The sound spills into video footage and photographs of Mundys family, before Mundy relates an anecdote from when she was a young girl.
She was in Kmart with her mother and got distracted by the Barbie section. When she looked up, her mum was gone, and announcements about a lost child over the loudspeaker naturally went unheeded. That was how little Jodee realised that being deaf meant not being able to hear.
The performance flits effortlessly between Auslan and English and subtitles, augmented by interplay between Mundy and Rhian Hinkleys clever video and animation. We get Mundy in conversation (across speech and sign) with a cartoon version of herself. And the night I went a hitch with the sound, ironically enough, scotched a scene that seemed to have Mundy talking with an image of herself as a child.
That didnt matter much, though it may have deepened the themes this piece reflects on.
Besides, there are plenty of voices to see – an interview translated live with her parents, about being born deaf; another with her brother, who saw the pressure and unhappiness an adolescent Jodee felt at being a conduit between her parents and the world.
It was an unusual childhood and there were compensating perks, of course. Imagine, as a kid, never being told to be quiet. Or think of how easily a teenage girl with deaf parents might sneak her boyfriend into her room.
Perhaps the most charming moment comes through footage of Jodee as a gap-toothed girl of five or six, being interviewed by a bumptious primary school teacher. “How do your deaf brothers get to school?” the teacher asks. “They walk!” Jodee replies.
This is strong autobiographical theatre with a fascinating story, and ingenious visual and sound design that implicates the senses. You might only be able to fully appreciate everything in the show if, like Jodee, you have a foot in both worlds, but it will give both the deaf and the hearing much to think about.
