Dead Mum

Part stand-up, part cabaret, Jack Francis West begins his show about his mother’s death – and his own continuing reaction to it – in flippant, facetious mode.  He describes what he’s about to tell us as the eulogy he delivered at the time.  ‘Here we go,’ we think: ‘It’s black comedy about death.’  If we’re unprepared or uninformed, we may even think the story we’re about to hear - and laugh at - is fiction.

It's not fiction.  Jack (I think they prefer Jack) tells about their family, their Mum’s death, and a lot about themself.  They want to talk about death, but they can’t do it other than to talk about themselves in coruscating, vivid, wince-making detail.  Beginning with the shallow, callow gay kid they used to be: what they did the night before the funeral.  A virulent attack of gastritis.  Their first long-term relationship – let’s call him Eugene - from which there appears to have been no escape.  The Melissa MacCarthy movie Jack was watching as Mum was dying in the next room.  The movie Jack continued to watch after Mum stopped breathing.  Jack does not spare young Jack.  No excuses. 

And we are drawn in.  The gags – and there are plenty – are a way of confronting what happened and making it (almost) bearable.  Now Jack’s changed – of course – they’re older, wiser, more reflective, but – of course – young Jack is still there, inextricably part of Jack now.  They haven’t ‘got over it’ and probably never will.

People assumed Jack wouldn’t want to talk about it.  No.  They’ve made a show – an evolving show – out of it because Jack does want to talk about it and that’s what Jack does.  And they are no closer to understanding that ‘ineffable thing’ now.  It’s absence, it’s regret, it’s inevitable.  It’s about us too.

Backed by a four-piece band – musical director & guitar, Riley Richardson, cello & bass guitar, Lucy Cleminson, drums, Eve Pilkington, keyboard Teige Cordiner – all dressed in solemn black – Jack interpolates songs, or snatches of songs, some familiar but repurposed, most original.  The songs, like the gags, are counterpoint and comment.  And they’re good – much better than the songs we hear in shows claiming to be ‘musicals’ – even if there may be too many.  The final number does outstay its welcome in a show that just has too many endings.

But West can sing – movingly and melodically.  Some songs are funny.  Most are emotional.  It’s noticeable how much the band loves Jack and how their musical support for him is so well done.  It’s also noticeable how funny they think Jack is.

Dead Mum isn’t what I expected – judging by the hero image on the poster.  This show is way better.  Jack Francis West is a very talented, funny and thoughtful artist.

Michael Brindley