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Image credit: @sleepyrealms
TENSION IN THE WORK
TENSION IN THE WORK
As I developed my show, I discovered a tension between wanting to reveal all of myself, and then also not really wanting to reveal anything. Reenacting painful parts of myself is exhausting and traumatic. I think that because of the apprehensions I had going into it, I created a show that was underpinned by a sense of resentment with the fact that people didn’t already ‘get it’. Part of me wants to set the record straight and make visible all of the overlooked and under-represented aspects of my invisible illness and criticise society for being so completely useless at supporting those with chronic illnesses. And another part of me feels like that just isn’t my fucking responsibility. And why would I use up my (already very limited) energy rehashing the frustrations and traumas that come with just existing as a chronically ill woman?
After receiving feedback from the invigilators after my IRP presentation it was interesting to see that this jaded side of my personality had come across in the work. One invigilator, Russel, described my piece as a ‘reluctant autopsy’ which I thought was brilliant. I feel like that phrase sums up the concerns I had about what it was I was trying to do and what was even the point of doing it.
Self Portrait 2021
ABSURDISM, CAMUS & TRAGIC CONSCIOUSNESS
ABSURDISM, CAMUS & TRAGIC CONSCIOUSNESS
In the development phase, I spoke about these concerns with my mentor, and she pointed me to the work of French Philosopher Camus. He proposed the idea that life is essentially meaningless and that any attempt to seek meaning from life is absurd. He theorised about whether suicide could be viewed as a valid response to the meaninglessness of human existence, eventually concluding that “the absurd is an experience that must be lived through (Camus, date). Camus recommended ‘a life without consolation, but instead one characterized by lucidity and by acute consciousness of and rebellion against its mortality and its limits” (Aronson, 2022).
Camus famously cited the Greek myth of Sisyphus as an example of doing just this. For Camus, the story presents the ‘futility and hopeless labour’ of life (Camus, 1955). He applauds Sisyphus for ‘his scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life’ which ‘won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing’ (ibid). When I first came across this quote it resonated with my own struggle to create a sense of progression in my show. It was important to me that I represented the relentless unending nature of chronic illness; often you think you’re getting better but then something happens and your progress is lost and you end up back where you started. This can make life feel pretty meaningless. But for Camus, realising the meaningless absurdity of human life is a crucial step in achieving any life satisfaction. We, much like Sisyphus, must learn to face ‘the certainty of a crushing fate’ without ‘the resignation that ought to accompany it’(Camus, 1955). Sisyphus’ sense of his own tragic circumstances is what ultimately ‘crowns his victory’ (Aronson, 2022). This logic is referred to as Absurd Reasoning; ‘living fully aware of the bitterness of our being and consciously facing our fate’ (ibid).
This inspired me to lean into the lack of progression in my piece instead of rejecting it. I decided I wanted the show to end as it had begun in the sense that there would be no resolution. Sure, there could be a whole load of shit going on in the middle, and maybe people would take away some new information or a fresh insight into what existing in this way is like, but ultimately, nothing would change. I still don’t have any answers and navigating my condition hasn’t got any easier. This was a really liberating idea for me. None of it matters! It’s just one big irrational journey and there’s nothing I can do about that. I might as well say it how it is. This freed me up to consider other ways of disrupting any theatrical conventions in my work.
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I found that there’s a lot of fun to be had in expressing my reluctance towards doing a show whilst performing it. Russel commented that it was ‘refreshing’ to watch a show that was ‘over itself before it had even begun.’ The show opens with me entering the room and lying on the floor in front of the audience, exhausted. I talk about how life hasn’t really worked out the way I expected. I wanted the audience to have a sense that I was levelling with them from the get-go.
I explained that I never thought I’d have ‘a chronic illness that would make everything this awkward’ (p.1) and openly criticised the fact that I was having to perform a show I had written, produced and directed in a ‘shit room’, as I wasn’t ‘important enough to use one of the stages on campus.’ Russel also commented that this lent ‘a sort of ‘broken’ unresolved atmosphere to the show.’ My character’s disillusionment with the show and hesitance to do it was also driven by how absolutely fed up I am of being ill. I wanted the character to be informed by what Polly Atkin refers to as ‘the repetition and boredom of illness’ (Atkin 2023).
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ABSURDISM & HUMOUR
ABSURDISM & HUMOUR
I’ve spoken about the concept of absurdism in the philosophical sense, but I’m also drawn to theatrical absurdism. My situation can be pretty bleak but creating this show was never about people feeling sorry for me. I didn’t want to create something that was self-pitying. My experience is more than just depressing, it’s frustrating and confusing and contradictory and ridiculous and this is what I wanted the show to reflect. Caroline and I spoke about the delicious absurdity of my decision to make a show about my illness. Chronic pain is not remotely entertaining and writing, directing and starring in a show is a mammoth task, even for those who aren’t disabled by illness. I think a lot of the humour in my piece came from the ridiculousness of trying to turn my sickness into entertainment.
I found moments of humour by occasionally making fun of myself and my situation, playing with the idea of being able to use my illness to my advantage. For example, in the introductory section before the game show scene (Scene 3 p.9) I use a flipchart to explain to the audience that ‘I’m going to play the chronic illness card now.’ In my experience, people either tend to clam up and get awkward or to roll their eyes when the phrase ‘chronic illness’ is mentioned. I wanted to challenge either response by being a bit silly, leaning into the idea that my illness is actually quite handy as I can use it to do and say whatever I want and no one can do anything about it for fear of being labelled ‘ableist’.
AUDIENCE RELATIONSHIP
AUDIENCE RELATIONSHIP
(The Flare interruption comes at 5.22)
Caroline urged me to consider my relationship with the audience in a new way. I knew that I wanted to unsettle the audience at points, creating something that reflected how disorienting it is to live with an illness. But I was apprehensive about the show being all doom and gloom. I was particularly worried about how to open the show, as I didn’t want to scare audiences off by doing something too intense and dark (like having an anxiety attack in the skincare section of a TK Maxx). Caroline suggested that acknowledging the audience’s experience of these more intense moments could help them to identify with me. When things were a bit intense I could just say ‘God this is intense isn’t it? Shall we go somewhere else?’ (page 6). For better or for worse I am a very direct person, so being direct with the audience and building this sort of no bullshit relationship with them was really helpful.
This also allowed me a sense of control that was able to counteract any sad parts of the show that could be misconstrued as self-pitying. It felt like I was saying to the audience ‘I know the road I’m going down right now is a bit nuts, but I can handle it and you’re just going to have to handle it too’. However, I didn’t want the audience to ever get too comfortable. I tried to disrupt this relationship at times. There were also moments in the show where I wasn’t in control and these moments undermined any sense of safety previously created and kept the audience on its toes. I think the ‘flare’ scene is a good example of this.
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The flare comes at the end of the Availability Roulette game show, the cheesy theme song of the game is interrupted by a horrible ringing noise and the audience plunged into darkness as I scream and writhe in pain. I wanted the audience to go from laughing to being vaguely freaked out and confused about what was happening. Mirroring the way my own life is constantly interrupted by illness.
I also played theatrical conventions by constantly alluding to the fact that the show was a show. For example, moments where I was waiting to be handed a microphone or would directly ask Josh’s character for help with props. I think it added to the form having Josh’s entrances and exits be clunky and obvious. He wouldn’t just appear, we brought elements of the show that an audience typically wouldn’t see on to the stage. Needing help from someone else lent my character a sense of vulnerability and helped me to present something closer to my own lived experience. I do need help. And asking for help is clunky and complicated and gets in the way of things. I enjoyed the moments of silence where I would have to sit and wait for Josh to set stuff up.
The directness of my relationship with the audience also allowed for more moments of vulnerability. It allowed me to express a sense of not knowing if I had it in me to do the show, which I hoped might make the audience root for my character a little more. I think this vulnerability came across in the scene after the rest I take (p.14). After spending an entire minute lying silently on the floor in the dark I slowly start to stir and begin the next scene. Originally, I wanted the silence to last three whole minutes. I thought this could be an interesting opportunity for the form of the show to reflect the experience of illness; ‘to live with illness is to live with disruption’ (Atkin, 2023). I purposefully wanted to disrupt the flow of the show and to force the audience to wait for a period of rest to run its course. Also, because of my limited energy, I really needed a rest at that point. I’m interested in writing a version of the show that I can perform no matter what state of health I am in and this is an idea I will continue to develop. I settled on just one minute for this timed version of the show.
[one minute of silence. Anna lies down and rests. The audience waits.]
Scene Five
[Anna stays on the floor at first, slowly sits up when it feels right]
Um yeah okay. So. So what’s supposed to happen next, in the show, is that um,
Well, I’m having a conversation with my boyfriend about how heavy all of this is. And how he doesn’t get to be with just me– it’s me and him and my chronic UTI. And three’s a fucking crowd sometimes.
And he says he can handle it. He says he wouldn’t be here if he couldn’t handle it.
And then I say: but If it ever gets too much, if you actually can’t handle it you should tell me. You need to tell me, because I don’t think I’d survive if you walked away from this and and I don’t want to overwhelm you and
[Guy turns the light back on and walks onstage, cutting her off]
Guy: I’m not walking away
(P.14)
The scene was originally a duologue between myself and Guy but I wanted to create a sense that something had gone wrong, that I had pushed myself too far and the scene would not be able to go on as planned. I decided to leave the lights off for the beginning of the scene and to deliver both parts of the dialogue myself for the first few lines. I wanted to show the physical cost of exerting myself and also to emphasise how hard it is to let go and admit the limits of my illness. I decided to have Guy switch the lights back on when he comes onstage. This signified a change in the form of the scene and also fed back into this idea of needing help.