What's On

A Standing Ovation for Recognition

I've been thinking about Middle Raged since it opened.

Not so much the show itself, but the audience.

I went with my sister, who works in construction. She laughed. She cried. She sang along. Looking around, she wasn't alone. I'd say at least half the audience were wiping away tears at various points.

The standing ovation felt unusual. Not because the show wasn't good – it was - but because it didn't feel like people were simply applauding the performers.

It felt like they were applauding being recognised.

As an artist, I spend a lot of time in rooms where conversations about bodies, ageing, identity and change are pretty normal. Menopause isn't something people whisper about in my circles.

Tonight reminded me that isn't true for everyone.

I suspect many of the women in that audience had never sat in a room with other women laughing about hot flushes, brain fog, rage, bladder leaks, disappearing libido and feeling invisible.

And that matters.

The show is built from surveys with women across Australia, and you can feel it. It doesn't feel like someone has written about menopause. It feels like menopause has written the show.

The cast are fantastic. Beautiful voices across the board, a lovely ease with one another, and enough self-awareness to never let the comedy become caricature. The live band is terrific too, but the drummer deserves a special mention. She is an absolute joy. Every time I looked over, she was IN IT – engaged, animated and gorgeous. She somehow becomes one of the most memorable parts of the show.

I do have one complaint.

Who the fuck thought a ninety-minute musical about menopause, flooding, bladder control and an urgent need for wine should have no interval? Not to mention that as discussed in the show, if women are going to decide to do something for themselves – go to the theatre to see this show for example – then I am sure many would be grateful for a 2-hour vacation slot.

Seriously.

By the end, the queue for the women's bathroom snaked through the foyer. It honestly felt like the final scene of the show. Ironically, it was the only part of the evening that didn't seem informed by women's lived experience.

One thing I'm a little curious about is what the men in the audience experienced. Were they laughing at the same moments? Learning something new? Did they leave understanding the women in their lives a little better? To be honest, I find it hard to believe they would really get anything out of it. I would say it’s best to go along and share this with other women in your life so that you don’t have to worry about men getting it.

The standing ovation wasn't simply for a terrific production.

It was a standing ovation for recognition.

For finally hearing someone say the thing you've been thinking or articulating those lonely experiences.

For realising you're not the only one.

And that's a pretty wonderful thing for theatre to do.