The Good Bride

At the Firehall Arts Centre until March 9, 2019
Tickets at firehallartscentre.ca or 604-689-0926

Posted March 4, 2019

It doesn’t take 20/20 vision to see where God’s directive, “Be fruitful and multiply” (Genesis 1:22)  has taken us. But scripture is taken seriously by the adherents of the Quiverfull Movement, a conservative Christian movement that opposes birth control, planned parenthood and abortion.  Quiverfull’s adherents claim that God, “opens and closes the womb”; in the case of the Duggar family of the TV show 19 Kids and Counting, He has opened the womb nineteen times. While Jim Bob Duggar and his wife Michelle Duggar say they are not associated with the Quiverfulls, they certainly espouse some of the same ideas and if children are a blessing from God, the Duggars’ cup runneth over.

It was 19 Kids and Counting that led playwright Rosemary Rowe to explore the Quiverfull Movement and to write The Good Bride.

Quiverfull followers, sometimes referred to as QF Christians, also believe in the patriarchal family in which the woman is a homemaker and subject to the authority of her husband. It’s hard to believe that any young woman these days would buy into such a marriage but playwright Rowe discovered “a whole online world of faithful young women, who all shared one goal: to become helpmeets to godly men”. Quiverfull, by the way,  comes from the Old Testament Psalms 127:3-5:

“Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord:
and the fruit of the womb is his reward.
As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man;
so are children of the youth.
Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them:
they shall not be ashamed,
but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.”

This is a tour de force by Marisa Emma Smith: a 90-minute solo show – basically an hour-and-a-half  monologue that takes place in a tiny bedroom designed by Carolyn Rapanos: a single, maple-frame bed, a wooden rocker, dresser drawers and nightstand. What lifts this set from the ordinary is the wall behind: it looks like netting threaded through with tiny paper flowers. Very sweet, very pink, very innocent. It is in this room that fifteen year old Maranatha – still really a child – eagerly awaits her bridegroom.

As with many monologues, it’s not clear to whom Maranatha is speaking. She refers constantly to “Daddy” so it’s not him;  her mother left her father and the kids years ago so it’s not her. Since Maranatha never interacts with the audience, it’s not likely us, either. You just have to accept the convention and assume she’s voicing her inner thoughts.

When Maranatha was twelve she met Pete and right away she knew, “God meant him for me.”  Daddy agreed with God.  Nineteen years older than Maranatha, Pete has waited three years to marry her and at the beginning of the play, we – and Maranatha – believe tonight’s the night. What Maranatha doesn’t know  is that Daddy has imposed a pre-wedding waiting period on Maranatha and her fiancé, mimicking the parable of the ten virgins in Matthew 25:1-13.  The bride must always be prepared for she never knows when her bridegroom will arrive. While Daddy sits around deciding when the nuptials will occur, Maranatha believes it will be tonight. And when it turns out not to be tonight, maybe tomorrow night. Or the night after. Or the night after that. Cats with mice are nicer than Daddy.

Maranatha has been sequestered – although imprisoned might be a better word – in the house of another fundamentalist Christian couple with a bunch of kids. From the nightly grunts and moans emanating from the bedroom, they are enthusiastically trying for more. During the day Maranatha helps the wife look after all those kids and  delivers meals to their young farmhand Andrew. She’s obviously not in school. From dinner to midnight, Maranatha puts on the wedding gown and veil and waits. And waits. And waits. “Please Lord, please make it today.”

Older than fifteen by more than a few years, Marisa Emma Smith still brings a childlike innocence  to the role as Maranatha talks about her feelings, her hopes and her dreams. Smith is girlish, almost giddy as Maranatha paces, flops onto the bad, rocks in the rocker, prays, slurps a drink, eats tapioca pudding. Initially excited, Maranatha feels “ripe” and ready for marriage, eager for Pete to take her to bed where “stuff” will happen. Who is there to guide her? No mother, no grandmother, and it would seem, no friends. She wonders, “How do you do it?”, “Do you talking during it or do you just moan?” (like the wife in the next room). “What if you pooped?” What kind of life has this child been living?

But eventually Smith shows Maranatha’s growing fear. Is Pete coming? Why did her mother leave Daddy? And where is she now that Maranatha needs her?

Described as a comedy in press releases, I didn’t find The Good Bride funny. It’s creepy and infuriating and sad because we know what the future probably holds for Maranatha: pregnancy after pregnancy under the control of much older Pete whom she barely knows. And Daddy will probably still hold the strings.  Poor little thing.

Under the direction of Donna Spencer, Smith brings the story home. Produced by the Firehall Arts Centre and Alley Theatre, The Good Bride might make your blood boil. Mine did.