Some plays roar and plead for your attention. Others hum softly, sitting in moments of elongated silence. American playwright Amy Herzog’s Mary Jane, a quietly devastating story of single motherhood, illness and resilience does the latter – it earns your attention in the silences. As with life, the telling of these stories in theatre takes a village, and Mi Todo Productions have collected a dutiful village for this Australian premiere production at the Old Fitz Theatre.
Nestled within a simple, white-washed apartment in Queens, this one-act play traverses the journey of a single mother, Mary Jane (Eloise Snape) and her toddler, Alex. It is neither grandiose nor extravagant, but instead approached as a ship-in-a-bottle type storytelling, with Mary Jane’s apartment and the children’s ward at the hospital being the only settings in our storybook.
Born prematurely, Alex’s health issues give way to worsening seizures and the need for constant around-the-clock care. As the initial scenes commence, Herzog breadcrumbs her audience with details of Alex’s condition, with diagnoses including cerebral palsy, paralysed vocal cords, and lung disease. A small beeping offstage informs us of someone in need of care, and further conversations eventually reveal that Alex’s condition is worse than previously thought, as Mary Jane struggles to grapple with the gravity of the situation. (Pack tissues for this one, folks.)
Less is more in this production, but it’s not without an impressive bit of creativity.
As with the production’s village, Mary Jane has her own support. The building’s super turns a blind eye to her removal of the window bars so that Alex can see outside. Her sister Sherry (Janine Watson) offers calm, practical support. Nurses rotate in and out. We never see Alex — but his presence is constant.
Rachel Chant’s direction is impeccably soft, her bedside manner cushioning every scene change, interaction and moment of silence. There’s a stillness within each movement, as though we ourselves are seated in a hospital, always aware of those behind the curtains next to us.
However, much like waiting in a hospital foyer, you might find yourself checking your watch (despite the relatively short runtime). This play is met with the difficult task of holding space for a story about grief without dragging its feet. Ultimately, grief is a process that cannot be rushed, and this is the avenue taken as we sit with Mary Jane in moments of silence, waiting for the doctor to come and deliver any kind of news.
Snape’s Mary Jane is a mother treading water, persevering with optimistic laughter and jokes as a means to hold her mask of survival in place. She is present and alert, but she is suffering; feeling as though a piece of herself isn’t there – instead, it’s in the room by Alex’s bedside.
Soham Apte’s set design keeps Mary Jane’s world visceral, while Izzy Morrissey and Luna Ng’s collaborative lighting design echoes the perpetual softness of the world Herzog creates through whitewashes and evening, soft blues to close in the hospital rooms. Together, the creatives bring us into Mary Jane’s apartment before a swift (and extremely sleek) scene change takes us to the children’s hospital ward, where butterflies, sunlight and trees adorn the room. Less is more in this production, but it’s not without an impressive bit of creativity.
Alongside Alex’s relentlessly optimistic mother, the supporting cast pepper the story with moments of laughter, moments of stillness, and moments of philosophy. Isabel Burton’s musical therapist takes the brunt of the spillage from Mary Jane’s emotional dam, transitioning the scene with a tear-jerking moment of music. Watson’s performance as both Sherry and Dr. Toros provides a sense of concrete ground on which to stand, a metaphorical wall on which Snape leans for support. Di Adams’ chaplain, Tenkei, ends the piece in soft discussion of religion and faith.
One can’t help but wonder about the multitude of other parents in similar positions to Mary Jane, particularly in the United States, where a scalpel is held over a body in need whilst the doctors wait for the insurance agent to give the all-clear. (Prime Minister Albanese was right in praising that green Medicare card in all Australians’ wallets.)
Grief and hardship cannot be a competition, we all experience it in differing capacities, but the question arises: how would Herzog’s script change if Mary Jane was instead a woman of colour? Or a mother without the safety net of a stable income to support their child? Would the same softness, support and care be given to our titular character when the social lens is shifted?
The closest we come to see this is through Sophie Bloom’s delicate portrayal of Chaya, a Hasidic mother of seven whose off-stage child shares a room with Alex. The conversation between mothers veers from Mary Jane’s impressed shock at Chaya’s ability to give love to seven children while she herself fights to stay above water with one child, through to the absurdity of milk-pumping, and ultimately a discussion about God. Perhaps it is not the task of one play to dissect every intersecting experience of hardship, yet, when dissecting Herzog’s work further, the question of unseen mothers and families arises, those that yearn for a deeper discussion.
Eloise Snape anchors a show that speaks in whispers, offering no grand epiphanies or final answers. Instead, we’re given a simple truth; survival for women can be a quiet act of bravery, fuelled by the kindness of kin and strangers and, ultimately, survival itself may be the purest form of medicine we have.
Mary Jane is playing until June 15 at the Old Fitz Theatre, downstairs at the Old Fitz Hotel in Woolloomooloo. Find tickets & info over here.
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