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Synopsis Settle back into the warmth of the theatre. Relax as the story unfolds. For you. With you. Of you. A story of hope, togetherness and exploitation. Laugh with the actors, tap your feet to the music, take a chocolate, turn to your neighbour. You're here. Tim Crouch's play is about the harm carried out in the name of art. Performed within its audience, it tells the story of another play: a violent, shocking and abusive play written by a playwright called Tim Crouch who oversteps the line. The Author is a highly original and terrifyingly seductive journey into the horror of our mediated world. Running time: 1hr 15mins approx. Contains material that may be disturbing. Supported by Jerwood New Playwrights. Upstairs
The Author, the latest chapter in Tim Crouch's ongoing theatrical experiment, provides an evening that is both frustrating and compelling in equal measure.
Performed and set in the Royal Court Theatre Upstairs - which celebrates its 40th birthday this season - it uses the audience rake as its stage (two seating units are set opposite each other), and the performers, including Crouch himself, sit among us.
It starts jovially, with Adrian Howells, who rather puts one in mind of the comedian Alan Carr, warming us up with some feel-good banter. “Isn't this great?” he excitedly asks an audience member. “Kind of”, she nervously replies. (Another on press night made his feelings plain by walking out shortly after this exchange.)
It soon becomes apparent that Howells is representative of us, the audience. He discusses his membership of the Royal Court friends scheme as two actors, Esther Smith and Vic Llewellyn, talk about their experiences playing a father and daughter in a sexually abusive relationship in one of Crouch's plays - Llewellyn in particular is shown as a victim of demanding authorial intentions.
Crouch - the author and “darling of the universities” - in turn describes his moral breakdown during the same period, largely caused by the effect of violent imagery on his psyche while researching the play, which builds to a shocking confession (chillingly told in total darkness).
As an examination of storytelling technique and audience custom, it's often fascinating. Although I wouldn't go as far to say I felt a particularly strong bond with my co bench-warmers, there is something inherently exciting about feeling involved in a play, as opposed to merely watching it. That said, there's nothing new in this approach, and there's a slight feeling that as a puppeteer Crouch doesn't quite have full command of the strings.
The speeches are regularly interspersed by music - designed, says Crouch in a script note, to act as a “release valve”. But it's not a release valve we need, and these interruptions can grow irritating, even if they highlight how easily our attentions can be commanded by ambient music. As theatregoers we are trained in customs, and Crouch delights in exposing these for the tricks they are.
I was sharing a pew with Crouch on the night, and found the close proximity of him at first alarming, but subsequently spellbinding. He's a first-rate storyteller, and though that story may well be a difficult and fragmented one to hear, it nevertheless provides a worthy addition, and knowing nod, to the rich and experimental canon of the Theatre Upstairs.
I disagree with the other user ratings, although I didn't see this performed at the Royal Court, I still saw the same cast perform the same play. Clearly those that disagree with the play, have not understood the intention behind it. It is meant primarily as self reflective, we are supposed to find our own discomfort zones within the piece, if you were 'neither tittilated, stirred, or moved' by some of the graphic acts described in the show then you are missing out on some incredible irony. That is to say, Crouch created this play as a way of, almost, protesting, against the needless hyper realistic representation of violence in theatre and indeed in other media as well. He is arguing that we are desensitized to violence, and Elle Dee clearly proves him right. The set within the performance was so as to allow audience members to feel comfortable enough to be able to walk out of the theatre when they have had enough. In my eyes this a very interesting piece of theatre. Interesting. Yes. Disturbing. Yes. Boring. No. Just had to clear that up. - Dale Jay
02 May 11
... but supposing we don't go to the theatre that often... or work in environments where we deal with disturbed people or disturbing events on a daily basis... or don't wish to engage with entertainment derived from other excruciating pain and suffering. Supposing we're not complicit in all the things this play attracks.
If that's the case then this is just an act of the expunging of the class-ridden guilt of the intellectual elite.
So yes we sat there through the piece - but that didn't redefine us guilty participants. I was just very very bored, the acting was awful, the script flat, the lights was too hot and frankly I'm not a 15 year old and so the acts described neither titilated, shocked or moved me.
The last 40 minutes I spent wishing I could run off to the toilet but I didn't want to disturb the flow of the piece. The end came as a blessed relief in more ways than one...
Try and see Crouch's "My Arm" instead... now that work is genius... - Elle Dee
08 Sep 10
It is almost three hours since I left the theatre. It is a first that on leaving I have never wanted to go and enjoy conversation about the play over a meal. This play has left me with a never ending feeling of SOMETHING ISNT RIGHT. I felt embarrassment, anger, nausea, tearful and extreme frustration. Frustration at my own inability to not walk out. I felt abused, I felt disempowered, I felt humbly middle class and unable. Did Tim do enough research to allow him to present such a sensitive subject. I honour him in regards to his putting it out there, but who it seeing this. Those who can rationalise and laugh it off, with those interjections of humourless humour. His research I suggest was not full proof. Having worked and still do with those who have experienced sexual abuse from infancy through to adulthood, this drama, and especially the final scene with his description of masturbation in front of a sleeping baby with dummy in its mouth was horrific. His research obviously has never engaged with those (children), who have no emotional language for such an invasion, to realise the full horror of his description. It was maybe his intention to shock, we do not need drama to do this. We have the Bolger story, recently in the news AGAIN. This is no fiction. - jane murray
13 Aug 10
Excrutiatingly awful. I agree with rds completely. - fred
26 Oct 09
The idea, as far as I can make out, is that we, the audience, are as much a part of "The Play" as the writer and the actors and therefore we must respond accordingly as if collaborators in the plot. From this simple premise Tim Crouch embarks with us on a surreal journey, but one that only he has set down and has control of. This became immediately apparent early into it when a real member of the audience asked the actress playing Esther why she was here. At this point Crouch immediately cut in and changed the subject - the device failed at that point. The piece started with and was interspersed with deliciously gushing contributions from Adrian, The Audience Member. Various and confused contributions came later from Esther and from an other actor, Vic, both playing characters from a Crouch play. The only other actor is The Author,Tim, played by Crouch who intersperses the other's ramblings with his own very disturbed contributions. All in all a somewhat bizarre menage of disparate accounts that would, ordinarily, make your hair stand on end, but by the time we get to the nitty gritty nothing will rise - except those leaving early. I hope to be informed, entertained and moved by the theatre, but all this event achieved, for me anyway, was a contained embarrassment. He could only get away with it with a middle class audience - try it elsewhere like in Plaistow and he would still be running now. Pretentious? No it's not good enough! It doesn't even deserve me laying into it either. I guess my real reaction is a kind of sadness for it seems to me, when there are so many struggling writers out there desperately trying to get their work put on, that the Royal Court should waste our time and their resources on this feeble offering. The only thing I can say for it was it introduced me to the obvious talents of Adrian Howells, Adrian, the best thing to come out of it. The program notes state: "The Author" explores our responsibilities to what we choose to look at in the world and how we choose to act accordingly. I'd like to say to that - my arse, but I won't. All that occurred was a bunch of middle class people sat for what seemed an eternity wondering whether they were brave enough to get up and walk out or sit passively through it to the bitter end. There ought to be a society for the protection of actors and audiences from writers of the likes of Mr Crouch. Aaahh! - rds
The first theatre opened as The New Chelsea on 16 Apr 1870. Changed name to Belgravia. Re-opened as Royal Court 25 Jan 1871. Demolished in 1887. New theatre opened (current, slightly different site) 24 Sep 1888. Famous for supporting and commissioning new writing. Probably the first UK Theatre to regularly include their URL in advertising. Member of the Society of London Theatre. In 1996 the theatre closed for redevelopment, funded by the National Lottery. The refurbished theatre at Sloane Square re-opened in February 2000 including two theatres the 389 seat Jerwood Theatre Downstairs and the studio style Jerwood Theatre Upstairs.
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