Encounter – Peter Brook, Barbican Pit, 02.05

Occasionally on this blog I’m going to post about an encounter I’ve had with a famous or significant figure in the world of theatre. I hope people find these memories interesting: I’ll try to write as much about the insights they offered into the magic of theatre-making as about my personal recollections of the meeting. To begin, I feel I must start with the time I met Peter Brook at the Barbican Pit in London - Brook, of course, is one of the 20th Century’s most influential directors, and I went to see his French-language production of ‘Ta Main Dans La Mienne’.

I arrived at The Pit maybe three hours ahead of the start of the show: it was completely sold out, and I was hoping to be first in line for returns. First in line I was, and as I was waiting outside the theatre there were quite a number of people milling about, deep in discussion. At one point I remember looking up from my book and doing a double-take: there was Peter Brook! He was scheduled to take part in an interview after the show, and was clearly there ahead of time to make sure everything was in order. I didn’t at that time have quite the confidence I enjoy today, and I didn’t dare approach him. Instead I quickly took a few photos on my phone, and tried to hear what was being said – they were speaking in French (which I don’t speak that well) and quietly, and I couldn’t make it out.

Eventually, he entered the theatre, and more people arrived for the returns queue, so I had to stand at the front of the line. About an hour before the show a ticket opened up, and I was faced with a conundrum: take the ticket, which offered only a side-view and wouldn’t allow me to see the English subtitles, or wait and hope another ticket became available. I decided to wait, and ten-minutes before the show began (after I was getting extremely worried that I had let my opportunity to see the production pass me by) another single ticket, with a full view, was returned.

I took it immediately, and entered the theatre with great excitement, taking my seat in a middle row roughly opposite stage-centre. I was surprised to see two free seats to my right, when there was a huge line of people waiting for a ticket who couldn’t get in. However, seconds before the piece began, two people came to fill those seats: Peter Brook and a female companion! So, I had the rather bizarre experience of watching the play while myself being watched by Brook, who was clearly enjoying my enjoyment - I was once told that watching me watch a play can be better than the play itself! Of course, I kept sneaking a look to my right to see if I could catch any sense of how he was receiving his work, but he was somewhat sphinx-like and displayed little in his face.

At the end of the performance he got up to take the stage for his interview, and as he passed me I was able to exclaim (perhaps somewhat over-familiarly) “Thank you, Peter!” In a way that I improbably hoped would express my admiration for all his work over the decades. He did not respond.

The interview was fascinating. He spoke about simplicity in the theatre not being something to aim at, but the result of the recognition that some things are better ‘left to themselves and with space around them’. He expressed his feeling that ‘theatre is about human beings. And there’s nothing more interesting than a human being revealing itself.’ He used an analogy for his process of ‘elimination’, saying ‘instead of a colourful glass, try a clear one: we want to see the water!’ He stressed that playmakers should, instead of trying to start with nothing, overdo and then decide what they want to keep – thus ‘distilling’ the work.

Of extreme interest, particularly as relates to the focus of this blog, was his contention that “there is good, very good, bad and abominable acting. Objectively.” And that the quality of a performance (and, by extension, a work) should be judged relative to the effect it attempts to produce and its success in producing that effect.

He described the rehearsal process as ‘working from a hunch…feeling that certain activities are worth doing’, and he suggested that, as the rehearsals progress, the hunch becomes collective, and form appears. When asked ‘What happens if the piece isn’t going anywhere?’ he responded reassuringly with “That is the basis of the process. It happens all the time.”

He also had some fascinating insights into Chekhov, and a take on Russian theatre-history I hadn’t heard before. If people are interested I could go into it in more detail in a note. For now, I think the above is enough to describe this remarkable encounter – one I feel very privileged to have experienced.