As he puts it himself, Willa White is an open book. Nothing is off the table for discussion when I meet the comedian and actor to hear about his new show, which is just as well, as there is a lot to talk about.
He begins by giving a matter-of-fact potted history of his life: originally from Ballymun, he became addicted to drugs, went to London at 16, ended up in a psychiatric hospital, was extradited in 1997, went to prison, got out of prison in 2001, lived with his sister, bought a house in Laytown, had kids, split with his partner of 22 years, went into recovery and eventually beat his addiction.
Much more has happened between the major plot points of White’s life, of course, much of it documented in his stand-up. But adding nuance and context to his story was part of the reason why he agreed to take part in The Examination, his collaboration with Brokentalkers theatre company, which is about to open for a new run.
The play was originally intended as a one-man show, but in development it became a two-hander, with White illustrating the mental toll that prison life takes, opposite Gary Keegan of Brokentalkers, who had previously been the victim of a mugging in London.
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“So Gary talked about the difficulties he’s faced as an ex-victim of crime, and I spoke about what it was like for me as an ex-criminal, and we read extracts from people that were doing life in prison. There’s stuff about me being in psychiatric hospitals, and there’s also statements from Cesare Lombroso, who was an old criminologist, talking about what he thinks the ‘born criminal’ looks like. With the graphic and the music, it just became this amazing, powerful piece of theatre.”
White smiles as he recalls winning the best-performer award at Dublin Fringe Festival after The Examination’s initial run, in 2019.
“It’s probably the only thing I ever won in my life,” he says, laughing. “I was blown away when I got it, because I didn’t see myself as an actor. I was looking at all these other people doing things in the fringe festival, and I suppose it’s stuff that I carried from being a kid: feeling ‘less than’ and carrying that impostor syndrome.” He shrugs. “But people seemed to like it, and we started travelling with it.”
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There have been some other changes in White’s life since The Examination premiered, most notably the death of his mother, last year, which left him as the sole surviving member of his family. (His sister, whom he describes as his lighthouse, died in 2010, followed by his father in 2015.)
The difference between the White of 25 years ago and now is that he is not afraid to get emotional about the tragedies in his life. He wells up with tears several times during our hour-long conversation, in which he is unfailingly honest about his difficult childhood – there was “no love and affection in our home”, he says.
Although White had repaired his relationship with his father before he died, he recognises now that his sense of humour was a defence strategy.
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“I was always witty, and I suppose that was probably just a coping mechanism for what was going on at home,” he says. “It was an escape for me, to be funny and to put on a mask, to pretend that everything was all right behind the door of the flat where I lived in Ballymun. But it was a facade.”
That White has a granddaughter who is now seven brings home to him the full horror of having begun abusing solvents when he was her age.
“It was very young,” he says. “But I was brought up in an area where a lot of kids suffered with childhood trauma, whether it was mental or physical or sexual abuse. A lot of kids didn’t have an awful lot, and drugs were a great escape for kids like that. I know for me, I found solace in it. It removed all the stuff that a seven-year-old kid should not have in their life: fear, stress, anger, resentment, hurt.”
White graduated to harder drugs, including heroin, and his addiction led to his first stay, at 19, in a psychiatric hospital; he tried to take his own life. It has only been through his recovery – he is now 24 years clean and sober, he says with pride – that he has been able to recognise the generational trauma that his father and grandfather passed down to him, the cycle of which he has managed to break before it reached his own children. His drug addiction consumed his teenage years and most of his 20s.
“The using got worse, and I didn’t know how to deal with what had happened as a kid,” he says. “Feelings would come up, and I’d take drugs to suppress them and push them back down. I was up and down all the time.”
It’s definitely been therapeutic. It’s been dark as well. It’s kicked up a lot of stuff for me. But I’ve done so much work on myself, and I’m in a much better place in my life to be able to let people know, ‘Yeah, this is the way that my life was all those years ago’
His life took a turn for the better when he encountered his fellow comedian Des Bishop.
“I know Des won’t mind me saying this, but I was going to an NA [Narcotics Anonymous] meeting in prison, and Des was doing the chair, so I met him when I got out, and used to see him every now and again,” he says. “I was doing an auction at a convention, and I was having a bit of craic and being funny, and people were laughing. And Des said to me, ‘You’re very funny: have you ever thought of doing stand-up?‘”
White was reluctant to take part in Bishop’s initial idea of a programme about him embarking on the path to stand-up comedy after being released from prison. “I didn’t want to be branded as the ‘ex-prisoner, ex-drug-addict comedian’,” he says. “I was working at the stage, I had a kid, and I didn’t want to be going, ‘Look at me.’ That was 18 years ago. But I said, ‘If anything else ever comes up, I’d love to do it’.”
White eventually got his big break on Bishop’s TV show Joy in the Hood, on which he went into disadvantaged areas, including Ballymun, and did workshops with people from the area.
White’s comedy career has been a saving grace in his life, although he recognises that he remains a work in progress. He speaks candidly about his mental health crumbling following the death of his father, when he “disconnected from people” and seriously entertained suicidal notions again. For that reason, he says, it has been cathartic to share some of his story in a raw show such as The Examination.
“It’s definitely been therapeutic,” he says. “It’s been dark as well. It’s kicked up a lot of stuff for me. But I’ve done so much work on myself, and I’m in a much better place in my life to be able to let people know, ‘Yeah, this is the way that my life was all those years ago.’ Twenty-four years can seem like a lifetime to a lot of people, but I’m in a completely different space now.
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“And we’re not looking to change people’s minds; we’re just looking for people to maybe think twice when they’re walking past a prison, because we’re not animals. Regardless [of whether] some people have a PlayStation in their cell, at half-seven at night your door shuts and you don’t see the people that you love. One of the lines in the play is, ‘Some people think it’s a holiday camp,’ but I don’t know any holiday camp where they lock you up at half-seven at night. So it’s an amazing piece of theatre, and I’ve been blessed to be part of it.”
There is often comedy to be found in tragedy, which is why White reckons people like his comedic style.
“I talk sometimes about the tragedies in my life and put a funny twist on them,” he says. “I think my comedy gives people an understanding of me and an understanding of addiction, and hopefully it gives them an understanding that they themselves, as human beings, are capable of doing anything they really put their mind to. I’m a prime example of that, that change is possible.”
He sighs, allowing himself a smile. “Look, I’m happy with the person that I am today. My past has made me who I am.”
The Examination is at the Ambassador Theatre, Dublin, from Thursday, April 17th, to Saturday, April 19th
