The Maids: Jean Genet Through a Digital Looking Glass

When I arrived in DUMBO to see The Maids at St. Ann’s Warehouse, I got lost. The entrance wasn’t where I expected it to be, so I circled the building looking for the right door. Along the way, I passed tourists taking photos beneath the Brooklyn Bridge and people at nearby restaurants photographing their food before taking a bite. Everywhere I turned, someone was performing for a camera. It seemed like an appropriate way to begin a play about the allure of performance.

Written in 1947 and loosely inspired by the Papin sisters’ murder case, Jean Genet’s The Maids follows two sisters, Claire and Solange, who work for a wealthy Madame. When Madame is away, the sisters slip into her dresses, don her wigs, and act out elaborate fantasies that end in her murder—though they never quite succeed. Kip Williams’ modern adaptation explores Genet’s ideas of identity, power, and performance for the digital world, layering the story with influencer culture, social media, and Snapchat filters.

Upon entering the theater, I could only partially see Rosanna Vize’s set design through a gauze curtain, like peeking into someone’s apartment through an illuminated window at night. Beyond the curtain was a cream carpet, a vanity, tall mirrored wardrobes, and an abundance of flowers. The play is built on role-play in which one sister is Madame and the other is the maid. Williams doesn’t alter this structure so much as give it contemporary tools: the mirrored wardrobes, transformed by Zakk Hein’s video design, double as fractured screens. Snapchat-filtered versions of the characters loom over their physical selves on stage in real time. The curtains finally part once the ruse is over: Madame is on her way home, and the sisters must clean up the mess they’ve made.

The performances are a true highlight of the production. Lydia Wilson and Phia Saban (House of the Dragon) give Claire and Solange a frenetic, co-dependent energy. One moment they are collaborators, the next rivals, then sisters again. The actors capture the exhaustion of two women caught between worship and resentment, always on the edge of combustion. Their relationship feels parasitic at times as one feeds into the other’s fantasies and both grapple with their devotion (and contempt) for Madame. At times, I couldn’t tell if they wanted to kill her, be her, fuck her, or all three.

Yerin Ha (Bridgerton) steals the show as Madame, an influencer with millions of followers. Her cruelty is matched only by her hilariously unwavering belief in her own goodness. Ha moves erratically across the stage, cycling through different outfits, trying on new identities, from wounded public figure to selfish nepo baby to benevolent employer. The maids in pale pink, almost childlike uniforms, contrast with the glamorous outfits Madame thrusts upon them (and then quickly takes back), forming a class system of their own. Marg Horwell’s costume design suggests that a new self is always hanging in the closet waiting to be selected.

Watching The Maids in 2026, one must consider how performance has integrated into our daily lives. We all maintain some version of the public self, and I am certainly guilty of curating a vibe on social media, photographing my dinner, and writing (and rewriting) a meaningless Instagram caption. By the time the play ended and the actors returned to the stage for curtain call, I resisted lifting my phone to aim it at them, feeling both guilty and called out by the play itself as a voyeur: of the characters, the actors, the performances. Instead, I let my phone sit quietly on my lap as I applauded—taking one final photo of the destruction left behind.

Suggestion: Before the show, grab a drink at Roof Top Bar at Time Out Market and make a dinner reservation at Cecconi’s DUMBO. I had a vodka martini with a view of the Brooklyn Bridge and ate whipped ricotta & truffle honey crostini, kale pesto fusilli, and branzino.

And then I arranged it all, just so, and took pictures of it.