Marriage Material review – cornershop comedy with a cardi-and-trousers charm

The Guardian

5 days ago

Sathnam Sanghera's cross-generational novel about the life of a cornershop and the British Sikh family that runs it, cast a wryly comic eye over some big themes: family duty versus freedom, authenticity versus assimilation and Enoch Powell-era racism versus grassroots activism.
The cornershop that anchors them in Wolverhampton is run by the Bains family. Two sisters, Kamaljit (Kiran Landa) and Surinder (Anoushka Deshmukh), first come together to share dreams and intimacies and then head in opposing directions, into estrangement, after their father (Jaz Singh Deol) dies and their mother (Avita Jay) begins organising their arranged marriages.
It is charming in its essence, bubbling with spirited performances and smart period costumes (1970s era cardi-and-trouser combos with shalwar kameez) set alongside an elegant stage design by Good Teeth – the Bains' home folds out from flatness and then turns into their shop in a few deft steps.
But flatness remains elsewhere, while the story sprawls. The many meaty themes here feel unwieldy and too briefly touched on while the narrative unity of the original story is lost in an exuberant but untethered adaptation by Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti. The production ranges widely and loosely, not finding its emotional fulcrum, with characters who seem cut from generic 70s sitcom cloth.
Dialogue is beached by exposition and short scenes that telegraph plot above all else. Mr Bains talks about his dreams of being a Somebody in Britain; 'What about my life?' says Surinder, who wants to be more than the wife of a Somebody, and her teacher reminds us that the Vikings were immigrants too. It is all too baldy stated in primary colours, with comedy that does not land hard or sharply enough.
The first act is emotionally brisk so we do not connect enough with characters to feel their jolts, from the daily indignities of racism to untimely death and family woes. The second is strangely plodding, although it brings more emotion, certainly in the meeting between the sisters after estrangement.
Time and perspective changes between the first and second halves of the play leave you more unmoored around its focus. Is it a drama about the limits placed on the women of this community or an exploration of cross-generational assimilation? Surinder's relationship with a controlling white British man is interesting but underexplored. Arjan's mixed race relationship feels tacked on, with passing reflections on what sounds like the Tebbit cricket test by Kamaljit's husband Tanvir.
Its spirit of levity is reminiscent of East is East, whose fabulous stage incarnation was directed by Iqbal Khan, who directs here too, as well as, to some degree, Emma Rice's adaptation of Hanif Kureishi The Buddha of Suburbia. But it feels like Kureishi lite, paler for the comparison.
It does exude a warm energy in its more successful first act and there is lovely evocation of time and place through music, from the dhols of Arjan's grandparents' generation to period pop (Sugar, Honey, Honey, etc). This cannot make up for the holes in its drama, which skates too lightly across all the surfaces and never quite forms a centre.
At the Lyric, Hammersmith, until 21 June