The words of the very excellent John Broadhead!
A month or two ago, the opportunity arose to join Black Company, and deciding that Saturday mornings were better suited for sleep than Thursday evenings, I took it. The idea was at first daunting, joining a company of actors more seasoned than a well prepared steak (where as I am comparatively bland in that regard), but I wasn't alone in taking that step, which was a comfort. Soon after, we set to work on a heavily physical interpretation on Red Riding Hood, a name which conjures images of tiny actors in red cloaks, a great fellow in fur playing the wolf, and legions of primary school children gleefully playing trees . It wasn't these images that bothered me - I trusted Sarah to devise something decidedly more mature. It was that word: 'physical'. That word instantly brought about some apprehension - mincing about a stage 'representing' things certainly wasn't my cup of tea, but I'd just started, so with a sense of vague obligation not unlike washing your hands before eating, I joined in. And the first thing I had to do? Be a tree. Well, I thought, better remember my primary school tree tactics. After a few awkward attempts, I asked Sarah how I could do better, and her reply was simple. Be less self-conscious. I thought I'd better give it a try. This time round I thrust myself into being a tree confidently, and, simply put, I became the tree. My feet were firmly planted like roots, my legs great oaken boughs and bark seemed to creepingly surround me- a peculiar experience no doubt, but strangely exhilarating, and I felt my presupposed ideas about physical theatre dissolve. This was invigorating, so when it was time to cast the wolf, my hand shot up. Newly enthusiastic, and with the arborous manacles of treedom lifted from me, I could be the wolf, whose wildness and sinister charms balanced like a Bond villain with paws promised to be good fun. Taking up this mantle meant I got to watch from an audience's perspective for some parts. And, quite frankly and quite literally, it was hard not to get caught up in it. There were arms flying everywhere, everyone moving at a frantic pace and it felt genuinely exciting - bodies stuck poses like glyphs on the page of a writer with a tremendous grasp of pace, all in a language I could suddenly understand. Gone were my grudging ideas of physical theatre, here was a new enthusiasm. To any prospective branches on the Yew Tree I would offer some advice: your mind is an edged tool that gets sharper with use, so you'd better use it. That is not to suggest you should give your all at everything, to say so would be quite disingenous (and thoroughly hypocritical). Many things in life, such as homework, schoolwork, work in general can be safely sacked off with minimal impact. However, and in like fashion, there are things that demand 100% of you. Having fun, writing, loving, being creative - to these I would add 'doing what Sarah Osborne tells you to'. Do so, and you'll feel the benefits. And so young saplings, if you try your very best, maybe one day you can become a tree too.
A month or two ago, the opportunity arose to join Black Company, and deciding that Saturday mornings were better suited for sleep than Thursday evenings, I took it. The idea was at first daunting, joining a company of actors more seasoned than a well prepared steak (where as I am comparatively bland in that regard), but I wasn't alone in taking that step, which was a comfort. Soon after, we set to work on a heavily physical interpretation on Red Riding Hood, a name which conjures images of tiny actors in red cloaks, a great fellow in fur playing the wolf, and legions of primary school children gleefully playing trees . It wasn't these images that bothered me - I trusted Sarah to devise something decidedly more mature. It was that word: 'physical'. That word instantly brought about some apprehension - mincing about a stage 'representing' things certainly wasn't my cup of tea, but I'd just started, so with a sense of vague obligation not unlike washing your hands before eating, I joined in. And the first thing I had to do? Be a tree. Well, I thought, better remember my primary school tree tactics. After a few awkward attempts, I asked Sarah how I could do better, and her reply was simple. Be less self-conscious. I thought I'd better give it a try. This time round I thrust myself into being a tree confidently, and, simply put, I became the tree. My feet were firmly planted like roots, my legs great oaken boughs and bark seemed to creepingly surround me- a peculiar experience no doubt, but strangely exhilarating, and I felt my presupposed ideas about physical theatre dissolve. This was invigorating, so when it was time to cast the wolf, my hand shot up. Newly enthusiastic, and with the arborous manacles of treedom lifted from me, I could be the wolf, whose wildness and sinister charms balanced like a Bond villain with paws promised to be good fun. Taking up this mantle meant I got to watch from an audience's perspective for some parts. And, quite frankly and quite literally, it was hard not to get caught up in it. There were arms flying everywhere, everyone moving at a frantic pace and it felt genuinely exciting - bodies stuck poses like glyphs on the page of a writer with a tremendous grasp of pace, all in a language I could suddenly understand. Gone were my grudging ideas of physical theatre, here was a new enthusiasm. To any prospective branches on the Yew Tree I would offer some advice: your mind is an edged tool that gets sharper with use, so you'd better use it. That is not to suggest you should give your all at everything, to say so would be quite disingenous (and thoroughly hypocritical). Many things in life, such as homework, schoolwork, work in general can be safely sacked off with minimal impact. However, and in like fashion, there are things that demand 100% of you. Having fun, writing, loving, being creative - to these I would add 'doing what Sarah Osborne tells you to'. Do so, and you'll feel the benefits. And so young saplings, if you try your very best, maybe one day you can become a tree too.
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