Award-winning singer, writer, actor, director and comedian Michelle Brasier is debuting her critically acclaimed 'Average Bear' in Adelaide for the Fringe.
Michelle has been seen on 'Aunty Donna's Big Ol House Of Fun' on Netflix, 'Lockdown Comedy Festival' on Stan, ABC's 'Shaun Micallef's Mad As Hell', 'How To Stay Married' on Channel 10 and more – plus, she's won awards across Sydney and Melbourne Comedy Festivals as a solo act and as part of comedy duo Double Denim, alongside Laura Frew.
Michelle's show 'Average Bear' weaves experiences of living in the shadows of an hereditary illness through the fictional story of a bear called Average, with a problematic fear of hibernation. The show takes audiences through moments of grief and joy.
Life's too short to be serious.
Here, Michelle pens an open letter, addressed to grief.
“It seems right that I write to you. That I address you publicly. Grief has been the catalyst for huge changes in my life. Changes I revel in, changes I am happier for. Grief is not death. You, grief, are a place that my brain and bones took me to so that I could be safe from sitting in sadness. Grief is a madness. Grief is a warm bath. Grief is a freezer full of lasagna. She is a song stuck in your head, relentlessly then forgotten for years until suddenly crashing back into memory.
When I set out to write 'Average Bear', I set out to celebrate life with a show about all the things I’ve lost. A comedy about learning to walk again, literally and metaphorically. About appreciating your legs before they threaten to leave you right where you are in the middle of the street. Right here, I don’t care if you’re three proseccos deep and you need to get to Nandos. Your legs can leave you at any time and so can the people who hold you up, who carry you. It is grief that reminds us that we have legs. Grief, that points to the people who are still here and grief that screams hold on, I need you around to watch me grow, to drink with me, to sing Irish songs at an Irish pub with me, to finish 'Ted Lasso' with, to dance with, to share a good dog I saw today with. Grief is not sadness. Grief is a reminder to stay, please stay. A promise. Try your very best not to die. And I will try my very best for you.
My brother’s ashes are in a sandwich bag. The sandwich bag says Hercules which is the brand name of the bag. Or potentially they have given me somebody else’s rather ambitiously-named brother. That bag sits inside a box that has printed watermelons on it. This is a sh.tty box for a brother to live in. It’s from Typo I think. The idea, I imagine, was to put him somewhere else. Somewhere better. I don’t know. And because I don’t know, my brother’s ashes are in a sandwich bag. With a bit on the bag for you to write contents and date. So you know when the cucumbers are bad.
They don’t tell you that ashes look like broken seashells. They are white and that was a surprise. I thought they would be black and soft and small like embers from a fire look when they settle, or like fish food. But they are crunchy and noisy and sharp.
My brother’s ashes were divided up. His friends and family got lots of different bits of him. Some of him is in a locket. Some of him, planted with a tree. Some of him was smuggled out of the country and scattered in his favourite travel destinations and if you’re a cop – shut up. My serving of Paul Brasier’s leftovers is in a sandwich bag. And one day I will put him somewhere better. More worthy. Or, I will possibly misplace him in a move.
I am grateful for my grief. It has brought me to many laughs and so many shared stories. I won a bunch of accolades and awards and I’ve made a decent amount exploiting my grief. Thank you for that. For the laughs. For giving me something to sing about. For reminding me what is not yet lost. And for mountains of f...ing lasagna.”
When I set out to write 'Average Bear', I set out to celebrate life with a show about all the things I’ve lost. A comedy about learning to walk again, literally and metaphorically. About appreciating your legs before they threaten to leave you right where you are in the middle of the street. Right here, I don’t care if you’re three proseccos deep and you need to get to Nandos. Your legs can leave you at any time and so can the people who hold you up, who carry you. It is grief that reminds us that we have legs. Grief, that points to the people who are still here and grief that screams hold on, I need you around to watch me grow, to drink with me, to sing Irish songs at an Irish pub with me, to finish 'Ted Lasso' with, to dance with, to share a good dog I saw today with. Grief is not sadness. Grief is a reminder to stay, please stay. A promise. Try your very best not to die. And I will try my very best for you.
My brother’s ashes are in a sandwich bag. The sandwich bag says Hercules which is the brand name of the bag. Or potentially they have given me somebody else’s rather ambitiously-named brother. That bag sits inside a box that has printed watermelons on it. This is a sh.tty box for a brother to live in. It’s from Typo I think. The idea, I imagine, was to put him somewhere else. Somewhere better. I don’t know. And because I don’t know, my brother’s ashes are in a sandwich bag. With a bit on the bag for you to write contents and date. So you know when the cucumbers are bad.
They don’t tell you that ashes look like broken seashells. They are white and that was a surprise. I thought they would be black and soft and small like embers from a fire look when they settle, or like fish food. But they are crunchy and noisy and sharp.
My brother’s ashes were divided up. His friends and family got lots of different bits of him. Some of him is in a locket. Some of him, planted with a tree. Some of him was smuggled out of the country and scattered in his favourite travel destinations and if you’re a cop – shut up. My serving of Paul Brasier’s leftovers is in a sandwich bag. And one day I will put him somewhere better. More worthy. Or, I will possibly misplace him in a move.
I am grateful for my grief. It has brought me to many laughs and so many shared stories. I won a bunch of accolades and awards and I’ve made a decent amount exploiting my grief. Thank you for that. For the laughs. For giving me something to sing about. For reminding me what is not yet lost. And for mountains of f...ing lasagna.”
Michelle Brasier's 'Average Bear' plays The Vault at The Garden Of Unearthly Delights (Adelaide Fringe) 14-20 March.
