Sexual oppression, polka dots and medically approved cigarettes: welcome to 1950s Britain. This long-running offering from Christina McCulloch and Nadia Papachronopoulou transports theatre-goers into the studio audience of a fictional BBC game show set in television’s infancy.
The contestants of Britain’s Best Housewife are supposed to cook, clean and cower their way to victory. But as each player is unceremoniously ousted, the burdens of post-war gender roles are called into question.
Written by psychic-to-the-stars McCulloch, the production seems under-cooked. Despite some quotable lines ('I’m always sure to serve breakfast with an immaculate face') one can’t help sensing the characters lack depth.
There are laughs to be had: Matt Houlihan’s hilariously schmaltzy host echoes Bruce Forsyth at his wettest and Antonia Reid is equally amusing as his churlish wife and co-host. But the execution is ham-fisted.
You can almost hear the gears grind as intimate monologues run back-to-back with sing-a-longs. The result swings between bubbly cabaret and pseudo-Brecht. There’s even a sequence where the contestants act like robots. We get it: The power balance is skewed.
That said, the music is great and the young cast are very strong. It’s all very fun but the recipe lacks that special ingredient.