An Oak Tree Read online

  UMASS, Amherst, USA 2010: Marcus Gardley, Milan Dragicevich, Julie Nelson.

  Bios, Athens, Greece, 2011: Yota Argyropoulou, Yannis Sarakatsanis.

  Bangkok, Thailand, 2012: Pattarasuda Bua Anuman Rajadhon, Nophand Boonyai.

  Dublin, 2012: Nyree Yergainharsian

  A NOTE FROM Andy Smith

  Introduction

  Hello. In your hand you are holding a play called An Oak Tree. It’s by Tim Crouch. You are about to see it, or read it. Perhaps you have just watched it, or perhaps you saw it some time ago. Whichever it is, thanks for coming, or for showing an interest in the book and picking it up and taking a look. Welcome.

  You can often find a bit of writing like this published with the text of a play. Sometimes it is referred to as the programme note. Its intention is to perhaps provide you the reader or audience member with some pearl of wisdom: supply a key that unlocks just a little of what you are about to see/read/have just seen/have just read/might just read/might buy/might put back on the bookshelf of the shop/other (delete where applicable). It might be that the note gives you the reader or audience member an outline of the story. Or maybe it gives some background information about the rehearsal processes, or the themes and form of the piece. It might even make reference to a significant incident in the life of the writer that has moved them to write it, or write in general. It may give you some ideas about what they wanted to say with this particular play. You may have realised by now that this may not be one of those programme notes. Of course, having not finished it, I don’t know either.

  Information

  I’m really glad I got the job of writing it, though. When I go and see plays and performances I always love reading these things. The anticipation! I sit there, waiting for the play to begin, attempting to absorb quickly all the stuff that I have mentioned. And sometimes afterwards I re-read the programme, and think about it in relation to what I have seen. It’s so great to get an opportunity to write one!

  You will have noticed, though, that I am having a bit of trouble with it. My problem is that I don’t want to be presumptuous or complicated, and I don’t want to reveal too much. I‘m also getting distracted thinking about the other interesting information that is in this book too. Perhaps on the page before or after this there’s a list of characters, or some biographies of the people who worked on the play. There’s probably a list of thanks, those pages are so great to read too! If there’s only a minute to go before the play begins, please don’t think it would offend me if you want to look at those first. If you do, I’ll just say thanks for reading this bit to here, and I hope you enjoy An Oak Tree.

  Perhaps you’ve stuck with me (cheers!), or come back to carry on reading this afterwards (welcome back! What was the performance like tonight? Good, I hope). Perhaps you are reading the play now, some years after it happened. I am thinking about you too, standing there in a bookshop or library reading this introduction, trying to get an idea about what it’s about and maybe even thinking about buying (or borrowing) it. Go on! You might have a great time, if reading plays is your thing.

  No lines

  I am aware that you may be very dissatisfied with this programme note. ‘It’s not really telling me anything,’ you might be thinking (or even remarking to your neighbour). I think it’s a great privilege to be able to go and see plays and read about them in the programme note, but I just don’t want to get into writing any of that problematic stuff about what the work means, does, or why it exists. I think that you are probably able to work that out by yourselves. So I am going to take this opportunity to tell you a story I have just remembered.

  During a conversation about An Oak Tree in Germany1, Tim Crouch said something about what he might have been thinking about when he was writing it. He said (and I am very aware that I may be paraphrasing him) that he wanted to think about a critical situation where he, or a character, might feel like they are performing in a play without a text, in scenes where they did not know the lines. At the time this seemed like an important thing, and it feels that for the purposes of this programme note it could be interesting to share it with you. I certainly think that it relates to the story that you are about to read/see (has the performance still not begun? what are they doing?). It also, I think, relates very strongly to the way the story is told.

  You see, when we make and watch and talk about theatre we can have all sorts of conversations about the phenomena of it: about the live qualities of theatre, how it happens right in front of you, how we can move through space and time in different ways. We can talk about the reality of the theatre, about the truth of it, and how as well as being very real and here and now there might not be anything real at all here. For example, in this particular play you’ll find a line I really like which talks about how you have all gone home, but you’re actually still there! It’s fascinating. Oh no! I said I didn’t want to get into the problematic stuff!

  But seeing as we have, before I go, what I would like to say is this: what I really hope is that plenty of these thoughts and conversations (and more) can be found in this play called An Oak Tree, and also that we can and should have them. Even more, though, I just want to say that I hope that you enjoy seeing or reading it. Thanks.

  Andy Smith, August 2005

  1

  I don’t know if it is important that you know we were in Germany, but it certainly sounds impressive. Also, I love footnotes. They always seem to lend an importance to a piece of writing, even when they don’t particularly say anything!

  EXCERPTS FROM…

  an oak tree

  1973

  objects, water, and text

  Collection: National Gallery Of Australia

  By Michael Craig-Martin

  (There is a glass of water on a shelf. This is an oak tree, a work made by british artist michael craig-martin in 1973. Beside the glass of water there is a text:)

  Excerpt 1

  Q.

  To begin with, could you describe this work?

  A.

  Yes, of course. What I’ve done is change a glass of water into a full-grown oak tree without altering the accidents of the glass of water.

  Q.

  The accidents?

  A.

  Yes. The colour, feel, weight, size…

  Q.

  Do you mean that the glass of water is a symbol of an oak tree?

  A.

  No. It’s not a symbol. I’ve changed the physical substance of the glass of water into that of an oak tree.

  Q.

  It looks like a glass of water.

  A.

  Of course it does. I didn’t change its appearance. But it’s not a glass of water, it’s an oak tree.

  Excerpt 2

  Q.

  Do you consider that changing the glass of water into an oak tree constitutes an art work?

  A.

  Yes.

  Q.

  What precisely is the art work? The glass of water?

  A.

  There is no glass of water anymore.

  Q.

  The process of change?

  A.

  There is no process involved in the change.

  Q.

  The oak tree?

  A:

  Yes. The oak tree.

  Q:

  But the oak tree only exists in the mind.

  A:

  No. The actual oak tree is physically present but in the form of the glass of water.

  (Reproduced by kind permission of Michael Craig-Martin)

  to Pam and Colin

  ‘The distinction between fact and fiction is a late acquisition of rational thought – unknown to the unconscious, and largely ignored by the emotions.’

  Arthur Koestler

  Notes for the second actor

  (Given to anyone who may be considering taking part in a performance.)

  An Oak Tree is a two hander. It’s a bit over an hour long. I’m the author and one of the actors. As the second actor, you would
walk on stage with me at the start with no knowledge of the play you’re about to be in. There is a different second actor in each and every performance of An Oak Tree. No one ever does it twice. This device intricately and importantly supports the play’s fictional story.

  As the second actor in performance, you would never be asked to generate words of your own. Everything you say in the play (and everything I say in the play) has been carefully scripted. You would, however, be asked to be ‘open’. (I say the play IS improvised, it’s just not improvised with words!) This is a different kind of ‘play’. Your performance (with words) would be given to you through a variety of devices: by direct and very simple instructions, by me speaking to you through an earpiece, by reading from pieces of script. There is no casting criteria in any traditional sense. All we ask is that you must have neither seen nor read the play, that you’re happy (and confident) to sightread, happy to wear an iPod-style ear piece, happy to allow the play to pass through you and be open to it and your instinct. There is never any pressure on you to be ‘perfect’; you can do nothing wrong. There’s no preparation, no costume, no lines to learn. The second actor can be male or female, and of any adult age.

  If you’re up for it, then we would meet an hour before the performance. We’d talk through some ideas behind the play and I’d answer any questions. We’d then test levels on a microphone and practise with a separate bit of script to get a sense of sightreading in the space. I then do the rest – guiding you through an hour or so of theatre in which you carry the main fictional narrative. Much of our work in rehearsal has been about making the second actor’s experience feel completely supported and successful; there is no element of cruelty or parody whatsoever in this approach. Each actor who has been in An Oak Tree has spoken of a sense of liberation in the process.

  One caution is that the story of An Oak Tree concerns the loss of a child; if this experience is personally close then we would advise against you getting involved.

  If you have any questions, please get in touch with me. In the meantime, don’t read the play...

  Thanks.

  Tim Crouch

  Notes

  Eight chairs, stacked at the sides of the stage. One piano stool in the middle of the stage.

  One handheld wireless microphone. Bold print indicates amplified speech through the microphone.

  An onstage sound system and speakers.

  HYPNOTIST. FATHER.

  HYPNOTIST in silver waistcoat, cape, etc. FATHER in whatever everyday clothes the actor chooses to wear.

  The actor playing the FATHER (the second actor) can be either male or female, and of any adult age. They will be completely unrehearsed in their role, and will walk on stage at the beginning with no knowledge of the play they are about to be in.

  At times, the second actor will wear iPhone/iPod headphones connected to a wireless receiver – this enables the HYPNOTIST to speak to the second actor through a microphone without the audience hearing. This script contains examples of instructions to be given by the HYPNOTIST to the second actor. They are given as guidelines, but detailed attention must be given to these instructions to ensure a constant feeling of support and success for the second actor.

  Sections of script are prepared on clip boards. At times, the second actor (and sometimes the HYPNOTIST) will read from these scripts.

  The Bach referred to in this script is the Aria from the Goldberg Variations. It is a flawed rendition: faltering but ambitious, failing to resolve until the very end of the play when it moves into the First Variation.

  Prologue

  The actor playing the FATHER is sitting in the audience. The HYPNOTIST walks on stage.

  HYPNOTIST:

  Ladies and gentlemen. Good evening/afternoon. My name is (the name of the actor playing the HYPNOTIST). Welcome to (the name of the venue).

  Would you come up and stand here, please?

  The HYPNOTIST invites the second actor out of their seat in the audience and onto the stage.

  Ladies and gentlemen. This is X (the name of the second actor). X will be performing in the play this evening. X has neither seen nor read it.

  X and I met up about an hour ago. I have given him/her a number of suggestions. I’ve suggested that they enjoy themselves!

  But the story is as new to X as it is to you.

  Scene 1

  The HYPNOTIST hands the FATHER a page of script: ‘Could we just read this together you and me?’ The second actor reads the part of the FATHER from the script.

  HYPNOTIST:

  Hello!

  FATHER:

  Hello!

  HYPNOTIST:

  Thanks for this.

  FATHER:

  It’s a pleasure!

  HYPNOTIST:

  You hope!

  FATHER:

  Yes!

  Pause.

  HYPNOTIST:

  How are you feeling?

  FATHER:

  Okay.

  HYPNOTIST:

  Nervous?

  FATHER:

  A little.

  HYPNOTIST:

  It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.

  FATHER:

  I’m sure.

  HYPNOTIST:

  Any questions before we start?

  FATHER:

  Not really.

  HYPNOTIST:

  Nothing?

  FATHER:

  How long is the show?

  HYPNOTIST:

  It’s just over an hour.

  FATHER:

  Okay.

  HYPNOTIST:

  Anything else?

  FATHER:

  How free am I?

  HYPNOTIST:

  Every word we speak is scripted but otherwise –

  FATHER:

  Okay.

  HYPNOTIST:

  Anything else?

  FATHER:

  Not really.

  HYPNOTIST:

  Just say if you feel awkward or confused and we’ll stop.

  FATHER:

  Okay.

  The HYPNOTIST takes the FATHER’s script from him/her.

  HYPNOTIST:

  Good.

  Can I ask you just to look at me.

  Ask me what I’m being. Say, ‘What are you being?’

  FATHER:

  What are you being?

  HYPNOTIST:

  I’m being a hypnotist.

  Look.

  I’m fifty-one years old. I’ve got a red face, a bald head and bony shoulders. (This must be an accurate description of the actor playing the HYPNOTIST.)

  Look.

  I’m wearing these clothes.

  Now ask who you are, say ‘And me?’

  FATHER:

  And me?

  HYPNOTIST:

  You’re a father. Your name’s Andy. You’re 46 years old, you’re six foot two. Your lips are cracked. Your fingernails are dirty. You’re wearing a crumpled Gore-tex jacket. Your trousers are muddy, say, your shoes are muddy. You have tremors. You’re unshaven. Your hair is greying. You have a bloodshot eye.

  That’s great! You’re doing really well!

  Also, you’ll volunteer for my hypnotism act. You’ll volunteer because I accidentally killed your eldest daughter with my car and you think I may have some answers to some questions you’ve been asking. I won’t recognise you when you volunteer. I won’t recognise you because, in the three months since the accident, you’ve changed. We’ve both changed.

  Pause.

  There.

  That’s about as hard as it gets, I promise.

  Let’s face out front. Ask who they are, say ‘Who are they?’ (i.e. the audience.)

  FATHER:

  Who are they?

  HYPNOTIST:

  They’re upstairs in a pub near the Oxford Road. It’s this time next year, say.

  Let’s say they’re all a bit pissed.

  But don’t worry, X, they’re on your side. It’s me they’re after.

  Face me.

  I’m ju
st going to talk to them. I won’t be a second.

  (To the audience.) Ladies and gentlemen. In a short time I’ll be asking for volunteers from the audience but I’m not asking you. I’m asking some people in a pub a year from now. So please don’t get up.

  (To the FATHER.) That’s them dealt with!

  Are you okay? Say ‘Yes’.

  FATHER:

  Yes.

  HYPNOTIST:

  Good. Really good.

  Let’s start. You can put your headphones in, and switch on your pack.

  The FATHER puts in their earpiece and switches on the receiver.

  We take our time. We’re in no hurry.

  Would you go and sit back in the audience?

  The HYPNOTIST motions the FATHER to their seat in the audience.

  Good luck. I’m sure you’ll be great.

  Three. Two. One.

  Scene 2

  The HYPNOTIST puts on music. Carmina Burana, ‘O Fortuna’. Very loud.

  Through the music, the HYPNOTIST arranges chairs into a row across the stage, with the piano stool in the centre. He then visits the actor playing the Father and tells them, ‘I’m going to ask for volunteers from the audience. I hope no one will volunteer! You will volunteer, but only when I talk to you in your earpiece. Don’t do anything until I talk to you in your earpiece. Just sit back and watch the show. And thanks!’