‘I know this show can be uncomfortable,” says Riki Lindhome, sat at her keyboard after a song about pregnancy loss. But if Dead Inside is never cosy viewing, it’s funny, entertaining and emotionally involving to a high degree. Hardened viewers of trauma-comedy, a staple of fringe festivals in recent times, may feel jaded at the prospect of “a one-woman musical comedy about my fertility journey”. Their faith in the form will be wholly refreshed by this American’s beautifully judged hour, chronicling her by turns sad, amusing and gobsmacking efforts to become a mother.
Something about the modesty of the undertaking is key: few autobiographical shows feel less “me, me, me”. Lindhome signs off most of her songs with a demure “that’s it”; the production values (right down to the disembodied hand sticking out of the wings to operate a bubble machine) are unassuming. Our host would, let’s face it, prefer not to be telling this story about frozen embryos, failed IVF, seven surgeries in one year, untimely relationship breakups and being classified as an “undesirable candidate” to adopt a child.
That last story takes the cake, as Lindhome falls foul of her Google presence that includes smutty and sacrilegious songs recorded as part of the duo Garfunkel and Oates. There are more witty, bittersweet numbers here: one parodying Disney princesses (Lindhome was writing an animated movie throughout her pregnancy travails), another asking “will you be my bio-dad?”, and a few tangential but dottily relevant detours into The Sound of Music and female medical history.
A later song compares the surrogate mum Lindhome eventually finds to a “trash bag”, which by this point itself feels sacrilegious – while nailing the sense that surrogacy, like half of a double-act now performing comedy alone, may not be the outcome you wanted, but is better than not doing it at all.
There’s an awareness-raising dimension to the show, too, worn lightly but – with reference to information withheld from Lindhome that might have changed everything – very persuasive. From seeming almost sheepish to claiming your attention, Lindhome’s show soon compels the full engagement of your heart, head and funny bone.
• At Soho theatre, London, until 18 April.
