A Tale Told by an Idiot

Why do we write?

Because you have something to say, my dear father ingrained in me.

The current fount of all wisdom, AI, tells us that we write “to communicate ideas, experiences, and stories; to express creativity and emotions; to process thoughts and understand the world; to learn and grow; and to create meaning and make a lasting impact. Writing serves fundamental purposes, including informing, persuading, and entertaining others…”

That seems about right.

Next question: why do we write plays?

Stanislavski wanted audiences to believe in the emotional truths on stage, to engage with empathy and understanding of the naturalistic world they were watching.

Conversely Brecht wanted audiences to think and reflect on the political and social issues he presented and definitely not to feel emotionally invested in the characters.

Shakespeare – via Hamlet – tells us that the “purpose of playing” is to hold "the mirror up to nature”.

I think it’s safe to say that there are as many different impulses to tell stories as there are storytellers: to change the world, highlight an issue, make people laugh, cry, just simply entertain.

It is also true, I suggest, that there are as many different responses to those stories as there are audience members.

I think we will stay with Shakespeare’s mirror-reflecting nature and ponder that brilliant image for a moment.

Mirrors reflect back at us what we think we are, where we think we are.

But there is more to their slippery beauty than that.

Mirrors have mystery and magic, they can change perspective, give depth, play tricks. Which is why our theatrical mirror is so playful, always offering different reflections and perspectives, from the close-up minutiae of life to epic landscapes.

Audiences flock to theatre (and film and television, true, but we’re focusing on theatre here!) because as a race we are historically, endearingly, vain and curious, we want to look at ourselves, see ourselves in other people’s eyes, check out that we are ok.

Watching the poor player strutting and fretting through their challenges and dramas onstage gives us pause for our own reflection: is that me? Would I react like that? What makes that character behave that way? How did they get to that place? What do I recognise, or not, in them? Thank God that’s not me! Dear God, I know that kind of person…

So if we are holding up the mirror to nature, as my dear friend Will instructs, surely we should all recognise and respond to the story in the same way?

We don’t.

And what a boring world it would be if we did.

What is true for one audience member is not true for all.

When the auditorium darkens and the stage

lights come up and reflect the story to the

audience, we have refraction. Each audience member brings their own experience, expectation, taste and emotions into the theatre with them.

The colour spectrum ripples across their attention and captures each person differently. Each person starts the play from their own angle and viewpoint, so the reflection bends and changes accordingly.

One guy loves the set, the person next to him wants to burn it down.

Another person is gripped and engaged, tears streaming down her face; sitting next to her is her fellow audience member looking at their watch and wondering if the bar will still be open when the torture is over.

We love to tell stories.

We love to share a world we have created, take the audience with us on a journey of emotion, impact and entertainment.

Art attempts to capture some aspect of life: life - that transitory existence which Macbeth reflects upon, which seems so urgent and passionate as we live it but, ultimately, dissolves into oblivion and pointlessness:

“Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.” 

Oh the irony!

Shakespeare’s sound and fury signifies everything, and is forever heard down the ages.

The rest of us may not have quite that legacy.

Just to be heard once is a privilege.

The bravery is in holding up the mirror and knowing it will reflect differently, everyone will see their own truth – or not.

And long may it continue to do so.

Here’s to the mirrors, the storytellers, the players and their unending courage and creativity. And when the audience reflects back what they saw in the mirror, we celebrate what they saw, particularly when lovely audiences are thrilled and excited and full of wonderful comments.

This idiot, telling a tale, thanks you.

“Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful, compelling and moving.”

“Thank you! That was full of subtext and undercurrents, like being inside their lives, being a witness up-close in their home…”

“Thought-provoking, witty, and so well acted.”

“So many lines are still resonating in my head. Just brilliant!”

“Thank you for using language as it should be written!”

“A play with real emotional connection.”

“A wonderful performance!”

“We loved it. A beautiful touching story, made me laugh and cry a lot. Amazing actors, all of them! It felt so real!”

“We could not stop talking about it last night and this morning – so powerful and profound.”

“Brilliant writing and directing.”

“A true masterpiece.”

"Storms, Maybe Snow"

London 2025