MATE. Written and directed by Samantha Gray with Alicia McCormick and Samantha Gray.
REVIEW: Tracey Saunders
In 2017 it’s never been easier to find a date or a life partner. Supposedly all it takes is a few left swipes on Tinder and happiness and bliss are certain to be yours. What happens when after several swipes and failed dates that eternal bliss is not forthcoming and you remain that most despised and pitied of the species, “the single female in her 30s”?
This is the premise of Gray’s tragi-comedy featuring Alicia McCormick. One can only hope it is tongue-in-cheek because if childless women without a wedding band on their finger are the nadir of society we have indeed reached a crisis in humanity. Sara, Janine and Elaine attend a “Love Recovery” workshop presented by Alice. Alice, a curious mix of Dr Eve and Suze Orman, dressed in the requisite beads and crisp white shirt favoured by motivational speakers, appears on a screen and not in person. It’s no mean feat to write, direct and appear in avatar form in your own play but Gray does, and succeeds at some aspects better than others.
Size still matters …
As the Love Recovery Guru she attempts to lead the women on a path of recovery from failed relationships, broken dreams and limited self esteem to a paradise of buffed pecs and multiple orgasms. She encourages the women to dig deep to find their connection with hyenas as their personal spirit animal. Given the female animal’s well developed sexual organs which leave the more submissive male of the species looking rather wanting, that’s perhaps not the worse advice she could give. It does still however rest on the premise that size matters and to these women size, physical characteristics and those other very tired attributes are of utmost importance.
They are faced with overwhelming despair when the Matthew McConaughey-look-alike transmogrifies to Gene Wilder overnight and it’s really only through the bottom of an empty wine glass that men look vaguely appealing. As they share their litany of dating disasters (based on actual incidents) life seems rather bleak and when a trip to Paris doesn’t cure what ails you, you know that these are desperate times
McCormick brings her exceptional skill to change roles at the drop of a hat, or a dimming of the lights in this case, to bear. Her appearance in Jon Keevy’s Dirty Words, directed by Jason Potgieter showcased her ability to bring a whole role call of characters on to the stage with ease. Sadly there is nary a glimpse of her Burlesque alter ego Cookie von Tastee and more’s the pity. What she does do with flair though is the transition from shy, retiring and visibly desperate Sarah to the sophisticated and bitterly sarcastic Elaine. In between the slightly rougher Janine makes an appearance and she is by far my personal favourite.
There are moments in the script that are very funny and given the outbursts of laughter from the younger female sector of the audience, highly recognisable. At the risk of diving in to the politically correct fray though, the tropes are the epitome of heteronormativity and an argument for addressing the roles we have traditionally assigned to men and women over the years.
An all-limbs-present ideal
The disdain shown for individuals who don’t conform to the body beautiful, all-limbs-present ideal is perhaps indicative of a society which strives to some impossible standard of beauty. Jokes at the expense of people’s physical impediments have never been my favourite and merely serve to continue the marginalisation of those who are already too often rendered invisible. Yes it’s all a bit of fun and fluffy entertainment but perhaps the truth of the matter is contained in the very sober recount of the end of a relationship expressed by Sara. In between the humour of composing filthy fridge poetry with her toes she shows glimpses of the very real pain of heartbreak. It’s in that brief telling that there’s a sense of authenticity.
In its genre, which seems to be a fast growing one, of heterosexual women lamenting their lives and the litany of dubious men they are doomed to date, Mate is not the worst play of its kind.
Where and when: Alexander Upstairs until 18 February at 9pm
Book: Alexander Upstairs
WS
