REVIEW BY EMMA PARFITT
EDITED BY MYA HELOU
The Malthouse Theatre is brimming with Melbourne Comedy Festival buzz. Some of the biggest names in Australian comedy are set to grace these stages over the next few weeks and the anticipation is palpable, but sometimes it is the up-and-coming performers who deliver something special. Such is the case with Hayley Edwards and Shitbag.
Edwards doesn’t identify herself as a comedian or a writer. They’re an actor, and a painfully self-aware one at that. Perhaps, as she points out, there are too many actors writing one-person autobiographical plays and putting them in the comedy festival – but this was a bloody good one. It is this humility and heart that underpin the impressively genuine connection that Edwards builds with their audience. They face a myriad of life’s hardest questions and toughest scenarios head on and poke at many common insecurities, somehow flipping these on their heads to fill the Playhouse with a warm glow of understanding and appreciation.
Shitbag chronicles the highs and lows of Edwards’ diagnosis with Crohn’s disease. Crohn’s, in short, is a chronic inflammatory bowel disease with often debilitatingly painful symptoms and a nasty tendency to reach into other parts of the body. This story, however, directs itself away from the disease itself and towards Edwards’ deeply personal, highly unpredictable and surprisingly sexy navigation of this diagnosis.
The beginning of the show focuses on some fears that so many AFAB people have experienced. Deep set fears like farting (or, God forbid, shitting) in the presence of your partner. Or like finding a clot of blood in the toilet bowl and, perhaps most terrifyingly of all, trying to convince male ER doctors that it is not period related hysteria. The plight of being AFAB and going to the doctor is all too relatable, with menstruators often needing to fight to be heard over the “it’s normal to experience pain on your period” rhetoric. It comes down to us to have faith in our knowledge of our own bodies and the strength to stand up to an often male-dominated medical system to be taken seriously. Edwards summoning this strength not only results in a Crohn’s diagnosis, but also the beginning of a personal transition from a recovering people pleaser to an all-out “shitbag.”
What is being a shitbag all about? For Edwards, it is about taking a “live life to the fullest and fastest” response to the prospect of an escalating illness impacting their body. It’s about going against what society expects of a “woman”. They’re unabashedly queer, hot and horny. A reckoning with their own mortality, the empowerment of diagnosis and a healthy dose of steroids (that also miraculously do away with mental health struggles) lead Edwards to a string of wild and sexy experiences.
It is here where Justin Gardam’s sound and lighting design really hit their stride alongside some very skilled pacing from Edwards. Soaring classical music plays as Edwards recounts some memorable sexual encounters, with a thumping beat underscoring descriptions of highs and wild nights. Perhaps bisexual lighting (pink and blue) is queer theatre’s favourite lighting state, and in some cases it comes across overplayed. Gardam, however, nails this execution, splitting Edwards’ face perfectly down the middle with a jarring contrast of pink and blue. This was particularly visually striking when Edwards was discussing their relationship with gender. Pink and blue being the only colours incorporated into the lighting also drew attention to the little details in the costuming and props, which subtly featured a lot of purple – a lovely visual representation of fluidity.
The transitions between settings carried much conviction, with sudden changes from oversaturated pink and blue to natural states accompanied by powerful switches in sound. Between the aesthetics and compelling story, I barely realised how wild a ride I was being taken on by these changes and rapid pace. It was only after this sequence, when Edwards identified this period of her life as hypomanic, that I realised I had been unknowingly riding that high along with them. It made the inevitable low that followed even more heart-wrenching.
The dark humour, perfectly complementing the tender emotional moments, is also a testament to Edwards’ thoughtful writing. The meaning of “shitbag” works on so many levels from its literal meaning as a stoma, to being a messy person, to recognising the show’s Fleabag-esque genre. The sophisticated recurring motifs, the careful changes of pacing, the ability to juggle so many themes without dropping a beat and the overall rawness of this play make it a truly clever – and very funny – piece.
There is no doubt that Edwards is an incredibly compelling performer. Through the highs and lows, they held the audience in the palm of their hand. This down-to-earth delivery and a solid smattering of clever one-liners made for a romp more than worthy of its last-minute comedy festival spot.
Shitbag is a real hidden gem of this comedy festival. I learned something, I laughed and I darn near cried. For a show full of shit, it really packed a punch.
Emma Parfitt (she/her) is the Dialog’s editor and has written Dialog reviews alongside studying towards her science degree for the past two years. She is a production manager, stage manager and producer on the Melbourne indie theatre scene and a veteran of student theatre at Union House Theatre. You can find her theatre work on instagram @emmadoestheatre.
Photos included in this review are from Shitbag‘s premiere season at the 2024 Melbourne Fringe Festival.
Hayley Edwards and Tiny Table Reads’ Shitbag plays at Malthouse Theatre as part of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival 2025 until April 6th.
The Dialog is supported by Union House Theatre.
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