Hungry Women.

The opening of Hungry Women had us hooked: four women around a table, drinking tea, with something very wrong going on outside. By the end, we were still thinking about that first section, though partly because we wished the rest had held us in the same way. We saw Melissa Maney’s play at Soho Playhouse in New York City and came away with plenty to talk about.

The first scene has an intriguing, mysterious atmosphere. The women wear period costumes, there is interesting artwork on the walls, and their conversation gradually reveals the situation: men are dying, while women are surviving. We wouldn’t pin the opening to a particular historical year, but the old-fashioned gathering gives us a clear starting point. There is something immediately compelling about hearing such alarming news discussed around a tea table.

Then there are the sandwiches. What one woman has brought to share turns out to be rather less innocent than the refreshments might suggest. We’ll leave the ingredients a surprise, but it is a strange, memorable moment that gives a very clear indication that this isn’t going to remain an ordinary conversation over tea.

What we especially liked was the way the group dialogue stopped to let us hear individual thoughts. Everyone else paused, a spotlight picked out one woman, and she spoke directly to us. Often, what she shared contradicted what she had just said in company. We were being let in on something the others at the table couldn’t hear. That difference between the public conversation and the private thought was clever, and it gave us another reason to pay attention.

Those opening monologues were among the strongest parts of the evening. The acting was powerful but controlled, with room for the words to register. Zoe Dean, Julia Lester, Mariyea and Sophie Zmorrod make up the cast, and we really appreciated the passion and strength of the characters in this first section. In Daniella Caggiano’s staging, those pauses in the group action helped us focus on each speaker rather than having to take in everything at once.

We also liked the particular angle on the patriarchy. We’ve seen other shows about women fighting to break it down, but here the change has happened to them. Suddenly, they no longer have to worry about what their husbands think. That is a different starting point from a struggle to win freedom: these women find themselves with it and have to respond. The discovery that they are free is part of what makes their initial situation so interesting.

The play doesn’t stay around that table. It moves through three distinct sections, explicitly labeled Hungry Women, part one, part two and part three during the transitions. We encounter what feel like different versions of the same four women as the action moves through the ages. We’ll leave the later developments for audiences to discover, because explaining exactly how those worlds change would give too much away. The sections share an idea, but they feel markedly different.

For us, that difference became a problem. The musical transitions were frantic, and arriving in the next section felt almost like starting another show. We had been thoroughly caught up in the opening situation and wanted to see where it would go. Instead, just as we were ready to spend more time with it, the play moved on. We could follow the idea of a continuation, but our interest didn’t transfer as easily as the production needed it to.

There were still questions worth discussing. The biggest one for us was what it actually means to be, and feel, free. Having rules and understanding how the world works can provide a framework within which people can express themselves. Remove all of that, and what happens next? We found ourselves talking about the difference between hunger for freedom and anger, and how easily anger without any framework might become chaos. Those questions gave us something to think about beyond the initial premise.

But the experience of watching became increasingly chaotic too. By the final section, there was so much noise and heightened activity that we struggled to know where to look or what to concentrate on. It felt like too much of everything. That may have been a deliberate choice, but it made the show harder to watch. The contrast with the contained opening was especially noticeable because we had already seen how effective these performers could be with more control.

Our attention began to drift, which was disappointing after such an engaging start. Rather than following the action closely, we caught ourselves looking at other things and thinking away from what was happening. We don’t think intensity itself was the issue. The opening had strong personalities, passion and an unsettling premise without losing our focus. Later, the amount happening onstage made it harder for us to stay connected to the story and the ideas we had initially enjoyed.

That first half hour felt strong enough to be a piece on its own. It had a thriller-like quality, and both the writing and performances made us want more. In our conversation afterward, we even talked about the opening premise having enough potential for a television series. What appealed to us was the possibility of exploring that situation further. There seemed to be plenty left around that table before moving into a completely different version of the story.

We kept coming back to the simple thought that less can be more. Pauses and silence give us time to reflect, understand what has changed and prepare for what comes next. The opening used that space so well, particularly when a woman stepped out of the conversation to share her thoughts. We missed those opportunities to take things in as the evening went on. More breathing room might have helped us stay with the later material.

Hungry Women left us with a mixed reaction, but our enthusiasm for its beginning is genuine. We would happily watch that first piece again. Its mystery, strong characters and controlled performances remain vivid in our minds. For us, the show lost its way after that, trading a situation we wanted to explore for increasingly noisy developments that held us less securely. We left wishing the rest had given us as much room to listen as those women around the tea table.