Amy Conway, the acclaimed writer and performer, brings her deeply moving and thought-provoking show Catafalque to the Edinburgh Fringe. In this exclusive interview, Conway discusses the inspiration behind the play, which draws from her experiences as a civil celebrant during the pandemic.
Catafalque explores the complexities of grief, love, and secrets through the lens of a civil celebrant tasked with eulogizing someone who has committed unthinkable acts. Directed by Beth Morton, the show promises to be a poignant examination of how we process loss and remember those who have passed.
Don’t miss Catafalque at Summerhall (Tech Cube) from August 1 to August 11, 2024, with a BSL interpreted performance on August 8 and relaxed performances on August 6 and 8. Book your tickets now.
You’re bringing the world premiere of your one-woman show, Catafalque, to the Edinburgh Fringe. What can you tell us about this play?
That it’s not just a show about death. Not that the subject of death isn’t endlessly fascinating. I think I could see a thousand shows about death and no two would be the same. We fear it for a reason – the last great voyage into the unknown. There will be art about death for centuries to come, Catafalque might not reinvent the genre, but we hope that it’s a somewhat different perspective; one of a woman who becomes a funeral celebrant to come to terms with her own loss. The main character, Fern relishes the opportunity to be close to death and the grieving because she can be less alone in her own desolation.
Catafalque is also a show that is ultimately hopeful and empowering for the living. That’s part of the reason why ritual is so important in our lives. Funerals are for the deceased, yes, but this is a show that speaks for how necessary funerals are, for everyone, and how can we be better at celebrating death and better at being present in that space of universal loss.
The show explores how we grieve the “ungrievable” through the lens of a civil celebrant tasked with eulogising someone who committed horrific acts. What inspired you to tackle this complex subject matter?
I’ve been a listening volunteer for the Samaritans for 10 years now and I’m in the privileged position of having listened to hundreds of individuals in crisis, hundreds of people who feel able to tell me their most intimate thoughts and feelings over the phone simply because I am an absolute stranger. Some of these people (not many, but some) have done terrible things. As a Samaritan I listen without judgement because we believe no one should have to suffer in their distress alone. I have heard from many many more of the people who have had those terrible things done to them. And this juxtaposition of perspectives is a profoundly unsettling thing.
Catafalque is fiction, it is not based on a true story. But it is inspired by those individuals I have spoken to on the phone, often at the dead of night when the world sleeps, who cannot tell their truth to anyone else or who, whether survivor or perpetrator, fear the repercussions of breaking their silence.
You trained as a civil celebrant during the pandemic and the play draws from your experiences writing and delivering eulogies. How did this personal background inform the creation of Catafalque?
The old adage of “write what you know” has always rung true for me. I’ve made quite a bit of autobiographical work in the past which is quite a purist approach to this advice, but while I’ve moved much more into the realms of fiction when it comes to narrative (being older and wiser I know now, that sharing your trauma isn’t a prerequisite to great art), I’ve always found that personal experience is a great starting point for a character or fictional world.
And my time as a funeral celebrant (which I still do on a more part time basis) has been so interesting that it seemed liked missing an open goal not to write a play about it. Celebrants are invited into the home of a grieving family to talk in intimate detail about the life of their lost loved one, after which they go away and try to write something that feels right, not just for the deceased -or the version of the deceased they have been privy to- but for the people they have left behind. The responsibility can weigh heavy sometimes, especially when I get the feeling that I’m not being told the whole story. And extrapolating from that is where the seed of the play came from, this wondering: would I still be able to do my job if the person I am asked to eulogise has done terrible things?
The central character, Fern, faces the challenge of honouring a grieving mother’s wishes while grappling with the truth about her son’s life. What themes around love, grief, and moral boundaries does the play examine?
I think we’ve all done it. I certainly have. You’re at a funeral, probably of an older relative and in the post-service line up or at the wake you’ve found yourself gushing about them, singing their praises like you never did in life, usually for someone else’s benefit. That’s just what you do at funerals, I’m not completely knocking it, it’s good to remember someone at their best, it’s good to remember the good bits and forgive the rest because they’re not coming back to make amends. That’s love. To a point.
Catafalque asks, at what point do we have a responsibility to speak out, to make a stand, if someone’s actions have harmed others, even if they are our friend, or partner, or son? It also asks if honesty, however brutal, is a healthier way to grieve and process loss. We need to see our ex-partners as flawed if we are ever to move on, for example, maybe we can get closer to our deep seated complex pain when someone leaves our lives suddenly if we can see their humanity at its rawest and unsanitised.
As a one-woman show, what particular storytelling opportunities and challenges did this format present for you as the writer?
This is not my first one woman Fringe show. In 2017 I took Super Awesome World, a show which explored my own experience of depression through 90s video games, to the Fringe. The show started out a bit like TED talk then morphed into a theatrical video game enlisting the audience to play minigames, metaphors for mental struggle, with my character and each other.
I love watching one-person shows too and will often seek them out at the Fringe because I know that they can deliver an especially intimate experience. If the writer-performer has done their job then they bring the audience with them and it can sometime feel like they are speaking directly to you.
Similar to Super Awesome World, in Catafalque I delve into dark subject matter through an immersive form. Here the hook is that you are there at the chapel of rest as the congregation at a funeral service which will be unlike any funeral you’ve ever been to. In a good one-person show, you should feel held by the performer, in safe hands, but trusting enough to strap in for a ride that will take you to unexpected places. I hope I’ve managed to achieve that with Catafalque.
What would you say to anyone thinking of booking to see Catafalque at the Edinburgh Fringe?
I’d say that while Catafalque is a play that deals with death and grief, it is not intended to be depressing. It wrestles with some incredibly difficult questions and some harrowing content but the pay off should be worth it and you will come out the other side with a renewed appreciation for life.
