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When Julie is on her way home from work, she is subjected to verbal abuse by a schoolboy at the train station. When she reports the incident to the boy’s school and stands up for herself and her principles, events quickly spiral out of control. Helen Edmundson’s play begins by introducing us to some intriguingly complex individuals: meek and conciliatory Julie, her artistic daughter Ginny, who is taking antidepressants; her practical and pragmatic ex-husband, Richard; and her elder daughter, Kate, who takes after her father. The complicated relationships between these characters capture our interest, as none is easily categorised. When another interpretation of the incident at the train station emerges, the apparently clear-cut act of abuse is called into question. The play ventures into challenging psychological and ethical territory, and the involvement of the police raises profound questions about how such situations are handled by the law. The audience is forced to reconsider easy judgements of the characters, as well as its assumptions about how people interpret experiences, and the play seems to be moving towards questioning the very nature of what we consider truth. This moral uncertainty is completely absorbing until Edmundson introduces Mr Dunster. This one-dimensional cardboard villain, spouting misogynistic nonsense, would seem more at home in a melodrama or as an internet troll. His presence immediately robs the play of its subtlety, turning nuanced psychological portraits and searching questions about experience into a polemic preached to the converted. Despite this disappointing shift in direction, the cast is superb. Anne-Marie Duff charts Julie’s transformation with remarkable precision, conveying her initial uncertainty and desire to accommodate others before revealing her growing determination to stand by her principles, whatever the personal cost. As daughter Ginny, Grace Doherty displays a convincing sensitivity and vulnerability, while Hannah Onslow captures Kate’s self-assurance and pragmatic outlook, which conceal a more acquiescent approach to life than might be thought at first. Although they initially seem very different, the sisters are mirror images: Ginny’s vulnerability is more visible, while Kate’s apparent assertiveness masks her willingness to accommodate the world as it is. The sisters illustrate the ways women protect themselves in a society that restricts their freedom to act on their own terms. Their responses contrast with Julie’s eventual decision to assert her account of events and accept the consequences. Geoffrey Streatfield is equally persuasive as Richard. His exchanges with Julie about their respective contributions as parents have a raw realism that is particularly powerful, capturing the tensions and unresolved differences of a relationship that has outlasted their marriage. Once again, the National Theatre’s imaginative and wonderfully versatile set almost steals the show. Some Woman has the makings of a thoughtful exploration of truth and women’s ability to stand up for themselves, but it undercuts its own premise. Having begun by inviting us to question the assumptions through which we interpret people and events, it retreats into caricature and tells us what to think.
Rated: ★★★
Reviewed by J.C.
Photo by © Ellie Kurttz
When, Where, Getting there:
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