Black Crows
A new play, Black Crows, by Linda Brogan is currently on at Arcola Theatre, produced by Clean Break.
It is a serious piece of new writing for the stage. What makes it unique is that the young man at the centre of the play is played by a marionette and his mother and two girlfriends are played by live actors.
Lucy Morrison - Head of New Writing at Clean Break and dramaturg on Black Crows (and Stoke Newington resident), talks to puppeteer Susan Beattie - who also lives in Stoke Newington.
Who do you play in Black Crows?
My character is 16,very cool and a great dancer. His mother is returning to Jamaica, so he must fend for himself. He's a young black boy in the 1970s with few qualifications, and the world of work is closed to him. But he is resourceful and gets a sugar mummy - Leonora. Then Hazel comes along who is the same age as him and he really falls for her.
How does it work - a puppet interacting with live actors?
I am on stage operating the puppet, but invisible to the other performers; I am just there to provide life to the marionette. I haven't been in an adult play before as a puppeteer so it feels new and exciting.
What's it like playing a young black boy from 1970s Manchester?
At first I felt a bit presumptuous and cheeky, as a middle-aged, white woman in 2007. I have done some research, but mainly I've just got a feel for him. I have a strong sense of who he his, not down to the very last detail, but you don't need that with puppets as the audience is presented with a character who's slightly out of focus and they are required to fill in the gaps. You don't get it on a plate in puppetry. You have to invest in the character - it's made out of cloth or an old plastic bottle or in this case, wood. Part of that process means that you delve further into yourself to find out what it is you're going to project onto it.
People have described the marionette in this production as soulful and even eerie. Why do you think this is?
Puppets are other-worldly, and if it's done well they will take you into their own world if you let them.
As the young man is portrayed by a puppet, do you think there is any potential for audiences to examine their own perspectives on young black men?
I hope so. When you see a hoody in the street, you have a preconceived idea about them and I suppose he is a 1970s version of a hoody. Because he's a very neutral puppet, you'll have a chance to start afresh and make a new judgement about that character.
One theory is that the surge of interest in puppetry reflects a hunger for work that is different from film and TV. Do you agree?
If there is a big production with puppets that is celebrated, there is a wave of interest, which often dies down until the next production. But it is true that when people see puppets working for the first time, it's a revelation. The first time you see a puppet that you really believe in, it is very powerful.
kBlack Crows is on at Arcola Theatre until 24 March, further details on www.eflier.co.uk For tickets, call 020 7503 1646 or www.arcolatheatre.com
www.eflier.co.uk/blackcrows
Pinter
By Michaela Young
‘Mind your own fucking business. Concentrate on what’s there.’ This was how Harold Pinter, Nobel prize-winner and former Hackney resident, responded to a young actor when asked to ‘explain’ his work.
The good thing about Pinter is that you don’t need explanations because he doesn’t use his plays as a means of showing off his knowledge about history or philosophy. His protagonists are unlikely to be Oxbridge dons or students hoping to gain place at Oxford or Cambridge.
If you’ve already seen a Pinter play or read anything by him, all subsequent dialogue starts to sound like Pinter. For example, during the interval of Pinter’s People (his sketches and monologues at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket) I was wandering around looking for the press bar for my free glass of wine. I asked an old woman standing at the box office fiddling about with tickets and programmes. Me: ‘Um, excuse me. Could you tell me where the press bar is please?’ Old Hag (turns on me with squinty eyes): ‘Press?’ (Pause). ‘Bar?’ (Pause). (Looks over my shoulder towards the theatre entrance. Gazes into the middle distance for five long seconds. Finally focuses on me again.) ‘The Press Bar?’ Me: ‘Yes.’ Old Hag: ‘No.’(Pause). ‘No, I don’t know where the Press Bar is.’
Pinter realises just how weird everyday conversation is, and he imports that weirdness directly into his work. He can also convey everything that is going on under the surface of the conversation. Most of it is about the struggle to assert oneself over one’s interlocutor.
After the show finished, I was astounded to come within touching distance of Harold Pinter himself as he was leaving. ‘My God! There’s Harold Pinter!’, I screeched at my friend, clutching her arm. We walked behind him with a gang of other people as he made his way slowly up the stairs with a stick and someone supporting his arm.
I wanted to grab his ankles and prostrate myself before him. I wanted to tell him how much I enjoyed the show and liked his stuff. I wanted to weep into the hem of his trousers because he has become so old and frail. I wished I had an ‘I love Hackney’ badge to give him. Not because I love Hackney. I hate Hackney but I live here and so did he in the 1950s, and it’s the only thing we have in common.
But I just watched pathetically as he was helped into his chauffeur-driven Jaguar. Lady Antonia Fraser got in beside him and they were sucked away into the night.
|
