If there is an open mic or festival or stage show in Dunedin, Moir is most likely involved, whether it is in one of her one-woman comedy shows, as an actress or more recently as a producer.
But that is only half of it. Moir is also a popular wedding celebrant, a solo mother of two teenage daughters, MC, podcaster and has faced some significant health challenges.
But for Moir, juggling all these things is just the reality of a career in the arts where each aspect adds up to a “normal’’ full-time job.
“If you’re in the arts you can’t just be the one thing. So yes I do a lot of things and I know it seems hectic. No two days are the same. There’s a lot going on in here,’’ she says pointing to her head.
She has just finished touring her award-winning comedy show Just Eat the Damn Sausage, to begin rehearsals for her solo role in the South Island premiere of Nicola Cheeseman is Back, by Kathryn Burnett (Mike and Virginia and episodes of Under The Vines, Fresh Eggs and My Life is Murder) which was shortlisted for the Adam NZ Play Award in 2023.
Switching from comedian to actor is nothing new. Moir did Every Brilliant Thing with Lara Macgregor and Gregory Cooper last year and felt she rediscovered the acting skills learnt as a young classical singer.
“Everything I’ve done so far hasn’t relied on me having to portray someone too different from myself which has been a blessing. But in saying that, in Nicola Cheeseman, she plays 12 different characters so that’s required more thinking about physicality and how a play is staged.’’
Moir, who learnt singing as a young child, studied to be an opera singer at the University of Auckland in the 1990s and completed a year at the Queensland Conservatorium in Brisbane.
She then moved to Sydney to pursue her career. When she began having voice problems she decided to move to Dunedin to seek help from a singing teacher whose philosophy she loved.
‘‘I’d come to Dunedin a fair bit as a student for singing competitions and stuff and really liked it.’’
She settled in Dunedin 24 years ago and has never left. She married and had two children.
“I’m still here, it’s a very captivating place.’’
Along the way she gave up the dream of being an opera singer.
“I was experiencing those difficulties and I never truly got to the bottom of what they were. It sort of became increasingly apparent that a career in classical singing is very restrictive and I sort of realised I wasn’t cut out for it, I didn’t have a super-thick skin and I liked socialising, friends and people too much to be that disciplined.’’
“There was part of that that was quite hard to let go, I’d sung since I was less than 10 and I couldn’t imagine what was next. I thought I was giving up a career in the arts.’’
But once her children were older she dabbled in musical theatre, often finding herself in the comic or light role.
“I’ve always had an instinct for comedic timing and delivery. I was always the funny friend and one day it just occurred to me that it was a bucket list thing I might like to try.’’
Moir joined up with a friend to put on cabaret show Reinvention of Us at the Dunedin Fringe one year.
“Stuff would happen in the moment and we’d deviate and I realised that was what stand-up was.’’
Back then she thought stand-up was made up on the spot so realising it was more structured than that made her think she could give it a go. So when the Fringe held a comedy competition for newbies she took the plunge.
“I saw it one afternoon for that night and I was like, I’m going to do it and then spent the rest of the afternoon pondering what I was going to say. I even went to a yoga class.’’
She took a friend along and did her four minutes.
“I loved it. I didn’t win, I came third but I found it electrifying but also really natural and comfortable.’’
Moir is aware how rare that is and taking the next step was not easy.
“Rating yourself as funny is quite a big call. And asking people to pay money to appreciate how funny you are — that’s also a big call.’’
She did a diploma in arts management, continued to dabble in comedy, started MCing and became a wedding celebrant.
“None of those did I forsee would accumulate to possibly become my job, but just over the last seven years or so, bit by bit, that is what has transpired.’’
That led to a five-night season at the New Zealand International Comedy Festival in Auckland this year where she was nominated for best newcomer.
“It is sort of notoriously difficult for South Islanders to even get into the comedy fest, so it’s a pretty big achievement and I feel really proud of that.’’
Her newest show Deerstalker was nominated for the comedy award this year at Dunedin Fringe and she is looking forward to touring it like the sausage show.
“I’m in this constant juggle of like one show goes in and then the show goes out and then another show goes in and then that show goes out — it’s been like that quite a lot for the last couple of years.’’
On top of that, about four years ago she developed a voice disorder, leaving her with a strained and broken voice.
“I’d started to build this new career again that relied on my voice and then all of a sudden I got thrown this curveball.
“It’s a pretty massive thing to be faced with for anybody, let alone somebody who works with their voice — I can talk but it’s just really difficult to speak, it’s really effortful so then you become really selective about what you choose to say.’’
It took 18 months to get a diagnosis of spasmodic dysphonia (Robert F Kennedy jun has the same rare condition) so she had begun to prepare herself to have to give up her career.
“So again I was faced with this what am I going to do? Who am I if I can’t speak?’’
She tried Botox injections in her vocal chords, a treatment that works for some sufferers, and luckily it did for her.
“If I don’t get those, I pretty much can’t speak at all.’’
With the injections every three months she has been able to continue her work.
“It just hasn’t stopped, in fact if anything in some ways it’s given me more of a voice. I sort of have this idea that I had to lose my voice to sort of truly find it.’’
“Does it mean they have any less of a voice or a right to share their stories? So hopefully it’s a bit representational for people who may suffer from voice disorders.’’
She has had to be aware of her voice’s limitations, timing work around the Botox injections and using technology when needed. Nicola Cheeseman’s producers Hic Sunt Dracone’s, Kim and Matthew Morgan have been “awesome” about it, she says.
“In a traditional theatre setting I probably wouldn’t be miked but if we think I need it I’m going to have a headset, which is great.’’
Unfortunately, just recently she faced another health issue, being diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.
“I was not expecting that. It has been a bit of a kicker but I’m kind of like there has never been a better time for your pancreas to give up as the treatment is amazing.’’
While she is resilient, she says sometimes it would be nice not to have to be.
“Sometimes you want things to go well for a change.’’
Instead she is throwing herself into the new play.
“I mean other than imposter syndrome, to be gifted a really amazing script, you’re just hoping you are up to the challenge really. It’s such a fun script, it’s really relatable.’’
Moir can definitely relate — she has been through a separation and divorce, her children are nearing leaving home and she has had an elderly parent live with them.
“So age and stage for a start, changing bodies absolutely, the feeling of sacrificing your own happiness and dreams, the life you thought you would have. What happened to that young talented classical singer who was going to go off and conquer the world?’’
A big part of the play is coming to terms with issues like that and where the character is now.
“Is it so bad? Service to others isn’t necessarily a bad thing — while we lose ourselves for a number of years that doesn’t mean you can’t get ourselves back.’’
“I’ve always been an open book, I don’t know why I have very little filter. I’ve always been a sharer and an over-sharer.”
While she likes to think people have come a long way in talking about previously taboo issues, the reaction she gets to some of her work makes her wonder sometimes.
“Especially today with the social media thing being the highlight reel of people’s lives so when someone is on there being open and honest the response is phenomenal, people are desperate to know they are not alone with what they’re going through.’’
She often gets messages from people after her shows identifying with what she has said.
“Just to be able to strike a chord with someone like that is so amazing.’’
All of these experiences have led her to start a women’s empowerment retreat twice a year on Quarantine Island and a podcast series, ‘‘Tell me Moir’’, talking to women about the “real stuff’’.
“So I’m really passionate about women having a voice, taking up space, but also being able to share experiences so we can educate and be informed and empower each other.’’
So while she has faced a lot, having a name for herself has allowed her to “step behind things’’ that mean a lot to her and be a positive role model for her own girls.
“Hopefully everyone will leave having had a really enjoyable evening, a good laugh, feel heard and seen and that just maybe their problems aren’t insurmountable — that there is some fun out there on the other side.’’
Losing her voice again is always at the back of her mind.
“I think about the time I may not be able to access the treatment or the treatment might not work anymore so I do a bit of writing because one day that might be what I have to rely on.’’
TO SEE
Thursday, June 25-Saturday, July 4
Te Whare o Rukutia, 20 Princes St, Central Dunedin
