Little Boxes, the newish one-woman show by Joann Condon, is one of those difficult-to-encapsulate shows whose elevator pitches tend toward the frighteningly generic. A show being ‘about the boxes we find ourselves put in’ could describe countless works. It was also described as a comedy act by a former Little Britain cast member, which is technically accurate, but led to some very wrong assumptions on my part about the brand and style of comedy Condon would portray. I assumed I was in for something goofy, stuffed with both vocal and physical pratfalls.
This was quickly shown to be incorrect, and thank goodness for that. This show, both gentle and intense, made me laugh, sure, but it also made me cry multiple times.
Essentially a biography of Condon’s life and career, the ‘little boxes’ of the title serve as a framing device, both metaphorically and literally: Condon is encircled onstage by a variety of cardboard detritus. Throughout the show, she picks up various boxes, using them as metaphors for her different identities: Daughter, Neighbour, Fat Woman, Woman Over 50, and so on. Hats would also have worked.
Condon strolls onstage with a warm thermos of tea and a warmer smile and quickly coaxes the audience in with her confiding delivery. The Burton Taylor is in a lot of ways the ideal venue for a show like this, maintaining the intimacy and warmth lost on a larger stage.
It’s actually not exactly a comedy show, in the way it was billed - although it could be with a different delivery. While there are funny moments in each scene, so much of stand-up is made in the manipulation of pauses and punchlines, which Condon largely forgoes. Instead, she allows the humour to bubble up organically.
This is a wise choice, as the pathos of the show - losing loved ones, being stereotyped and body shamed, slowly muffling the profound ambitions and hopes she had for herself as a girl - are profound and delicately rendered, never slipping into bitterness or self-pity.
The pleasure and resonance of this show come from this honesty - it feels like sharing a deep wine-tinged conversation with an unusually open and perceptive friend.
Condon’s accounts of the fatphobia she experienced throughout the industry hit me hard, as a young fat woman. Not because they were particularly shocking, but because of how inevitably and resignedly they are endured. Condon grew up wanting to be an actress, but not seeing anyone at all like herself on TV, it felt impossible. I know that feeling well. Outright fat jokes have lessened dramatically over the past twenty years, but movies and TV shows are still populated overwhelmingly by thin individuals. The entertainment industry still finds it paralytically hard to invest in plus-sized leads but will stick slim actors in fat suits as necessary. Largely, I suppose, because it's commercially easier. Fatness politicizes the body. Asking your audience to accept that fat people can be attractive is political. Thinness, however, is normal, neutral, and legitimate. As a fat person imbibing culture, it all lends a tacit message: you don’t belong here. Being fat sometimes makes me feel altogether desexed, like being a woman is a dress I can’t quite zip myself into.
Recently, Pop Star (and fat woman) Lizzo’s reality dance competition show, Watch Out for the Big Grrrls, netted several Emmys. The shows concerned a selection of plus-size dancers competing for spots on Lizzo’s tour. Watching it, I remember feeling so oddly surprised and thrilled by the respect these dancers and their bodies were shown - a kind of courtesy and acceptance I’d only previously seen reserved for smaller bodies on-screen. During her acceptance speech, Lizzo paralleled this, saying ‘When I was a little girl, all I wanted was to see someone like me in the media. Our stories aren’t that unique, they just don’t get shared’
Condon’s show captures this low-grade anguish beautifully, in a way that feels indignant but never preachy. Though Condon seemed to harbour no bitterness at the industry, it angered me, and will likely do the same to you, to see this obviously talented actress languish for decades with bit parts and typecasting, and be best known for playing ‘Fat Pat’ on Little Britain - a character whose main purpose was as a target for fattist punchlines.
But body politics make up only one thread of this show, which also deals so powerfully with the raw torrent of grief - most of the audience, as far as I could tell, was in tears. She captures the terrible unfairness of loss, the sharp shift in identity you feel after losing your parents, and the mirroring experience of motherhood, which makes up the final thread of this effortlessly braided narrative. Becoming a mother clarifies something in Condon, namely her resolve to not see her children boxed in, in the way she was. The show ends on a bright and poignant note, the lighting dimmed to just Condon, reflecting on fears and regrets in a way that’s somehow uplifting. This is a beautiful show, and while everyone may not relate to it firsthand, everyone will find something to empathise with.