Review by Marina Funcasta

Memoirs proving all the rage in recent years, the magic of the genre often resides in the stories themselves, not necessarily the form through which they are told. Luke Wright is the exception. In this spoken word performance, Wright selects extracts from his memoir, Later Life Letter, and strings them together with little vignettes, at times resembling stand-up comedy. Our poet is clearly in his element. Beyond an exploration of his own adoption story, Wright’s charisma reminds us of the poetic vitality of live performance and the spoken word.

The intimacy of witnessing a performer embody their own writing suits the confessional element of the memoir genre. And yet, I couldn’t help but feel at times perhaps too submerged in our performer’s very real pain.

This is because the performance itself was compromised by the emotional intensity of Wright’s content. Stumbling over his words and forgetting some lines are certainly to be expected in live performance, but they happened perhaps too frequently. Even if Wright fought on like a trooper, with his usual confidence and comedic self-awareness, these hiccups left me thinking: Is the emotional content perhaps laid bare too directly? Can theatre, or live performance, be successful when there is no ‘persona’ or fourth wall to make the tragedy easier to swallow? Perhaps not the case for the novel, but certainly for the stage adaptation of his work. We witnessed Luke Wright playing the role of Luke Wright reading about Luke Wright’s trauma, under a spotlight and watched by hundreds of people. Anyone would choke up at points.

But the pity I felt for Wright is itself worthy of discussion. Would I show the same compassion for an actor forgetting his lines halfway through a Hamlet soliloquy? I think not. Maybe this is due to the very human, very transparent layer of Wright’s story, and yet, I left feeling nothing but sympathy for our performer. As much as this deepened my understanding of the struggles of adoption, this did not spur me on to buy the book. This is despite the genuine originality of his poetry and the beauty of his performance of said poems. Wright’s show had every reason to pack punch, and yet, it didn’t. Perhaps the fault was the structure, or the intensity of the story, but I left Southbank Centre pitying our poet. Sadness, as truthful as it is, suggests incompleteness when presented by a work of art. Perhaps if Wright spent more time discussing his experience as a father, more light would have been let in, bridging the gap between his past trauma and future hope.

Overall, however, the performance showcased many strengths, particularly in the section where he built characters for his invisible family members. This section glimmered with emotional poignancy and will remain with me for a while. The truth is, in a world where having children is becoming more financially challenging, stories like Luke’s can give us hope that love goes beyond blood ties and that families are built on time, effort, and intention.

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