producer writer & director
A great story can lift us right out of life to another place, a different world, a memory, a dream, a wish – and – in the end, we are all the stories we told and all the stories we lived.
Jane Slavin introducing ‘Blonde’
Jane Slavin introduces ‘Blonde’ read by Jenny Funnell.
Listen to this next story in support of Separate Doors by clicking the link below – and please donate if you feel you’d like to – and feel you can.
Storytelling is how we make sense of our world and how we recognise our common humanity, that we’re not alone. Usually, in theatre, we bring people together into a shared space but at the moment we can’t do that – but we still have the stories – and we can still share them.
Mike Kenny introducing ‘Out Here’
Listen to this next story in support of Separate Doors by clicking the link below.
In a world where so little makes sense at the moment, stories can help us make some sort of sense, of something, for now. I love nothing more than hearing a story and going ‘oh that happened to me’ or ‘that happened to my mum.’ Stories help us through the hardest of times.’
Jonathan Harvey introducing ‘The Lagoon.’
Listen to the next short story in support of Separate Doors here…
For today wild optimism, the concept of the pandemic being an ‘interval’ and a focus on digital revivals keeps many theatre makers sane but tomorrow has never been more unpredictable; values in the face of global economic collapse will adjust and theatre will likely never be as it was, as it has been, as we have known it because the audience will be much changed – and may not be there at all for a very long time, if ever.
For the first time since Oliver Cromwell no theatres are open in Britain, housing dramatic voices of dissent and challenge. New TV production has also been halted. Finding a different and engaging way to fulfil the role that new plays and drama provide in the national psyche and debate will be a challenge for all playwrights in the months and years ahead.
For now, all we have is the words.
I’m offering some new stories I’ve written below, in audio format, introduced by playwrights, directors and actors in support of Separate Doors, the company I lead which focuses on the lives and theatre work of people and actors with learning disabilities.
Please listen and if you feel you can donate then search the Just Giving site for Separate Doors or donate via the PayPal button below- but don’t feel obliged in any way.
As Timberlake Wertenbaker says in her introduction to the first story I’m uploading below…
“In these dark and frightening times, the telling of stories is more important than ever. It is through narration that we try to make sense of the chaos around us, that we select what matters and that we even find a thread of hope, not necessarily because the story ends well but because it allows us to understand ourselves, to see our habits and perhaps even to change the patterns of our thoughts and our emotions, in other words to make new stories- what could be more hopeful than that? The story that follows couldn’t come at more opportune time, you will see why, I won’t wish you happy listening but attentive listening, yes”.
“Corona virus may force doctors into deciding who lives or dies.”
New York Times
“We are making difficult choices.”
Italian Doctor.
“Many loved ones will die.”
Boris Johnson
The plan this weekend had been to visit my sister Fiona, a 55-year-old woman with Downs Syndrome, at her residential care home in Kent. These visits have taken place once or twice a month for the past 35 years and the format I undertake with my 91-year-old mother is a well-oiled routine, a sequence of familiar actions punctuated by stress relieving rows. A standard Sunday pick up – these days – shapes up thus; I drive us both through winding B roads, bickering with ascending intensity until muted by Elaine Paige’s romp through the musicals on Radio 2. Wine gums are chewed, pedestrians along the route doing out of the ordinary things are remarked upon, houses for sale are noted, houses desired smiled at, driving choices criticised and news bulletins tuned into on the hour. Eventually, with loosened fillings and raised blood pressure, we swoop down a twisting lane which opens out into a stunningly beautiful valley, a garden of England picture postcard arrangement of oaks and dirty sheep and rhododendrons and we arrive. The care home has 70 plus residents with severe learning disabilities, living in groups of between 6 and 8, in an assortment of 1970’s chalet style bungalows, most named after a bird and a couple named after trees- perhaps after all the accessible bird names had been used up, the kind of distracting rumination I’ll use to diffuse the inevitable pre doorbell argument and in we go. Over the three decades that Fiona’s been resident in the house there have been countless carers on the staff, some brilliant and some appalling, a couple of eye wateringly successful thieves who helped themselves to residents’ money and belongings but in the main hard working, poorly paid and undertrained people who want to do the right thing. Fiona is found either in the living room or conservatory, she grunts an acknowledgement, her cheek is offered and kisses given, fellow residents either ignore or ferociously engage me in conversation and after some encouragement we all make our way into her bedroom. Medication is signed for and I pack her bag while my mother converses with a carer, enquiring after activities undertaken, pottery, trips to the pub, her weekly attendance at a group in a neighbouring town and whether Fiona needs anything to be purchased. Invariably there is something required and this younger sister groans at the idea of wandering around Matalan resulting in another row as we leave the house. However, Fiona gets to spend time with Mum and for both of them this is precious and for me it’s precious too in a slightly different way because in between the rows and the reluctance love exists and there’s always a hollow feeling on the return journey and on leaving her again. It’s painful and it takes trust, which walks hand in hand with its darker companion – fear.
Last Wednesday, which already seems an epoch ago in terms of the coronavirus crisis, it had become clear that the elderly and those with pre-existing health conditions and, like my sister, with severe disabilities, were most vulnerable to infection. I had a cold and knew that both my sister and my mother needed to be protected from my germs but, more crucially I was concerned about my sister becoming ill while at home with us both. She’d be unlikely to co-operate with medical intervention, could deteriorate very quickly and then wouldn’t be able to return to her care home. Although my mother is a robust and pretty healthy 91-year-old I was aware that the ‘risk’ box in this particular swat analysis – headlined the pros and cons of Fiona coming home for a weekend – screamed in a bold red font.
I emailed the care manager and suggested that we postpone our planned trip this weekend, that Fiona stay where she is and that we would re-arrange at a later point. I asked if perhaps we could Skype or What’s App video call so that vital contact can be maintained. Fiona’s limited communication and speech means that without contact and re-assurance she can quickly fall into a very lonely and lost place. Her understanding exceeds her ability to express but how could she possibly understand that her mother and sister have just disappeared? Except to imagine the worst, she has like all of us experienced death and deep grief but to go through that due to a lack of contact is a horrific thought. The reply to my email came quickly, I’d pre-empted the home’s plans to lockdown which it then proceeded to do and we were assured that Fiona’s safety was a priority.
The concern for Fiona and her fellow residents is twofold. One is of direct infection with Covid-19 and the other is the fallout from staff sickness. The doors have shut to the outside world in terms of family visits but care staff are people too and it’s likely that at some point the virus will enter this enclosed population. In common with many people with Downs Syndrome Fiona has always struggled with colds, with breathing and the Coronavirus might affect her very badly. She needs twenty-four-hour care, help to dress, eat, wash, go to the toilet and make choices. In an emergency situation, if staff numbers fall drastically and residents are also ill then what happens? What choices are made and by whom? Has all contact with the outside world and all activities stopped for all residents and what’s the effect of that? Do doctors come into the home? Do residents go into hospital? Are we freeing up ICU beds in order to treat people with severe learning disabilities?
I don’t want to ask those questions because I fear the answers.
Reports over recent days suggest care homes being given ‘emergency’ powers to make decisions for their residents, in camera. Where once there was scrutiny and transparency with regard to the care of the most vulnerable members of society now the drawbridges have come up and the curtains have been firmly closed, so how do we trust the right decisions to be made?
I’ve written about the Nazi holocaust of people with disabilities in my play Hypothermia and find the parallels in language and inaction of that de-sensitising process with our current crisis chilling.
What we can do…
Individual and collective action may help.
I’m formulating a letter and mechanism which means all relatives attached to residents at my sister’s care home have at least the means to communicate with and see their loved ones via the internet and suggest that this is rolled out wherever it’s helpful – even if it’s just using someone’s mobile to make a What’s App call to the outside world, it will make all the difference to my sister and may well do to others.
We need to make people aware of what’s going on in residential care homes, that there are whole communities which are being cut off and finding digital ways to reach these people. My Separate Doors project has involved face to face contact but it can work just as well virtually, providing people with learning disabilities with a means to meet and connect and I hope Arts Council England will support this work in this way moving forwards, its so needed.
With whatever democratic tools are left and to hand we need to make sure the right to life of people in care homes is articulated and upheld and we must keep the voices of the voiceless heard.
I don’t know when or if I’ll see my sister again.
Right now, a bad-tempered drive through the Kent countryside with a grumpy mother, followed by a reluctant shopping trip with a sister in tow, would be absolutely wonderful.
Last year the Separate Doors project worked with the Royal Shakespeare Company, The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, six theatre companies, twenty theatre makers and actors, six playwrights and fifteen vocational actors with learning disabilities.
We explored the Silent Approach, a non verbal rehearsal method, in master classes.
We hosted a forum at RADA for fifty industry influencers and published the Separate Doors 3 report, distributed in print format to producing theatres in the UK.
Our aim for next year is to encourage the training, casting and engagement of more actors and people with learning disabilities in our theatre and our performance culture.
We’re looking for new partners, do be in touch if you’d like to be involved.
The issue today is with disabled artists themselves blocking out non-disabled performers. You’ve got to get people working together, people with all different kinds of diversities. All different backgrounds, viewpoints, races and abilities and disabilities working together.
Nicky Priest, actor and stand up comedian with Asperger’s Syndrome
I hope more and more directors, working across the country in different companies, at different scales, feel confident to cast an actor with learning disabilities.
Hannah Miller, Head of Casting, Royal Shakespeare company
The kind of expertise Separate Doors offers needs to be rolled out and be made more accessible to people making integrated work.
Ben Weatherill, writer (Jellyfish, Bush Theatre and National Theatre)
I thought the Silent Approach master class and method was truly democratic and taking away language really interesting because I’m always questioning how you can make high quality theatre with actors with learning disabilities.
Nathalie Carrington, Artistic Director, This New Ground.
The Silent Approach has given me a lot to think about in my own practice.
Nickie Miles-Wildin, Director.
The Silent Approach is a dynamic method, it may have been non verbal but it certainly wasn’t silent, it was speaking very profoundly.
Amanda Whittington, Playwright.
Separate Doors shines a light on the many different ways of working within our very niche sector and its so important to keep learning disability on the agenda in the way that it does. Its also so good to challenge people, especially around language, in the way that the Silent Approach does.
Nick Llewellyn, Artistic Director, Access All Areas.
Its important to feel connected to the sector. Separate Doors helps to bolster that and to ground that and so it’s really useful.
Ben Pettitt-Wade, Artistic Director, Hijinx.
I think all of us felt deeply moved and changed by the Silent Approach.
Geoff Bullen, Director Emeritus of acting at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art.
The Silent Approach works because all of the actors, with and without learning disabilities, have equality – because its our way of working, without words.
Rebekah Hill, actor with Downs Syndrome, Dark Horse
It was such a fantastic event. I learnt a huge amount and it made me go away and think about my own practise in great detail.
I feel like the best way in for future progress is to do with writing – new work is always financially risky for theatres, but new work written with this in mind is going to offer the best opportunities for incorporating actors with learning disabilities in “mainstream” work.
As a practitioner I feel that it would be wonderful to have the opportunity to do a practitioner workshop on the Silent Approach with you.
I reflected that stories shared generation to generation, culture to culture, person to person, have the power to challenge our prejudices – the heroes of those stories challenging our understanding of the individuals telling them.
The platform for integrated theatre needs to find its own voice to connect with the wider public by finding the right projects in which to champion its importance.
I feel as though the industry is in danger of hamstringing risk and imagination by creating a climate of fear around misappropriation, so to hear the playwrights speak so candidly about it was refreshing and required.
What is the necessary action that follows these conversations? What changes have to be put in place for a genuine shift in our understanding of how true inclusivity can be achieved more broadly?
70 people from UK theatre will come together to explore integrated theatre, discussing the will and the way, and most importantly the how of making general audience theatre that includes actors with learning disabilities.
Venues and companies in the room include the Royal Shakespeare Company, The Royal National Theatre, York Theatre Royal, The Young Vic, The Stephen Joseph Theatre and the New Wolsey, Ipswich.
We have Artistic and Associate Directors, established playwrights, theatre makers, actors, movement directors, an agent, a designer, two academics and a film director.
We have our four ally theatre companies which work with actors with learning disabilities, Access All Areas, Dark Horse, Hijinx and Hubbub and we also have Diverse City and Ramps On The Moon.
Its going to be noisy.
And sometimes quiet.
Geoff Bullen, Emeritus Director of Acting at RADA will welcome us all and reflect on the Separate Doors 2 project on which we collaborated.
I’ll talk to the room about my thoughts on identity, writing, integrated theatre and the silent approach and then…
A panel of writers will discuss writing for and with actors with learning disabilities and a panel of Artistic and Executive Directors will discuss including exceptional talent with learning disabilities in general audience work.
Provocations, in between the chatter, will come from three theatre makers who attended Separate Doors 3 silent approach master classes.
We’ll all reflect.
And then everyone in the space will have 60 seconds to feedback.
I blog often here about the Separate Doors project.
There is a dedicated website.
You can find Separate Doors reports 1 and 2, films and updates on Separate Doors 3 by clicking on this link:
Up to 30 theatre professionals with and without learning disabilities came together for a day of intensive no speech rehearsal process in each master class.
Activity: Opening. (Starting soundtrack, setting up the space, watching actors do their personal warm up, opening the rehearsal room door to guests).
I’m thinking: Do I know anything at all about anything? Do not run away. Breathe. Why am I doing this? What am I trying to do? What are my objectives? What happens next?
Activity: Flocking. (Bringing people together without speech. Establishing an ensemble).
I’m thinking: Please please please come with me. Will you trust me and go with it? Do you want to connect and be? Can you come along with me through key movement patterns. Can 25 people become 1? Can we all relish the common condition of being human and move together in space?
Activity: Greeting. (Handshakes and emotional connection).
I’m thinking: Is the pacing right? Is anyone dropping out, are there any lapses in focus? When shall I risk a shift in activity, guide the next stage of movement/breath. Offer eyes, take what comes back, accept.
Activity: Sounding. (Ensemble working through breath and onto voice with feeling).
I’m thinking: Be bold. Do it. Keep it interesting, keep changing it up, improvise. Push energy out and bring it back to quiet, to silence, to being. Does everyone want this? Are we all in this together? Can we experience air, energy and be in the same moment together?
Activity: Making (On text, directing actors in character within given circumstances).
I’m thinking: Do the video and audio cues show where we are? Do we all feel and know where we are? Can the actors feed off each others emotional states and move?Can we endow objects, silently? Can I add some dialogue- without it ruining things? Can we keep the physical shape, the action and reaction within the activity and not care about the lines? Am I serving the play? Am I serving the actors? Are we serving the audience? Is everyone authentically being in this space. Right now. Am I holding the rest of the room to the work? Is this drama? Does it make people feel? Do we care? Does it work? Does it matter?
Activity: Ending (Moving out of scene and character dynamics).
I’m thinking: We’re all back in the circle and breathing, have we all come back to neutral, do I need to extend? How long can I hold this silence for? How long do people want and need? Have I got it right? How do I quantify this method? How do I explain it? How do I share this philosophy, this technique and its application?
