How do you make theatre which effectively communicates information without producing something that makes the audience wish they’d bought tickets to Wicked instead? As the Guardian’s science production editor I see a lot of what is termed “science communication”. It’s something of a buzzphrase which can mean anything from the slightly misfiring videos which caused a furore last week to the Large Hadron Collider’s arts residencies. Sometimes wonderful pieces of art are created; more often, yes, we wish we were drinking an overpriced G&T and marvelling at flying monkeys instead.
This balance of art and information is something which performance artist Bryony Kimmings manages extremely well, without resorting to the trappings of Oz. Her much-lauded 2013 Edinburgh show, Credible Likeable Superstar Role Model, took on what she labels “the tween-machine”: the sexualisation and commercialisation of childhood. Her latest show, Fake It ’Til You Make It, tackles the issues around mental health in men, and does so in typically personal style through the lens of her partner Tim Grayburn’s clinical depression.
The show dramatises the relationship between Kimmings and Grayburn, and the impact that the discovery of his illness had on both partners. Using a combination of pre-recorded testimony from Grayburn about his feelings and experiences of his illness, direct addresses to the audience and some great song and dance numbers, the couple explore what depression is, scientifically and emotionally.
Clinical depression in men is not a light subject, and when I saw the show as part of the Wellcome Trust’s programme of events at this year’s Latitude festival, there were some nervous rumblings in the queue beforehand. Evidently some were apprehensive at the prospect of the show’s dark subject matter harshing their festival mellow. It’s also true that with its strongly educative element FITYMI could be flat-footed, so it’s pleasing to see the show mambo away from the potential pitfalls of a fact’n’drama mashup.
The ultimate aim, of course, is to produce something artistically satisfying as well as factually accurate: “I always say of true artists with true fascination and anger about the world that ‘we cloak our lectures in entertainment’ and to some extent the facts are as important to me as the experience or aesthetics of a work. But it’s a balancing act,” Kimmings says.
The balancing act seemed to succeed: the show was extremely warmly received, earning a standing ovation. My (very unscientific) survey of audience faces leaving at the end revealed a mixture of animated discussion, smiles and tears. I asked Kimmings if anyone had responded to her request at the end of the show that people get in touch if they felt like it. It turns out that despite their apparent misgivings, the festival audience had produced ten emails – far more that the usual average of four or five per show. But as she pointed out “I think the Sunday at a music festival is often a very emotional day!” The emails tend contain a mixture of personal stories, shared experiences, advice and thanks for the show; Kimmings and Grayburn are committed to replying to every single one.
This audience outreach is central to what Kimmings sees as the mission of the show. As Kimmings explains: “My process generally involves me getting very angry at the world and then seeking to change it in some miniscule and activist way.” Five actions (including the emailing) were chosen to “wrap around” the show: press and publicity to highlight male depression, being personally available at the door at the end of every show, a blog for Tim to chart his experiences and as many panel talks and fundraisers mental health charities as possible. With such an earnest mission, there are potential pitfalls. Although there are obvious “learning” sections, such as the Symptoms Dance, FITYMI is a personal story and can therefore only portray one journey, that of Grayburn and Kimmings. While this is heartfelt and informative, there was at least one aspect that I found troubling: the focus on medication.
Ah, the drugs. The first dramatic conflict arises when Kimmings discovers a backpack in the wardrobe and opens it to find it full of antidepressants. She is shocked that Grayburn hasn’t revealed his depression, but also terrified of the impact of the drugs themselves, having previous experience of them through family members. The drugs become a big part of the story: the deadening consequences of taking them, their clinical effects and Grayburn’s unsuccessful attempt to stop taking them. There’s no discussion of talking therapy to complement the medication, and I asked Kimmings if they were ever offered any: “... it doesn’t seem to be something they hand out as much as tablets. I feel if we pushed our GP for a psychiatric referral we could get one, but this is very much endemic of the care landscape in the UK, you have to push to be treated and if you feel at your lowest ebb the likelihood of you being able to fight your corner like that is minimal.”
This is a point well worth making, highlighting as it does a wider issue in NHS mental health provision, and I felt that I wanted to see more of in the show. Grayburn did, in fact, have some Cognitive Behavioural Therapy through his company’s medical insurance, although this came to end when he left his job.
It’s true that the making of the show itself, with its storytelling and testimonial elements, could be seen to be a type of therapy, something Kimmings agreed was the case: “the making of the show itself has had an extremely brilliant effect on Tim’s wellbeing, through the making of this show he has learnt how to communicate, how to deal with his anxiety, how to feel proud of his mental health experience and see the positives in this journey.”
Still, the focus on medication is a troubling one as it seemed to me to make the show more simplistic than it ought to be in its oppositions between ill and well, drugs and no drugs. Kimmings agrees: “It has been irking me since we opened in Australia in January that the show was very much focused on a man seeing tablets as his problem instead of the actual focus of the story I wanted to tell which is scraping back the layers … a man who blames tablets reveals his real problem is being ill … but when pushed he allows himself to actually admit that his problem is much more his inability to talk about his illness and how it may emasculate him.” The couple have been working to adjust this balance, and hopefully Edinburgh audiences have benefitted from the rejig.
Medication issues aside I thought the show was extremely successful, not least because of a serendipitous element which neither Kimmings nor Grayburn originally realised would be part of the show. Kimmings and Grayburn are to become parents, and Kimmings’s now-evident pregnancy adds an incredible element of hope, both for the couple and those watching. Kimmings acknowledges that Grayburn is still ill and probably always will be. But their decision to confront his illness, on stage and in life creates new possibilities. As artists they have created an extraordinarily moving and raw piece of theatre; as a couple they have created a future for themselves and for another life. For those facing similar issues, who may have believed that they will never have a chance of a “normal” family life, or who fear to have children in case they pass their illness on or cannot cope, this is a powerful message.
Fake It ’Til You Make It is a balance of fact and emotion that constitutes the best type of informative art: worth stepping off the yellow brick road to see.
Fake It ’Til You Make It is at the Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh, throughout August and then at the Soho Theatre, London, from 22 September to 17 October
