When a play dares to center its narrative on a woman taking a stand, it’s worth paying attention. Some Woman, now playing at the National Theatre’s Dorfman, is one such production—and personally, I think it’s a moment we shouldn’t overlook. Written by Helen Edmundson and directed by Blanche McIntyre, this isn’t just another addition to the theatrical calendar; it’s a provocative exploration of visibility, agency, and the quiet revolutions women often lead. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it frames Julie Robson’s story—a woman used to being overlooked—as both deeply personal and universally resonant.
One thing that immediately stands out is the casting. Anne-Marie Duff leads the charge as Julie, and if you take a step back and think about it, her presence alone signals a shift. Duff is no stranger to complex, layered roles, and her portrayal of Julie promises to be a masterclass in subtlety and strength. But what many people don’t realize is how the supporting cast—Grace Doherty, Tobi King-Bakare, and others—aren’t just side characters. They’re part of a tapestry that amplifies Julie’s journey, reflecting the ways in which our lives intersect with others, often in ways we don’t anticipate.
The premise itself is deceptively simple: an encounter on a station platform. But this raises a deeper question—why do such mundane moments become catalysts for change? In my opinion, it’s because these are the moments when the cracks in our societal facades show. Julie’s decision to take a stand isn’t just about her; it’s about every woman who’s ever felt invisible, dismissed, or silenced. What this really suggests is that theater, at its best, can hold a mirror up to these experiences, forcing us to confront them.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the creative team behind the scenes. Robert Jones’s set design, Natasha Chivers’s lighting, and Therese Strasser’s composition aren’t just technical elements—they’re storytelling tools. From my perspective, the way these elements come together will either elevate Julie’s story or risk overshadowing it. It’s a fine line, but one that McIntyre and her team seem poised to navigate skillfully.
If you’re wondering why this matters beyond the theater walls, consider this: Some Woman arrives at a time when women’s voices are both amplified and under attack. It’s a cultural moment where standing up—whether on a station platform or a global stage—feels both necessary and perilous. What this play does, I believe, is remind us that these stands are rarely isolated acts. They’re part of a larger narrative, one that’s been unfolding for centuries.
As for the ticket price—starting at £75—it’s a point of contention. Personally, I think it’s a barrier for many who would benefit most from seeing this story. Theater should be accessible, but the reality is often far from it. This raises a broader question about who gets to participate in these cultural conversations and who is left out.
In the end, Some Woman isn’t just a play; it’s a conversation starter. It invites us to think about the Julies in our lives, the moments when silence becomes untenable, and the power of taking a stand. From my perspective, that’s what great theater does—it doesn’t just entertain; it challenges, provokes, and inspires. And if Some Woman achieves even a fraction of that, it will have done something truly remarkable.
