British comedian Jonny Donahoe’s touching comedy, Every Brilliant Thing, has finally come to our stage thanks to Exit Stage Right, the company behind the hugely successful production of I Am My Own Wife. The author has been touring and playing the central role himself to packed audiences all over the world, since its runaway success in Edinburgh three years ago. The production (adapted from a short story by Duncan Macmillan) revolves around a little boy’s attempt to dissuade his depressed mother from taking her life by compiling a list of all the things in life he considers as worth living for – and yes it is also very, very funny.
The script is written for one actor who plays both the narrator and the protagonist and relies heavily on audience participation. In fact, the actor (Alan Paris) freely mingles with the audience members before the start of the show and hands them pieces of paper with numbers and corresponding ‘brilliant things’, with instructions to shout them out when their number is called throughout the show. A simple technique, yet one that transforms the audience members beyond being mere spectators into active participants fully engaged in the story.
Alan Paris brings all his acting experience to bear in this technically demanding role
With some audience members, participation goes a step further. In possibly one of the most poignant moments of the show, one audience member becomes a veterinarian who puts the little boy’s terminally sick dog to sleep and introduces the little boy to the reality of death. At other points, an audience member is asked to play the little boy’s father, another is tasked to play the school counsellor and yet another plays the girl who eventually becomes the love of his life, Sam. Although depending on audience participation is always very risky in a live performance, it is precisely because of this improvisational quality that the show manages to treat this tricky subject with such sincerity and realism. It also ensures that no two shows are likely to provide the same experience.
Paris brings all his acting experience to bear in this technically demanding role. Not only is the subject matter very delicate to portray without coming across as overly sentimental or insensitive, but the script itself is an actor’s nightmare with its numerous references to specific numbers on the list that trigger the various responses from the audience. Moreover, his natural ability to work an audience in full house lights made certain moments feel so real it was almost painful to watch. Even a persistent throat tickle that forced him to stop a few times to clear his throat did not get in the way of this memorable performance.
Once again, Paris teamed up with Nanette Brimmer who directed the piece with great clarity and precision. Although technically, the show can hardly be described as challenging, the way she ensured that the audience participation is seamlessly woven into the show without it seeming contrived is certainly a feat. I did, however, feel that the choice of venue – The Undercroft Café – did not help with the acoustic challenges of working in the round space, nor with creating a sense of intimacy that the story called for, particularly given that no stage lighting is involved.
There are few things in life more difficult to joke about than suicidal depression. We come to terms with it by rationalising that it must be the result of an unstable mind; something ‘stupid’ one does in a moment of madness, something that would never be contemplated if only one would perk up and look on the bright side of life. Yet, to borrow one of the play’s best lines, “If you live a full life and get to the end of it without ever once felt crushingly depressed, then you probably haven’t been paying attention.”