I’ve recently spent time on three different projects, all of which – in different ways – tell a story about stories. One is a project I spent a day on; one has finished; the other is still on-going. All have revolved to some extent around a deep analysis of story and of the hope found within them.
Over the course of three blogs I’ll look in each case at what story is for, how the makers’ politics are informing it, and where that’s taking me in my own writing, as I try and get a bit closer to what playwright Simon Stephens refers to as ‘your own writer’s myth’.
On residency in Woolacombe with Theatre Rush
‘Organising principle’ is a useful phrase I learned from a mentor many moons ago referring to the dominant element, the glowing star at the heart of your creative endeavour which seems to exercise a gravitational pull on everything else.
It might be a question, a character, an idea, an argument, a location, an object, a metaphor, a phrase, a particular vision of the world – but it’s usually what’s helping you make the most effective dramaturgical choices about everything else in the play, so the whole thing can clearly communicate a particular sort of experience to your audience.
The first of the projects I’m focusing on is The Lost Tales of Devon by Theatre Rush, which is being supported by rural touring producer Beaford Arts. I’ve been working with the company as dramaturg on behalf of Beaford since August 2014, with a joint focus on developing this particular show and the company’s process overall.
Since beginning life as a poetic but madcap storytelling piece, where three characters from the fictitious ‘Story Exchange’ along with their trustworthy mobile story-cart Geraldine share tales from around Devon for the sheer joy of it, it’s now been teased apart, re-jigged, re-written, re-cast, beefed-up and transformed into something deeper, richer and more layered – without losing any of that original joy.
The development process was originally spearheaded by Beaford, who wanted to explore research and development processes for companies making work for rural audiences by embedding them within local Devon communities – among them so far the villages of Petrockstowe, Morthoe and Woolacombe – so that they can build greater cohesion between the tour bookers, and the companies who are making work specifically for their community spaces. It’s a stronger story to tell about how they produce work, and also produces stronger stories to perform back to the community.
The narrative premise of The Lost Tales of Devon is the Story Exchange’s vital work: to preserve the telling of stories across Devon and ensure a healthy story ecology for all its residents. At the beginning of each performance however, when viewed through the Story Exchange’s enhanced story-scope instruments, the ecology of the village hall they’re in is less than healthy.
It’s then up to them and the audience before the show is finished to revive the exchanging of stories, and save the village from certain story apocalypse. Along the way of course the characters of the Story Exchange must confront their own personal truths, illustrating the conflict between the pursuit of one’s own desired story, and the needs of the greater good – whose stories should come first, and why? What does it mean to put your own story before somebody else’s? And what happens if that story you’re telling yourself about your own life is a lie?
What’s brilliant about Theatre Rush is their sheer devotion to story, from the smallest anecdote shared over a beer in a pub (and they’ve heard plenty on their travels across Devon), to ageless fables about orphaned babies tossed ashore in caskets from sinking vessels.
They pursue four narrative through-lines in their piece: the personal stories of the characters; the group story of the Story Exchange; the stories from the particular village they’re performing in, newly captured in each show via a poetic conceit called ‘The Daily Report’ where local references and characters of note will be deftly folded in to the evening; and the stories from within the county of Devon (past and present) which traverse community boundaries.
That’s a whole lot of story: but what binds these four through-lines is the organising principle of the value of all stories – however small – to help define who we are in the present as individuals, and therefore as communities, and therefore how we’re choosing to construct the future together.
This is also something I’ve seen at the heart of Theatre Rush’s company values – a deep respect for stories, shared moments of joy and vulnerability, a willingness to investigate their own identity through the stories they choose to tell (as individuals and as a company) and an openness in terms of the story of a creative process.
Their philosophy as a company is beginning to shine through in the philosophy of the show’s narrative, and I can’t wait to see how empowered to tell new stories (and re-tell old and forgotten ones) the individuals of Devon communities might feel after watchingThe Lost Tales of Devon. At this unfinished stage, one can already sense that this is work that can have a lasting impact on an audience, its legacy lingering long after the Story Exchange has pushed Geraldine over the horizon and set its sights on the next village on the tour.
Even the impact of the residencies – geography, community, environment, folklore, weather, topography – has seeped its way into the bedrock of the show, into its language and rhythms, its humour and its moments of sincerity. You’d be hard-pressed to spot a moment that you couldn’t connect back to the organising principle of the show, and where it connected with the communities they’ve had hosting them in some way.
People often talk about total theatre as theatre which represents a totality of theatrical languages – music, physicality, language, story, design, script, devising – and it’s often associated with great spectacle too. I’m getting more and more interested in theatre (and writers and writing) that is total theatre because of its totality of values: the way that the dramaturgy of the piece encapsulates the authenticity and truth of the process, the people making it, what they want to communicate and how deeply they’ve thought about their audience. To be able to do that whilst also retaining genuine warmth at the heart of the piece (as someone who is wont to travelling up theoretical navel-gazing side-alleys) is pretty spectacular too.
As a dramaturg but as a writer too I’m learning a lot from Theatre Rush. I’m only just starting to collaborate myself, as a co-writer in other projects, and it’s really difficult – finding shared values and how to pursue them harmoniously is often the hardest part of that process – but perhaps because Theatre Rush collectively live and breathe the joy of story, the company can get on with just making the work. The values beat away as a constant undercurrent: a dramaturgical compass helping to show the way.
What’s the compass inside our own work as writers, and how do we dig inside to find it?
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