ajhlovestheatre

NOT YOUR SUPERWOMAN 

created and written by Emma Dennis-Edwards 

created and directed by Lynette Linton

Bush Theatre, London – until 1 November 2025

running time: 85 minutes no interval 

https://www.bushtheatre.co.uk/event/not-your-superwoman/

A lot is written about the patriarchy but here’s a stimulating new play about the matriarchy. Emma Dennis-Edwards and Lynette Linton’s engrossing creation looks at nurture versus nature, inherited trauma, the tensions and similarities between generations of women from the same family. It also appraises the perceived role of women, in this instance particularly Black women, to be all things to all people, carriers of emotional and spiritual burdens, even to the detriment of their own wellbeing. 

That’s a lot to unpack, and a tall order to cram into less than ninety minutes stage time, but Not Your Superwoman is imbued with an irresistible sense of humour, and is deeply touching while seldom lapsing into sentimentality. Also there is a true universality to this tale of two British Guyanese women – mother Joyce and daughter Erica – re-evaluating their relationship following the death of Elaine, the mother/grandmother who effectively raised them both, as they travel to the land of their ancestors to scatter the matriarch’s ashes. 

They’re not exactly estranged but they’re diametrically opposed to each other in multiple essential ways, and the text employs the witty device of sometimes having a character repeat precisely what the other just said but loaded with a completely different emphasis and point-of-view. The comedy writing here sparkles, but is rooted in a palpable pain and truth, and it’s gloriously well observed. Watch the way Golda Rosheuvel’s brash, no-nonsense Joyce tips back the free welcome drinks on the aircraft before siphoning the glasses into her hand luggage, or the absolute mortification of Erica (Letitia Wright) when her mother accidentally activates her phone to blare out the music of the rap star who has just boarded the plane. Some of the serious aspects of the play are rendered more generically but it’s never less than engaging. 

Bearing an unexpected vocal resemblance to Catherine Tate’s foul-mouthed Nan character at moments of high comedy, Rosheuvel makes a magnificent return to the stage as multi-layered Joyce, who prioritised earning money and providing material comforts for Erica over connection and empathy. She has her share of understandable demons but it’s Erica who is journaling and in therapy, much to her mother’s bewilderment and annoyance. Wright is deeply lovable as a young woman trying to make sense of her upbringing, fettered by the nagging realisation that she may be more mature than the parent she’s travelling with. The sense that the late Elaine was the glue binding the two of them together is keenly felt: both actresses take turns to embody her, and she is evoked with lovely, rich detail, and a compelling combination of warmth and steel. 

Lynette Linton’s note-perfect direction has marvellous fluidity and an unerring ability to turn on a dime from dreamlike to sitcom matter-of-factness, and from deadly serious to rambunctiously comic. As well as being a heartfelt examination of motherhood and legacy, Not Your Superwoman is also very much a celebration of strong but vulnerable, sometimes flawed, women, and this production does not stint on the joy. Linton uses several previous collaborators here, including Alex Berry (set and costume), Jai Morjaria (lighting), Gino Ricardo Green (video design), and there is a fabulous sense on this show that everyone is singing from the same hymnsheet.

Green’s work is particularly effective, hypnotically conjuring up epic tropical waterfall, domestic kitchen, hotel rooms, Caribbean town square, and the fevered inner workings of the women’s minds, with economy and expressionistic vividness. In one especially striking sequence, we see generations of women and children in shadowy silhouette, all silently bearing witness to these family travails and torments. 

Linton’s tenure as artistic director of the Bush has been a scintillating one, punctuated by a succession of accomplished new plays putting Black women at the centre of urgent stories with powerful modern resonances but mindful of often troubled pasts  – Lava, Sleepova, My Father’s Fable, House Of Ife, The High Table were all major highlights – and Not Your Superwoman feels like an appropriate coda. There is an unmistakable feeling of going out on a proper high with this one. It’s probably a couple of minutes too long and doesn’t necessarily tell us anything revelatory but it’s beautifully crafted and has the vivifying tang of authenticity. Absolutely superb.