Actor and performer Caroline Gauthier is bringing her first-ever solo show to Fringe with an up-close, in-depth, and ultimately transcendent look at grief—and what happens when you choose to leave home to search for yourself and emerge from the ashes.
In Me and Her, Caroline recounts how caring for her dying mother, and heading on a solo trip to India with her mother’s dog-eared copy of Lonely Planet, was a journey through death and into life. Caroline sat with Curtain’s Up to talk about her upcoming show.
CU: Your show explores the two-sided coin of grief and self-discovery. Was there a moment when you recognized that you wanted—or needed—to take your personal journey public?
CG: The idea first came from my aunt, back when we were taking care of my mom when she was dying. So many funny and powerful things were happening, and she said to me, “I can’t wait to read about this.” As the writer in the family, I realized certain people were waiting for my take on what was happening. It started out as short pieces and blog posts, but making it something public? It was a playwright friend who gave me the final push. It was something that should be shared.
CU: You write that Me and Her aims to “open a small window” onto what death means in a way that we don’t really think or talk about here. Did travelling to somewhere that deals with death differently have an impact on your journey and how you processed your grief?
CG: Seeing how another culture deals with death was fascinating to me. I’d been meditating on death for the past year since I lost my mom. It was very front and centre. Going to India and ending up in a place where they celebrate death… I remember trying to position myself. How did I feel about how they approached it? What was I able to take away from this? They didn’t hide it, unlike here where death is a very hidden thing. In India, it’s open and public. Cremations are performed in plain view. I think my reflection on death is that we’re doing ourselves a disservice as a society by hiding it all—death, loss, grief.
CU: There’s a beautiful parallel between your journey to India and the one your mother took before you. Was there something you discovered—about her, or about yourself—on your journey that you were not expecting?
CG: It was interesting for me to read her travel journal, which I found only after writing the play. I could see the parallels, and how in some ways we are cut from the same cloth. But also, wow, this is me and how I want to do things. It was a journey of emancipation for me too. I have a lot in common with her, but I’m very much my own person now. I can choose to travel differently and have my own story.
CU. Do you think anything was lost in translating your journal entries for the stage—and do you think something important was gained?
CG: Yes and yes. I had to cut 70% of my writing, and it was a difficult process that was done with the help of my director, Paul Van Dyck. I had to say, “This is really interesting, but it’s not going into the play.” Moments that were significant to me were just not essential in this format. I had to cut out a lot of my mom’s journal entries and letters to maintain the narrative, so I only kept a few key moments and memories.
But in terms of stage performance, it’s the artistry of it—the way it’s elevated in such a way that it becomes art. It has a beauty and a rhythm and lightness on stage that’s really inspiring.
CU. You talk about the line between a parent’s legacy and our own identity. Where do you see that line in your own life? What would you like audiences to take away when it comes to drawing—or erasing, or simply moving—that line in their own lives?
CG: I had just turned 40, and I was my mom’s last child, and she had me at 40. It’s an age marker for me. I’ve always compared myself to my mom—a powerful if particular woman. I often felt I didn’t measure up. Plus she didn’t like theatre! Writing this play was a bit cathartic, in the sense that I can honour her legacy and also take a stand and say, you know what? This is who I am and this is what I’m about. It’s my way of honouring my mom. Writing about her and sometimes playing her in this piece, I feel like I’ll have a different answer to this once the run is finished. I’m in a haze of dipping into her right now, which is an exciting process. I’ve come out of this with more self-confidence, and I think she would be proud of me for that.
Q: The theme of “home” seems to be prevalent now in so much art and literature. What do you think attracts or engages with audiences when we talk about what home is, and what it means to be or find home?
So many people don’t have a home or a place they can go back to. I’ve always been torn about wanting to completely fly away but also having a very present family and heritage here. I have a huge family and we’re very family-centric. We’re traditional in a way a lot of people of my generation here are not. For me, there’s always a tension: get away and reinvent myself, without the weight of my past and family legacy, yet I’m always drawn back to the clan. A push and pull.
I went to India at Christmas—the first one without my mom. It was a weighty decision for me after this tremendous loss. But being here at Christmas would have been very sad, while being there was like a celebration of life. And at the same time, I’m aware of how privileged I am to have a home and a safe place to come back to—no matter how annoying family can be. I feel very lucky, and lucky to have had her, and she was so fiercely maternal and created a sense of this is a family and this is our base. She transmitted those values to the rest of us, even if I’m always rebelling against it. It’s a pull I can’t deny.
CU: Is there anything more you’d like to share?
When my mother was sick, she said to me, “I’m glad you’re having this experience, because this will help you become who you are.”
This play takes you on a trip, a journey. I want to stress how collaborative the process has been. I’ve had a lot of help from my community. Once I brought in a director and creative coach who pushed me to write the play—and other artists to design it—sharing this story became a really beautiful thing, and I hope the collaboration makes this even better for the audience. I may have written it, it but everyone is telling it along with me.
Me and Her will be playing at the Chapelle de la Cité-des-Hospitalières (251 Avenue des Pins, Montréal, QC) on June 6, 7, 10, 11, 14, and 15. Get your tickets here.
