Written and performed by Tim Crouch

Co-directed by Tim Crouch, Karl James and Andy Smith

Debuting in 2005, one may expect the sharpness of the production to somewhat have dulled over the years, and though it may be true for the ingenious conception (audiences now a touch more familiar with Tim Crouch’s manipulation of narrative), time has only honed their performance and control. 

An Oak Tree saw to take the textbook of theatre and bury it deep within the earth, and from the blossoming new shoots grow something to change the industry: as every evening finds Crouch invites a different performer onto the stage to read in for the protagonist of the play.

The catch? They’ve never read the script.

On this occasion, the audience is treated to Isobel McArthur (of Pride and Prejudice *sort of and The Grand Old Opera House Hotel fame). They’ll be guided by Crouch through an earpiece and invited onto the stage to use freely and at their leisure. But at no point is Crouch not in control here, but never encroaching on McArthur’s freedom to make the part ‘their own’ as he repeats.

With everything going on, there is indeed still a thread of plot for McArthur and the audience to attach themselves: as Crouch takes on the role of a cheesy hypnotist, one who, several months ago knocked over and killed a twelve-year-old girl. The sharpness of the drama, and the audience’s investment comes from the knowledge that McArthur will be playing the girl’s father, who volunteers to be hypnotised in order to confront the hypnotist who went unpunished. But the story isn’t the crux here; it’s the emotion. Perhaps the clearest and cut emotional piece on the Fringe this year, An Oak Tree has a devastating spearhead of honesty and clarity.

It takes time to get the wheel going – even the most accomplished performers need a moment or two to familiarise themselves with the structure. But the smallness in which McArthur approaches Crouch’s instructions is captivating and understated in skill. So easy it would be to enlarge the grief, to run and explode onto the stage, but there isn’t a moment where the audience doesn’t allow themselves to fall into the stagecraft unfolding. They have no issues visualising other, non-existent, people on the stage. Nor that the lurid orange chair is this father’s other, almost forgotten daughter. 

And for all the concerns of the gimmickry, An Oak Tree is transparency manifested to the highest of levels. There’s no ‘gotcha’ or pretension to the construction here. A glorious exploration of art, of our place within theatre, and an earnest desire to create and entertain with a nuanced but gut-wrenching reverence for grief and loss – An Oak Tree is one of those rare Fringe experiences you cannot afford to pass over.