By Ayshat Abdurzakova

Why do we hold onto objects? Why do we fill boxes with trinkets, childhood toys and art that seemingly hold zero function to us now but yet we cannot let them go. They remain tucked away in attics, basements and storage baskets to be forgotten until we find ourselves confronted with them again. 

Sometimes it’s not just our stuff we’re left to sort through. How can the perception of an item be altered so profoundly by the lens of bereavement?  

The comedy show BIG STUFF—created, written and performed by married couple and Canadian Comedy Award-winning actors Matt Baram and Toronto Metropolitan University (TMU) alumna Naomi Snieckus—tackles the same dilemma. The performance delves into sentimental keepsakes left behind after the deaths of loved ones and the grief that accompanies them.

After the boxes began to pile up over the years following the deaths of both Baram and Snieckus’ parents, they realized they were managing more than just their “stuff.”

“We had boxes and boxes of all their things to deal with, but also the memories to deal with as well,” said Snieckus. 

In an effort to process their grief and honour their parents, the duo decided to create a comedy show that would highlight the funnier anecdotes associated with these items and the lives of their parents. 

Joy and sadness are often seen as opposing emotions but Baram and Snieckus found they actually go hand-in-hand. 

“I don’t remember the negative stuff as much as I remember the silliness; it’s less haunting that way. It’s more comforting,” said Baram.

Through comedy, Snieckus said she was able to remember the fun surrounding those who have died and put a bigger emphasis on their lives rather than their death. 

BIG STUFF uses many interesting elements to make the viewing experience less of an observation and more interactive. At one point during the show, Baram and Snieckus invite the audience to write about a specific item that holds sentimental value to them and, throughout the play, they allow members of the audience to talk about their item and the connection it has to a loved one. 

The audience members’ stories become infused into the performance and simultaneously create a sense of collective comfort through the idea that they are all bonded by similar experiences.  

“At times, people have the opportunity to tell us many stories and we get to imagine those,” said Baram. “I think that allows people to understand and for us to understand how universal all of this stuff is.” 

Comedy is a straightforward genre. If a joke works, people laugh. After a year of Baram and Snieckus looking for material audiences would resonate with, a simple laugh reassures them that the audience is connecting with what they’re saying. 

They know that death is a difficult topic to find humour in, but it has a lot to do with perspective. Some people like to keep the grief in their hearts and some in their minds—comedy is another way to process that grief. 

“In the funniest times in your life, comedy and tragedy live really close to each other, if you think back to something that was really emotional for you, there was probably something around there that was pretty funny as well,” said Snieckus.

Snieckus told a story from when she was younger where her brother was crying while eating a sandwich. In a non-joking manner, he dabbed his tears with his sandwich. 

She doesn’t remember why he was crying but she does remember the hilarity of his actions. 

Baram, who usually has an inclination to throw items away, said that his wife’s habit of keeping and finding value in almost everything has caused him to reflect more on the little things. The show bridges their two diverging personalities of throwing out and keeping items, but collectively, as a way to celebrate the lives of their loved ones. 

When Baram was younger, he used to sit with his mother while she made needlepoint tapestries and watched her soap operas. He said when the story made her cry, the tears would fall on the fabric she was sewing. Now that he’s older and his mother is no longer here, the tapestries become a memento that brings him back to that time.  

Baram went on to say that these items work like keys, unlocking stories from their lives. 

“We don’t need to tell people to remember the people they’ve lost,” said Baram. “They’re already doing that, but it’s just a nice reminder to look for the humour in the people around them.”