Theatre has been crying out for this for so long and, hurrah, at last here it is: the great (peri)menopause play. Some Woman features as its central character a haggard and frazzled middle-aged woman, who is bone-tired of doing it all rather than having it all. She is entirely invisible to the wider world while being the dogsbody of her nearest and dearest. Something, surely, has got to give but what, or who, will it be?
Television has had a blast with mid-life women of late. There’s been the absolute triumph of Sally Wainwright’s Riot Women, soon to return for a welcome second series, in which a punk band is formed by a group of female characters who are feeling pummelled by life. If you haven’t seen it, search online for a clip of Rosalie Craig’s lead singer screaming the band’s trademark number “Give Me HRT”. There’s also the latest offering from Sharon Horgan, Youth, in which her character navigates the travails of post-divorce dating.
Theatre isn’t always the easiest medium for this sort of social realism – no wonder Mike Leigh moved into film after his theatrical beginnings – but luckily for us Helen Edmundson has bucked the trend with her blast of a new drama, Some Woman. Anne-Marie Duff is perfect as the Everywoman lead character Julie Robson, whose set-up will ring peals of bells with so many.
She’s divorced – her husband left her for a much younger woman – and faced with having to sell the family home and downsize, if only she can get a mortgage on her paltry salary. You see, she used to be a professional high-flyer, but left the job to take a much lowlier position in order to fit in with her fragile younger daughter’s school hours. Her elder daughter is full of contempt for her and her boss never stops bothering her with queries even out of hours, although she was passed over for promotion in favour of a younger man. And to cap it all, the dishwasher is broken.
These details are the warp and weft of Julie’s days – “I move through life trying not to take up any space,” she says quietly near the start of these hurtling 100 interval-free minutes – and feed into but are not themselves the plot motor. This happens offstage and is recounted by Julie to her family, who barely have time to listen to her. A highly unpleasant, entirely unprovoked comment from a schoolboy at the railway station has upset and angered her and she wants his headteacher to know about it. She would like an apology. Her family urge her to let the matter rest.
There are gasps of indignant incredulity at the twists of this narrative, as Julie’s life becomes ever more complicated. The M-word, menopause, is mentioned just once, by Julie’s solicitor – yes, it gets legal – but her response is brusque. “No, I’m not using that one’ “she says. She refuses to be categorised and diminished, as all she wants for once is to be heard. “I haven’t looked up for so long. I’ve staggered through each day,” she says and you can almost hear millions of women in this country sighing in solidarity with her.
Edmundson offers no easy answers or happy endings – this is 2026 England she’s talking about, not Disneyland. What does happen, though, is that as Julie picks her way through this minefield, she does gradually start to look up and stand straight instead of staggering. She looks at herself too and isn’t pleased with what she finds there: “I don’t want to be this woman. I don’t even like myself. Where’s the joy?” Theatre doesn’t do a second series, of course, but if it did, maybe Julie would join the Riot Women on backing vocals.
‘Some Woman’ is at the National Theatre, London, to 21 November (nationaltheatre.org.uk)