Vigil (Steve Vizard, Joe Chindamo)

On paper, Vigil really shouldn't work. It attempts to weave a brisk hour of cabaret from a torturous tangle of emotional threads - guilt, bravado, heartbreak. It seeks to communicate the wrought yet delicate complexities of grief through a blunt, larrikin, true blue brand of wise-cracking comedy. It offers a flawed, self-centred protagonist, bordering on unlikable, and expects us to open our hearts to her. This is a show that shouldn't work. But it does. Spectacularly so.

And not in spite of these potential pitfalls, but because of them. Steve Vizard and Joe Chindamo's whip-smart, touching, strikingly true window on the confronting reality of losing a parent doesn't slather on the poetic sentimentality that Hollywood taps when an intimate loss looms close. Vigil is often crass, undignified, unresolved and inappropriate, because a life of experiences condensed into a single moment of intense, indefinable feeling defies neat, convenient explanation.

Artistically speaking, the most remarkable achievement of this show is how complimentary the contributions of its two creators are; there's never a sense that either has had to compromise or step back to accommodate the other's demands. It's hardly a surprise that Fast Forward's Vizard is a dab hand at comedy, but the calibre of his wordsmithery, articulating a shifting, dynamic story through agile rhymes and playful syntax, reveals the expert level of skill he possesses as a writer. Chindamo's score - performed faultlessly by the composer, violinist Zoe Black and cellist Molly Kadarauch - is inviting, accessible and a generous vehicle for Vizard's storytelling. Hopscotching across a range of familiar styles, it keeps this show anchored to the history of cabaret while allowing it reach far beyond the expectations of that form.

But Vigil - if you'll pardon the pun - lives or dies by the strength of its solitary performer, and there could hardly be a more accomplished, dazzling and utterly captivating talent to helm this production than Christie Whelan Browne. Under the direction of Andy Packer, she effortlessly negotiates the nuances of Liz, a wayward and wandering prodigal daughter, as she attempts to meet the gaze of her mother's final moments while barely restraining the melee of memories, resentments, and regrets churning within her. It's Christmas Eve - a time for coming together and reminiscing. But it's also a time when the ways we have failed our family are thrown into stark relief and our personal wants appear most heartless.

This is no tome of doom and gloom, however. A bombastic barbecue patter number, with more sexy meat puns than you can shake a snag at, a lolloping ode to funeral fashion, and a glut of inspired zingers - one sequence about ordering a pill box is especially rib-tickling - cram a surprising number of belly laughs into this evening of song and sorrow. They reveal the imperfections in Liz's character, and in doing so make her all the more endearing. And her eventual loss all the more crushing.

Musical theatre purists may find Vigil a little light on earworms, and while Wheelan Browne's voice is certainly put through its paces, there are few moments where she's really allowed to show off the full power she's capable of. Likewise, there are some corners of the story that stray a little too close to the realm of soap opera, and ultimately these side plots add little to the emotional makeup of the production as a whole. But it's hard to criticise a show that has such a universally potent power to move as this one. Vigil tells a story that cannot fail to resonate, no matter where you're from or who you are; in the words of Mitch Albom, "Death is the great equalizer, the one big thing that can finally make strangers shed a tear for one another."

Vigil plays till 8 Jul at Arts Centre Melbourne.