Stage:Dog Rose is poignant, quirky with a warm heart, beautiful and special theatre

Dog Rose is a poignant, quirky mother-daughter drama with a warm heart.  Dog Rose, written by Sophie Jones is beautiful and special theatre. At the heart of Dog Rose is a daughter, Nina (played by Sophie Joans) trying to understand what makes her mom, Rose (Anthea Thompson) tick and to understand why they have both misfiring, without connecting. It’s more than Joans tackling the fragile and complex ties that bind mothers and daughters. This is a play from the daughter’s point of view. It bravely clambers and unpicks through the rambling adage – “mom I love you I hate you; you ruined my life”. This is the daughter admitting “mom I love you I hate you and maybe I ruined your life. I see you.” The titular dog rose is a climbing rose which is emblematic of this relationship which has dug itself in. Dog roses need to climb on a structure, on a support. They clasp onto something – on a trellis or hedge, whatever.

In Dog Rose, mom and daughter require support systems to prop them up and facilitate their existence and growth. Sure, we all do but in Dog Rose, this is portrayed emotionally and physically with the leitmotif of the dog rose. Both protagonists are thorny, prickly individuals, clinging on to their co-dependence – drawing on each other.

Plot spoiler alert: There is the recognition of the possibility of mom, Rose being autistic/on the spectrum which would give an inkling of the behaviour which has embarrassed and mortified daughter, Nina. It’s a moment of “aww, yes  …” when there is a ping of recognition of the “other” – formerly unfathomable and unknowable. We often fail to see those close to us – really see them – and in this play we see the magical germination of knowing. It is beautiful conveyed by the tender writing of Joans. She is 26, by the way. I am generalizing but 20-something’s tend to be focused on themselves and their youth as enjoy the last years of twenties before hitting thirty. I find the perspicuity of the writing extraordinary. Joans has shown from previous work a prodigious talent for comedy, sketch comedy drama (the award winning Île) and clowning. With Dog Rose we see her blooming, if you will forgive the gardening metaphor into a playwright with gravitas.

Joan has not only written a beautiful play but she is wonderful as the tetchy daughter trying to unearth mom; the crabby. Anthea Thompson is astounding as the complex Nina who is neuro-diverse and could do with a lot more empathy and perhaps less conversation. She gets affirmation from her plants in a landscape which she can calibrate and order and which calms her sense of sensory overload in this world, with its sound and fury. In the garden, growing things, nurturing life, there is no chit-chat or push-back.  Rose is happy; away from the demands and expectations of her daughter and husband (who we don’t see). She fits in to the garden – unlike the world outside where she is awkward and an embarrassment to her daughter who she adores and will do anything for.

The casting of the play is brilliant – with the tension between Duracell bunny daughter and sluggish enigmatic mom with her twitches and facial expressions. Thompson in a knock-out performance finesses the inimitably of Rose as she prowls and growls around her garden nest and lair, edging around her daughter who she loves passionately. Outstanding performances by Thompson and Joans.

Joans’ physical clown comedy is juxtaposed with the fierce explosive intensity of mom. I loved the physical playing between them. I am not going to spoil. They have their own language which is non-verbal – silliness and wackiness – stuff that people do when words don’t suffice. Love it. I would like to see more of this – extended in the play. They have this jagged banter which lifts the Dog Rose from being an issue play.

I think that the set needs work. It could be heightened and be developed into a garden of magic or it could be stripped back and heightened. At the moment it comes across as patchy, sparse and tacked together with masking tape (I like the masking tape bit by the way).

What comes across in this play is how we try out best-to be daughters to mothers.  In the pursuit of perfection, it’s not easy at all. Dog Rose is funny, darkly funny. Joan’s talent is to find the mirth in the tragic. For example, Nina quips:  “What do you mean you want to commit suicide; you are ten.” I won’t forget that line.

Gemma Kahn’s direction tempers the narrative with nodes of clinging points. Climbing roses on a trellis need to latch onto something to hold onto before moving and growing in another direction. In Dog Rose this reverberates through the prose and the way which person latches onto an outburst, confession, reveal and physically how they coil around each other. Dog Rose is an off-beat love story – between a daughter and a mother. Please do not miss.

✳ Sophie Joans and Anthea Thompson in Dog Rose by Sophie Joans. Pic supplied.