The Funeral of Conor O'Toole

Nine of us gather beside the Underbelly box office before following Conor O’Toole to an undisclosed location, leading us from the hubbub of Bristo Square as part of his funeral procession. We arrive at a small, closed café, lit only by a fridge and a torch on the end of a stick with a spring attached; said spring and stick combo is used as a crude violin type instrument later in the performance.

O’Toole has a rambling, neurotic style – akin to an Irish Woody Allen, but without the comedic capabilities. The premise of the show is a rehearsal for his funeral, with many jokes about death and the afterlife. A lot of these jokes fall flat and the lack of response appears to make him more nervous. The small crowd doesn’t help as there’s a distinct lack of atmosphere.

He has an awkward charm and he sticks to his theme throughout, even though on this particular night it’s not working. The high point of the performance is the little book of drawings and stories O’Toole hands to the audience. From this it is evident that he understands writing comedy, but the execution is poor. This is an interesting premise crushed by the weight of its own quirkiness and muddled performance.