My Mother’s Funeral: The Show at Summerhall – Edinburgh Fringe review

With a whole cluster of co-producers in tow, Kelly Jones’ My Mother’s Funeral: The Show lands at the Edinburgh Fringe as a middle finger to the developmental hell faced by writers on UK stages.

Blurring the line between performance and reality, and leaving a cloud of metatheatrical haze in its wake (pun intended), Jones’ play follows Abigail, an up-and-coming playwright grappling with career lows while attempting to organise her mum’s funeral. The twist: funerals are expensive, and Abigail is left feeling as though she’ll never be able to give the deceased the send-off she deserves. The solution: turn her mother’s funeral into the basis for said play – the commission will pay for the event – art underwriting reality.

On base principles, it’s also incredibly witty and punchily crafted – Jones writes with at-times lacerating edge – exposing the pronounced classism that underpins so many artistic institutions. In one of the most gripping moments, a rehearsal room sees Abigail’s loving words for her mother distorted by a sensation-grabbing lens imposed by ignorant actors and sensationalism-chasing producers. Jones also highlights both the selflessness and selfishness of death – supposedly a great leveller but its nature still dictated by coin in the purse.

The cast of three (Nicole Sawyerr is Abigail with Samuel Armfield and Debra Baker multi-roling around her) are all on mighty form under the direction of Charlotte Bennett.

In this 50th anniversary for the prolific theatre company Paines Plough, who host their co-production at in-the-round space Roundabout, it feels apt that a show pins the focus on the theatre industry and the treadmills that whir away: systemic flaws and relentlessly pigeon-hole working class writers, forcing them to stick to their lane. “Fiction doesn’t sell,” Abigail is told, followed by the immortal, shackling line: “write what you know.”

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