Genevieve Morris breaks the ice as she enters through the audience, setting the tone perfectly — cheeky, warm and unafraid comedic timing, disarming us with wit before leading us gently into the enormity of what’s to come.
Adapted by Benjamin Law from Cory Taylor’s acclaimed memoir and directed with immense care by Jean Tong, Dying: A Memoir tackles the inevitable with humour, humanity and startling honesty. Nothing goes unspoken; the unmentionable is mentioned, often with a grin that softens the blow. The humor never undermines the gravity; reminding us that even in dying, there is life.
There are moments when the lights dim halfway and Morris asks the audience confronting questions. She shifts seamlessly between talking to us in real time and slipping into the story itself, the edges between theatre and life dissolving. It’s in these transitions that Dying: A Memoir becomes something more than performance: it’s a shared reckoning, an invitation to talk about the uncomfortable.
Morris holds the space with effortless command. Her delivery is textured and precise, every accent, medical term and quirky inflection landing just right. She moves across the stage with measured pacing, working the room intimately and electrically. She moves between characters and contexts with such fluidity that the space around her seems to morph in response.
The set design is deceptively simple: rows of chairs that glide and slot into formation, transforming with ease from airport lounges to nursing homes, waiting rooms and restaurants. Our imagination fills in the rest. Clever lighting and projections guide our attention — digital numbers blinking from hospital monitors to bedside clocks — while soft sounds creep in so slowly you almost don’t notice until they swell, overwhelming. A haze of mist descending slowly to thicken the air as a scene gets heavier and then from the darkness strobes and sound erupt into a perfect storm.
The humour keeps us safely distanced, for most part, then the emotion strikes as the first sniffles ripple through the room. Morris balances vulnerability and wit masterfully, giving us permission to feel everything.
Cory Taylor’s courage lives on in this adaptation. Silence is replaced by conversation, stigma dissolves and we’re left in contemplation of our own mortality, of the legacies we might leave behind, of the privilege of being able to talk about death while we’re still here. It made me realise how lucky we are to live in a time we can go online to find a death doula and open conversations are not taboo, but healing.
A remarkable performance by an extraordinary artist and a fully deserved standing ovation for a work that dares to face the inevitable with grace and laughter.
