"I started the donation process back in August 2021 part-way through lockdown after clicking on a Facebook ad from an IVF clinic," James tells me. "It’s something I had contemplated but never thought too seriously about until then. The process was surprising, amusing and awkward so naturally it was the perfect fodder for a cabaret. It inevitably reignited some of the existential terror that passes in and out of my consciousness on a regular basis, which is probably common for a lot of our generation."
The experience presented an internal enquiry about what family means and the pressure and responsibility that comes with bringing someone into this world. "As a queer man, sperm donation is one of those throw away things people say is your only way of contributing to a heteronormative society, which is not something I’m consciously aware of wanting, but I was interested in interrogating it," James explains. "I’d hoped I was helping other queer couples who wouldn’t have been able to conceive, but I don’t know that for certain."
"It does open up some tricky questions and not just for queer people, but also for anyone considering either donating or having kids of their own … Why? Why not? Why are we reproducing? Who is it for? Is it ethical? Are future generations just going to end up shrivelling into crispy toasted flesh-lumps on the hellscape of a climate-doomed future? What makes life worth inflicting on others? Are there better things we can be spending our time focusing on instead of creating new life? What about building equity for the billions of lives that already exist? It’s a show where I put myself on trial for the crime of potentials, and asks the audience to decide whether or not I’m guilty. It’s vulnerable but with a meaty heart that has resonated with people and stimulated some pretty juicy conversation!”
James had a development season of the work during Midsumma Festival earlier this year and is excited to return to it and continue the dialogue around reproduction and sexuality, even if it means revealing a deeper personal side to friends and strangers. "I love performing Spunk Daddy immensely. It’s a fun thing to whirl around the stage and tell this story through song and comedy. I enjoy the buzz of questions and conversations from audiences afterwards, and bringing it to a fresh crowd each night feels like a gift," he says. "We had an overwhelming response from the development. I would go to parties where friends had told their friends about it and they would say, “Oh you’re THAT guy,” and ask when am I putting it on again? It can be a bit embarrassing because this is something very intimate and bodily-fluidy which is not ideal party-chat. It is tricky balancing the part of me that wants to keep my personal life private versus the writer in me that wants to delve into the gritty hard-hitting truth of a lived experience and ‘exploit’ the more vulnerable parts of myself for a good show. I think when many people hear the title Spunk Daddy, they assume it is going to be crass and stanky, but it’s more cerebral than people expect and ends up packing a punch right in the heart, which is fun! I’m fascinated by shame, stigma and taboo, so I suppose I’m always going to feel exposed throughout my practice as an artist."
Under Victoria law, all people conceived in the state from sperm donation have the legal right to know their donor's identity once they turn 18, and while a study found that at least half of those who had donated sperm were in favour of their offspring being able to know their identity, it is something that James hopes people will reassess before putting their little ones to work. "I think this should be a deterrent to the people who would donate reproductive cells without scrutinising the weight of the potential outcome: brand new life. It’s not a decision to be made lightly, and a lot of the steps in the donation process are there to filter out any kind of flippancy," James explains. "Laws in Victoria are more robust than some places, and in favour of the rights of donor-conceived children, which is good, although there can always be improvements. How would I feel if a donor-conceived child ever contacted me? It’s complex and something I grapple with in the show."
"But even after making Spunk Daddy, the same questions are there. What I’m asking is basically unanswerable: is life worth it?" James asks. "For all the suffering we go through, all the resources we chew up, were my parents wrong to have had me? Does it matter what impact we have as a species? Where does the cycle of procreation end, and should it? It’s this horrible loop, or spiral of philosophical confusion that I just have to snap out of and say: okay, where am I right now, what decisions have I made right now? Forget the hypotheticals for a moment."
FRINGE FIVE FAST ONES
1) My favourite meal is Soup of the Day, simple yet effective.
2) A tv show I would like to be cast in is Severance because I’d like to bop to some defiant jazz. But literally anything Olivia Coleman, Billie Piper, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Michaela Coel or Lucy Prebble are involved in. Us gays have our divas and they are mine.
3) A little known skill I have is drinking instant coffee and liking it.
4) My proudest professional moment is getting my first grant application approved. I wept rivers.
5) Happiness is a hot bath on a rainy day, with a bowl of cauliflower nuggets and chipotle aioli.
Show Details
Venue: The Butterfly Club, 5 Carson Place, Melbourne
Season: 16 - 22 October | 8:30pm
Duration: 60 minutes
Tickets: $37 Full | $33 Concession
Bookings: The Butterfly Club or Melbourne Fringe Festival
Image credit: Liv Morison
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