We caught up with playwright Jane Upton to talk about (the) Woman, which will be touring nationally from 18 February to 15 March.
What is (the) Woman about?
On a story level, it’s about a playwright who has children and has to figure out how to exist in this new version of herself, her life and her future. It’s like she passes over this invisible threshold and is completely disorientated by the system that is secretly operating where women are hiding so much of themselves in order to “succeed” and stay relevant and “sexy”. I think ultimately it’s about the messy pursuit of living truthfully and honestly in a system that wants you to pretend you’re something else.
The press release mentions your anger and fear fuelling the first scene. How did these emotions shape the rest of the play?
I started writing the play when I was slowly emerging from an incredibly intense period of motherhood – my second child was born in shocking circumstances and it was traumatic. I found it really tough to deal with for a million reasons. Eventually, when I started to feel a tiny bit stronger, my brother bumped into a guy I went out with at school. He said he’d seen me pushing a buggy and had “expected more” from me. This really kicked me in the gut when I was already low. I laid awake trying to unpick why it hurt me so much. I realised he was tapping into a deep feeling I had about myself, that once I had a child (especially because I still live in the town where I was born) my promise and potential was dead. It also shone a light on this unspoken low-level disgust I think so many people feel about mothers. It often feels, to stay interesting, you have to hide that part of you. And I felt sad and angry that I hadn’t understood the extent to which many women were doing that. So yeah, they were definitely driving forces throughout. But there’s a lot of humour in the play too – because I’m just naturally funny, ask anyone.
The show challenges all the conflicting advice and opinions that mothers are told about what they’re doing and who they should be. Do you think this is a product of our time, or has it always been this way?
Obviously misogyny has been around for quite a while(!) so I’m sure mothers of all generations have had their own specific version of this. My mum tells me she was judged in the 80s for breastfeeding at a time where formula was gaining popularity as a way for “ambitious” women to find some flexibility. Me and my friends were teenagers in the 90s where we were told to be like lads, sexually up for it at all times and so skinny we looked like we were on heroin. These three things are obviously at odds with the image of mothers – womanly, non-sexual and ripe and fleshy. So it’s a pretty weird juxtaposition to get your head round. I think the expectations we place on mothers to be natural, nurturing, ultra feminine and the ultimate martyrs have been around for a very long time.
Why do you think writing about motherhood is seen as “not sexy,” and what impact does this perception have on art and culture?
People assume motherhood is all changing nappies, neglecting yourself, talking endlessly about your kids and exhaustion. It’s very hard to market a play with motherhood as a theme because people make a snap judgement about what it will be and that is probably “dull”. But actually motherhood and everything that goes with it – shifting relationships, altered sense of self, deeply ingrained misogyny in men and women, marital sex post children, masking your new identity to succeed in your career – all these things are live and relevant and all around us.
You began writing this play during a vulnerable period of your life. How did the writing process evolve as your own experiences of motherhood changed?
I wrote a first draft and it got shortlisted for the Bruntwood Prize. And I honestly loved that first draft. It was full of guts and honesty and laughter. So when I finally got commissioned to write a new draft, it was two years later and I was worried that I would lose that raw vulnerability and anger that was in the first. But that’s when dramaturg Sarah Dickenson came on board. I talked to her about my fear of applying hindsight and a structure and losing this sort of messy, surreal scream and Sarah really listened and understood and tailored some exercises to help me find my way back in and work out how I could move the play on without softening all the edges or structuring it into something else. Sarah has been a huge part of the development of this play.
How does working with director Angharad Jones and this cast bring your vision for the play to life?
I always find the production stage daunting. For ages the play is just words on a page and I don’t have to worry about it being completely finished. But now there’s a cast and creative team and the pressure is on to be dynamic in working the script to a final state. There’s so much to play with in the script so there’s a lot to find together. Angharad has been amazing right from the moment she read the play. She loved it and has been so excited about producing it. She has a hectic home life as well as running New Perspectives and it feels like we get that and have each other’s back. I do feel like this play has enabled me to work quite differently – because of its themes and pursuit of truth, Angharad, Sarah and I have worked so completely honestly with each other that we haven’t had to hide parts of ourselves. It’s been like breathing really. Angharad has loads of ideas and is really collaborative so it’s exciting to see it develop.
What do you hope audiences—both mothers and non-mothers—will feel or think about after seeing (the) Woman?
I’ve been amazed already by the reaction the play has had from such a range of people who’ve read it – men and women. People seem to connect really deeply with it, kids or no kids. I think I just want people to feel more confident to be who they are and to speak truthfully and to let go of some expectations they feel they have to live up to. I think I want to hear a few gasps in the auditorium when a few of the truths land. That would be great.