On The One Hand

All of life is here. The girl heading to university, the one travelling the world, the single lady starting a business in middle age, the woman realising priority seating on buses was made for her, the one remembering and forgetting her life. Their stories of aging are distinct but their narratives overlap.

In the centre of this theatrical Venn diagram is the endless, restless quest of women trying to discover who they are.

There are other themes here too, bouncing around like bingo balls, probably too many. Like the four actors who crawl up, over, under and through a set made up of hanging chairs, baths, fridges and beds (all traditional signs for female domesticity), the ideas clamber and tumble over one another, sometimes diluting impact. For example, the roles that women are forced into—mother, wife, grandmother—are all defined in relation to other people. Only the elderly lady breaks free. She dances on the stage while the others are cowed under chairs. Yet, it is unclear whether this is a moment of triumph (you can choose how you are defined) or tragedy (only the woman at the edge of death and senility gets it).

It is the simple moments that hit the mark. The elderly lady claims, “Inside I’m the same person I’ve always been”. The feeling that her body has broken some pact with her soul is palpable and one of the show’s most affecting parts.

But the headlong rush to capture all of life, to say everything all at once, blunts an otherwise intricate and inventive show.