Naima Khan reviews James Hogan's affectionate but under-developed take on emotional endurance.
One of the best things about high school was getting a lift home with my friend and her slightly crackers grandfather. He had stories and advice that came out of nowhere. So disconnected from our lives but such a steady part of them, he was unintentionally hilarious. What seemed to be key incidents to him barely popped up on our radar (I remember him being curiously affected by the death of Yetunde Price, sister of Serena and Venus Williams).
James Hogan's Ivy and Joan at The Print Room reminds me why we secretly liked those short trips. There is an odd pleasure in listening to someone else's take on a world you share and in speculating about how exactly this caricature in front of you came to be where they are now. This is at least half the joy of Ivy & Joan which is itself, not a joyous play.
Two dialogues, the first filled by Ivy's incessant chatter, the second with Joan's angry spiel, present two women coping (barely). Their interlocutors, both reluctant and distant but abiding are also at their wits end. Ivy, stationed at the same B&B for 40 years is about to leave and Joan is looking at a return trip to a mental health facility after a culture-filled holiday in Italy.
They share delusional hope about themselves, but also an unrelenting pessimism about almost everyone else. Ivy's Harry will come back for her and Joan will be as happy and successful as a stranger on holiday has convinced her she can be. Problem is, Harry is decades gone and Joan's holiday friend, "that nice Dottore Marcello," is very likely a conman preying on her vulnerability.
That's what comes across most in this 90-minute show: their shared vulnerability. That and their resilience, the fierceness of which has placed a huge gap between them and everyone else in their lives. Both are played with remarkable ease by Lynne Miller who convinces us that though they'd usually be considered absolute windbags, these women are worth listening to for a picture of emotional endurance, and not the one we most commonly talk about.
There are no inescapable images of domestic violence, no resentful children nor any obvious regret about not having kids. Instead, they ways they look after themselves (and often fail at it) is centre stage.
As easy as it is to have an affection for Hogan's writing, it hardly zings. Ivy and Joan could do with more allure. The point is that they don't have any but theatrically, there needs to be a lot more to them, especially humour. Joan's interest in art for example, or Ivy's understanding of the spiritual world is only touched on. They deserve more development, more drama, and nuance, if not in their lives outside the play, then certainly when they're on stage. Because like my mate's granddad, while easy to listen to, it's tough to really engage. 
Ivy and Joan runs at The Print Room until 26th January 2013
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