of laughter and conversation. Between tape measures, nails and
paint pots, you’ll find giant kettles of tea and plates laden with
lamingtons, scones and chocolate biscuits.
Visiting Katie and the coffin club members of Rotorua earlier this
year, Briar discovered the get-togethers are about a lot more than
preparing for your own farewell party. They are a way for people
to connect with others in the community, and confront their own
mortality with both a sense of humour and a sense of control. “The
DIY coffin movement is a bit like the birthing movement of the ’70s,”
she says. “There was a time when people started to wake up to the
idea that women are entitled to have control over their birth. Before
that, everyone just assumed that you go to hospital and get told
what to do, and people came away traumatised by that. Now, we’re
seeing a similar movement of empowerment around death.”Briar found the vitality, humour and irreverence of the coffin club
members utterly infectious. This was bold, unchartered story
terrain, she realised, and a conventional documentary just wasn’t
going to cut it. “So I decided to tell the story as a musical!” she
laughs. Hybrid filmmaking approaches like docu-drama had long
fascinated Briar. “Collaborating with the ‘social actor’ and getting
them to perform in their own way about their situation can really
add another level to someone’s story,” she says. “To me, the genre-
mixing made sense – you’re blending that joyous, celebratory quality
of a musical with something that is considered dark or taboo.”
The short, created as part of Kiwi filmmaking initiative Loading
Docs, opens inside a run-of-the-mill funeral parlour, before the
silver-haired attendees burst into song and dance, popping out
of caskets and singing to the camera. There’s bright red lipstick,
sequinned costumes, bowler hats and spirit fingers. We meet
Raewynne with her Elvis coffin, and Pearl with her chicken design.Raewynne Latemore knows who she wants to be buried with.
She’s stuck a giant Elvis poster to the inside lid of her coffin so
“he can be lying on me for all eternity”. Pearl, on the other hand,
has a thing for poultry. She’s decorated her casket with pictures
of chickens, and wants egg sandwiches to be served at her
wake. Then there’s Robyn, who has sealed into the lining of
her coffin every single love letter shared between her late
husband and herself.
When filmmaker Briar March first came across a news article
about the New Zealand-based ‘coffin club’, she knew instantly
she was onto something interesting. “When I’m looking for a film
idea, I tend to look for things that pop out at me: strong, universal
metaphors and visual motifs that are symbolic in some way,” she
says. “So a coffin – it’s loaded with so much. And then the idea
of people getting together every week to make their own coffins,
I just thought – man, that’s a story!”
The coffin club was the brainchild of Katie Williams, who, having
worked as both a midwife and a palliative care nurse, knew a
thing or two about living and dying. Katie felt that funerals were
too often bland and impersonal affairs, and wondered whether
sending people six feet under in caskets they’d built and decorated
themselves would make the whole occasion a lot more fun. So, she
got a few elderly fellas together and they had a crack at making
their own coffins, working out of a corner in Katie’s garage.
That was almost 10 years ago. The Rotorua coffin club has since
expanded to the local hall, and has 60 active members. The idea
spread, and similar clubs began to spring up in towns all over
New Zealand. Now, every week, seniors get together in halls
and community centres to literally prepare to die. Amidst the
hammering and sawing, you’ll hear music blaring and a buzz
across new zealand, rebellious seniors
gather each week to make their own caskets,
eat cake and laugh death in the face.
WORDSSUZI TAYLORthe coffin club
our project