Theatre night:Infinte Life.

Endometriosis, labyrinthitis, menopause, a burning sensation in the clitoris, painful joints, painful nerves, bile, and colonoscopies. Annie Baker's latest play, Infinite Life (which I saw last night at the Dorfman, part of the National Theatre complex) is, it's probably fair to say, not everyone's idea of a Saturday night treat during the festive season.

But I've become a big fan of Annie Baker. I enjoyed The Antipodes back in November 2019 and the three hour long rollercoaster ride that was John (in February 2018) was one of the greatest theatrical experiences of my life. With that in mind, I had high hopes for Infinite Life even if the subject matter didn't sound particularly thrilling.

A wellness centre in northern California where we meet with five women and, eventually, one man who are there because they are in pain and they want that pain to end. It's not clear, in all cases, if they've tried more traditional medical cures but in this place they seem to be rely on a combination of fasting and, for some of them, drinking strange coloured juices.

It seems unlike any of them will actually be cured of their ills but that's not really the point of the story. It never is with Annie Baker. It seems to me she's chosen this location because it gives the people in her story time - and lots of it. Minutes become hours and hours become days and very little changes. Every now and then somebody gets ill, returns to their bed, or, off screen - thankfully, someone vomits. 

At 47 years old, Sofi (Christina Kirk) is considerably younger than the rest of them and it's her the story (mostly) revolves around. She's in a lot of pain - both physically and mentally. She's married but her and her husband are separated (temporarily, she insists more out of hope than certainty) and she makes desperate phone calls at night begging for forgiveness, begging for sex, and begging to have a tortilla chip shoved up her bum.

Eileen (Marylouise Burke) is the closest Sofi has to a confidante. She's frail but she's also kind and friendly. Eileen, at least until near the very end, doesn't talk about herself much which puts her in complete contrast with Yvette (Mia Katigbak) whose stories, often about her own ailments go on for ever. Yvette may be something of a hypochondriac but she's friendly enough.

As is Ginnie (Kristine Neilsen) despite being drawn to some frankly ludicrous conspiracy theories. Elaine (Brenda Pressley) seems a bit more grounded. She loves her grandkids, she loves her cat, and when Yvette and Ginnie go off on a tangent she retreats into her colouring book. Elaine, it soon becomes clear, has heard all these stories many times before.

Then there's Nelson (Pete Simpson). The token man at the facility. What you might, if you're that way inclinded, just about call a silver fox. He spends a lot of time topless and, for some reason, is not keen to divulge his line of work. When he finally does it's a major disappointment so don't invest too much into that aspect of the story.

There's really very little for the six of them to do except stretch out on loungers, read (or colour) their books (Sofi's reading George Eliot's Daniel Deronda which seems to have some relevance to the plot though not having read it that went over my head), chat amongst themselves, fall asleep, and look across the road to a nearby bakery where "normal" people are buying bread.

Some of the talk is utterly mundane and some of it borders on the ridiculous. From self-help books to radioactive cats and from pesticides and eight year old girls already getting their periods to fantasising about giving seven hour long blow-jobs. Which is far too long. Both for giver and receiver. 

As it's an Annie Baker play it's very dialogue heavy and although it may not quite deliver as powerful an emotional punch as John did it's still a moving, and often - surprisingly really - very funny, meditation on sex, friendship, health, ageing, and pain. The pain of being alive. A pain we all feel and a pain we all share.