Ungoverned, furious, larky, layered — Lucy Kirkwood’s female-dominated, 18th-century jury-room drama is also kind of brilliant. It explores the place of women in society then and now, in relation to men and to each other.
Played in broad Norfolk accents, it yanks us out of our metropolitan bubble. It fills the stage with wildly differing women and gives them agency. But don’t feel threatened, men. A chap — James Macdonald — directs.
In 1759, with Halley’s Comet passing, a dozen rural women are enlisted to decide whether a young convicted murderer is pregnant as she claims. Their concerns and opinions are suddenly respected, though many resent the distraction from housework.
Maxine Peake’s sturdy midwife Lizzie would seem the natural leader, but distinctions of class, wealth and fecundity shift the power around the group. Slut shaming, baby hunger, sexual molestation and bitchiness are not modern inventions. The sweary, poetic language is enthralling, though “welkin” meaning “sky”, is the only truly arcane word used.
True, there is something mechanical in the way Kirkwood works in references to unwise steaming of the female anatomy, or the endless rivalry of midwives and doctors. I have no idea why there are two mentions of aeroplanes or why the cast sing a Kate Bush song at one point. Mostly, I just loved the sheer, gutsy audacity of it all.
Peake is dependable as ever though Ria Zmitrovicz’s volcanic brattiness as the accused could be reined in. But it’s a delight to watch the ebb and flow of dialogue in an ensemble including Haydn Gwynne, Cecilia Noble and June Watson, covering orgasm, menopause and the use of “a bit of brick in a handkerchief” to ensure the withdrawal method of contraception works.
Designer Bunny Christie makes the whole thing look like a painting, and playfully covers the entire cast in soot for the second half. This is a messy but significant work.
In rep until May 23 (020 7452 3000, nationaltheatre.org.uk)
