Review: THE MINISTRY OF LESBIAN AFFAIRS, Kiln Theatre
Photo credit: Mark Senior
There are no spaces for lesbians. The inaccessible lesbian bar in town closed a year ago, bigots lurk in the local pub, there are no spaces for the lesbians…but there is a choir, in a town hall with a leaky roof, where they come to sing and connect with other members of the femme and gender non conforming queer community. And they’ve set their sights on singing at the queer event of the year: Pride.
The show, written by Iman Qureshi, made its debut on the Soho Theatre main stage in 2022. The run was highly successful and completely sold out. The current production at Kiln Theatre marks the show's official return to the London stage.
The stage is set in a semi-realistic style. The main hall sits pride of place centre stage in all its neglected town hall glory. Chairs are neatly placed in rows stage left and a piano rests stage right in front of cardboard boxes. The fact that it looks so run down and neglected is particularly clever because it highlights the light and energy that the choir bring into the space, as well as showing that the group is very much out of sight, out of mind due to this being the only space that they can gather.
Additionally, the set hides another set up behind what looks like the town hall stage when the curtains are closed. Yet this is actually a pristine white living room set up. It’s as cold and empty as Dina’s husband is, and feels very representative of the fact that he blocks any vibrancy that she brings into the room.
There’s a lot to be said for the range of lived experiences that are represented in this play, showcasing how unique the queer experience is to the individual. Qureshi is both incredibly fearless and considerate with this script, using these varied perspectives to debate vital issues whilst keeping in mind intersectionality. She doesn’t make enemies and she doesn’t make martyrs of her characters, she puts characters that feel lived in on stage and asks us to really listen to this typically hidden group. She challenges us to think about our own lived experience and advocates for ownership of our own stories whilst arguing that some stories are not ours to tell. That it’s easy to get carried away so it’s important to keep in mind which voices are ours, give others the space to take centre stage and support them in doing so. To have some perspective and stay aware of our privileges.
This show feels brutally honest and needed and that’s a major part of what makes it so brilliant.
It’s also surprisingly well humoured, after all, it is a comedy. Whether that’s through queer in jokes or the songs that the choir sings, led by the very enthusiastic Connie. The members of this strong cast all have perfect comedic timing and Qureshi really has mastered the art of writing quick-witted one-liners.
The first half of the show has this well-humoured tone nailed and we have the best time watching it, crying with laughter at various points, to the extent that we don’t anticipate the twist that comes in the second half. It’s devastating that such a twist doesn’t feel implausible at all, which makes it a powerful gut punch.
Shuna Snow, who plays Connie the OWL (older wiser lesbian), is a stunning physical comedian. She portrays Connie as an enthusiastic vintage choir leader, the type who reminds us of overly energetic teachers trying to get shy primary school children to sing up. She’s characterised as so warm and open that we don’t stop to consider her backstory and it’s so refreshing to see representation of a happy queer person who is just living life, keeping her private life private.
We also love to see femme queer disability rep on stage, something that this writer hasn’t seen before. Liz Carr gives a storming performance; she’s not inspirational, she’s just an incredibly talented actress who happens to play a morally challenging character. She portrays Fi as sarcastic and down to earth, just trying to live her life amidst the barriers that our incredibly ableist society puts up, highlighting that ableism is prevalent in the queer community as well. Her impassioned speech about accessibility (and disabled people generally being excluded from everywhere) sticks with us after we have left the venue and with the words “I’m tired of being invisible!” resonating with us deeply.
Yet it is very frustrating to see such outstanding disability representation almost overturned by the fact that the character of Fi is a transphobe. This is deeply heartbreaking to watch, yet it’s also, in an odd way, refreshing to see a disabled person playing a morally complex character. They aren’t simple, they aren’t there for your inspiration, they aren’t there to make you feel comfortable or please you, they aren’t there to make you feel better about yourself, they aren’t there to make you feel guilty, they aren’t there for a sob story, they aren’t there to speak for the whole community - they are there to take up space and speak their mind, even if it's morally challenging.
This show throws out tokenism and it's about damn time that this happened!
Gripping, interesting and complex without causing alienation. This show is a bold show that is well balanced, passionate and vitally needed.
***** Five stars
Reviewed by: Megan O’Neill
