Content warning: discussion of suicide
A vast variety of talent has been on display at this year’s Fringe. Perhaps this is a bold claim to make, but I highly doubt there will be a show so affecting, so poignant, and so emotionally arresting for a very long time to come as Right Before I Go, written by acclaimed Stan Zimmerman, screenwriter for the likes of sitcoms such as Gilmore Girls.
Though perhaps best known for his comedic ventures, Zimmerman throws all caution to the wind in Right Before I Go, by addressing the multifaceted topic of suicide through an exploration of suicide notes from people hailing from divergent paths of life. The notes encompass individuals of different genders, ages, sexualities, professions and varying levels of fame, but what connects them is the deeply personal reason each person chose to end their own life — a reason that, from the outside, can so often seem inexplicable, unforeseen and entirely without warning. In this sense, the show is an attempt to afford comprehension to a seemingly incomprehensible subject. A show like this, though so deeply necessary in itself for a plethora of reasons, would most likely never have been created by Stan had it not been for his own close friend, Kevin, committing suicide and including Stan in his suicide note. An intensely personal tragedy, it ultimately became the catalyst for a show that seeks to spotlight the countless stories, questions, and complexities that too often become lost in the overwhelming magnitude of suicide.
The show functions a little like a workshop—music stands holding scripts, a projector displaying images of those whose stories are being told, and bar stools, with very little else adorning the space. The projected images are particularly effective, reminding us that these were people, with lives and identities beyond their final words, and not just names attached to a suicide note. For me, this simplicity was entirely suited to the material; stripped of artifice, the staging allows the core message to feel all the more pertinent and real.
The actors—a rotating cast tackling tricky and emotionally demanding source material—are all equally incredible. Their ability to bring these letters, and the people behind them, to life is nothing short of awe-inspiring. The performances are intense, explorative, deep, and vulnerable, without ever becoming voyeuristic, oversharing to the point of distaste, or exaggerated to the point of theatricality. There is a remarkable restraint to the way these stories are handled, allowing the words themselves, rather than performance for performance’s sake, to carry their weight.
The way Stan’s own personal experience is enmeshed with stories of suicide throughout history is particularly tasteful and clever. His experience is not presented in isolation but rather woven into a much wider tapestry of human experience, making the show feel both deeply personal and, yet, universal. It is this balance that makes the material feel so accessible: intensely specific to the people whose stories are being told, while still speaking to something much wider about grief, isolation, suffering, love and human connection.
Ending on notes from those who almost attempted suicide, but made the decision to live, was an apt conclusion—a little bit lighter, offering a glimmer of hope without undermining everything that came before it. Similarly, a question posed by Stan to the audience at the end, asking those affected by suicide to raise their hand, was particularly powerful. Seeing just how many people in the room were connected to the subject in some way made the stories divulged over the preceding hour feel even more immediate and perhaps served as a final reminder that these experiences are far more prevalent than we might like to believe.
In a Fringe full of noise, this is a show that deserves to, and must, be heard.
Right Before I Go is running until 31 August in Queen Dome at Pleasance Dome.
Buy tickets here.
Image by Paul Seaby, provided to The Student as press material.
