Review: ESTHER MANITO ‘SLAGBOMB’, Soho Theatre

Esther Manito’s Slagbomb, currently on a UK tour, contains unfiltered honesty and sharp observational wit about ungraceful aging and 2.4 manic family life. Opening with a bare stage, save for a brown box daubed with the word “slagbomb” and the unapologetic strains of Meredith Brooks’ “I’m a Bitch,” Manito sets the tone for an hour of candid hilarity that mines the awkward “sandwich” years of adulthood with relish.

Manito immediately establishes a warm rapport with the audience, reassuring them she is too old-fashioned to pick on those in the front rows. Instead, she launches into a series of vividly told anecdotes which cover everything from chaotic family holidays to the indignities of hair removal. Her reflections on waxing, marriage and parenting are joyfully brutal.

The show’s strength lies in its relatable absurdity. A rant about the false promise of Jet2-style family holidays, which she contrasts with the carefree Italian flings of the essentially fortunate childless audience members, lands with precision. Equally, her disdain for the endless parade of school awareness days, involving making tinfoil hats for Space Day and elaborate costumes, strikes a chord with parents. Her skewering of world book day and its demands for parental ingenuity is delivered with perfectly measured exasperation.

Manito also excels in cultural and political commentary. Her reflections on being a proud Arabic woman, mixed with sharp asides regarding a charity marathon she was guilted into running for sloths, give the show both depth and bite. The highlight, however, comes in the form of her mother’s attempt to procure medicines, a routine which combines family dynamics with Manito’s talent for storytelling, which veers from the absurd to the touching.

What elevates Slagbomb beyond standard parenting comedy is Manito’s willingness to embrace the darker corners of her experience. She recounts the sudden loss of seventy percent of her hearing following a ear infection and a flight, but rather than frame it as a tragedy she spins it into a gift, a reprieve from the constant chatter of her children. This blend of resilience, rage and humour is what makes her so compelling.

The material sometimes feels confined within the well-trodden territory of parental exasperation, a space which is increasingly populated by contemporary comics. While Manito’s voice is distinct, the personal revelations could be pushed further.