In the world of theatre, we often talk about 'airing our dirty laundry,' but our guest today takes that quite literally. Stephanie Renae Lau is a Hong Kong and Canadian actor and maker whose work thrives in the space where comedy meets the deeply personal.
Her new show, ‘Do You Know Where To Go From Here?’, traps its protagonist, Sophie, under a mountain of clothes and forces her to tidy her way through grief, faith, and the complexities of migration. Stephanie, your work often explores 'untold experiences'—what was the specific moment or memory that told you this story needed to be dragged out from under the pile and onto the stage?
We sat down with Stephanie to learn more about the show.
What can you tell me about ‘Do You Know Where To Go From Here?’ and the inspiration behind the show?
‘Do You Know Where To Go From Here?’ is a dark comedy exploring the theme of ambiguous grief - grief without closure or a definite end - and living in perpetual uncertainty. I began writing it in my mid-twenties as life did not look like what family, religion, society said to expect, and I was (and still am) carrying the grief of hopes potentially not realised and the anxieties of a future unclear. It is a semi-autobiographical piece, so I’ve drawn a lot of inspiration from my own lived experience, and through writing this piece I hope to answer for myself ‘how can life still be good despite carrying baggage from the past?’ If you know the answer to that, please reach out and let me know.
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| Photo by Matt Christie |
The 'mound of clothes' is such a striking visual. Was that image the starting point for the play, or did the themes of grief and migration lead you to that specific metaphor?"
To be really honest, I didn’t have that image in mind at first. I just know I wanted the protagonist to be trapped in a situation with the audience, and they can’t get out of it either. At the time of writing, I was considering moving to the UK, so I was always thinking about stuff that I own. I had 3 boxes of journals and it felt like a real burden to keep. Then it hit me… emotional baggage! But also can be literal baggage like clothes and items you own. Eventually it evolved into being buried in a mound of clothes.
As a Rose Bruford trained collaborative theatre maker, how did the process change when you shifted into a one-woman show? Was it a challenge to 'collaborate' with yourself as both writer and performer?
I’ve always wanted this to be a one-woman show, but the theatrical language changed a lot when I started collaborating with others from Rose Bruford. This show began as my pandemic project; from 2020 to 2022, I wrote mostly alone in my room, sometimes writing on mute with a Zoom playwriting group. It was more straightforward storytelling because that’s what I knew how to do at the time. From 2022 onwards, the process expanded into devising with objects in the space, evoking a feeling through musical soundscapes, letting the architecture of the room influence where you can go, and thinking about how the audience can become part of the story. I hated the idea of the audience being bystanders - I felt that grief was a subject nobody wanted to touch even though it will come for all of us sooner or later - so I wanted this to be more communal and participatory than just me telling you a story. I also don’t want to crush the audience’s spirits (and my own) by making this a serious drama, so I thought about how it can be fun for all of us who are stuck in the same space together.
I sometimes get in my own way being a playwright and an actor at the same time. Playwright Steph worries about how it reads from the outside and sometimes doesn’t allow Actor Steph to experiment in the moment. Actor Steph gets frustrated about the run-on sentences and weird wording. But at the end of the day, I needed to be both - it’s freeing to tell a story in my own voice, especially as an East Asian migrant in a Western country. It’s challenging yet super empowering.
You mention using a comedic lens for untold experiences. How do you find the 'funny' in topics as heavy as grief and the loss of faith without losing the emotional weight?
You know how sometimes you can go through something serious, but have the awareness of how ridiculous it looks from the outside? I find myself often noting the weird, absurd, or surreal aspects to a situation a lot. For example, (true story) on the day of sealing my mom’s urn compartment at the cemetery, we found out her name had been misspelled on the marble slab. I think comedy and tragedy are often present in the same situation, and I try to balance things by presenting what is heavy yet highlighting the odd and unusual. The comedy then comes from the tension between those two things, I think.
The show is 'disarmingly honest and based on real events.' How do you protect yourself emotionally when performing a story that is so closely tied to your own resilience?
Some distancing techniques I found with my creative team (director Myriam Angela and movement director YY Yong) have to do with the external: pick a piece of clothing/jewelry that only Sophie would wear, identify a different way of moving about the space or is there a gesture she always does? We worked on creating Sophie’s backstory that has similarities to my own, but is different enough that she feels separate to me.
As a writer, I’ve invented details, omitted, streamlined or reshuffled the order of events in order to create some emotional distance. I have a few self-regulating techniques in my pocket if things get too overwhelming. I’m still understanding how to safely embody Sophie and I rely on the creatives and friends I trust to hold me through the process.
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| Photo by Matt Christie |
You aim to connect with global audiences. Do you find that the themes of family and loss translate differently depending on where you are performing?
There’s that saying about the more specific you get, the more universal something is, which I’d say is true for this show. For a Western audience, I find that they are still able to relate deeply to the protagonist’s journey. In Asia, it is still taboo to talk about death or loss, and family expectations carry more weight in Asian cultures, so I think it hits home harder for ESEA (East and Southeast Asian) audience members.
There’s that saying about the more specific you get, the more universal something is, which I’d say is true for this show. For a Western audience, I find that they are still able to relate deeply to the protagonist’s journey. In Asia, it is still taboo to talk about death or loss, and family expectations carry more weight in Asian cultures, so I think it hits home harder for ESEA (East and Southeast Asian) audience members.
What keeps you inspired?
Real life! Things I hear people say, events that I witness, stories from other people. I am fascinated and amused by the different personalities I meet and the different situations life throws at you. I also like to watch fringe theatre shows exploring topics and questions I’ve always wondered about. I love
The title asks, ‘Do You Know Where To Go From Here?’ What is the one thing you hope an audience member—who might be sitting in their own 'sea of clutter'—takes away from Sophie’s journey?
I hope they can look at the stuff they’re carrying, find what’s useful, re-purpose it, and leave the rest behind. You’ll always carry something from the past, but you can choose what and how much you want to take with you.
I hope they can look at the stuff they’re carrying, find what’s useful, re-purpose it, and leave the rest behind. You’ll always carry something from the past, but you can choose what and how much you want to take with you.
Do You Know Where To Go From Here? runs at The Space in London from https://space.org.uk/event/do-you-know-where-to-go-from-here/
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