Meet Phyllis, the Herman family matriarch, armed with gin and cigarettes, clinging to long-unfulfilled dreams. Her children, Carl and Martha, are on the cusp of adulthood in a rapidly changing America, ready to spread their wings and embrace new freedoms – but they’re not getting away from Mother that easily.
In Mother Play, Paula Vogel has created a work that thrives on contrasts. It is at once riotously funny and deeply tragic, exaggerated in its use of family drama tropes but grounded enough to strike a painful chord. With just three performers on stage, Silo’s 2025 production demonstrates the skill of its cast and creatives, delivering a piece that will feel especially resonant for members of the LGBT community and their allies.
The play traces more than forty years in the lives of the Herman family: Phyllis and her two children, Martha and Carl. Abandoned by her husband who departs with his mistress and their shared savings, Phyllis is left to carry the family forward. Except she does not so much nurture her children as drag them through a life shaped by poverty, bitterness, and denial.
Photo credit: Andi Crown
Across the performance, the family experiences five different evictions, each move marking a new episode in their lives. This recurring motif becomes more than just a plot device. The shifting homes echo the five stages of grief, with each relocation carrying its own tone, whether denial, anger, bargaining, depression, or acceptance. The family never quite settles, and the audience is reminded that stability, both emotional and physical, is elusive.
The genius of Mother Play is how it eases audiences in with comedy before pivoting toward tragedy. The first half carries a surreal, almost sitcom-like quality. In the cramped, cockroach-ridden lodgings of the Hermans, arguments play out with absurd energy, sometimes calling to mind the chaos of Fawlty Towers. Vogel fills the dialogue with sharp humour, allowing the audience to laugh even as darker undercurrents ripple beneath.
Photo credit: Andi Crown
But as the decades progress, the tone grows heavier. Humour gives way to poignancy. Tragedy seeps into the cracks, not suddenly but steadily, until the light-hearted moments feel like distant memories. The transformation is one of the play’s great strengths, watching laughter curdle into silence.
The staging itself cleverly supports this progression. The set is constructed as a warm pink triangle, curtains sliding to reframe the Hermans’ new environments. Furniture and props remain constant, but the configuration changes with each move, echoing the way trauma and repetition shape the family’s existence. Boxes are shuffled but never truly unpacked, capturing the perpetual impermanence of their lives.
This visual repetition grounds the symbolic structure of the play. No matter how the Hermans move, they cannot escape themselves or each other.
Photo credit: Andi Crown
The cast of three carries the production with remarkable cohesion. At the centre is Jennifer Ludlam as Phyllis. She dominates the stage as a hard-drinking, fiercely opinionated solo mother. Ludlam imbues Phyllis with a harsh glamour, always immaculately dressed even if her clothes are second-hand. She strides about with brittle pride, concealing her loneliness behind barbed comments and casual cruelty. Her performance captures the character’s ambition and flamboyance, while also revealing the small glimpses of vulnerability that break through her façade.
Yet those moments of tenderness are fleeting. Phyllis is a woman locked in her own prejudices, unwilling to accept her children’s evolving identities or the changing world around her. Her homophobia and ingrained misogyny are laid bare, particularly when directed at Martha and Carl. It is a challenging role, and Ludlam’s performance ensures that Phyllis is as magnetic as she is infuriating.
Photo credit: Andi Crown
Amanda Tito shines as Martha, the voice of reason and ultimately the narrator of the family’s story. Tito plays her with warmth and intelligence, charting her growth from awkward teenager to weary adult with finely observed physicality. Her transformation is seen not only in her expressions and posture but also in the quiet erosion of her spirit. The joy and excitement of youth are gradually chipped away, leaving a character who has endured far too much. Martha’s narration binds the story together, her perspective shaping what the audience is allowed to see and feel.
Tim Earl brings exuberance to Carl, the more flamboyant of the siblings and clearly his mother’s favourite. His energy contrasts with Martha’s steadiness, and his rapport with Tito creates some of the play’s most tender moments. Where Phyllis fails to provide love, Carl and Martha are there to provide it to each other. Their sibling bond becomes the emotional heart of the piece.
Together, the trio make the play feel taut and dynamic. The rhythm between them is sharp, their interplay drawing both laughs and tears.
Photo credit: Andi Crown
While Phyllis is the central figure, the play’s deepest exploration lies in the siblings’ relationship. Their shared experiences of moving house repeatedly, facing poverty, and enduring emotional abuse forge a bond of resilience. Watching them support one another, often in small and understated ways, gives the production its humanity.
In contrast, Phyllis is portrayed as someone desperately clinging to appearances. Her frustrations spill out as cruelty, and she remains unable to adapt to her children’s identities or the sexual liberation sweeping through the 70s and 80s. The play does not shy away from presenting her prejudices plainly, which can feel heavy handed at times, but it reinforces the central conflict, a woman out of step with her time, estranged from the people she most needs.
Photo credit: Andi Crown
The closing act of Mother Play lingers long after the curtain falls. Having alienated both her children, Phyllis finds herself alone in the largest home she has ever had. For once she has the space she long craved, but no one to share it with, in a community that avoids her. The scene stretches uncomfortably as she sits motionless, while behind her a single hot dog sausage turns slowly in a microwave. The processed smell fills the theatre, confronting the audience with the hollow reality of her solitude. It is absurd, almost grotesque, yet deeply moving. In this extended silence, comedy and tragedy collapse into one another.
Mother Play is not a subtle work. It revels in exaggeration, leaning on well-worn tropes of family dysfunction to elicit emotional reactions. The pacing can falter, some scenes feel hurried sketches compared to others drawn out with painstaking slowness. But despite these uneven textures, the play succeeds in keeping its audience engaged.
Photo credit: Andi Crown
More importantly, it leaves room for reflection. Behind the heightened comedy and overt symbolism lies a set of questions about family, identity, and belonging. The production forces audiences to consider how people can both love and wound each other, and what happens when a parent cannot accept their children for who they are.
For members of the LGBT community, or those close to it, the play will resonate with particular force. The struggle for acceptance, the pain of rejection, and the resilience of chosen bonds are all themes that echo lived experiences. While the play is set firmly in the American context, its emotional truths reach across borders, and in Silo’s hands, they feel immediate to an Aotearoa audience.
Photo credit: Andi Crown
Silo’s Mother Play is a production of contrasts, hilarious yet tragic, exaggerated yet heartfelt, blunt yet thoughtful. With only three actors, it creates a world spanning decades, full of comedy, pain, and reflection. At its core, it tells the story of a family repeatedly uprooted, their lives shaped by absence, prejudice, and resilience. Through its blend of humour and heartbreak, it becomes more than just a family drama. It is a meditation on the ties that bind us, the prejudices that divide us, and the lingering need for connection in a world that so often denies it.
Mother Play is being performed at Auckland's Q Theatre from 04 – 20 Sep 2025
Tickets can be purchased here
Tickets can be purchased here