Comedians Share True Stories of Trauma and Toxic Relationships

“If you’re not in an OK place, you’re just re-traumatising yourself,” says Anna Akana, who is performing her show, It Gets Darker, at the Edinburgh festival fringe this year. In it, she talks about her sister Kristina’s suicide and how a stalker’s threats of violence drove Akana herself out of standup comedy.

Trauma-focused shows have always been a fixture at the festival. Artists often find catharsis in channelling their darkest moments, despite the weight of reliving them daily. Akana’s story has been compared to Baby Reindeer, Richard Gadd’s play that began at the fringe and is now a Netflix hit. Gadd’s recount of being stalked has led to legal issues, raising questions about the ethics of exposing personal stories.

Are writers and performers more careful this year about turning their traumatic experiences into stage shows? James Barr tells his story of an abusive ex-boyfriend in his new show Sorry I Hurt Your Son (Said My Ex to My Mum). Edinburgh-based comedian Eleanor Morton subtly incorporates her experiences of sexual assault in her show Haunted House, blending the city’s spooky lore with real-life horror. “Sex predators are a lot like ghosts,” she jokes. “If a woman encounters one, no one believes her.”

Darren McGarvey, author of Poverty Safari and The Social Distance Between Us, discusses the “perverse incentives” to share trauma. Drawing from his own childhood trauma, he realized the personal cost once the story goes public. In his fringe show Trauma Industrial Complex, McGarvey explores the rights and well-being of storytellers and those entwined with their stories, through conversations with academics, campaigners, and performers.

When Anna Akana first talked about her sister’s death, it triggered severe PTSD episodes and difficult audience interactions. People would share their personal stories abruptly, which was jarring. Years of therapy and discussions on her YouTube channel have helped her process the trauma. Speaking about it now feels like honoring her sister’s memory.

This drive to help others also motivates Barr and Morton. “Women who’ve been through similar things like to see women talking about it on stage,” Morton says. Barr points out the rarity of discussing abuse within same-sex relationships. At first, comedy didn’t seem the right medium for his story, but he noticed that standup’s rhythms mirrored abusive relationships. He aims to make audiences experience enough of the abuse to understand its impact.

Morton discusses an award-winning comedian who assaulted her and friends. She’s chosen not to name him to focus on the system protecting such individuals. Barr also refrains from naming his abuser after seeking legal advice. He discussed his show with loved ones, ensuring none of his revelations would shock them. Akana named her stalker and details his harassment, as she had obtained a restraining order. Discussing Kristina’s suicide, she collaborated with her family to ensure accuracy.

Storytellers must be mindful of their narrative power and responsibility towards those involved. All agree that artists should share their stories, but with consideration of timing and context. Therapy can help, but raw experiences may not be suited for the stage. “You want to present vulnerability, but it is theatre, and you need that layer of distance,” Morton explains.

Barr and Morton both prepared with professional help and support from friends. Barr teamed up with Madeleine Parry, director of Hannah Gadsby’s Nanette. There is no pressure to excavate trauma, but truth connects with people because it’s powerful. “I hope everyone can turn their trauma into something constructive,” says Akana. “Otherwise, you just have trauma.”

Source: The Guardian