Can you pack a story in a suitcase?
Taking Grenfell: in the words of survivors to New York
By Mona Goodwin, trainer
Photo: Teddy Wolff
Taking a show to New York is a highlight in any actor’s career. In Spring this year, I was offered the opportunity to live and work in New York for 6 weeks, performing one of the most unique and important plays of my career. When my agent called, in many ways it was the easiest "yes" I’ve ever given!
But amongst the excitement, there was an anxiety. We were transferring Grenfell: in the words of survivors across the Atlantic to share the horrific story of the Grenfell Tower fire, which stole the lives of 72 people in London in June 2017. This was a heavy responsibility, and we all felt it.
“I need to know why we are telling this story in America?” I confessed to the director, Phyllida Lloyd, as we discussed the transfer. Would New Yorkers have space in their collective consciousness to care about this London community? And if not, how could we change that? We all agreed that this transfer couldn’t be just a creative adventure – it had to have an impact.
The show had run at the National Theatre on London’s Southbank the previous summer, and our mission statement then was clear:
“To illuminate the rich humanity of the residents of the Grenfell Tower and spark outrage at the inhumanity of their treatment. To build a community galvanised into action for justice.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if that mission would still be achievable in New York. After all, much of our UK audience had watched the tragedy unfold in real time via the news and social media. Performances took place just 5 miles from the Tower itself, and many people from the North Kensington community had come to see the show. People left the theatre deeply moved, angered and motivated. But New York was going to be different. Our new audience would have no memory or connection to the material. Could we have the same impact so far from home?
We had worked with the writer Gillian Slovo to workshop the script, curating hours of harrowing testimony into an engaging, digestible story. The script was verbatim, meaning that it was crafted from interviews with the community. It even contained a transcript from the public inquiry that followed in the years after the fire. The whole thing was packed full of dense bureaucratic data, technical legal language... and of course, plenty of UK-specific language.
We started to pull on the threads of translation, changing words such as ‘flats’ to ‘apartments’, and ‘estates’ to ‘housing projects’, for fear the British version would conjure up an image of Downtown Abbey rather than inner-city social housing! It was a tricky task to retain the energy of the language whilst making sure everything was understood by our friends across the pond.
Nevertheless, my time with Dramatic Resources has taught me that content is just a small part of the communication puzzle. Although it was necessary to adjust some of the language in the play, we knew that choices around space and non-verbal communication would be equally important.
First, we welcomed everyone into the theatre as ourselves. We shook hands and chatted ‘out of character’ to create connection and reassure the audience about what they were about to experience. Coming to see this challenging play was a real act of generosity from audience members, so it was important to help them feel secure in the space.
With that trust established, we could consider how the space might help us to communicate our message. The seating was ‘in the round' (a type of staging where the audience sits around the stage on all sides) and the actors never left the stage. This meant that everyone could see each other throughout the show, creating a shared experience between us all. It also allowed us to interact with audience members throughout... such as sharing a cup of English breakfast tea with some true New Yorkers! This was one of my favourite moments of the show – not only because they were always thrilled to become part of the play, but because through these moments of connection they became part of the Grenfell community.
The show took our New York audience on a journey in which they learned about the beauty of the community: their beloved homes, their battle for justice and, of course, the horror of that terrible night. At the end of the piece, 72 names, including 18 children, scrolled down a black screen to an auditorium of total silence. Each night, I watched as those names landed on American soil. It was an opportunity many had not been given in life. The only sound was that of stifled tears by the Americans who had taken that 3-hour journey with us.
It was in that moment, every single night, that my earlier question to the director was answered. It was suddenly obvious why we were telling this story in America. I watched strangers in New York walk away with vivid pictures of homes they had never seen, belongings they had never held, and love for people they had never met. They were activated and hungry to help. It was incredible to watch them carry the community’s message of change out of the theatre, in their hearts and minds.
So whilst we should take some time to consider the nuances of a story – its language, and the cultural references that may or may not be familiar to your audience – remember this: A story is so much more than individual words. It is our most powerful tool in creating connection. Transferring this show to New York reminded me that storytelling can unite us across borders, move us over oceans and inspire us to remember our shared humanity.
Learn more about Grenfell: in the words of survivors on the National Theatre website.