Life and Laundry

Life & Laundry is the story of Kate, a thirty-year old recent divorcee who is asking herself the questions that thirty-year divorcees love to ask themselves. Why am I so controlled by the legacy of my parents? Why does my daughter prefer the company of her step-father and a bedroom full of IPods? Am I happy? Is it weird to iron one’s towels? Why are there so many middle-aged women around me that remind me of my mother?

Kate is an odd character who talks like a menopausal Jilly Cooper reader suffering from teen angst. Her dialogue patterns are those of a fifty-year old, yet she is clearly supposed to be thirty. Throughout the piece, she meets a number of influential women from her past to try and get some answers.

To some extent, this is all beside the point. The real question that needs answering is why is this kind of theatre necessary at all? The implied witticism of the title combined with the obvious attempts to pitch the show as a “women’s play” (as confirmed by the demographic of the audience) is incredibly depressing for at least two reasons:

Firstly, the idea that “thought-provoking” theatre involving issues pertinent to women needs to deliver the same tired parade of discussions of marriage, motherhood, self-help books, therapy and domestic housework is laughable. Life & Laundry brings no new insight to table and treats its audience as pretty dumb creatures.

Secondly, even if one was to do the impossible and except the play’s aim at face value, it is a clumsy piece of theatre. The dialogue is written in an annoying “I-am-explaining-my-thoughts-to-you-now” style which ruins any chance at meaningful characterisation. The plot is burdened by cliché after cliché and it says a lot that the whole message trying to be put across is spelled out verbatim by a mad-fool character inside the first five minutes. All of the supporting voices are virtually indistinguishable; with the notable exception of Phil Henderson, who as Kate’s singing teacher does at least manage to find an authentic voice.

The real shame here is that there are occasional flashes of talent tangled up in the flab. Despite the standard-issue mopiness of much of her performance, Grace Sita Mountain is genuinely quite affecting during the slow-burning scenes with her singing teacher, these are easily the most convincing sections of the show. What is deeply frustrating is that after they break off mid-song and share a moment, a good meaningful theatrical moment, Mountain resumes singing her jazz standard with the same AM-radio lack of emotion that she started with.

Similarly, Oram gives us a couple of lovely pieces of language. The opening description of the emotional desolation at the train station is very human and recognisable, as is the smart observation that “all bright children are surrounded by unfulfilled people.” Sadly it is not enough to lift this play from the mundane.

The final statement of the piece is Kate buying herself a scarf in colours she has always been told she cannot wear and loudly proclaiming that “happiness is important” and “the opinions of others never really mattered”. By this point I was so sick of being talked at in platitudes I wanted Kate to prove her point, not just explain it to me. Ideally, this would have consisted in her sprinting across the stage, high heels falling everywhere, throwing the scarf to the four winds, ripping off her suit jacket and giving the music teacher the snog of his life whilst confetti, red roses and turtle doves rained down from the ceiling.

– Josh Tomalin