The MC announced my act. The audience applauded. In true FRINGE Festival fashion, there were a few boisterous cheers from the back. Of course, that’s to be expected – encouraged, even – at one of Perth’s largest summer arts festivals.
The lights dimmed.
The applause simmered.
As I adjusted the microphone, I silently debated whether I preferred standing in front of a crowd of strangers on a Friday evening in the CBD or in court at 10:30am after a long weekend with a judge looming over me from the bench.
Nine times out of 10, you’d probably expect me to pick the court over the stage. After all, it’s what lawyers have trained for, lost hours of sleep in service to, and racked up gross amounts of student debt to have the privilege to do (and that’s before we talk about the eyewatering sums we bill clients for the privilege of doing).
Yet, as I stood in front of the crowd and performed my comedy-style monologue (think Ali Wong but with the punchline leaning less towards parenthood and more towards the generational trauma that practising law dug up, together with occasional quips about the soul crushing disappointment of eating another dry arancini ball at yet another corporate sundowner), I found myself musing that, perhaps, that one time out of 10, I’d pick the stage over court.
On stage, the crowd responds with something more than a nod. The crowd roared at the futility of the Microsoft Outlook search function, laughed at the awkward small-talk one endures at corporate breakfasts, and cheered at my call to action to Make Asian Breakfasts Great Again (as an alternative to the cold croissant and weak excuse of a coffee I’d been served at many many, many corporate networking breakfasts).
With each laugh and holler (with a side of heckling), I found my shoulders relaxing. I’d done something I didn’t have to do in court – laugh. Admittedly, court appearances are very similar. It’s all a carefully choreographed act, for sure. Bow. Opening statements. Examination in chief. Cross. Re-examination. Recess. Closing. Rinse. Repeat.
The stakes are much higher in the courtroom than on a stage, though.
But, in between the laughter, I could see why there was a growing lineage of former Australian lawyers-turned-comedians, like Shaun Patrick Micallef, Charlie Pickering and Sashi Perera.
After all, it’s all just storytelling – whether in court or on stage. And the show must go on.
