How many versions of ourselves do we leave behind in order to become the person we are expected to be? 

Beneath its wicked humour and growing sense of mischief, The Roommate is a fascinating study of the slippery nature of identity: the labels we inherit, the roles we perform, and the moment those labels start wearing us. Pair that with the electric chemistry of Lucy Bell and Belinda Bromilow and you have an evening of sharp comedy, surprising tenderness, and enough midlife rebellion to make self-destruction look dangerously appealing.

The premise feels decidedly sitcom-like and inherently unlikely: a recently divorced, lonely, and uptight Iowa housewife takes in a vegan, pot-smoking, smooth-talking former scam artist from the Bronx to help pay the bills. However, playwright Jen Silverman refuses to simplify this setup into standard odd-couple domestic warfare, completely subverting the lazy, predictable tropes of “opposites attract” and typical narratives around the “invisibility of women in middle age.” Instead, it delivers a much deeper psychological punch.

If kitchens could stage interventions, Sharon’s would be first in line. Every cupboard, chair, and beige surface appears exhausted by routine. Director Lee Lewis turns the intimate setting into a time capsule of arrested development. Though the story is set in the present day, Sharon remains tethered to a domestic landline, high-waisted jeans, an outdated hairdo and a world where everything has a place and rules are rarely questioned. The contrast with Robyn’s relaxed confidence, loose T-shirts, and dry, deadpan wit could hardly be more striking or humorous. 

Lewis keeps the pacing and characterisation brisk, allowing the early laugh-out-loud beats to effortlessly meld into a darker, more melancholic register as the women cross personal and legal boundaries. Robyn introduces weed, boundaries, and a wildly expanded worldview, while Sharon offers a rare, judgment-free sanctuary from a shady past. 

Behind the laughter, operates a fascinating system of transactional liberation. Watching Bell and Bromilow chart this gradual shift is one of the production’s greatest pleasures. This isn’t a tired story about women competing or tearing each other down. Instead, Silverman presents a relationship in which two people simultaneously bring out the absolute best and absolute worst in one another.

As their friendship deepens, the line between liberation and recklessness becomes increasingly blurred, with each woman giving the other permission to question assumptions that have shaped entire lifetimes. A compelling study of how mutual rescue can easily spiral into mutual corruption.

Lucy Bell masterfully manages to make Sharon completely cringeworthy but endearing, turning our vicarious discomfort into a gold class comic timing. She begins with a tightly wound, fragile polite-society veneer that slowly cracks to reveal a dormant, deeply layered woman with a thrilling hunger for chaos.

Opposite her, in every sense of the word, Belinda Bromilow grounds the eccentric Robyn with a weary, guarded depth and an effortless cool, acting as the magnetic catalyst in Sharon’s descent. Her wit is defined by a quiet, deadly accuracy in her observations—she simply says it, does it, and lives entirely unbound. Bromilow and Bell ensure these women never become mere caricatures as their sparkling repartee and dramatic beats turn an escalating series of illicit midlife escapades into an intimate, high-stakes dance of deconstruction and release.  Friendship can be both deeply healing and fundamentally destructive.

Glimmers of Thelma & Louise emerge, anchoring the central, biting irony that personal liberation for these women seems to require a descent into criminal extremes. Yet while Sharon and Robyn’s actions become increasingly outrageous, their desires remain instantly recognisable: to feel seen, valued, and fully alive.

Provocative, piercingly funny, and unexpectedly poignant, The Roommate is less interested in the differences between Sharon and Robyn than in the uncomfortable truth that they are, in many ways, reflections of the same yearning: the desire to stop giving a fuck and revel in the intoxicating pleasure of agency and self-discovery. Ultimately, whose journey you identify with most, and at what point, will be half the fun.

The Roomate plays at The Ensemble Theatre Kirribilli until 25 July. For further details see : https://www.ensemble.com.au/shows/the-roommate/

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