The Icarus Girl
Helen Oyeyemi’s The Icarus Girl is one of those books that you can’t put down. And not in a this-is-bad-writing-but-the-plot’s-fantastic-Harry-Potter-ish sort of way. The language is fantastic: Helen has a knack for conjuring up an atmosphere in two, simple, nonsensical words. But more than that, this epic story, pitching Nigerian folklore against Western cynicism, with a bit of horror along the way. We performed it with a cast of six in the intimate studio space at the Arcola Theatre in Hackney. The story’s heroine is the timid Jessamy, who is half-English, half-Nigerian, and feels as if she is somehow different from her schoolmates. She doesn’t have any friends until she goes to Nigeria and meets the mysterious Titiola; a strange girl with extraordinary abilities. At first it seems as if she has at last found a true friend. But then the people around her start to get hurt, and Jess realises that TillyTilly might not be as harmless as she looks. It’s a fascinating story, and has a lot in common with another favourite author of mine: Toni Morrison. It deals with issues of identity and belonging and the growing debate about multiculturalism, but it never gets preachy – all these big ideas crammed into a ghost story for the modern era. The last time I spoke to Helen she was working on a story about a racist house. I can’t wait to read it.
So that’s why I fell in love with the story. In hindsight it was a ridiculous tale to take on as my first professional production. I didn’t have the experience to know what games to play; everyone in the cast was older than me and I was young enough to let that intimidate me; and in the face of having to adapt this massive story, I panicked and got rid of all the ambitious ideas I had had, such as puppets and physical theatre. I did have some truly fantastic actors: Adura Onashile and Natalie Best are two of the best leading ladies to have wished for. Adura in particular taught me more about directing than any actual director ever has, and Natalie has an innate playfulness and likability that is winning on stage.
The one review we got that mattered (in The Evening Standard) was vicious. At the time I was crushed, and wanted to go over to the reviewer’s house, knock on his door and tell him that it was my directing debut and that he should cut me some slack. I also wanted to tell him about one particular member of the cast who clearly could not handle working with a lot of very strong women and delayed rehearsals needlessly. In any event, I kept my sanity and did not stalk said reviewer. I have since learned from a number of my favourite directors (okay, mainly Katie Mitchell) that their own productions have been slated by critics before. In Katie’s case, I suspect that it is because her shows are somehow very feminine and subtle, and while I don’t want to cast generalisations on the opposite sex… well, they don’t necessarily understand subtle emotions.
The best thing about the play was that Adura and Natalie were both incredibly professional and always gracious. When I bumped into Adura a few years later, she told me how much doing The Icarus Girl had taught her, seemed very positive about the whole experience (I had thought she’d never want to talk to me again!) and told me that if it hadn’t been for ‘That Man’ I wouldn’t have lost my confidence and the show would have been a success. I wanted to kiss her.
