Theatre at its best is an incensing experience. Something which puts vital stories to stage. Which affirms you of humanity’s strength. And fills you with light, as well as heartache and rage. My Mother’s Funeral: The Show written by Kelly Jones at The Yard Theatre does just that. Without a doubt, this is the most moving piece of theatre I have ever been privileged enough to experience. Quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever seen on a stage.
Abigail is a working-class writer, recently bereaved. Suffering the fresh and painful loss of her mother, she is confronted with the reality of economic inequality at a time where what’s crucial is support and humanity. She cannot afford the funeral. Her grim luck: she happens to work in an industry which is hungry for ‘authentic trauma’ from ‘people like her’. Audiences desperate for work which makes them feel gratifyingly guilt-ridden. And so, her life and trauma must be bastardised into a middle-class-appeasing show.
The themes this play tackles are complex, vital and urgent. Inequality in death is a damning, dehumanising premise for a play. Except, as this piece hammers home, it’s not a premise. It’s starkly real. It is clear from the offset in this metatheatrical work that our class system isn’t the only abusive system under interrogation. It is the arts industry’s obsession with it also, a gold-mine of ‘gritty’ suffering. The theatre industry, and thus the audience, are in the hot seat. We want authenticity. We want truth. We want working class trauma. And we want it to meet our prejudiced expectations in the process. In Kelly Jone’s ruthlessly tender script, everything is handled with the upmost care and the upmost honesty, challenging systematic brutality with a raw humanity and chastising a theatre industry which profiteers from trauma. Through Abigail, her mother and her brother, we see this take place.
Crafted to perfection by Nicole Sawyerr, Abigail is raw, visceral, tender and totally real. An actor at the top of their craft, for the 70-minute performance she never misses a beat. Oscillating between defiance and desperation, Sawyerr’s emotionally range knows no bounds – with the physical and emotional toll of such a performance palpable from the seats.
Debra Baker as Abigail’s Mum was joyously recognisable, part faultless performance, part flawless script. Brilliantly funny and soft in all the right places, Baker’s presence on stage as Mum was the soul of the play. A fabulous, complex and decidedly real character, it becomes all the more harrowing to watch her reduced to stereotype by the clever meta theatrics of the script. Multi-rolling as both Mum and the upper-class actor playing Mum in Abigail’s play, Baker draws sharp contrast between the real Mum and the grotesque interpretation of her which the theatre world would rather put on stage. Initially darkly comic, later grotesquely ignorant, Baker manages masterful changes between her characters, perfecting them all.
Last but certainly noy least, Samuel Armfield plays Darren, Abigail’s brother. Troubled by a difficult relationship with his mother, projecting apathy to mask the complexity of his grief, Armfield’s performance is heartbreaking. Capturing Darren’s flaws whilst never compromising his humanity, Armfield is a heartfelt driver in many of the play’s most tender scenes. Also playing the smarmy theatre boss, driven by exploitative incentives, a brilliant dual performance was executed. An important contrast put to the audience: Darren’s humanity, the theatre’s sore lack of it.
All three actors showcased a fully nuanced understanding of character, oozing the empathy required for such a heartfelt script. For all it’s tenderness, humour is the beating heart of this play. Director Charlotte Bennett is undoubtedly gifted at injection tension and gut-wrenching brutality into a scene, but it the playful scenes where the power of the script shone it’s brightest. Proving that working class voices offer more than just trauma. They’ve got wit and laughter which bursts at the seams.
A meta-theatrical piece, the action unfolds primarily in a rehearsal space or on its bare raised stage. Stripped back, exposed and rough around the edges, the design beautifully complimented The Yard’s performance space. A Russian doll of theatre within theatre, behind the seemingly bare staging was an intricate, complex design. The work of Rhys Jarman, it was clear they found the joy in the script, reflecting the show’s creativity with inventive reinterpretations of the space. Adversely, feeding the tension, lighting (Joshua Gadsby) and sound (Asaf Zohar) immersed us in rapidly changing scene, moving the action of the play with gripping momentum. Paired with pitch perfect performance, polished direction and a tightly written script, pacing was exemplary. There was not a moment where you wanted to look away.
It is not often that you leave a theatre awestruck. Even rarer: incensed, set-alight and genuinely changed. It is the art form at its best. I left My Mother’s Funeral: The Show feeling just that – tear-stained, laughter strained and fully fortified by the strength of humanity. I can only implore you get a ticket and experience the same.
Running 28th January – 15th February, buy tickets here: https://www.theyardtheatre.co.uk/events/my-mothers-funeral
Reviewer: Sadie Pearson
Reviewed: 28th January 2025
North West End UK Rating:
Rating: 5 out of 5.
