The Long Read

by Diana Miranda (18th March 2022)

FLUIDITY AND DIVERGENCE

I hereby present myself as a Copenhagen interpreter. The Copenhagen Interpretation, Jenifer Toksvig's method, embraces and uses the fact that we are all different from moment to moment, depending on how we feel, where we stand in that moment, in the room and in life.
My ongoing experience with the Broad Cloth, which started around February, has not been stable. I have indeed been different from moment to moment, which has been a thing of beauty and fright. As the team's embedded critic, I've joined Zoom sessions that feel like a blend between work sessions and friends' gatherings.

During these, I've tried to get better lighting to show my face. But I've also pulled some Caravaggio's and wanted to remain in the shadows. I've been inspired, and I've been self-conscious. I've laughed, learned, challenged myself, not challenged myself. A journal of it would certainly not be of general interest. So, what follows are my afterthoughts. But, beware, these didn't come as fully formed as (I think) they are now.

OPEN

That would be the first word on my list if I wrote a haiku about The Broad Cloth.
To experience The Broad Cloth is to enter a world. You are on Skylark Island, a small place with a close-knitted community that cares for large farms, crofts and smallholdings. I'm not sure if it rains a lot or if I just decided that it does. My Skylark Island is rainy. There's a hand-printed map on The Broad Cloth's website that may help people choose how theirs is. What I know for sure is that there's a spot that is supposed to be terrible for fishing but great for skinny dipping. And that if you look up, you'll see the moon looking back at the island. I also know for sure that there was a big storm recently, which propelled the state of affairs in which the characters came to life during the open rehearsal some weeks ago. During that Zoom rehearsal, people got to meet several characters, including the Chief, Rowan Skylark, a kind man with a big beard, and his daughter Elizabeth, who we know will soon have a coming-of-age ceremony. The ceremony involves the final preparation of a large swathe of broadcloth, which the recipient uses throughout their life, manufacturing items or sharing it with others as they see fit. As such, the community is close-knitted rather literally and metaphorically.
Coproduced by Jenifer Toksvig and Teatro Vivo, with the core story and world by Jen, this is an interactive and immersive story that incorporates the use of Zoom, Discord and, eventually, a live performance. People may experience it for weeks or hours and participate as a quiet audient or by chatting with characters. Or even make up a character of their own on the spot. The Broad Cloth aims to present a world through ADHD-focused online platform use at its heart, which comes with perfect timing now that questions about digital theatre abound in a post-lockdown era. The show is currently in an R&D process. The makers gather via Zoom to talk about practicalities (such a cold word, apologies for the spine's chill) such as the wide-ranging formats for online theatre, how to build a show that provides access support, and how to balance agency and freedom with structure and caretaking. I've been lucky enough to be part of it all. As I've become closer to the show's heart and motivations, it comes as no surprise that the not-so-common angle of embedded criticism entered the equation. It's a project very willing to explore new ways to connect with theatre, from accessibility to neurodivergent audiences and no fourth walls to long-game experiences and loose narratives.
A script conceived privately with the aim to hit all the drama beads is one way to make theatre. Which is not The Broad Cloth's way. Sitting quietly in the dark for two hours, holding in sneezes and trying to keep still, is one way to watch theatre. But not the one being encouraged here. And creating the illusion of objectivity after watching a press night while taking notes is one way to write about theatre. But not the one I pursue… I think. Here comes the disclosure: I am a critic in the making that feels uncomfortable with the expectations around reviews. Theatre is fluid, so why do we choose to forget that when we write/read about a show? So, Jen Toksvig's conception of The Broad Cloth seems like a soulmate to my writing. A project that is all about exploration and accessibility. A project that craves to really challenge conventions and find new ways to make theatre in which people feel at ease, with no rigid rules of engagement. Jen works through the Open Space principle, which acknowledges that whenever someone chooses to engage, is the perfect time. No need to explain or apologise. Pauses are OK, too. As well as making sure you are comfy. Jen says that it is like being invited to come in through the kitchen door, a warm place where you can get a cup of tea.

And it does feel like that. It's such a lovely, focused, brilliant team. It is indeed an open space, with an open heart and an open narrative. Open to change. And it's all handled with care.
So, I was at perfect ease as I embedded myself in the R&D process, right? Well...

Critical distance and connection
Or,
About learning how to harmonise

As an embedded theatre critic, I sometimes bit my lip as I tried to figure out to what extent I should accept the invitation to engage so freely (an invitation that Jen extends to the team as much as to the audience). My inner voices kept throwing doubts on whether I should participate or remain a bit distant. To avoid the mix-up with dramaturgy, you know? And in terms of accepting the invitation to do whatever I needed to be comfy, well, that was another issue. Self-imposed issue. I wanted to play my jarana discreetly as I observed, but I didn't. Because I wanted people to feel my full attention. Even when I know that sometimes my best way to interact is by allowing myself to chill so that I can simply observe instead of over-analyse. And now I realise that people in the room might actually feel more comfortable if I model relaxation instead of uptight focus, in view of the access support that the team fosters. There is something somewhat alienating about the notion of just watching, which is traditionally the approach of a theatre critic. Something enhanced by the rules of stillness, darkness, and silence we learn in theatre buildings and the notion of shows as finished products. But there are years of tradition behind that way of engaging. And this alienation carries into rehearsal rooms, too. In the notion that theatre ought to be a perfect frame and, furthermore, that there's a perfect model for responding to a show. These things may all cause some sort of discomfort now and then. So, even though I had an open, sincere invitation to engage differently, I had to navigate my feelings in the urge to take it.
The fourth wall is in my mind as well.

That is my revelation.
I'd dare say in our minds. The average audience member, I mean. I felt responsible for modelling a theatre critic who "just watches" while taking notes. Not that watching means to remain inactive; lots were going on inside my head and my heart, as it happens among audience members. But I stopped myself from taking on different watching modes beyond the convention of silence. I restrained from having a snack or jamming a bit while observing. And my self-censorship turned into a feeling of self-consciousness that I didn't care for. Which clashes with the principles of accessibility that The Broad Cloth advocates.
How to make invitations without making people uncomfortable? That was one of the first questions that the team explored during an R&D meeting. At the time, I didn't know I would be asking myself a version of that same question later: How to embrace an invitation without making myself uncomfortable? But that's just the thing. The responsibility is not solely on the person who extends the invite. He or she who responds should also have the mindset to embrace that kind of agency, to trust that it's really OK to accept it, and to practice self-awareness and self-care. Engagement and access are two-way streets.

There's a fourth wall in our minds that we ought to break.
Jen's Access Accord ─ a living, responsive document setting out the team's intentions for access provision with a focus on ADHD ─ includes her friend’s Kit concept of harmony, which I love. This concept reframes overlapping talk and thinks of it less as interrupting and more as harmonising with each other. What's going on inside my head feels very much like overlapping talk. Perhaps I'm taking the word out of context here, but harmonising feels like a spot-on metaphor. Instead of offering resistance, I'd rather put gently aside the mental manual of "politically correct ways of theatre-ing" and look outside the box. See how that goes.

Diana's Responses

Embedded Criticism
The Three Critics
The Echo Text
The Long Read
A Lurker's Diary

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The jarana jarocha is a guitar-shaped fretted stringed instrument from the southern region of the state of Veracruz, Mexico. (img src)

Skylark Island

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A map created by Amity Robins*, Tourism Information Officer.