Marriage Material

Time Out

5 days ago

Sathnam Sanghera's 2013 novel, Marriage Material took its inspiration from Arnold Bennett's classic, The Old Wives' Tale, transposing the story of two sisters who work in their mother's draper's shop to a Sikh family in Wolverhampton. In it, he introduced readers to Kamaljit and Surinder, the two teenage daughters of the Bains family – and in a parallel narrative set in 2011, Arjan, who has returned home to his mother (an older Kamaljit) after his father's death. Now, it undergoes further evolution, as Sanghera's book is reimagined for the theatre by Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti and directed by Iqbal Khan. But, as is often the case with adaptation, the move from page to stage proves a delicate balancing act – with flares of exquisite tension, as well as stretches that feel rushed and flat.
The fact is, squeezing down a 336-page novel into under three hours is a difficult task. First, there are the obvious issues of space and structure, and then the subtler challenge of translating the author's tone into the dialogue and action. The strength of Kaur Bhatti's writing is that Sanghera's sharp wit comes through loud and clear. By merging Punjabi words with English dialogue, the script encapsulates the realities of a home for second generation children. At its best, it feels like a sitcom, dancing with spiky comedy unique to the family's experience and place. Add to this a killer ensemble cast, led by Anoushka Deshmukh and Kiran Landa, who play the sisters with unwavering energy and you've got a play that sends ripples of laughter around the audience, again and again.
It is the personalities that make this adaptation; as Arjan, Jaz Singh Deol is full of sarcasm and raised eyebrows, while Irfan Shamji is captivating physical performer as Dhanda, aging him before our eyes with shaking hands and a quivering speaking voice. But, perhaps, the greatest character of all is the family's corner shop. In Good Teeth's set we first see its shelves hanging in the Bains' house. But, as the play unfolds, the shop's significance grows into something truly essential. Serving as the central hub of the story, the setting feels alive, witnessing births, deaths, abandonments, and marriages. The tales from past years linger within its walls, with the responsibility of preserving the family's legacy and keeping the shop open hanging over each new generation.
And yet, we don't quite get the full effect of Sanghera's original, weaving story. In the novel, the events of the dual narrative play out simultaneously in alternate chapters. Onstage, however, these stories are split into two halves. It becomes less of an emotionally taut family mystery that we're desperate to piece together then, and more like two compartmentalised dramas. The second act in particular feels like it zooms through too many significant moments.
Overall, though, this feels like a small niggle as Kaur Bhatti's writing digs into the specifics of the Bains family through the generations. Set to a backdrop of real-life events, including the 1969 battle for Sikh men to be able to wear turbans on buses, with the words of Enoch Powell ringing in the family's ears, and later racial tensions in the 2010s, the Bains are never allowed to forget their difference. In charting the personal alongside the political, Kaur Bhatti honours both the humour and weight or Sanghera's original; it is a resonant night if not a perfect one.