We sat down for an exclusive interview with Bruna Longo, writer and co-director of ‘Whale Fall or Song to Dance With My Death’, a meditation on mortality blending autobiography, anthropology, philosophy, and theatre.
This show runs from 10th-27th August at the Edinburgh Fringe – Tickets here
- Why do you think capitalist Western societies struggle to talk about death?
There’s a surprisingly simple answer to that: after the Industrial Revolution, healthcare improved dramatically, and more people gained access to hospitals and medical treatment. That’s obviously a very positive development, but also changed our relationship with death. People started dying in very sterile, clinical environments, instead of at home. Death became scientific and medicalized rather than familiar and known. We also developed ways to prolong life, to delay death. The unintended consequence is that many of us have become unfamiliar with death. I talk about Western capitalist societies because it’s the specific context I know best, coming from a big metropolis. In more rural communities, even in highly industrialized countries, you can still find places where people die at home and where death remains a more familiar part of life.
2. Do you think there are, or can be, benefits to taboos?
I think there are different reasons why things become taboo, and it’s important to distinguish between them. Certain sexual taboos, for example, especially those involving children, animals, or other vulnerable people, serve an important social function and exist to protect vulnerable people and establish necessary ethical boundaries. In that sense, they’re useful. But other taboos develop because we struggle to face certain realities. They don’t necessarily protect us, they only keep us from discomfort, fear, or uncertainty. So I think there are benefits from certain taboos that exist to safeguard people, while others exist because there are things we find difficult to confront. Death, for me, belongs to that second category.
3. How do you think modern technology has shaped our understanding of death?
I believe it changed how we remember and grieve. More than at any other point in history, we can keep people we’ve lost present in our lives through photos, videos, and their continued presence on social media, which is a strange, new phenomenon. We’ve also seen new rituals emerge in the post-pandemic world, like online wakes and memorials. In some ways, technology helps us feel closer to people we’ve lost. I’m wary of the more “Frankensteinian” side, like using AI to recreate people. There’s a fine line between remembering someone and trying to conquer death. Since I have a show about Mary Shelley, this hits close to home. We’re still figuring out the ethics, but I worry these artificial recreations might actually complicate our grieving process.
4. How do you effectively dramatise a personal script like this in terms of movement and other performance techniques?
For me, the answer is to treat the material like any other piece of fiction, as if it weren’t about me at all. At the end of the day, it really isn’t, it is simply the starting point. My creative process doesn’t actually change that much. My previous show was about Frankenstein, and in many ways I worked the same way: creating physical and textual material, and weaving those elements together, trying to make a kind of quilt that makes dramaturgical sense, even if the structure isn’t linear. One important difference in this process is that, because the piece begins with personal material, I chose to work with a co-director. I felt it helped anchor the work in how it communicates with the audience, and not letting it become self-centered.
5. What role do you think supernatural spirits and ghosts have or might have in our relationship with death?
What we believe shapes our relationship to death, for sure. For some people, the idea that consciousness continues after death can be comforting. If you’re a spiritualist and believe it’s possible to communicate with the dead, I can imagine that makes death less frightening because it suggests there’s something beyond it. I envy that. I don’t personally believe that we become ghosts who linger around. In my case, I’m not particularly preoccupied with what happens after we die. I think about the world in physical terms: matter and energy are constantly transformed, and nothing truly disappears, we just become part of the ongoing material reality of the planet. So, dying for me feels more finite on a personal, individual level, and that’s what anguishes me about it.
6. In an ideal world, what social or political impact do you think changing our relationship with death and the dead might have?
I think developing a healthier, gentler relationship with death would have a significant impact on our mental health. I think it’s possible to arrive at the moment of death with a little more peace and acceptance. At least, that’s what I hope for myself. Accepting the fact that we are going to die and we are going to lose those we love and talking about it openly can profoundly change the way we live. It can make us more present, attentive to what matters. Learning how to die may also help us learn how to live. With ourselves and others. I firmly believe that only mentally healthy individuals can bring positive political and societal change. It’s about trading fear for presence.