Pulp Reviews: an absurdist portrayal of dyslexia in Sophia Morrison’s ‘Lovely’

Jessica McCrindle reviews Sophia Morrison’s ‘Lovely’ and sits down with the comedian to discuss the making of her show.  

 From the soft red seats of Marrickville’s Factory Theatre, Sophia Morrison’s “Lovely” took viewers on a metaphysical journey through her dyslexic ancestry. Rotating with ease between more than thirty-one roles including various younger incarnations of herself, a maternal spaceship, and a Tudor-era manservant, Morrison’s absurdist performance delivered a humorous, touching, and thoroughly lovely insight into how her experience of dyslexia has coloured her life. 

 A flurry of character changes and scene transitions leant an urgency to the show as audiences were carried through a series of Morrison’s recollections. Performance art at its best, this urgency, when complemented by Morrison’s energetic movements and natural command of the stage dragged audiences away from their assumptions about the world and deposited them back in the theatre with much to process.  

 The show’s humour emerged from moments of absurd hilarity: a parodic serenade from Harry Styles consoling Morrison and reminding her that classmates were “cunty kids” and the revelation that Anne Boelyn’s death was the result of dyslexic James the Forgetful misremembering “Off with the bed” as “Off with her head” were two particularly memorable moments.  

 However, Morrison’s performance also found a poignant humour in examining societal responses to dyslexia and revealing their inherent absurdity. In a pointed critique of the education system, Morrison, imitating a teacher, told an audience member to simply “sound out” a nonsensical string of characters, before cutting them off to deliver an infantilizing encouragement of their mumbled syllables. 

 Like her last solo comedy show, Dead Rite, Morrison’s performance featured a rich, sci-fi influenced soundscape of recorded narration and digital sound effects. This addition enabled Morrison to expand her repertoire of characters, and to dialogue with the anthropomorphized Auto-Correct (Morrison’s in-show first love). The jarring marriage of these sci-fi elements amidst the show's many historical settings emphasized the absurd surrealism. 

 Although similar in form to Dead Rite in form, this show is far more personal and the most autobiographical of Morrison’s shows to date. In an interview with Pulp after the show, Morrison said,  

“I’m so used to doing things about tiny puppies weeing in the middle of a tennis court, it was weird to do something where I had…blood in the game. It was quite an intimidating experience.” 

 “I didn’t realise how emotional I was about a lot of these experiences, I would be writing or editing things and all of a sudden burst out into tears,” she reflected.  

This vulnerability was evident in Morrison’s performance, which, for all its frantic theatrics, was punctuated with moments of quiet candor that gave audiences an insight into the emotional reality of navigating a world that is often indifferent or hostile to dyslexic people. 

 “Dyslexia and learning disorders shouldn’t really affect people as much as they do. The fact that I can’t comprehend little lines and little shapes and little wiggles shouldn’t have affected me growing up as much as it did… It's ridiculous that it does…that our school systems work so that something that shouldn’t really be a problem can massively change the way someone grows up”, Morrison commented.  

 “If they have supportive social networks around them… or if their family has the means to support them they’re normally okay. But the majority of people … don’t have that. It’s heartbreaking that for so many people…a learning disorder is the keyhole into really sad heartbreaking stories. You shouldn’t need [familial means and support] to be okay”, she reflects.  

 Here, Morrison refers to the sobering fact that as many as 20% of dyslexic students have an anxiety disorder, another 20% have depression, 30-50% of the prison population is dyslexic, and dyslexic students are five times more likely to be unemployed or underemployed in adulthood. 

 On reflecting on what needs to be done to correct these systemic failures in our education system, Morrison argued that “there needs to be so much more support and so much more understanding.” 

 “So many learning disorders are seen as stopping you from doing things. I was never told growing up when I was told I was dyslexic that it would allow you to do things. That it would make you more apt to creativ[ity], to storytell[ing], to interesting perspectives.” 

 “There is no cure for dyslexia, but the way to help kids is to make sure at school they are shown something they are good at, whether that is art, sport, or thinking conceptually.” 

 Morrison’s last, half-whispered words on stage were: “I am Lovely”. Lovely, not in spite of her learning disorder, as many teachers and classmates and well-meaning strangers had told her, but lovely because of it. Lovely because of her person, her art and the many stories her dyslexic mind has allowed her to tell and create. 

You can keep up to date with Morrison’s work on Facebook orInstagram.