If Water Were Present, It Would Be Called Drowning

In If Water Were Present, It Would Be Called Drowning, Betsy Moore walks barefoot in a geometric pattern on the OCD-friendly decorated stage with children’s toys and chairs perfectly lining the sides. She carries a pink parasol that she’d love to stick in the nearest comparably-sized fruity cocktail, while a narrator reads off a litany of shopping list items, thoughts, and every social rule that has been hammered into her brain since birth. Her face caked in white powder and doll makeup, she’s a woman passed the verge of a nervous breakdown. Her trenchcoat reveals an apron that continues to a striptease down to her lingerie, as she shares with the audience her inability to cope with motherhood and wifedom in her tract suburb. She shares ... full review