Reviewed by Giada
My mother’s funeral: a show is a wittily crafted and heartfelt defence of human dignity, a battleground where class and grief intersect.
Abigail (Nicole Sawyerr) has 14 days to claim her mother’s(Debra Baker) body before the council dumps her in an unmarkedgrave. That also means she has 14 days to come up with 4k for a more dignified send-off. With only one (kinda) profitable asset -her writing- Abigail is determined to transform her very own working class pain into a show. Isn't that the therapeutic power of art, after all? But when the whims of a haughty director (Samuel Armfield) threaten to distort her candid recollections, she faces an impossible choice: dishonouring her mother’s life or dishonour her death?
Provocative yet delicate, Kelly Jones’s writing strikes a perfect balance between registers: lyrical, when the play opens into a eulogy celebrating the mother-daughter love, and (tragi)comic -at least for us- when life’s absurdities pile onto a protagonist barely holding it together. Masterfully paced and multi-layered, director Charlotte Bennett crafts a world that feels natural and organic, transcending the disruptions of space and time. Rhys Jarman’sminimalist yet evocative set design, with carefully chosen object, fosters a sense of intimacy –reminding us that every life, no matter how ordinary, is singular and irreplaceable. The image of a bag of paper scraps, pulled across the stage by a rope in a cathartic moment of reconciliation, lingers long after the play ends.
Nicole Sawyerr delivers an outstanding performance, vividly capturing Abigail’s struggle between holding on and letting go. She unapologetically physicalizes her pain, caught in an unstable equilibrium between bravery and vulnerability. Samuel Armfield and Debra Baker, shifting fluidly between multiple roles, maximise their characters’ potential, exposing both their virtues and their flaws.
I left with the bittersweet awareness that not even in death we are all equal. I left angry - at the commercialised commodification of art (the fictional nonsense out, the pornography of working-class pain in!). At the class battle that wages not only on the bodies of the living but extends after death, like in a Greek tragedy, passed down through generations, perpetuating trauma. And yet, ironically, the first moment of kindness Abigail receives comes from the very system she was trying to escape, in a world where detachment and apathy prevail. This is what the play reminds us: to cherish the invaluable presence of those who help us shine light through the darkness.
From Bristol, to New York and London, Paines Plough once again delivers a compelling and complete production – an exceptional collaboration of artists at their finest.
My Mother’s Funeral plays at The Yard Theatre in London until Saturday 15th February 2025. Tickets are available from https://www.theyardtheatre.co.uk/events/my-mothers-funeral
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