Theatre review: Sexy Laundry's bedroom comedy feels tame after 20 years
Actors find gentle laughs in story of a 50-something couple trying—and failing—to reignite their romantic spark
Lossen Chambers and Cavan Cunningham in Sexy Laundry. Photo by Moonrider Productions
The Arts Club Theatre Company presents Sexy Laundry at the Granville Island Stage until May 12
MICHELE RIML’S Sexy Laundry has travelled the world and been translated into 15 languages since its Vancouver debut in the early 2000s—not bad for a small, two-hand rom com that spends its entire 90 minutes in a hotel room. That probably says a lot about the universal relatability of its story of a 50-something couple trying (and failing) to reignite their romantic spark after 25 years of marriage—or of essential truths in lines like, “It’s not relaxing giving a massage.”
Watching the play 20 years on, one wonders if its success also speaks to the mild, inoffensive way it talks about sex. In an era when Curb Your Enthusiasm can build an entire episode around, say, a pubic hair stuck in a well-past-middle-aged man’s throat, or Kristin Scott Thomas can expound on crumbling pelvic floors and the freedom of menopause on Fleabag—well, Sexy Laundry feels like a gentle throwback to a different era.
Its two long-suffering spouses—Henry and Alice—share the same pair of reading glasses to page their way through Sex for Dummies, trying to spice up their relationship and dutifully trying out such daring exercises as creating pet names for their privates. (Apparently they’re blissfully unaware that a world of debauchery is only a mouse-click away.)
As anyone who has seen her more recent plays, like the fantastic The Amaryllis or The Cull, knows, Vancouver’s Riml is a gifted comedic writer who’s usually not afraid to push edges and embrace the wonderfully weird. And there were some big laughs at this new revival of Sexy Laundry. But it feels safer than her more current works, and whether you enjoy it may speak to how polite you want your sexual comedy.
One of Sexy Laundry’s strengths is that its central couple is hopelessly uncool—and, like their names, somehow written older than their stated ages. Yet Lossen Chambers and Cavan Cunningham do a lot with a light script, making their characters likable for their lack of pretension. Alice is a real-estate agent who’s booked the weekend away in an attempt to rekindle things after raising three kids. Henry is not at all keen but is warily trying to go along with things. “Talking dirty” ends up drawing on unsexy foods like tzatziki and pumpkin. And watch Alice’s face (an ever-shifting mix of bewilderment, horror, and anxiety) as her husband attempts to share a “fantasy”—one that basically amounts to his wife leading him to the La-Z-Boy and watching the TV news in peace. More funny than Alice clowning around in a kinky corset and boots is when she tries to toss out a string of f-bombs with all the ease of a preschool librarian. And Cunningham has fun when the awkward Henry literally gets his groove back in a private dance where his dull engineer finally lets loose.
Amid those gently funny moments and requisite sight gags (there will be whips), we witness long sequences of arguing and pent-up recrimination. (Note there’s both an intimacy director and a fight director in the credits.)
Set designer Amir Ofek houses it all in a hotel room that strikes a perfect Zen-boutique vibe, with its mahogany wood panelling and hipster-neon sign looming over the bed with the simple exhortation, “breathe”.
If only it was that easy. Sexy Laundry may give you a few light laughs, but don’t expect it to help you work through any pressing relationship problems—least of all the question: How exactly do you get your partner to give you a massage without having to give one in return? 
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