Michael Cox speaks with David Greig about his new play The Monster in the Hall and how writing for young people and teenagers has helped his craft.
Michael Cox: The first question I have to ask is a question I hate asking writers, but just looking at the plot description of The Monster in the Hall I kind of have to: where did the inspiration come from for this?
David Greig: Well, I’d been interested for a while in an organisation called Fife Young Carers, who are a group that help kids with caring responsibilities. They may have a parent that they have to look after or look after a brother or sister. But it started really because my friend, who was a guidance teacher, was talking about a pupil who had difficulty at school who was a very bright girl and was having a problem because, basically, she was having to look after her mum and was worried about Social Services finding out she was doing. She was afraid they would want to separate them, or something like that. I just thought that was interesting. I didn’t know about that sort of world, that there were kids in that situation and found it really interesting.
Through that, I did a workshop with young carers. I got a lot from them, their stories, and it all snowballed from there. I knew I was going to do a play with TAG for teenagers and it seemed like a perfect subject. So it all came together after that, from the story from my friend and imagining what it would be like to be that girl.
MC: Now, the story itself. Is it complete fiction or is it perhaps a concoction of stories from the people you worked with in the workshop?
DG: No, it’s total fiction. In fact, in some places it’s improbably fiction, but is fiction. Actually, it’s a farce, really. I’ve described it to some people as Sarah Kane crossed with Ray Cooney as performed by the Ronnettes, and that is actually not far from the truth.
MC: An interesting combination.
DG: Yeah. It’s got a wild edge to it, but it is made-up. I suppose there are some stories in it which I have taken from real life, but not characters or such like that. Just the sort of things that happen to people.
MC: Incidental stuff instead of the main action?
DG: Yeah.
MC: Now, you’ve worked on a few plays for young people. I’m just curious: do you find it a different challenge, perhaps a more difficult challenge, than writing a play for an adult audience?
DG: Well, there are specific things, but actually it’s more like...if you write a good play for teenagers, then everyone will like it because what you’ll have to do in order to make it work is have really good characters and a really good story with good humour. You really have to be on top of your game because, the thing about teenagers is that their starting position is that you’re probably bullshitting them. So, you have to win them, and that makes you raise your game as a writer and it makes you interrogate yourself about whether you’re writing something that’s bullshit or real. And if you do that, then it should be for everyone. So my starting point is that, though I write plays that are intended to do things like perform to schools and young people, I always have in my mind that if they do that job successfully, they ought to be shows that everyone will want to see. I think that sometimes writing for adults...well, no one self-consciously writes for adults, it’s just a ‘default mode’, and sometimes that mode can allow you to get away with certain pretentions and slacknesses because adults are generally more forgiving. So, in a sense, I don’t distinguish. When you write for children, then there are more specific jobs that you need to do, but with teenagers it just makes you do all the things you should do anyway. Sometimes you make assumptions, but with teenagers you cannot assume. You can’t assume that they may know some esoteric knowledge because, since they’re teenagers, they may not have learned it yet. But the truth is you shouldn’t assume that knowledge with adults either. So, writing for teenagers ends up being a general improver of your writing.
MC: So, after writing your first play or two for teenagers, did you find that your craft as a playwright in general had improved?
DG: Massively. Absolutely, no question. Engagement with work for teenagers and young people was like a big shot into the spine of my writing because of two things. One, because I realised that, through working with kids and teenagers, as long as you commit to character and story, then they can take any form of experiment you choose to throw at them and lap it up and relish it. They have no problem with it because they have no assumption of what theatre should be, that it should have a fourth wall and proscenium arch. It seems natural to them that it should involve direct address or a chorus or fragmented scenes or double takes or stuff like that.
The other good thing is that, on the other hand, they do demand that you commit to character and story, and that is something you should do when you’re writing for a more general audience anyway.
MC: Just coming back to the comment you made about ‘winning teenagers’, how exactly do you think a theatre production can win a teenage audience?
DG: I just mean by that, that you have to earn their respect in the show. You can’t...they’re not coming there thinking, “Humn, yes this is a very important piece of the zeitgeist by one of our top authors of the day.” They’re not there for that reason. If you’ve come to their school, or if they’re brought to you, they’re 16 or 17 and you have to win them the same way you win any audience; you need to show them that what you’re doing and that the characters are true and funny and interesting and believable and that your method of telling is exciting and pulls them in. It’s not that they’re hostile exactly, but they aren’t a theatre audience arriving, or a member of the Lyceum Theatre Club coming with certain expectations of what you’ll deliver.
MC: Last question. When you were writing this play, did you write with perhaps some limitations in mind because it was touring, or did you find that knowledge perhaps helped you be more creative, or were these facts things you threw out of your mind?
DG: It was known from the start that I would only have four actors and absolutely no set at all. That was understood because the one thing I don’t like with touring production is...you have to do these quick get-ins at schools, gym halls and stuff like that. I really hate the sort of sets that is a couple of painted boards. I just felt like...we didn’t want to do that. The director and I just didn’t want that. We wanted to do something really raw and bold, so we thought we’d just have four actors and literally just make a circle for the audience and have them sit. There is music, but there is no lighting. The actors...that’s all they have is the space and they start telling you the story and they pull you in with only what they do. It forces you to be on your metal when you write. You can’t muck about or rely on spectacle. You have to use language and dramatic themes to tell the story and paint the pictures that you want the audience to see.
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