A father loses his daughter to a car accident. The man behind the wheel is a stage hypnotist. When the father volunteers for the hypnotist's act, the two men meet face to face for the first time since the accident.
Tim Crouch's play is unique because every performance features a different actor as the father. The actor has seen neither the play nor the script and is guided by Crouch throughout, either directly, through headphones or with a clipboard. The audience becomes part of the narrative, watching from the upstairs of a pub just off the Oxford Road. It is a bold idea, and one that could easily have been a gimmick.
Gwyneth Keyworth was our father, and tonight we were treated to a gentle yet moving performance that was both funny and stark. Watching an actor discover the story in real time brings a vulnerability and tension that no rehearsed production could match. Every hesitation, every glance towards the clipboard, every unguarded laugh becomes part of the storytelling. We are not simply watching a character come to terms with loss, we are watching a person meet that loss for the first time, alongside us.
What is amazing, and what highlights both Tim Crouch's talent and that of his supporting actors, is how clever the premise is. The sound effects and set are simple, just a few chairs and a piano stool, yet we are very much in that room above a pub. Nothing is overplayed and nothing is wasted. The simplicity invites the audience to do some of the work, and we gladly do.
The play is over 20 years old and it is not tired. The story is ageless, and that is only part of its genius. The same play on two different nights will never be the same. It is such a clever way to explore themes of grief. The writing is tight, witty and quietly devastating, moving between humour and heartbreak with a confidence that sneaks up on you. Just when you think you understand the rules of the evening, the play shifts and asks you to look again.
An Oak Tree makes both the cast and the audience rethink what a play is. The rule book has seemingly been thrown out, but not to the detriment of the story, the performances or the audience's reaction. Instead, the lack of rehearsal and the shared uncertainty create a bond in the room. We are all in it together, willing the actor on, hanging on every word, and learning something about grief, guilt and forgiveness along the way.
It is a tender, funny and thoughtful piece of theatre, and a reminder of how powerful live performance can be when it takes a risk. Every night is a one-off, and you can feel the room knowing it.
If you can, go, and if you have already been, go again with a different father.
It runs until 15th November. Tickets and full list of guest artists: here.
Review: Sara Newman Photo: Pamela Raith