“I am not a dinner mint” – an unusual theatrical title. Knowing only from the ads that the target demographic was “sisters, mothers, daughters”, I wasn’t sure what to expect, much less expecting great enjoyment.
Certainly the play is written for women, and the relationships from their point of view. However, it’s hardly male bashing; if anything, it’s “female bashing”: about the self-harming actions that women take.
There is some black culture influence in the beginning, which disappears later. The literal content – hard to call it a plot as the play is a series of anecdotes – is not particularly surprising or noteworthy, but the method of delivery, and the passion with which it is delivered, is. Some of the scenes and some of the actresses were particularly moving.
I recommend the show to those who might ask me. It’s not expensive as plays go, and while there may not be much novel insight, there’s value in emotional reminders that buttress what the intellect already knows. It’s the difference between knowing of the poor and needy in the world, and actually seeing how they live; there’s no net change in known facts, only in personal impact.
