By Mitch Jones. Sydney Festival. Carriageworks. January 13 – 17, 2021
He might be the planet’s last survivor but Mitch Jones stirs up pathos and laughter, even as he finally eats himself.
In his dystopian space of rubbish furniture, plastic bags and skewered lighting, he first blends into a smoothie all his available bits – dandruff, hairs, piss, sweat – but with the theatrical aplomb of a TV chef.
Perhaps he’s a former newsreader. In his shredded suit, he looks like those others flashing up on the old TVs amongst the scaffolding, with news of meteoric temperatures and new laws allowing the sale of body-parts.