New shoots keep growing from Tim Crouch’s An Oak Tree, its legend quietly bubbling away for 20 years and its strange, unsettling magnificence never wavering. First performed in 2005, it was a solid rejection of stuffy plays where the actors say their memorised words each night in the same way. Instead, every performance has a different actor performing alongside experimental theatremaker Crouch, now almost 400 of them, including Hugh Bonneville, Mike Myers and Alanis Morrissette. They come on stage, follow Crouch’s instructions, take on the part of a grieving father and generally look very nervous while doing it.
The actor has never seen or read the play before, and the audience doesn’t know which star guest they’ll get. For this twentieth anniversary production, the list of actors eager to submit themselves to this grief-laden improv show is impressive: David Tennant and Indira Varma are on the roster, while on press night it was Jessie Buckley pulled up from the front row.
The performer is instructed very precisely by Crouch what to do and say. She is Andy, a middle aged man, grieving the recent loss of his daughter who was killed by a driver. The driver was a stage hypnotist – Crouch flits between being authoritative man in charge of the show, and hapless entertainer in silver waistcoat and stumbling patter – and Andy attends one of his rubbish performances to find answers. At every moment, Crouch lets Buckley know what to do, either through a headpiece, a script in her hand or often just stopping the action and telling her. It’s up to her to do it however she wants. And, being a hypnotist, he hypnotises her. What else can you call it? He says, ‘you are Andy,’ and she is Andy; he says, ‘are you ok? Say yes’ and she says yes.
The beginning, when everyone is trying to get a grip on what’s happening, is full of giggling nervous laughter. Buckley and Crouch have first date energy: titters and generous smiles, finding their footing, circling each other psychologically, minutely adjusting to the other’s adjustments. It’s fascinating to watch an actor as good as Buckley puzzle it out in real time. But the humour recedes, and what initially might seem gimmicky begins to build up its layers and to wrap grief around itself. In his pain, Andy is convinced his daughter has turned into a tree. Who are we to disbelieve him, when we believe that Jessie Buckley is a man called Andy?
As it goes on, it asks your brain to break into more and more pieces, and makes you think very grand thoughts about the magic of theatre and imagination and reality. But it never ever feels arch, never up itself; only ever rich and perplexing and fascinating, while the gentle authority and brilliantly quick-switching acting of Crouch holds everything together so that, no matter who is on stage with him and however they choose to play it, the play can cope.
If you want it to be, this can just be about seeing a random celebrity improv awkwardly for 70 minutes. Lean into it, and it’s got a lot more to say, about authors and authority, memory and imagination. Most of all, An Oak Tree remains a beautiful landmark of experimental theatre. A clever thing, a funny thing, renewed every night, and every night incredibly poignant.
