The Author

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.