Interrogating Instruction: 'An Oak Tree' Returns to the Young Vic After Two Decades

Tim Crouch steps onto the stage at the Young Vic, only to announce that he is about to walk off it. In this 20th-anniversary revival of An Oak Tree, Crouch – writer, director, and performer – sets the tone from the outset, delicately negotiating the fourth wall. Each night, he is joined by a different guest actor, unknown to the audience until the performance begins, lending the show a spontaneous and ever-evolving quality. This guest actor, arriving without prior knowledge of the script or their role, is guided live via earpiece, a printed script, or some onstage directions. What follows is a theatrical leap of faith – one that demands courage, adaptability, and trust.

Seated in the front row, a casually dressed woman with earphones draped loosely around her neck appears indistinguishable from the rest of the audience. As Crouch paces the stage, suspenseful music heightens the tension until, at the emotional climax of his introduction, the woman – revealed, at my performance, to be actor Rosalind Eleazar – rises to take her place in the story. She plays Andy, a grieving father whose daughter had been killed in a car accident caused by a hypnotist, portrayed by Crouch. This sparse premise is all the audience is offered before curtain up, a structure repeated nightly.

  Tim Crouch stars in An Oak Tree with a different guest each night. Photo supplied by the production.

Inspired by Michael Craig-Martin’s conceptual artwork of the same name, which provocatively suggests that a glass of water can be an oak tree, the play explores themes of transformation, belief, and the power of suggestion. It functions much like a trust exercise: the actor and the audience must place their faith in Crouch, who catches them without fail. Though the narrative is regularly interrupted by cues and directions, this fragmentation only enhances the play’s meta-theatrical ambition. Rather than undermining the drama, it highlights the potency of live performance itself, showcasing the guest actor’s ability to adapt and the audience’s capacity to engage imaginatively.

An Oak Tree may impose demands on all involved – the creator, the performer, and we, the spectators – but it simultaneously offers liberation. Crouch fosters an environment that requires participation but does not dictate its form. He invites both actor and audience to experience the piece on their own terms, within a space that encourages emotional risk-taking. The play is marked by both resilience and sensitivity: a poignant, fragrant display of emotional depth is shared between actor and character, audience and story. Though the boundary between performer and onlooker is repeatedly breached, the enchantment never breaks.

At its core, An Oak Tree is a study in human behaviour. Crouch doesn’t limit his enquiry to the fictional characters; he turns the lens onto the performers and audience alike, encouraging introspection. He frequently checks in with his guest – sometimes requesting their genuine emotional response to the experience, and other times, eliciting spontaneous reactions drawn from a prepared script. The actor’s process is laid bare before the audience, not behind the curtain but centre stage. This transparency adds a tantalising edge, intensifying the impact of their transitions into character. In this way, An Oak Tree challenges conventional theatrical forms, offering a rich meditation on grief, belief, and the alchemy of performance.

 Tim Crouch stars in An Oak Tree with a different guest each night. Photo supplied by the production.

The play's dramaturgy incorporates monologue, dialogue, and movement, illustrating the scaffolding of theatre itself. The audience is taken through a process akin to rehearsals – from early-stage improvisations to final blocking – revealing how meaning is constructed in performance. Here, the Young Vic provides an ideal setting for such a piece. Its pared-back staging evokes the intimacy of a rehearsal room, allowing the story’s emotional and creative currents to shine. A few simple chairs serve multiple roles as trees, furniture, and people, inviting the audience to participate imaginatively. Crouch asks us to invest in his world, and we do – wholeheartedly.

The interplay between Crouch and his guest actor is at once unpredictable and profoundly human. It captures the fleeting magic of live theatre and the sense of shared exploration between audience and performer. For just over an hour, Crouch holds the room in a subtle, elevated state – a space that lingers long after the performance ends. He leaves us creatively stirred, our theatrical sensibilities sharpened, and our emotional responses newly examined.