In our houses, stories were told at the kitchen table. This was where we shared our secrets, unfolded our daily dramas and asked the questions that really mattered. And, in a family of talkers, one story would lead to another, and another, and another …
This near-ritualistic unburdening means something. It’s culture without the capital C. It’s an inherent, essential part of our lives, and the theatre we know today was born out of this simple act of communal story-sharing. But how do you put this most natural of human pastimes on stage and, in doing so, give voice to people who would never normally consider themselves the subject of “great art”?
We are Why Not Theatre, based in Toronto, and we have been in London for the past three weeks, working with Complicite’s creative learning department to make a piece called Like Mother, Like Daughter. It’s an unusual show in that the performers aren’t performers, they’re real-life mothers and daughters. And there’s no script, it’s just a game of questions and answers.
Imagine if you could ask your mother a question you’ve always wanted to ask but never had the chance? Over the past three weeks we’ve been working with 12 pairs of mothers and daughters from five different religions, ranging in ages from 13-84, so the conversations and exchanges cover experiences which aren’t often represented in the theatre.
There’s a mother who was known as the “queen of fairy cakes”, another who was the only Asian teacher working in a Catholic school in Harrow in the 1970s, and another who still dreams of the sensation of riding on top of her father’s car through the mountains of Kashmir as a child. Their stories aren’t the stuff of classical drama but, like our mothers, they are the foundation of our lives.
Over the course of the project we’ve quickly discovered (as we’d always suspected) that people love being asked about their lives – and asking their own questions – so we’ve used questions as our format for the show. We also discovered that food is a great leveller, everyone has something to say about it, people talk more when their bellies are full – and it has become crucial to the making and performing of the piece. Our show ends with a meal, which the performers and the audience eat together.
What we love is having the opportunity to meet real people and let them tell their own stories, to choose them, shape them and let them speak for themselves. These are people who are not often represented on the grand stages of the world, but through this experience we feel as if we know them. We recognise a glance between one mother and her daughter, or the brief touch of a hand. They remind us of our own families, especially our own mothers, one of whom doesn’t go to the theatre because she finds it boring, but take her to any dinner party and you’d have to drag her away. She’s always asking people questions and prodding them for their stories.
There are many other theatre groups around the world who are focusing on the stories of real people told by themselves in their own words. It’s not a new thing, but often it’s not given the same value as other works playing at theatres. Sharing a story can be a powerful, life-changing experience; it can build communities. It’s important to remember that such power exists in unlikely people. Perhaps we just need to better see the value in making the time to listen.
In Like Mother, Like Daughter we are asking a group of women, young and old, to put themselves out there and talk about their lives in a totally unscripted, sometimes painfully honest, occasionally hilarious, and relatable way. We’re carving out a space for the smaller stories of these extraordinary women. We’re giving the kitchen table its rightful place in the limelight.
• Like Mother, Like Daughter is at the Battersea Arts Centre, London, until 6 June. Box office: 020-7223 2223.
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