Ever wondered what would happen if Call of Duty or
Battlefield were real? DRONE is the story of 3 friends and 1 outsider, living
in a bunker after a nuclear war... the only thing to do is to play the game...
but at what cost?
Drone is a piece of new writing from actor/writer
Stephen Redwood presented by Crimson Phoenix this week at the Vault, 11
Merchant Street, Edinburgh, EH1 2QD.
Wednesday 25th – Friday 27th
7pm, with additional 2pm performances on the 25th and 27th
£10 tickets are available on the door, or in advance
online from https://www.crimsonphoenix.co.uk/shop/drone-tickets/
Dramaturgy Database entry written by director Elliot Roberts
What was the inspiration for this
At the point at which I became involved
with the project, I remember that Stephen Redwood (the writer) was particularly
interested the gamification of warfare and the increasingly close, and
increasingly problematic ties between entertainment and the military.
I think for both Stephen and I, there
was also an intriguing challenge to be found in representing games and games
culture onstage, as it’s an area not often tackled in performance despite its
sizable role in the entertainment of our generation.
For Stephen too, this piece represents
an experiment of sorts in its mixture of technological dynamism,
post-catastrophic genre study, and closely observed realism. In pitching the
show to me, Stephen focused on a new kind of theatre borne out of the gaps in
Scotland’s current theatrical culture, of which Drone represents an intriguing
hint of things to come.
Is performance still a good space
for the public discussion of ideas?
I believe that it is, particularly if
you are interested in the kind of less didactic approach that can accommodate
for multiple interpretations and which can facilitate the interrogation of
cognitive dissonance. By design, a dramaturgical process structured around
collaboration in which carefully selected participants are offered ownership of
their own material can help a work to become more richly textured, more porous
to audiences, and more rigorously constructed.
With
that in mind, it has been a terrific experience opening up the plays ideas to
the collective thinking and questioning of the rehearsal room, and we hope in
turn that this opening this play up to an audience will yield similarly
fascinating results.
How did you become interested in
making performance?
For me, I would have to say that I think
that my longstanding interest in the power of theatrical storytelling comes
from our ability to recreate and transform small parcels of our universe into
beautiful pockets of human expression, to say the unsayable, to achieve the impossible.
Since then I have tracked a journey from
an amazed audience member taken in by the theatres magical spell, to an
enthusiastic deconstructer of the mechanics that make such seeming magic
possible, then from ill-advised forays into acting into more promising roles in
directing and dramaturgy.
In particular, I have been fortunate
enough to work frequently with new writing, where the challenges of process and
the priorities of storytelling take their cues from the text itself, allowing
for a fresh set of tools and questions every time.
Is there any particular approach
to the making of the show?
Going into rehearsals, I was acutely
aware that for Stephen and his production company, Crimson Phoenix, this piece
represents something of an experimental approach by marking out territory that
they hope to explore in future developments and productions. On the page, the
piece called for a cross-medial approach to action, spanning physical theatre,
film, live-gameplay, and sonic dimensions.
Certain sections in the text were even
marked out specifically for creative intervention in the form of audio-visual
and movement choreography. As a director presented with these generous calls
for my own contributions, I felt particularly aware of the responsibility I
feel towards the dramaturgical intent of the writer, and my place in providing
a staging that compliments and clarifies the qualities of this particular text.
More specifically, I was aware of the role that my direction would shape in
issuing first impressions of Drone to both audiences and potential
producers alike. I’d have to say that one of the key aspects of my approach to
the piece would be a pragmatic appraisal of what could be achieved in the time
and resource limits that fringe theatre is subject to. We are grateful to have
welcomed the contribution of professional cast and creatives whose passion for
the piece, along with liberal doses of creative thinking, have together brought
this piece to energetic, detailed, and sometimes chilling life.
In terms of production process, we were
working on a scale that people might most commonly associate with the Play,
Pie, & Pint programme, in which new writing is given two weeks and
rehearsal and one week of performances. It’s not too hard to see why this model
is popular in that it can often deliver punchy, disciplined results that gets
new ideas in front of an audience quickly and without too long spent incubating
in the rehearsal room.
And for me, some of the most successful examples of work
made on this scale is that which makes bold, disciplined, and theatrical
choices when presenting their material to an audience: For me, Drone ticks many
of these boxes in that it takes places in a single location over an almost
uninterrupted span of time, it juggles themes both large and small, it is
populated by flawed but never unfeeling people, and explosive drama always sits
just under the skin.
Does the show fit with your usual
productions?
For me, this is actually my third
collaboration with Stephen Redwood, having previously directed the short play
Kansas for the Tron 100 Festival and the development of his play Blood for
Bread. So despite all of those plays having quite different themes, tones, and
styles, I can see a continuity in our process as theatre makers which sees us
entering the rehearsal room with a pretty clear proposition which can be poked,
prodded, questioned, and altered by our cast and creative company in a way that
opens the play up to as many perspectives and audiences as possible.
What do you hope that the
audience will experience?
I think there can be a bit of a genre
expectation that work that is post-catastrophic should be harsh, violent, and
particularly stark (think Mad Max, Fallout, or Walking Dead) that I think both
Stephen and I were keenly aware of. So in some ways this was something that we
hoped to both encourage and subvert, by picking this particular segment of
culture to survive and gain an eerie significance.
The more I’ve watched the play grow in
rehearsal, as it jumps off of the page and into the actors bodies, the most
keenly aware I am of the kaleidoscope of emotion that this play is. At points
it is funny, endearing, tender, electrifyingly tense, haunting, and
pulse-quickening.
What strategies did you consider
towards shaping this audience experience?
As a dramaturg
myself, I am acutely aware of the benefits wrought from having an outside eye
as part of the process, although I was mindful of the time and resource
limitations of the process, so I came around to the idea of utilising a
collaborative rehearsal room process for cast and creatives that would allow
for a regular feedback of ideas not unlike that offered by the formalised use
of a dramaturg.
Aside from that,
I was particularly keen for the design of the piece to reflect the same
dramaturgical thinking as the staging, allowing for a kind of total theatre, in
which all of the elements of the theatrical production can together form a
multi-faceted and engaging theatrical experience for audiences.
No comments :
Post a Comment