Statistically, we’re all going to die. That’s pretty depressing. Equally depressing and equally statistical is the realisation that not everybody is going to get the chance to see Laura Dunemann’s debut solo show, It’s Time For Death. Some of them are going to miss out because the festival is nearly over and there are only so many seats in the Evatt Room at Trades Hall, and some will probably avoid the show because, man, who wants to be bummed out by a show about death? But this isn’t really a show about death. It’s a show about life and getting through the day, and it’s engaging, entertaining and not at all depressing. Well, maybe if you haven’t yet gotten over the passing of Patrick Swayze.
Dunemann has a self-described crippling fear of death and dying. To deal with it she’s created her own series of ways to acknowledge it, reckon with it and distract from it. Some of these ways are obvious (therapy, allowing herself permission to cry with the help of sad movies and music). Others, not so much (a personal Emoji code, a healthy love of sharks and corresponding fear of shark attacks, a fascination with Kate Middleton). We all either run from or charge into this stuff on our own terms and there’s something reassuring and comforting about peeking into one individual’s way of getting through it. Perhaps the most relatable moment is when Dunemann produces her 16-year-old self’s actual scrapbook, complete with photos of her dogs, magazine clippings of the stars of her favourite TV show back in 2001, old Metcards and movie tickets. This moment is there to set up the story that follows (about obsession and charity theft) but it humanises the narrative in a really touching way.
All of this probably makes it sound like this show is more ‘contemplative think-piece’ than ‘piss-funny comedy show’ but it’s both at the same time. Dunemann knows exactly how to carry the story forward without dwelling in the darkness too long, and how to break the tension with a joke or a left-field revelation or spontaneous crowd interaction (this reviewer being singled out to be aggressively danced at during one cheek-reddening point). The show wraps with Dunemann reading her own eulogy and it’s written in a simultaneously sweet and clever way that it ties up any loose ends from the preceding 50 minutes and leaves you already wanting to see where she goes with next year’s show.
BY PETER HODGSON
