atticwife
Written by Laura Clare Browne
Presented by RnL Productions at 59E59 Theaters
59 East 59th Street, Manhattan, NYC
July 22-26, 2026
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| Jen Clark and Laura Clare Browne. Photo by Lutriz Studios. |
The most famous wife-locked-in-an-attic is probably
Jane Eyre's Bertha Mason, whose fatal leap from the roof after setting her husband's house on fire conveniently clears the way for her successor. Even when given a sympathetic reimagining by Jean Rhys over a century later, it's hard to see her as an aspirational figure. However, in
atticwife, the debut play from actor and comedian Laura Clare Browne, the titular wife has not only been locked in an attic by her husband but assures her social media followers that this is what she wants. Currently playing as part of 59E59's
2026 East to Edinburgh Festival, which showcases New York shows headed to Edinburgh Fringe in August,
atticwife furnishes a sharply observed, darkly comedic lampoon of the internet-driven "tradwife" subculture.
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| Laura Clare Browne. Photo by Lutriz Studios. |
As the name suggests, the tradwife subculture advocates for regressive, so-called "traditional" gender roles, which for women means acting as subservient cishet housewives and mothers. The one-act atticwife opens with what quickly grows into a cacophony of tradwife voiceover, perhaps suggesting the increasing footprint of the influencer-powered trend. The production then segues into Astrid Fisher (Laura Clare Browne), herself a stay-at-home influencer, reclining on the floor of her predominantly pink attic and extolling the virtues of "attic life." Astrid casts her confinement as freeing her from responsibility and representing the protective love of her husband (the narrator's husband in Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s
The Yellow Wallpaper would doubtless endorse such reasoning). She even goes so far as to claim that she will soon be taking a final step in her transformation that was often used to quiet unruly women in the past. Just as her livestream ends and we get the sense that she (shockingly!) doesn't regard her followers with the same respect as her perky persona suggests, someone wearing all black and a ski mask bursts in. This unexpected guest turns out to be Leah Park (
Jen Clark), a queer coder with whom Astrid went to high school. Leah, part of a subreddit of people alarmed by Astrid's–and her husband's–social media content, has broken in not to rob Astrid but to rescue her. Astrid says that the whole attic thing is a publicity stunt, but is it? On the other side, why exactly has Leah gone as far as she has for someone she hasn't seen in a decade? And even if Astrid does need help, is she ready to accept it?
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| Jen Clark and Laura Clare Browne. Photo by Lutriz Studios. |
The keenly honed back-and-forth between Astrid and Leah is very funny, and, as the play goes on, the badinage veers into something more affecting. Trading both barbs and confidences with equal assurance, Browne and Clark are splendid, each progressively cracking open the shell of her character's self-presentation and inviting the other and the audience into the exposed depths. As they debate Astrid's claims that she is where she wants to be–literally and figuratively–we learn some of their shared history and more about how Astrid ended up where she is, including her current isolation from her family, and about some of the trauma and insecurity that have contributed. Bound up with this, we also learn about the lengths that Astrid will go to in order to curate her "brand" (part of social media’s corrosive dynamics that extend far beyond the realm of tradwifery). Woven through these conversations is the possibility of violence but also the point that abuse does not only mean one partner hitting (or killing) another. At the same time, the production doesn't shy away from Astrid's flaws or role in her own oppression, and
atticwife leaves us with a flawlessly staged final moment that puts a perfect period on the action without foreclosing Astrid's story. Whether you're a TikTok native or avoid social media entirely,
atticwife delivers hilarious, discomforting, and timely satire.
-John R. Ziegler and Leah Richards
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