Review: My Anxiety is a B*tch Who Bakes at the Explosives Factory
Review by Greg Gorton
In her director’s notes, Kasey Barratt writes that she “wanted to capture the absolute illogical absurdity of living with anxiety”. While I think it could only ever be this funny at a distance, I think it is safe to say that she has. My Anxiety is a B*tch Who Bakes is a physical comedy that is high on the slapstick and low on the angst, while being a very faithful visual description of the experience that can come with anxiety.
Lockdown wasn’t that long ago (I swear, last time I looked, it wasn’t), and so for most of us it is safe to say that there is a relatively fresh memory of a badly baked loaf of bread. To use the stress of baking as a metaphor while also using a very common example of a “distracting task” is something so simple you might wonder why we hadn’t seen it a thousand times before. Barratt taking this concept and devising something that maintains an energetic rhythm, without pause or monotony, is a wonderful delight.
Luce (played by Anita Mei La Terra) is the Voice of Reason archetype in this madhouse of fun. Luce needs to make a phone call and, like for so many of us, is finding it impossible to do so. Baking might be an adequate distraction to avoid such a task, but not in the way Annie (played by Lizzy Love) has in mind. As Annie forces their terrible experimental muffins down Luce’s throat, the poor girl does everything to stop her. Or at least to slow her down.
The physical comedy in this show is fun all round. La Terra and Love have amazing timing when working with each other, and are both more than willing to get messy for the sake of a laugh. The clever use of props, including a range of “muffins” and an old rotary phone, as well as some classic slapstick routines, puts this comedy well into the realm of vaudeville. However, there are also modern additions such as slight of hand and even a jump scare that keep us on our toes. Lizzy Love has the (arguably) easier of the two roles, providing a hilarious mix of Mrs Doubtfire and Beetlejuice, in a fifties-housewife costume cannily chosen by designer Perri Hobbs. With jerky precise movements, and crafty facial expressions, it is clear that this is someone we can laugh at, but should not like.
Anita Mei La Terra, having (again, arguably) the more difficult of the roles, succeeds in creating the person we actually care about, without making her any less comedic. Barratt’s writing allows for a character with less passivity than similar tellings of this story might have, which gives La Terra’ Luce the ability to both physically fight back, but also find her own joy.
The design of My Anxiety is a B*tch Who Bakes fascinates me. A formica table with a side cart containing bowels, mixers, “milk”, “eggs” and other necessary items sits centre stage. Behind is a wall of cardboard boxes, with markered drawings of saucepans on hooks, tea towels on racks. One of them turns out to be an “oven”, which opens to the sound of it being fan-forced and on. It is a really compelling visual, evoking ideas about how unstable our fantasies can be, how much we just sketch out the less important details. On the other hand, there is a part of me that wants to see some wealthy benefactor dump five figures on these brilliant creatives so that I can watch Love jump out of a real fridge and pour actual milk on La Terra’s head. Would this “upgrade” really make the play any better than it is, though? Not really. I think I just liked the idea of the wet.
If you have never succeeded in making muffins, or hate making phone calls, if you find the food fight scenes in movies hilarious, and don’t mind having nightmares about The Stepford Wives (again), then My Anxiety is a B*tch Who Bakes is an easy Fringe selection for you.
