Melbourne Cabaret

Dead Mum is the true experience of writer/performer Jack Francis West, whose mother died when he was 19 years old. In this cabaret, Jack explains both earnestly and with a great deal of dry humour how he managed and reacted to his mother’s death, and how it still impacts him today. Jack is joined on stage by a talented band, Riley Richardson (music director/guitarist), Eve Pilkington (drummer), Lucy Cleminson (cellist/bassist) and Teige Cordiner (pianist). Throughout the show the band not only provided their musical talents, but added to the humour and atmosphere of the performance. The band successfully curated a vibe of warmth and safety for Jack to share how he is feeling, whilst occasionally being called out for being camp.

The show began with Jack walking around taking selfies with audience members and his mums’ urn. It was a world building moment, defining the nature of the show. There were people everywhere, too many people for the space. And of course, I was eager to get my selfie with Jack and his mum Kate. Jack was charismatic and endearing, warm and friendly, as he moved through the crowd.

Immediately the first song Jack sang was silly, breaking the tension that had been built by the presence of an urn and a clear mourning setting. The mourner’s flowers around the room set the tone which the song swiftly broke. Jack conducted some dry crowd work, which had me cackling. Jack sang with depth, and picked music that was true to the themes of the show, whilst embodying something I know well, the musical theatre girlie life. I was consistently switching between cackling and tears, as I imagine Jack intended.

Jack acknowledged that trauma has changed who he is. Most evidently his dry sense of humour, which so perfectly matches my own, is a direct results of his mum’s early death. Jack tells the audience about the moment his mum died, describing the toxic relationship he was in at the time in great detail. The notes I took during the show just contain ‘ahahahah’ which isn’t very helpful but is a good description of how I felt and experienced the show. Jack put little throw away lines peppered in, and he got me laughing loudly and often.

The physicality of the show contributed to the atmosphere building and vibe generating. Throughout the show there was some minimal blocking, that was not quite choreography. It felt like thoughtful movement, it was considerate and funny. The blocking added to Jack’s humour and acted as an additional tool to bring the audience closer into Jack’s stories.

Jack recognised that “humour makes uncomfortable things better, but if you do it too much can disappear into it.” Although Jack often made a joke when things became too sincere, he recognised and feared that he might lose himself in the protective shielding. Jack noted, he wouldn’t be the same person without his grief. He would be stupider and more blissful. Having lost my aunt at a young age, having lost my cousin, and watching how my friendship group was wrecked when our friend took his own life, Jack’s grief was so visceral and real to me. Jack said “time doesn’t heal all wounds, it turns them into scars,” and particularly when my cousin died I found myself struggling to focus and work, even after several months of healing and processing. It was difficult to admit, but grief is not linear and I didn’t understand how that felt until I was stuck in the middle of it.

Jack saw into my soul, the grief I had experienced in my life, and the way that theatre had healed some of those scars for me, I could see Jack was holding up a mirror to those experiences and feelings. Or maybe more accurately, Jack placed his heart in his hand for the audience to see, and I found something that so similarly mirrored my own grief and healing process that I was torn apart, and in tears as Jack sang the final song. Obviously, I knew all the words, and I was silently singing the song back to Jack.

Jack’s vulnerability felt real and raw. He has had time and distance from his mum’s death, but he described what grief looks like with time, that it’s still a powerful feeling, and that he sees his mum everywhere. His realisation and understanding of his own grief wrecked me, and reduced me to a blubbering mess. My drive home from the theatre consisted of creating a playlist of the songs Jack sang, and revisiting those songs, windows rolled down, very loudly.

To book tickets to Dead Mum, please visit https://www.theatreworks.org.au/2026/dead-mum.

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