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It’s the end of the 1960s and in a corner shop in Wolverhampton, Punjabi Sikh shopkeeper Mr Bains is talking with Surinder, his 16-year-old daughter — brilliant, beautiful and the apple of his eye.
She wants to study, she tells him, to find a job: “I’d be a somebody.” “My daughter wants to be a somebody,” he replies, fondly. “We will find you a somebody to marry.”
That’s just one of many of the intergenerational conflicts that course through Marriage Material, adapted by Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti from Sathnam Sanghera’s acclaimed 2013 novel. Rolling across several decades, the narrative charts the fortunes of one British South Asian family, where long hours and stocktaking come freighted with hopes, ambitions, torn loyalties and painful choices. Surinder longs to step out into 1970s Britain, her sister Kamaljit wants to follow tradition and keep house. Both end up defying their parents, at great emotional cost.
Their dilemmas, particular to this family, will feel familiar to many, particularly second-generation sons and daughters. Meanwhile, the grim realities of racism assert themselves constantly. Mr Bains, who hoped for a good life for his wife and daughters, is worn to a shadow by grinding work and endless abuse. The play begins in the wake of Enoch Powell’s notorious “Rivers of Blood” speech and ends in the present day, where resurgent anti-immigrant rhetoric poisons the air.
But, despite some tough material, what lights up the drama, and Iqbal Khan’s vibrant staging (a co-production with Birmingham Rep), is the tenderness at its heart. It’s a piece spiky with wit and with frank, funny exchanges that have the zing of authenticity, and we can feel the affection and concern beneath even the most hurtful arguments. When Mrs Bains (the excellent Avita Jay), who has supported Surinder’s ambitions, suddenly switches tack, we see the urge to protect that drives her change of heart.
Khan’s staging swirls with life, the action spilling out over the corner-shop set (designed by Good Teeth) which unfolds like origami to disclose kitchen, living room or shop counter. The cast spin nimbly between characters and decades and there are particularly fine performances from Jaz Singh Deol as Kamaljit’s son, Arjan, struggling to define where he belongs, Irfan Shamji as the endlessly “helpful” rival shopkeeper, and Tommy Belshaw as the salesman and wannabe poet who steals Surinder away. Anoushka Deshmukh and Kiran Landa are terrific as Surinder and Kamaljit, buzzing with life, hope and determination.
You wish you could spend more time with them, however. And this is the drawback of the play. It’s a sweeping piece but, without the depth of characterisation and the texture of the novel, it too often feels rushed. Key moments don’t have enough space and complex emotions squeeze into short exchanges, while the dramatic structure means that Surinder, about whom we’ve come to care so much, is absent for much of the second act.
The problems of compression, and of the differing narrative demands of prose and drama, hold it back. But this is still a timely and entertaining piece that ends on a note of hope.
★★★☆☆
To June 21, lyric.co.uk, then June 25-July 5, birmingham-rep.co.uk
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