p. 28 CHRIS RYAN - The Mother Of All Intros

THE MOTHER OF ALL INTROs

By Chris Ryan My Mum has always been, what I understand the young people call, “Extra”. There are two sides to that coin; it is both a source of joy, and exasperation. Yes, I love that she’ll show up unannounced with lamingtons, but not so much cherish her need to Mumsplain to the 15-year-old “Chef” (as she referred to him in the retelling of the story) at the Coffee Club that you never put a paper napkin under a toasted cheese sandwich because the paper will always stick to the cheese.

Anything can happen with Mum in public. She might have to compliment a barista on his hair or she might need to tell a policewoman about her suspicion that her neighbour is probably doing something illegal, certainly annoying. When I called my Mum and asked her to record a voiceover to introduce my new festival show, I should have given her more specifics. All I wanted was the basic back announce: “Good evening everyone, I’m her Mum, please put your hands together for Chris Ryan!” I figured she brought me into this world, she could bring me onto the stage and, since she gets a bit of a mention in the show, it would be nice to give her the mic.

But upon picking her up to take her to the recording session, the first alarm bell rang when Dad asks: “Have you got your notes, Wendy?” “Notes?!” I ask, looking from one parent to the other for some explanation for this excessive prep for such a short spiel. “Yeah, your Mum’s been working hard on an introduction, it’s really good.” Alarm two came when Mum asked: “How does that song Jolene go again?” “Jolene? Why is that important right now?” My brain is already running from a sabretoothed tiger when she follows up with: “I thought I would sing.” “Oh no! Don’t sing. This is just an intro – we don’t need song. What were you thinking of doing?” Then, to the tune of Jolene, Mum sings: “Christine, Christine, Big Hair Big Dreams”, and I’m dead. “Dear God no! We won’t be recording that, Mum. I mean, thanks, but no.” Now I knew it was a risk, taking Mum to a professional recording studio staffed by young people. She loves an audience, does Mum, especially when she can embarrass me in the process. When we arrive at the studio within 90 seconds she says “You have very blue eyes” to Brett, the cameraman, and all of a sudden I’m skirting the wildfire that is Wendy Ryan. “She does this, guys, sorry. Mum, don’t flirt with the crew.”

Mum reads her introduction.

“When Christine was four and we lived in India, she came to me and said, ‘Mum, there’s a snake at the door’ and I said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ But when I opened the door, there was a giant cobra rearing its head and hissing. Later, when Christine was 38, she came to me and said, ‘Mum, I want to do stand-up comedy’ and I said ‘don’t be ridiculous’. “Now welcome to the stage, my very funny and ridiculous daughter, Christine.” The show is nothing to do with India and I don’t want to plant a seed in people’s heads at the start only to have them sit through an hour and go, “Well, why did her Mum mention India in the intro, then?”

I get Mum to redo it. Some days later, over tea and lamingtons that Mum’s brought over, she looks at me, deadpan, and says: “That introduction was no good. You should scrap it.” Chris Ryan’s show Big Hair, Big Dreams is at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival from 6-18 April. 1 April - Chris Ryan’s Trial Show, Smith’s Alternative.

23 April - Club Sandwich Comedy, Tuggeranong Arts Centre

24 April - Belco Speakeasy Comedy feat. Sarah Gaul, Flazeda Alternate Performing Arts Hub