No – not the Christmas musical… steady. Whilst we await that bonanza of Witches, Hurtwood has been jumping once more - to the beat and considerable challenges of the practical component of the A Level Theatre examination. Yes it is, again, ‘Devising time’, when posters proclaim performances aplenty, every space becomes ‘rehearsal space’, and the school veers between anticipation, acclamation, and not a little exhaustion.
After weeks of stimulation, close working, blood, sweat, tears (and some terror, surely?) comes the final performances: crammed and hushed Theatre and Studio spaces, and 14 extraordinary performances emerge ̶ professional, polished, unique. OK, many themes and topics recur over the years, and some texts make the cut with regularity, as indeed do theatrical styles and approaches. But what makes the whole ‘season’ so impressive and so special, year in, year out, is how each group of students make the performance their own, showing a professionalism, polish and pride that belies their youth and status as youngsters in their last year of education. How do they and their amazing teachers do it? Let’s take a little look before the spotlight turns inevitably towards Christmas and the musical.
First and foremost, it is impossible to do justice to all the extraordinary productions without dilution and generalization, so one piece will have to serve for all, illustrative of what is achieved by our hard-working students and their dedicated and hugely creative teachers. Catching a pre-dress rehearsal (if I can call it that?) of ‘Till Death Do Us Part’ was a quiet privilege. With a wide-open door policy, Doug accommodated my request to watch this group’s devised response to Ibsen’s ground-breaking text, ‘A Doll’s House’. It addressed the old, grim themes of the commodification of women, arranged marriage, patriarchy, but here with lightness and originality. Five students, exquisitely poised, seemingly unruffled by the implications and demands of their exam performance, or the complex issues involved, worked as one. With a stripped-down set, minimal props and a largely monochrome palette, the company of four girls and one boy led us through a series of mesmerizing moments and movements. As required by the exam, they unfolded the narrative in the style of a specific theatrical style, in this case based on Gecko, a British-based company grounded in ‘physical, visual, visceral’ experience. The boxes were certainly ticked.
Visually gripping from the first moments, and with a musical drive throughout, this piece certainly packed a punch. Like all dedicated creativity, it enriched in ways beyond language for all involved. Music and dance worked seamlessly: diaphanous, virginal and balletic white figures contrasted simply with the backdrop starry night. Displaced and with cases in hand (suggesting simultaneously other victims: refugees, holocaust even) we were drawn through energetic, sexy, syncopated empowerment of the tarantella dance, towards inexorable imprisonment, claustrophobia, and horrifying control, foregrounding issues of consent. An enticing door centre-stage suggested both confinement and possible escape. So much suggested and conveyed, so much achieved – all this and A Level grades as well!
Timed – exactly – for 30 minutes, it achieved what must surely be top marks for its five performers, providing 30% of their final exam mark. Replicated across all the other candidates (63 this year, in a total of 14 performances), this is an achievement that is frankly staggering in the creative and professional outcomes, one that will stay in the minds of those involved for many years to come. The only sadness is that there is no space to celebrate all the other fine performances, comic, tragic and all stops in between. Bravo to all, I say, teachers and students: you remind us that, as the ancients always understood, it is in imaginative and creative expression we have the greatest chance of making sense of ourselves and our world.
Bring it on – but now clear the stage, please. Make way for music, dance and Christmas magic ... by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked and glittery this way comes.
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