Erin Harrington reviews The Appleton Ladies’ Potato Race, by Melanie Tait and directed by Anthea Williams, at The Court Theatre, Tuesday 8 August, 2023.
In a review some years ago I described a show’s comedy and appeal as ‘broad’, and someone involved in the production got exceptionally cross with me. I meant it in our theatre context as a value-neutral term for an easily-recognisable type of ‘all’s well that ends well’ comedy that is unashamedly populist, conventionally plotted, that explores ideas through a small cast of characters (often based on recognisable, exaggerated archetypes), and whose comic heartbeat is the comfortingly regular bu-dum of set up and punchline – with a bunch of physical comedy and rude words thrown in for good measure. We have lots of these comedies in New Zealand, and they tend to do quite well commercially. Some of them are also very good. He felt, I think, that I was being very unfair – that I was accusing the play of being shallow and unsophisticated (which to be fair it was, a little), over the top, and going for cheap lowest common denominator humour at the expense of heart and ideas. ‘Broad appeal’, in my use, was thus interpreted as something of a neg of the play, its working-class characters, and the audience.
We talked about our differences in interpretation some weeks later and in the end it was fine, I think, but I have thought about that exchange a lot over the years. For me, it raises questions about how it is we can talk seriously about comic commercially-oriented plays (because they deserve serious attention), what we want from them as audiences, and what they have to do to succeed theatrically, narratively and thematically – all on top of being hopefully quite funny. I thought about this again during The Court Theatre’s production of the Australian comedy The Appleton Ladies’ Potato Race, directed by Anthea Williams. It’s a crowd-pleasing play that works to hit all those ‘broad appeal’ hallmarks above, and that engages with big, serious ideas about equity, tradition, and community, but all in a manner I found inconsistent and sometimes outright confusing.
GP Penny (Donna Brookbanks) returns to her hometown, the small rural settlement of Appleton, after a breakup with her wife. Penny’s the big brain who left for the big smoke, and her return is out of both a yearning for home and bare necessity. After reconnecting with childhood bestie, hairdresser Nikki (Kathleen Burns), and meeting (relatively) new arrival, Syrian refugee Rania (Katrina Baylis), Penny is shocked to learn that the famous annual potato race – a dash around a race track while carrying a sack of spuds – offers $1000 to the men’s race winner and only $200 to the women’s. Urban gay liberal vegetarian Penny’s adamant she’s going to change that – much to the chagrin of show-running local stalwart, rough diamond Bev (Lynda Milligan). Show committee member Barb (Anne Chamberlain) watches on, keeping her cards close to her chest and her dreams quiet. Penny’s attempts to fundraise and agitate for something approaching parity expose ugly divisions within the town, but the town’s sudden viral exposure to the wider world also makes Appleton reflect on its values. Plus there’s jokes, a bake sale, some medical humour, pitch perfect pastiche of local talkback radio, some good times down the pub, a scene-stealing dance sequence (!) and, eventually, maybe equity?
The play is interested in a few tensions: the urban and the rural, poverty and affluence, the social roles of men and women, the gap between locals and outsiders, those who leave and those who stay, the reasons people will vehemently defend a status quo that doesn’t benefit them. I appreciate its careful celebration of the consistent, uncelebrated work of country women, and the pressures to conform to certain gendered stereotypes. It particularly attempts to drill down into how we might honour and uphold traditions without getting stuck in the worst of the past. Can you hand wave away chronic homophobia, say, in the name of being ‘old fashioned’? How do we balance our love for our caring, aging aunty with her frankly vile remarks about immigrants?
Melanie Tait’s script doesn’t entirely succeed in balancing these very worthy, crunchy ideas with the need for jokes and character development. This is exacerbated by this particular production’s inconsistencies, not least its very exaggerated characterisations (including almost parodic Aussie accents) and its odd use of space. Wobbly blocking means performers are frequently marooned in the middle of the wide stage, which is amplified by an unusually (for the Court) underdeveloped, sparse dust-brown set, and unsympathetic lighting. I’m often unsure about where I should be looking – especially during a key flashback that’s meant to expose a hidden emotional truth about the town. I appreciate the skill with which the actors volley punchlines, and their combined warmth, but I’m also confused about what the production thinks I should be laughing at. I need to say that the sold-out theatre has a great time – loads of belly laughs and whispered repetitions of punchlines. Nonetheless I frequently slide into the back of my seat when I hear people laughing along with xenophobic and homophobic comments that are meant (I presume) to reveal some of the townsfolks’ ugly biases, not least towards Rania and her culture.
A play like this can tell stories about people and communities who might not always get a look in in theatre. It’s also genuinely great to see female-centric projects being supported by big theatres, given the historic dearth of opportunities for female actors and directors, and the lack of female-led stories. Between this, Sense and Sensibility, and Rēwena, the Court Theatre has been walking the talk on this in its programming this season.
But any comedy, but perhaps especially one with so-called ‘broad’ bums-on-seats appeal, needs to be absolutely confident in who or what it is laughing at (or with), when and why – and how to signal this, and its narrative shifts, to the audience. This production, while full of potential, seems to have a bob each way, punch up or down, bake or mash. Its narrative beats are imbalanced, it is unsure about character development (including who the protagonist actually is), and it finishes very abruptly without fulfilling some of the show’s key promises – including the one in the show’s very title. This show clearly hit the mark for much of the audience, but not for me.
The Appleton Ladies’ Potato Race runs until 9 September 2023.
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