By Eleanore Arnold-Moore

Written and performed from the bedroom that is her life, Sarah McInnes’ Snooze VR offered a hard-hitting, intimate, and resonant introspection of living with invisible chronic illnesses.  The latest show by Triple threat and Australian Shakespeare Company alumni McInnes was filmed between flares over the course of a month. Funded by Radical Access and directed by Emily Paddon-Brown, “the chronic fatigue syndrome cabaret” was absolutely worth the spoons.  The show aired as part of the Melbourne Fringe Festival, presented in both pop-up VR cinema and online streaming sessions from the 8th to the 22nd of October. The sessions in person each had varying accessibility accommodations, including Auslan interpretation, N95 mask requirements for those who are immunocompromised, or relaxed performances without over-stimulating light and sound effects or traditional theatre expectations for behaviour. All sessions came with the option of audio description and the act could be paused at any time by individuals on their VR headsets.  Furthermore, McInnes provided a detailed document on the accessibility of the function spaces and the above accommodations: centring disabled experiences even at the cost of her limited energy.

But this is no surprise coming from the spoonie, invisible illness advocate and “warrior”, diagnosed with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (ME/CFS), Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), spondyloarthritis, and endometriosis. Like many of us, the comedian, writer, musical theatre performer, Swinburne and University of Melbourne alumnus has faced her share of ableism, and greater accessibility is just one of the many ways she is working to dismantle it. 

The narrative itself rummaged through the bedsheets of a disabled life, airing grievances and gratifications like pillowcases on a clothesline. McInnes delved into the endless cycles of symptoms and treatments for co-morbid conditions, the tunnelling of self-reflection, and the freedom of mobility aids. 

The medium of 360 VR not only generated an immersive theatre experience, re-creatable at home, but captured the personal and often solitary nature of experiencing chronic illnesses. The individualised headsets reenacted the one-on-one conversations that form a spoonie’s life; like one of the countless doctor’s appointments or re-articulations of symptoms to friends, you felt the isolation and monotony they wake up to every morning—at least for a moment. 

Similarly, the imperfections in McInnes’ dialogue, born from brain fog and fatigue, showed the real effects of these conditions. Individuals, trained to perform, can still struggle to articulate the occurrences of their everyday, the symptoms they’ve had to describe time and time again. Not even a script can counter the impacts of chronic illnesses. 

With only a couple spoonsful of music and comedy, the cabaret neither downplayed or ridiculed life with ME/CFS, presenting it as neither inspiration porn or a sob-story for able-bodied audiences to contemplate and then forget. Instead, it took spoonies by the hand to a soft but honest space, pulling none of its punches at the ableism contaminating our society. It is an autobiography that few have the energy or nerve to unveil. 

As someone with ME/CFS, Snooze VR pulled back the bed curtains and explained my life, so I no longer had to. I hope every disabled experience can have the same recognition.