Dispatches from the Fury Road: Innisfail

The top of the sign in the bar read, “Deja Moo”.

We travelled an hour down the highway to Innisfail for a Sunday night show. The Con Theatre seats around 150 people, and depending on who I spoke to, either the lighting rig or the ceiling was donated by the Sydney Opera House after they finished their latest refurbishments. It’s a cute theatre run by dedicated patrons of the arts. Producing live events in big cities holds many challengers, but when you live in a smaller community, that takes it to a whole new level.

You know when you’re performing in a smaller town. There’s a dead giveaway for the comedian on stage. That’s when someone from the audience says something relatively random, and everyone laughs because they totally understand the reference, often leaving the comic onstage wondering what just happened. This happened to Bonnie Tangey who correctly rode the wave of confusion before returning to what she knew were definitively jokes.

After the show we had an opportunity to chat to the punters, who more often than not, thanked us for not only coming to Innisfail, but also performing to a small audience. I’ve performed to smaller audiences at the Sydney Comedy Store, the premier room in Australia. There’s a misnomer that audiences in the city are packed and pumping. This is not the case. When you have options, it can inspire a level of laziness you never knew you could achieve. I live just down the road from the Belvoir Theatre, and have done so for seven years. Taking into account the Covid lockdown, the amount of theatre shows I’ve seen can be counted on one hand missing two fingers. It is embarrassing to admit. I think about going all the time, on my lounge, legs up, head on a pillow, just before I have a surprise nap.

We were rapt with the audience last night. They’re number and they’re boisterous response.

Afterwards we had a wander down to a local bar for a couple of drinks. I was keen to get out of the motel as my room has the best of intentions, but also inspires visions of Twin Peaks’ Bob waking me in the middle of the night for a journey to the Black Lodge. Sometimes you stay in hotels and your reactions range from “This is lovely” to “This will do”. This room is more, “How many people have died here this week?” It’s a part of the fun when you’re on the road. Hotel lucky dip is a game the whole family can play.

But I digress…

Down at the local pub, we had an opportunity to hang out as a group and spend one final night with Alexandra Hudson and Anirban Dasgupta before they leave the tour. Later I got to talking to the girl behind the bar. It was her last shift before she moves with her partner to Darwin. I’m taking a guess she must have been 20. Maybe 21. I can’t tell these days. Everyone looks young to me, especially when they stand next to me in photos.

“What are you going to do?” I said.

“Don’t know yet,” she replied with a carefree smile.

“What would you like to do?”

“Maybe work the mines. I want to save up money and buy land.”

The Australian dream. Not one I have ever shared. My dreams have always been intangible in the real world.

When she told me she’d spent her whole life in Innisfail, I asked her how her family felt about her moving.

“They’re pretty sad,” she said. “But it’s time for me to go.”

I suddenly felt like I was living in a Don Walker lyric. I watched as some of her peers came in, joking around and ordering drinks. In the corner a couple played the pokies. On the wall to one side hung three funeral programs celebrating the lives of patrons who once sat at the spots I was now leaning against. I wonder how this girl will react to her town when she comes back for her first visit? Just like the narrator in Flame Trees, she’ll be a transformed person returning to a town that lives at its own pace.

Just above the girl is a sign, written in black pen on yellow paper, cut into the shape of a multi-pointed star. It reads “Deja Moo: The feeling you’ve heard this bull before!” The exclamation mark is bigger and thicker than the words, emphasising the point being made.

I could hear Jimmy singing, “Oh, but who needs that sentimental bullshit anyway…”

And I laughed.

No other jokes align the wall. No bon mots. Nothing. Just Deja Moo.

Every town has its stories, and I’d love to know the tale behind that sign being added to the wall for posterity. Then again, the sign probably says all I need to know.

“Do you remember, nothing stopped us on the field in our daaaaaaaaay….”

Justin Hamilton

Innisfail

28th of April, 2024