The Bush Theatre feels unusually charged these days. Not just because of the sold-out run of Not Your Superwoman, but because this is the final production directed by Lynette Linton after six years as artistic director. She leaves on a note that is both playful and poignant, shaped around the voices of Black women and the weight of family memory.

Emma Dennis-Edwards’s script introduces us to Joyce, played with wit and sharpness by Golda Rosheuvel, and her daughter Erica, given a tender and quietly fiery presence by Letitia Wright. They are on their way to Guyana to scatter the ashes of their matriarch, Elaine. The flight alone makes it clear how different they are: Joyce rolls her eyes at her daughter’s lateness, reminding us that Erica was two weeks late even to her own birth, while Erica speaks in the clipped tones of someone who has spent years in therapy trying to make sense of her life.

Linton keeps the energy brisk. Early scenes sparkle with humour, from banter about Michael B. Jordan in Sinners to a Central Cee track blasting by accident mid-flight. Rosheuvel has a magnetic comedic timing, making Joyce’s biting comments about motherhood, men, and Caribbean time land with unforced ease. Wright’s Erica counters with a gentler rhythm, her self-analysis and spiky defensiveness marking her as the more vulnerable of the pair. Their chemistry is immediate, and often very funny, even when the cracks begin to show.

The staging is simple but alive with texture. Alex Berry’s stripped-back set leaves space for Gino Ricardo Green’s video design, which shifts us from the cramped cabin of a plane to Guyana’s waterfalls and family kitchens. Jai Morjaria’s lighting and Max Pappenheim’s sound design bring warmth and rhythm to these shifts, so that memory and present day blur into one continuous conversation. The effect is not grand or glossy, but it feels right for this space: intimate, inventive, and rooted in the characters.

At its heart, Not Your Superwoman is about inheritance, not of wealth or land, but of silence. Joyce grew up with a distant mother and in turn became one herself, filling gaps with money instead of presence. Erica, close to her grandmother but estranged from her mother, is determined to break the cycle but struggles to see beyond her own wounds. Both Rosheuvel and Wright occasionally step into the role of Elaine in flashbacks, a choice that underlines how the past lives on inside them, but also leaves some of the grandmother’s story sketched rather than fully explored.

There are moments when the script feels uneven, the revelations piling on quickly, some strands left half-open. The pace rushes toward its ending before the emotions have fully settled. Yet the acting never falters. Rosheuvel lets her bravado crack just enough to reveal Joyce’s loneliness, while Wright shows Erica’s resolve hardening against the fear that she will repeat her mother’s mistakes. They carry the play with a balance of humour and heartbreak that lingers long after the lights dim.

As a farewell from Linton, Not Your Superwoman feels like the right choice. It embraces the Bush Theatre’s scrappy heart while centring Black women’s stories with honesty and care. For that, and for the two luminous performances at its core, this is a night at the theatre worth seeking out.

Not Your Superwoman plays at the Bush Theatre until 1 November. Performances are sold out, but you may still find last-minute seats through TodayTix rush or by joining the Bush Theatre waitlist.

Tickets

Booking and waitlist information is available at bushtheatre.co.uk