THE FEMALE OF THE SPECIES
THE FEMALE OF THE SPECIES, Rogue Projects at the Old Fitz, 1-30 November 2024. Photography by Noni Carroll
First staged in Melbourne in 2006 and then around the country, as well as London and the USA, Joanna Murray-Smith’s wicked comedy about the misadventures of celebrity feminist Margot Mason (Lucy Miller) is just as playful as ever. It’s loosely inspired (very loosely, but how can one not mention it) by that incident when Germaine Greer was held at gunpoint at home by a loosely-wrapped student. That’s where the looseness ends.
The Female of the Species is tightly written and tautly plotted. The comic one-liners and acid-dipped speeches are non-stop and demand much from the company of six actors, and a director (Erica Lovell) with the nerve to both round them up and keep them going.
On opening night the first act could have done with some of what a UK critic said Eileen Atkins brought to the lead role – froideur (“coolness or extreme reserve in manner”). But once settled, the 100 minutes of personal-political, mother-daughter, fan-idol, upper class-lower class, psycho-angst play out at more than a laugh a minute.
In essence, Margot Mason, legendary author of The Cerebral Vagina (and more) is deep in writer’s block. Her latest was due yesterday and she has written virtually nothing. Wandering in through the open French doors of Margot’s idyllic retreat (terrific set design Paris Burrows) comes Molly Rivers (Jade Fuda). She’s an ex-student whose life has been ruined, she believes, by Margot’s seminal publication. In a rucksack are handcuffs and a pistol and, in a move of which Chekhov would approve, Molly immediately uses them.
Before long Margot’s daughter Tess (Lib Campbell) arrives. Having rebelled against her mother’s ideals of independent womanhood, she’s being driven bonkers by the demands of three small children and domesticity. As well, husband Bryan (Doron Chester) leads a life of merry mansplaining as a hedge fund manager and basically Has. No. Idea. Tess is at the end of her tether.
Quite reasonably, Margot takes no responsibility for how women have responded to her book. Her concern is to hit upon a catchy title and, almost incidentally, the content of her next bestseller. Gradually, however, she is forced by the two younger women to take a look at herself – when she’s not too busy castigating them for their silliness. (Ironically, at the time Germaine was held hostage she had been out and about publicising her then-latest book: The Whole Woman!)
For a comedy that’s now 18 years on from its first stagings, The Female of the Species remains alarmingly on point and apposite. If anything, antagonism between generations is less comic and more nasty, given the housing crisis and the idea that Boomers should give up their homes and live in a paper bag beside the freeway. Or just die.
When taxi driver Frank (Joe Kalou) stomps in he adds a further element of class warfare and buff bod to the mix. Playwright Murray-Smith has an acute eye for the cracks in society and an equally keen ear for words and how to fashion them into lines that alternate between meaningful and funny, or both. That the characters are also sharply observed and plausible helps anchor the farce in sometimes uncomfortable reality. When, finally, Margot’s publisher Theo arrives in search of a book, it heralds the cherry in the cocktail in the form of a harassed and hilariously apt Mark Lee.
In the end, a combination of Hallmark schmaltz and real-world drama collide in a burst of shocked laughter (from the audience). It’s clever and rewarding and makes a welcome change from the earnest, self-pitying gloom of much new work. It’s perhaps a bit unfashionable to want to laugh but – hey – it feels really good when you can. This company is true to the play and its demands and the combination of experience and new talent is particularly special.
Don’t worry – be laughing.
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