know

to write letters of support for him.

People I know.

He's convinced himself and them that I am a liar,
and I'm doing this to destroy him.

He has convinced himself
that he is the victim.

While me, I'm forced to say the
words, relive it all in front of everyone.

Why? How can he sit there
and not be cross-examined?

he did this to me.

I am the one on trial.

Mum's face--I can't help thinking she knows
what it is to be violated somehow.

I will never ask...

White bread is lumps in my throat,
swallowing is hard.

Richard appears.

We have a jury. How many women?
Four." Is that good?" Me mum asks. I don't know.

I mean women can't be just as bad
at believing other women. Why is that?

Eh?

Why is that?
Me mum goes off to find the loo.

I'm alone again.

Mia! I need her.
I get out my phone.

I scroll through
this morning's text.

She's doing Shakespeare,
on a cruise ship?

I feel stronger.

Mia is on team Tessa.
Richard, he is in the courtroom.

Once he gives the prosecution
opening address,

I will be called in as the first witness.

Julian in there, able
to hear everything, the opening.

I mean sitting back knowing he will
not have to say a word.

I psych myself up for what's to come.

I get out my mirror, fix my make-up.

My outfit is chosen from
my lawyer's wardrobe, yeah.

It's a perfect blend of I am a...I am a strong woman.
I am not ashamed and I am not a slut.

My mum comes in just
as a police officer enters.

A young woman so tiny in
her uniform, batton in her holster.

They're calling for you now, Tessa.

Can you take my mum with you?

She nods. She takes my mum's arm,
but before she leaves

she turns at the door,
squeezes my upper arm like a friend...

...a sister.

This is me. Walking into the courtroom
to give my evidence.

This is me. Bowing to the judge

as I make my way in
and up to the witness stand.

This is me. Standing in the witness box.

As the words coming out of my mouth
declare that the evidence I shall give

shall be the truth, the whole truth
and nothing but the truth.

The air is still.
I look up.

Julian's dad with his mum and brother
seated up front in the gallery.

How they hate me.

I turn, look at Julian,
suited up, seated in the dock.

A QC and a junior at the starting gate.

Julian looks right back at me.

It feels like he's going to mouth

"I'm sorry", but instead,
almost imperceptible,

a shaking of his head saying,
"What have you done?"

I look at the jury.
They will be the ones, these strangers.

I look at the judge, he's looking
at a file on his laptop.

Bar table, bench--panic--
all the barristers are men.

The judge, the judge's clerk,
the prosecuting council, the police were,

the instructing solicitor--
I am the only woman.

Even the court usher is a man!
I am the only one, the only woman.

I can feel my heart thumping,
the blood actually rushing through me.

And after 782 days, after... after
being asked over and over again

"Are you sure you want to go
through it this?"

After all the snide and embarrassed looks at work.
The doubts people have expressed about me.

The statements, the rape kits,
the ongoing scouring of my own body.

The nightmares. The vomiting.
The digging into my own flesh.

I am here. I am right here.

And the system I dedicated my life to?
It's called upon by me to find the truth.

To provide justice, the prosecutor,
Richard, stands to start the prosecution case.

Twice, I've seen Julian--

The first, the first time

The police, well they hadn't
arrested him yet. They called.

They said it was imminent but
they wouldn't do it in his workplace, right.

It's an interesting case though!

Two defence barristers
fighting it out in court.

Was an interesting concept
for the Crown Prosecution Service.

The horrible humour
in it for them all, the CPS.

They all knew me before, before...

Always on the other side, before...

I tried to prep my
brief on Sunday, tired, weepy

I could not
concentrate, slept badly and then Monday

catch the train in.

I'm standing across
the street from chambers,

Knees week, head spinning.

I sit down on some steps.
I call Alice.

Ask her to meet me across the street.
I'm hyperventilating.

I ask her to run my case that day.

I tell her I have a virus

She puts me in a cab home.
I am terrified.

How will I ever go back to chambers to work,
with Julian there?

I finally, I finally, I call my mum.

She's not happy to hear from me.
She's at work.

But I tell her, and within a couple
of hours she is at my place.

I tell her what's happened
in as little detail as possible.

She doesn't seem shocked or desperate.

She does seem filled with a fury
she is trying to control.

I tell her, "Don't tell my brother, Mum.
We both know why."

She is very clear with me,
"You go back to work.

You do not let this ruin everything you've worked for.

This is your job, your income, your career."

I try again on Tuesday.

I manage to make it
inside chambers, Everyone is busy.

I head to the photocopier and
I smack bang run into him.

"Hey." He's searching my face
for something, "Are we good?"

I guess my look says "Nah."

"Look, Tess. I'm sorry if
I upset you somehow.

Let me take you for lunch this week."

I want to say something but I am just--

He hesitates, "Look, I can barely remember...

I drank so much."
He * then whirled.

"We both did."

We could put it down to that and this whole thing
would go away wouldn't it? Yeah.

Couldn't I just put this down
to a really bad drunken sex night?

Anyway, I'm sorry
if I've upset you somehow

My voice is screaming
but only inside my head:

UPSET ME? Somehow you...you raped me. You held me down...

And suddenly Alice is
upon us and then I am photocopying.

Later that day I grab a coffee
with the QC I ran into on Friday.

He tells me all the attributes
of his chambers.

The amazing barristers
I will be working with.

I tell him I will be delighted
to take it. We shake hands.

I tell myself I will just work harder
to cover the cost of the new chambers.

The second time I have to face Julian is...

It's after he's been arrested.
It's an afternoon court foyer.

I know I should just walk past him.
We are not supposed to speak.

But stupidly my eyes look right at him.

I freeze.

"How could you do this to me?"

He...he is convincing.

"I really like you Tess. I mean I was hoping
we'd find something special together.

I held your hair while
you vomited for Christ's sake

But this, what you've said,
are you out of your fucking mind?"

I look him in the face, you
know what happened.

""Whatever it was, I am not a criminal.
This is not who I am--oh my god--

You are not a victim.

You know if you continue to go through with this

you are going to destroy my career.
You do realise that, don't you?"

He walks away.
I consider telling the police

he has spoke to me.
He breached his bail conditions.

But I, I'm not allowed
to speak to him either.

I go to the bathroom. I lock the door.

I'm in there for a long time.
I vomit.

And I wash my face
and I cry and I cry and I cry.

Richard clears his throat,
gives me a sympathetic smile.

And then he is all professional.

Can you tell the court
your name and occupation?

I won't take my eyes off him.

In your own words, can you
please tell the court

about the first night you spent
with Julian Brooks?

As I speak about the first
night in chambers I hear a snicker.

I involuntarily darken
my eyes out to see who it is.

There are extra people
in the gallery--Julian's friends.

Old school buddies, uni mates,
they all look the same.

This is them showing support
for one of their own.

And after the vodka in Mr Brooks' office

My mum--here's how her daughter
had sex with a man in an office on his sofa.

I cringe when I'm asked to detail--
catch her face.

Her look doesn't change in any way.

Turning to the night in question

Can you please tell the
court in your own words what happened?

I look at the jury.
A man seated in the middle.

I feel anxious, a woman
juror is looking at me.

I avoid her eye. I don't want to
do anything that suggests manipulation.

I speak Japanese,
gelato, uber, my place, wine.

Having sex earlier in the night.

And then I have to speak
about the vomiting in the bathroom.

Was I naked?
How long was I there?

Julian carefully carrying me
back to the bed.

And it occurs to me in this moment
in court as I am answering this question

that Julian carefully carrying me
back to the bed

means he wasn't too drunk
that he could not remember.

He has lied to me about being so drunk--

He was able to lift
me and walk steadily back.

Where he didn't fall or stumble.

He knew what he was doing

but this will be used against me.

Yeah, they will say

I was the only drunk one in this story.

So I am the less reliable one.

I answer the questions aloud.

In my head I am cross-examining myself.

I am using my own defence
skills to doubt my very own story.

I realise I've been doing
this for two years and 52 days.

Finding faults in my story
trapped again and again and again.

Dig my nails into my palms.

I will not freeze up this time.

I will not question my memory.

I will not minimise what happened.

I will not embellish--
I know what happened that night.

Then Richard. "The rape...

Explain where each of your limbs were."

I tried to explain to Richard
but I'm not as clear as I need to be.

"Can you tell the court
what you were thinking at the time?"

How I didn't want this. Felt trapped.

I could not move properly.

"Did you make it clear for Mr. Brooks
that you were not consenting to sex?"

Yes, I did.

I said no, stop.

I tried to push him away, didn't I?

"Did you say anything else?"

"Scream?"

Yes!

Yes. I tried to but his hand
was over my mouth.

"Then what?"

I could hardly breathe. I froze.
Then pain--

Searing through my body, shock,
dissociation, it's happening even now.

More questions, more
details, more humiliation.

This is me.

Giving my testimony in court.

Final question from Richard.
He sits down, smiles at me.

Pleased with the examination in chief,
it's gone well.

I'm alone again.

Waiting. Fingers jittery,

hands armpits--I mean--shins sweating.

I look up. I see Alice and Adam
at the back of the courtroom.

Adam has a beard now.

Well, it's been so long since
I've been in touch with either of them.

I've been working at the new chambers
for over two years now.

I have managed to avoid all of them.

Adam, he wrote me an
email telling me he believed me.

He intimated that Julian
had had another experience--

not as serious--but not admissible.
Was he, say...

Right. That if I needed him
I should just call.

I never did, why?

Why didn't I reach out to Adam?
Was I ashamed?

Yes.

Check mum--

She hasn't moved a muscle,
beach bag clutched on her lap.

Young officer by her side.

Waiting. And I know more than
anyone that this next part,

it is where the real work is done.

Take a sip from a glass
of water on my left.

Hand shaking.
The defence council stands slowly.

This is it. The cross examination by
the best QC money can buy.

Thoroughbred.

And........

BANG!

Yes, yes, no, no, I think so, no.

It was the second
time, yes, I think so, sorry.

No, yes, I'm sure, I don't know.

Maybe my idea, I think so, do I agree?

Yes, yes, yes, a few, quite a few,
yes, six, well perhaps yes.

Maybe eight?
Richard is on his feet:

"Your honour..."

I have already given
evidence about blah, blah, blah.

I feel hot.

Overruled. Yes.

Yes, I don't remember, no.

I don't know. I vomited.
I don't know for sure.

I don't understand, I don't know.

Yes, I was, yes.
I did like him at the time.

I only told two friends,
Mia and Alice.

I'm not sure, I don't know.

Yes, I think so.
Richard is on his feet again.

I don't follow.

Richard looks worried.
My throat feels dry.

...that it's me again...

No, no, I think I could have
walked back to the bed. No.

Well...well I know because
I walked to the shower after the---

Richard is saying something.
Sits down.

QC is back to me, yes, yes,
I liked him then--

but I'm cut off.

I don't know,
Weird pause...

They haven't made their major defence
arguments but I can feel them coming.

Richard is in the dark as much as I am.

I go from Richard's face
to the QC's face to Richard's face.

And when the first of their
points arrive, I am dumbstruck... sorry,

What are you saying? No, no, no, no.

I don't understand the question, no.

No, it was not my hand
on my mouth, my own hand, no.

It was Julian's hand, but my breath, yes.

I might have touched my own mouth, yes.
But no, no, no, that's not what happened.

I didn't want to have sex.
I felt sick. No. You're wrong.

I didn't want to have sex because
I felt awful, not just because

my breath was sour from vomiting, no.

I remember it very
well, yes, but what, no, no.

No, I did not put my hand on my
mouth to protect Julian from my sour breath.

No, that's not what, no, but then
all of these, these questions

about Julian's arms, his hands--

which one was holding down
which of my wrists--

and I realise--

They're trying to say that if
Julian had one hand on each of my wrists

then he had no extra hand to
cover my mouth, so I was mistaken.

I wasn't actually pinned down
and of course I could breathe.

In fact, the hand on my mouth
must have been mine.

Just saving Julian from
my bad vomit breath.

The QC is saying if it was my
own hand on my own mouth as he suggests

then I could have used it
to push Julian away.

Or I could have removed my own
hand from my own mouth and just screamed.

My mind is messy. I can't catch up.
No, no, no, I tried to get away.

I told him. I said, "No."

I struggled. It was...it was his hand
on my mouth. How.

Yes, yes, yes, I did,
yes, yes, I think that's how

I tried to push him as
best as I could but he was, no, no.

No, he was squashing me.

My mind is scrambled.

I could feel a terrible wrong
being done to me right now.

That this line of questioning,
it's making me look confused.

Because I am. I am really confused.

Julian told his lawyer, or did the QC,

think it was a better story that I put my own
hand on my own mouth and therefore

I was the only one stopping myself
from screaming or speaking, and I

I could have taken it away at any stage
to speak up or push him away.

The QC is saying it was my own hand
on my own mouth as if it were a game.

A game.

"Like the game of sex at Chambers".
That's what Julian said.

A game--I look around briefly, thinking.

Thinking I see Adam.
I feel like I'm gonna pass out.

Adam is willing me to remember.
He knows I am stuck and I

I remember, right there in court

I remember, I say,

Julian--

He had both of my wrists in one of his hands,
put high above my head.

That his other hand, it was over
my mouth and nose as well.

I could barely breathe.
I am shaking.

My eyes on Julian now.

How dare you? How dare you? why am
I up here being made to look like a liar

And why am I up here being made
to look like a liar?

Julian won't meet my eye.

He looks over to his family.

The QC apologizes to me for
making me uncomfortable.

He's being nice to me now.

And like every victim I have cross
examined before I fall for it.

I ache for niceness.
I feel so broke

and I want to go with him
just to get it over with.

I want to be reeled in. The questions
start again. Face compassion.

I understand it was a terribly difficult
and confusing night for you. you were ill.

I sway a bit.

Then flattery.

The QC suggests that I'm a top barrister.

A woman other people
speak of in such high terms.

A barrister who is seen to be easily
the smartest of a bar call of her generation.

This, this is going somewhere awful.
I feel it.

He brings up my new room, calls it
a larger, more prestigious room.

What?

Says it was between Julian and myself
who would get that room.

Has the shortlist in his hands right now.
It only has two names on it.

Mine and Julian's.

I've never seen this list.
I never knew this.

Was there a question?

My name, it might be in that list
but I never applied for that room.

I go on, even though the QC is intimating
he doesn't need me to. I speak over him.

I never applied for that room.

I never saw any reason to
have such a large room.

In my old room, it had more space in it
than I've ever had in my entire life.

I noticed the tiniest moment
when the QC does a mental shift.

He assumed, as a successful barrister,
that I wanted the larger room.

The more prestigious chambers
at any cost.

Jury members shift in their seats.

They understand. Don't ever trust
your own instincts.

Sarah wants to say, day one, law school.
Only trust your legal instincts.

He computes, his voice almost a snore:

"But I see you're enjoying that room now,
aren't you Miss Ensler?"

No time to answer.

The next question comes fast to cover up
for what he didn't see coming.

He implies that I made up
the story of rape

as payback to Julian for telling
his friends and colleagues

about me having sex with him
on his sofa at chambers.

Slap! This is news to me.

This is what Julian
was telling people

while I was talking to Mia
about a potential relationship.

I fade just a little. I catch my breath, I find my way.

My body has been turned inside out

by the evidence I have had to
give to this final humiliation.

It is just a small cut. I can honestly
tell you, sir, that I had no idea

Julian had spoken to anyone
about me like that.

He doesn't about turn.

Did I admit that my new room
in my new chambers

was a strategic move for me
to increase my income?

I tell him, I was offered this new room
with a QCI in mind-- He cuts me off.

Implies I made up a rape story
to discredit Julian

and be the one offered the new tenancy--

I interrupt: I moved chambers
to get away from Julian.

To work without fear.

Do not forget, I made my statement
to the police on the very night

of the sexual assault,
hours after it occurred.

This is not relevant to my question, Ms. Ensler.

Please refrain from elaboration.

Richard is up: Let her finish.
Judge lets me.

I don't know any woman who
would happily drink with a man, eat a meal

with all witnesses saying how much
we talked together and laughed and got along--

I submit your honour!
Submission sustained.

Would your honour
please remind the witness

to answer the question
and not make speeches.

If you are implying that I planned the
entire night to stage something like this

I have no words.

The last 782 days of my life
have been something

I would never wish upon
any human being.

Your honour!

Ms. Ensler.

For you to stand there and suggest to me
that I am in any way holding a vendetta

against Mr. Brooks,
is to suggest to me--

Your honour, the witness is not--

I keep talking.

Mr. Julian Brooks' QC here, will
at some stage tell you, the jury,

what Mr. Brooks might have lost.

But I will tell you what I have lost.

I have lost my dignity.
I have lost my sense of self.

I have lost my career path.
Friends. Peace of mind.

Safety. Sense of joy
in my sexuality.

But most of all I have
lost my faith in this, the law.

The system I believe
will protect me.

It was the system I dedicated
my life to.

Julian's QC as calling out, asking
for an intervention from the judge.

But after 782 days, all 10 tracks
in my brain are lighting up.

I have found my voice.

It's different but it is mine.
I keep speaking.

I hear "Submission" over and over.
"Your honour! Your honour!" Loud.

Outrage trying to drown
out my voice. I do not waver.

The judge asks me to please
just answer the question.

I'm calm.

Your honour, there are some
things I am going to say.

Confident.
Like a lawyer.

Julian's QC is on his feet,
requesting a voir dire.

The judge nods.

The jury starts to file out.

A voir dire is a legal term.

It's where the jury
are sent out so they

don't hear something that
might be prejudicial.

Strangely, the phrase originates
from "to speak the truth."

The last juror looks at me as
he exits. The media are poised.

Judge: You have very little scope here,
Ms. Ensler. Please be concise.

I breathe slowly.

In...

Out...

I find the face of the
young police officer.

Her hand is over my mum's hand.

I see...

all the women who came before me and
all of those who will come after. I see...

Jenna.

I am not getting anything out of this.
I am just doing this to protect other women.

I look up at Julian's boys in the gallery.

Your honour, I am here in a unique position.

Usually I stand at the bar.

But now I am in this courtroom as
a witness, a complainant, a victim.

As a barrister, I have questioned women
in sexual assault cases on the assumption

that evidence can be delivered
in a clean, logical package.

And now I have seen from my own
attempts here that it cannot be.

In all of my professional life,
I have participated in a system

that has done this to women
and now I know--

It is not right.
It is not reasonable

because now I know...

From my own life, from as a woman
and a lawyer,

that the lived experience of sexual assault

It is not remembered in a neat,
consistent, scientific parcel.

And it's because of that the law
often finds evidence unbelievable.

So I understand a witness can
be mistaken in their evidence.

I have suggested it time
and time again.

But this is not a car accident
or a home invasion.

This is rape.

It's a crime against the person.
And now I know.

You know when a woman says "No" ,
when her actions say "No"

It is not a subtle and readable thing at all.

Yet before this I too, I--
I would suggest that

she was mistaken.

But when a woman has been violated

it is a corrosive wound.
It is one that starts with terror

and pain, deep into the body.
then it overtakes the mind, the soul.

Yet before this I too, I would
suggest that she was confused.

I mean the message is, if we
do not deliver our evidence

neatly in a clear, linear
story with consistency and recall

then we are lying.
Yet before this I would

point out inconsistencies
as proof of doubt.

I would tell the jury,
they couldn't possibly be sure.

As a lawyer I know, I know.

The law, it cannot jettison
consistency entirely,

but in sexual assault cases

can we keep using it as
the litmus test of credibility?

Because as a victim, let me tell you,

the rape and the perpetrator--
they are vividly recalled.

The peripheral details, not so clearly.

If a woman is rattled by having
to relive the nightmare in court.

If a woman's experience of rape
is not as the court likes it to be,

then we conclude that
she is prone to exaggeration.

And it's because of this,
she is so often disbelieved.

So here in court, I want to call it out.

There is a flurry from
the courtroom gallery.

The law of sexual assault--

It spins on the wrong axis.

A woman's experience of sexual assault

It does not fit the
male-defined system of truth, so

so it cannot be truth, and therefore
there cannot be justice.

The law has been shaped by
generations and generations of men.

I can see Julian's QC on his feet.
But I can't hear him anymore.

There was a time, not so long ago,
when courts like this did not see

non-consensual sex in marriage as rape.

Did not see that battered women,
they fight back in a manner

distinct from the
way that men fight.

Yet once we see-- I mean
we cannot un-see, can we?

Now I see, from my own experience

that we have got it all wrong when
it comes to sexual assault.

We don't interrogate the
law's own assumptions.

Instead we persist on interrogating the victims.

The law is an organic thing.
It is defined by us.

It is constructed by us,
in light of our experiences.

All of ours, so there are
no excuses anymore.

It must change.

Because the truth is that one in three
women are sexually assaulted.

And their voices, they need to
be heard, they need to be believed

in order for justice to be done.

I can see Julian's QC on his feet again.

I hear the judge.

I have gone beyond what I am
allowed to say, well beyond.

One in three women

Look to your left

Look to your right

To one of us

I feel my cheeks hot, hot, hot.
I am done. I am done.

I am so done.
I see my mum.

Richard, the QC, and Julian.

I feel a wave of sadness.

Not despair. Just pure sadness.

I know the jury.
They won't find Julian guilty.

But a weight has been lifted.

I see three journalists writing madly.

Courtroom artist staring at me
as he takes notes.

The judge tells me not to speak
unless I am asked a question.

He's calling the jury back in.
Voir dire, over.

I hold my head up.

I see Adam at the back
of the courtroom. He nods.

I find the open face
of the young police officer.

This young woman in a uniform usually
worn by men, she locks eyes with me.

And in this brightly lit
suffocating courtroom,

Standing here in front of everyone,
while my mum clutches her straw bag--

right here, right now--

meeting the eyes of that one young woman

It makes me feel

something good.

I've been a defence barrister long enough.

You know when the jury comes back quickly
that someone is "not guilty".

The defence team is shaking
Julian's hand. Julian is thrilled.

The roar from his boys
in the gallery is loud

and there is clapping...

Richard is saying something to
me but I can't hear or I can't compute.

The young police officer has
materialised beside me.

She puts her hand on my shoulder.

I know I have to stand but I don't.

The jury file out. Not one
of them can meet my eye.

The jury file out. Not one
of them can meet my eye.

All of this and they...

They didn't believe me.

The legal system it made
me look like a liar--Julian,

he will never have to say sorry, never
have to admit what he did, never have to...

The legal system it feels
faulty and mixed up.

The legal system it feels broken.

Look to your left

Look to your right

I am broken too

But I am still here

And I will not be silenced

Richard is beckoning to my mum

She gathers her straw bag.
Stands. Comes over to us.

Come on love.

I don't know what to cling to.

How to stand.

How to walk out of this courtroom.

How to leave this building.

All that I know is that

somewhere,

sometime,

somehow.

Something has to change.

No

not me

I won't

rein in

my need

to

be

comepletely

FREE