(the) Woman

Jane Upton’s ‘(the) Woman’, directed by Angharad Jones, opens with a musical number. My heart sank briefly. But I quickly realized it was one of many satirical devices the playwright uses to critique the kind of “women’s stories” audiences expect. It’s a meta-commentary on the entertainment industry, laced with sharp observations about how cultural ideals of motherhood collide with ‘girl boss’ feminism. Impressively, it’s as hilarious as it is devastating.

Our protagonist, M, is a playwright. We meet her in hospital, having just given birth to her first child. Soon after, she’s pitching her creative vision to her agents: a show about mothers-but not the “boring” kind, she feels compelled to clarify. The two male agents are unimpressed. Where’s the excitement? Don’t audiences want women who’ve “achieved something”? Strong women?

Soon, she reconnects with an old flame, played by the wonderfully icky Josh Goulding, who tells her he expected “more” from her than the pram-pushing version he sees now. These two early scenes encapsulate the central theme: society’s discomfort with mothers in a world where feminism often mirrors masculine ideals of success.

Thereafter, we see just how extraordinary M, played by the equally extraordinary Lizzy Watts, is. Despite the sheer exhaustion brought on by two children, one whose premature birth and disability shine a light on the unique difficulties some parents face, she’s still writing.

Through fly-on-the-wall observations of life with family and friends, we see the toll child-rearing has taken on her: from her flailing sex life with her partner, to growing apart from the art world she holds so dear, to the disconnect with other ‘perfect’ parents whose ‘cute’ sons and daughters will never have to spend their lives in and out of hospital.

These characters are beautifully formed and scripted. Andre Squire makes a great husband, who just wants a bit of action, even if M feels like a lactating sack of potatoes. Jamie- Rose Monk particularly stands out as both her ‘low-brow’ school friend, whose idea of entertainment starts and finishes at ABBA Voyage, and her pump buddy at the hospital, whose baby is also undergoing grave medical complications.

The contrast between the happy and sad moments is navigated perfectly, making each emotion hit even harder when it comes. It’s the kind of nuance that makes the story feel so real: anyone who has been through hard times knows just how much you need laughter to carry you through. A particularly moving moment comes from a tearjerking journal entry M reads to her mother, and even that comes with a punchline.

We leave Jane Upton’s (the) Woman thinking that the ability to mother is anything but innate. Motherhood is instead exposed as a constant action, filled as much with guilt, pain, and regret as with the love and joy we’re used to seeing depicted elsewhere. It’s all the more beautiful for these darker perspectives: proof alone that women can continue to do great things, not in spite of motherhood, but alongside it.