Death. A word so loaded that even its utterance causes a shadow of morbidity and unease to fall upon those within its purview. But this is not the case for any audience watching real-life sibling duo Maddie and Marcus Rice’s Goodbye Dandelion, directed by Katie Pesskin. An hour’s immersion in acute storytelling and live piano entirely reframe death as a bid to start living, as opposed to something to dread.
21st century culture seems to be at a critical juncture in its approach to death: we accept the impossibility of immortality, but we practise life-longevity at an all-time high — age reversals, renewals, and rewinding’s have encroached so far into our consciousness, that if you don’t look and feel 40 when you turn 60, it can only be that you’ve been living life ‘wrong.’ Goodbye Dandelion firmly rebukes this sentiment – the show renders unequivocal the idea that a life cannot be reduced to mere fear of its ending. Through an exploration of an intergenerational friendship with Darcy — a fiercely independent and no-nonsense 87-year-old nicknamed Dandelion for her unruly hair that by coincidence matches her spirit — the play resists any moralising over the decisions we may make both in life’s duration and at its expiration. Maddie Rice is a truly sublime storyteller: convincing, captivating, and comically attuned, guiding us through a deftly balanced curation of nostalgia, poignancy, painfully relatable comedy, and, ultimately, optimism.
That this is achieved on a stage stripped almost entirely bare makes it all the more remarkable. A small playing space, no props, and understated lighting embolden the story to transcend its modest staging. Marcus Rice’s piano playing does far more than accompany the action: music is woven into the fabric of the story itself, and at times becomes the action with great success. It is fitting, then, that the music was what eventually drew the audience into the story, too. At one point, we were invited to hum along to a short refrain, an intervention that was intensely moving without tipping into sentimentality or artifice. I did, however, find myself wishing this device had been saved for a later moment. When the familiar musical sequence returned at the story’s climax, it felt as though we should be singing along; yet, without being explicitly invited to do so, joining in felt somehow improper. Had the participation been incorporated here, the emotional force might have been even more pronounced.
If an existential crisis has ever risen up within you, this show will pulverize it through a pair of siblings, an upright piano, a crystal lightshade resembling a dandelion, and an intricate tale of unlikely friendship, diverging choices, and the resounding reminder that life need not be perfect in order for it to be good.
Goodbye Dandelion is running until 30 August at Underbelly Cowgate. Buy tickets here.
Image provided by Alexis Dubus and Henri Holz for press use.
