Egg, Chips, and a Side of Self-Discovery

As someone who adored the original Shirley Valentine film starring Pauline Collins, I was skeptical of ex-Neighbours actors/pop stars making the leap to serious theatre, and has a deep intolerance for people who butcher any accent from my homeland, (but especially one as unique as Liverpudlian), I entered this performance fully prepared to be critical.

Willy Russell’s iconic story first won hearts as a stage play before the beloved film cemented its place in the lives of middle-aged women everywhere in the late 80s. At its core, Shirley Valentine is the tale of a woman suffocating in the monotony of a life that has drained her of identity and joy. Trapped in a world where her only confidante is her kitchen wall, Shirley exists in quiet desperation—serving an ungrateful husband, appeasing selfish grown children, and mourning the rebellious, spirited woman she once was.

As the familiar strains of the 80s hits fade, Natalie Bassingthwaite sighs onto the stage, gulping white wine and chopping potatoes for her husband, Joe—who will, she assures us, “have a right gob on him” when he realises dinner is egg and chips instead of his usual Tuesday mince. Despite all my reservations, Natalie doesn’t just step into Shirley’s shoes—she revives her, fully embodied, in bleached mum jeans and a comfy pink sweater. Every weary movement between the fridge, the bench, and the stove tells the nuanced story of a woman who has slowly lost herself. Lamenting that she allowed herself “to lead this little life, when inside me there was so much more.” It’s a portrayal that resonates deeply, particularly with an audience of largely midlife women who, in one way or another, perhaps recognise their own fading dreams in Shirley’s quiet grief and who are just as afraid of dying with their music still in them.

Shirley is captivating—raw but never indulgent, resigned yet still tinged with hope. She draws us in with wry humour, reminiscing about her rebellious school days and the classmates she once envied, only to realise they now envy her—or at least, the woman she used to be. When, in between comparing marriage to the Middle East and sex to supermarkets, she nervously reveals that her friend Jane has invited her to Greece (has bought her a ticket, no less), we feel the impossible weight of the decision. The airline ticket trembles in her hands as she dares to dream of sitting with the sun on her face, drinking “a glass of wine in a country where the grape’s grown.” Yet even as she visibly aches for escape, for the possibility of something to shake her out of her never-changing world, she continues preparing a dinner Joe will never eat.

Bassingthwaite’s performance is nothing short of revelatory. Her Liverpudlian accent—much to my relief—is acceptably solid, despite the odd line fluff. Indeed, she disappears so entirely into the role that her popstar past is all but forgotten. But it is in the second half that her transformation truly shines. As the lights go up on a tanned, relaxed Shirley, Bassingthwaite reveals a woman that is no longer the same. A woman no longer crushed by monotony, who had to anxiously force herself onto a plane. This is a Shirley who is self-assured, present, and forever changed—not because of an affair or a holiday romance, but because, at last, she has chosen to explore all the ‘unlived life’ remaining within herself. She has, at last, chosen herself.

This is Shirley Valentine in all its bittersweet brilliance. A triumphant performance, beautifully staged, and an absolute pleasure to witness.

To book tickets to Shirley Valentine, please visit https://shirleyvalentine.com.au/.

Spread the word on your favourite platform!