Esther Manito has found herself firmly in the ‘Sandwich Years’ of her life. Her two pre-teen kids are at the age where they view the world through a prism of youthful solipsism, and her parents have aged into the bracket where they need frequent care. Manito isn’t upset at being caught in this constant emotional tug-of-war. She’s raging.

It could be internalised guilt at not being the perfect I Don’t Know How She Does It homemaker. It could be some perceived failure of feminist ideals that makes her feel constrained as ‘just’ a wife and mum. Or she may be acutely aware of how her problems compare to those of her family in the Middle East. Whatever combination of factors is the case, Manito brings a serious edge to her tales of demanding kids, ailing parents, and unattainable beauty standards. Those tales are fast-paced, furious, and above all, funny, but there is definitely the sense that stepping on stage for her is something akin to primal scream therapy.

When Esther builds up a real head of frustrated steam she frequently narrows her eyes into slits, as if squinting hard enough will force the various strands of her life to converge into some manageable focus. From her son leaving her unveiled to all and sundry at a public WC, her daughter deciding that the safety of her family in southern Lebanon is lower on her list of priorities than a missing PE kit, or the purgatory of a Groupon holiday to Skegness, Manito’s lot is an endless Sisyphean toil of emotional labour. Her take on family life isn’t just warts and all, it’s positively brutal. You can only imagine what her family makes of it.

It is material that in lesser hands could be formulaic, even cliched. Yet Manito’s stagecraft and persona are impeccably honed, augmented by some wonderfully vivid storytelling. She has found a strikingly poised balance between the kind of industrial strength diatribe you might associate with more overtly political comedians, and a warm and inclusive everywoman appeal. As an audience member it should feel like an onslaught. Instead, ‘Slagbomb’ (named for a vile cocktail of Jagermeister, Blue WKD and Irn Bru she encountered in Skegness) has an alchemy that enfolds you in its scabrous embrace, inviting you to feel like you’re getting some vicarious catharsis for your own issues.

‘Slagbomb’ is a wrecking ball of a show from start to finish. It’s blunt, caustic, and offers little respite. That may sound like it’s one note, but there are artful moments of lightness and appreciation for what she has throughout. Esther Manito may be frustrated at her daughter’s self-centredness, but she’s also in awe of how assured and confident she is. She may have had to chauffer her mother-in-law to the local drug dealer for some illicit medical weed, but what a tale she gets out of it. It’s a bracing hour for sure, but there is a (somewhat counterintuitive) deep well of hope, warmth, and joy that shines through.

‘Slagbomb’ is on tour throughout the UK, and is at The Stand, Glasgow Thu 13 Nov 2025