“Scars of Metamorphosis” by Anjali Ramakrishnan (BC‘23) is an intriguing look at mental illness through the frame of the writer’s process. It ran at the Glicker-Milstein Theater on November 12 and 13.

As I walk into my first live theater experience since COVID-19, I am immediately aware that this is not the theater I am used to. I present my green-screen at the door, show proof of vaccination, and my ID, a process that has become familiar, just never in the context of a play. I sit down, thinking about all the big and small adaptations that had to be made for us to be there in the theater, watching this play.

NOMADS’ production of “Scars of Metamorphosis” is a provocative deep dive into the mind of a troubled young playwright. Written by Anjali Ramakrishnan (BC ’23), this is a show about young people told by young people, making the play feel like having a conversation with a friend rather than having someone talk down to you. 

The play follows the main character, literally called the Protagonist, as she exists within and outside of a play she has written entitled “The Bad Boy and the Bookworm.” In fact, all of the characters are referred to by their archetype rather than a name. The first half of the play is partly authorial storytelling, but is mostly the Protagonist’s memory of an event that happened to her in high school. The Protagonist acts through a play she has written, where the Bookworm is placed next to the Bad Boy in a creative writing class. Eventually, though the Bad Boy has been nothing but rude to the Bookworm, the Bad Boy asks the Bookworm out on a date. However, when the Bookworm agrees, it is revealed that it had been a bet; he didn’t really want to go out with her.

The second half covers that same play as it goes on to be a finalist in a playwriting festival. However, at the festival, the Protagonist finds out that the other finalist is the Bad Boy who had been the inspiration for her play. The ensuing conflict between these two characters takes up the majority of this half’s runtime.

All at once, the story is hilarious and heartbreaking, making use of meta-storytelling and a personification of the Protagonist’s inner strife through the character of the Narrator to demonstrate the lived reality of loneliness and insecurity.

The acting in the play was phenomenal, especially considering that the entire play was performed in masks. The Protagonist, played by Cat Herrera (CC’25), was earnest and melancholy, the Narrator, played by Jane Walsh (CC’23), was hilarious and brutal, and the Bad Boy, played by Matin Bagheri (CC’25) was infuriating. The argument between the Bad Boy and the Protagonist at the end of the play where the tension between the two reaches its peak—the Bad Boy screaming that it was all a joke while the Protagonist asserts that that doesn’t make his actions okay—is a particularly strong instance of good acting between Herrera and Bagheri. This was an incredible accomplishment for actors who weren’t showing their faces. 

The play has a way of demonstrating the Protagonist’s internal conflict through a personification of the character’s insecurities. The character of the Narrator serves the traditional role as an observer and commentator on the play, yet is set apart by their unrelenting antagonism towards the main character. This character is witty and entertaining, yet there is something heart-wrenching about watching the Narrator belittle and beguile the play’s Protagonist. At a point of escalating tension between the Narrator and the Protagonist, the Narrator goes from snide comments to grabbing and berating the Protagonist over her inadequacy as a playwright and a person. This escalation demonstrated the particularly strong performance by Walsh, who was required to show incredible range in these moments. Overall, it was a clever and engaging construct to include. 

Moreover, the show demonstrates an interesting self-awareness of itself as a play. Focused on a Protagonist who is herself a playwright, the meat of the show is a cross between the character’s real-life experience and her writing. As such, the play comes off as a struggle for the Protagonist’s control over her own narrative and over her own life. The contrast between what the Protagonist imagined would happen to the Bookworm, a happy ending where she should eventually prove the Bad Boy wrong, versus what actually came to pass, the Bookworm losing the playwriting festival to the Bad Boy, demonstrates an attempt by the Protagonist to shape the events of her life towards a satisfying ending but instead having her imagined reality come crumbling at her feet. Towards the end of the play, it is revealed that the Protagonist nearly died at 16 due to complications related to anorexia. The exclusion of this piece of information until the end is an excellent moment of the Protagonist coming to terms with her own lack of control—her inability to edit her life.

Directors Izzy Bohn (CC’23) and Bella Cannava (BC’24) were able to give the play a life and a visceral emotional charge. For much of the play, the characters would give each other space, giving a sense of safety despite their antagonism towards each other. However, this was broken at specific points of the play when one character would grab the other or scream in the other’s face. This contrast allowed the viewer to feel the fear in these moments that would have been impossible to accomplish if they had maintained the same emotional space throughout the play.

The set design (Lignyi Wang (CC’24) and Michelle Twan (BC’24)) was sparse yet effective. The entire show is set in what looks like a prototypical classroom, giving a sense of youthfulness. The lighting design (Fiona Bird, BC ’25, and Audrey Powell) added interesting visual shifts as the play moved between internal monologue, plot, and breaks in the fourth wall were colored by shifts in hue and scope of the lighting. As the lighting became cooler, so too did the tone of the show, conveying a sense of loneliness. As it grew warmer, the show became warmer, with more interactions and more liveliness. The warm and cool colors utilized by the costume designers Lucas Gomes and Payal Streewastav (BC ’23) also served to contrast the Protagonist, in yellow, with the characters working against her, mostly in blue.

The show utilizes all of these elements to communicate the experience of living in your own head, particularly living in an unhealthy head. This depiction is heartbreaking and real. The experience of watching this show was like having a deep conversation with a close friend, one where you feel comfortable laughing and crying in the same breath. I left the theater with a feeling of melancholic comfort, wishing for a tub of ice cream and someone to commiserate with. 

“Scars of Metamorphosis” via event page