One Day Moko

We’ve all met people like Moko. They are the homeless guys who sing for their supper, the ones always ready with a quip, a joke, a "have a good night, mate". They are the ones that make you wonder: why are they sleeping rough?

This charismatic one-person show, inspired by interviews with people living on the streets, gives the briefest of answers. Moko’s mental health issues only fleetingly fleck proceedings, violently bursting through mid-story or song. Instead, One Day Moko is much more concerned with entertaining you.

It is an unexpected, and not unwelcome, move for a show about homelessness. There are more giggles than grit on show. Moko sings songs, takes requests from the audience, casts some of the crowd as bouncers and the police, tells tales. It is, however, subtly undercut as the anecdotes and chirpy responses start repeating themselves. Only a thin veneer of rehearsed patter protects Moko (played with dried-spittle charm by Tim Carlsen) from the awfulness of his situation. Like a destitute Greek chorus, he tells the stories of the people he witnesses from his various doorways, the desperate breakups at taxi ranks, the lonely lunch hours. The lives of others are more of a home than his cardboard box.

Playing Moko as this curious mix of entertainer and bard of the street gives One Day Moko a lightness that is enjoyable but, given the subject matter, weirdly lightweight. There’s no comforting conclusion, however. When we leave, Moko is there, at our feet. We have to walk past him to get to the exit. Just as we’ve all met a Moko, we’ve all left him behind too.