THEATRE IN THE SUBURBS

I can still remember my last English lesson. Whilst Mr. Clough tried in vain to instill some of the basics of creative writing into the rest of the class, John, Martin and I sat at the back showing our boredom. We knew it all and more besides, we yawned, we put our feet on the desks and I ostentatiously offered the other two a cigarette. At this point Mr. Clough's patience snapped and he ordered the three of us out to the front of the class. He announced that since we so obviously thought that we didn't need the benefits of his lesson we could demonstrate our creative writing skills to the rest of the class. We had to write an essay on a subject of his choice and we couldn\rquote t leave until we had finished. John had to write 2,000 words on "The sex life of a table tennis ball", Martin had to write 2,000 words on "Amusing Albanians" and I, since I was the ringleader, I got the most difficult task. I had to write 2,000 words on "Great theatre in the suburbs"! The rest of the class laughed, cheered and stamped their feet in appreciation whilst the three of us trudged back to our places. For the next thirty minutes, I scratched my forehead, furrowed my brow and chewed my pen in search of inspiration before writing "I am very sorry" five hundred times.

For the past twenty years I've felt the same way. Crosby is a marvellous place to shop, to work, to relax on the beach, to go out for a drink or a meal, watch football or rugby, play any number of sports, visit the parks, libraries or cinema - but if you want to watch a play you jump on the bus to Liverpool. This isn't anything to be ashamed of, for a variety of economic reasons (greater catchment area, greater access to transport and parking etc.), theatres tend to be situated in the middle of cities. Go to Manchester, Leeds or London and you'll see the same thing. It's not that we don\rquote t appreciate culture, it\rquote s just that we have to travel a bit further to find it.

Then suddenly, one day in June my feelings changed. I was driving along Little Crosby Road when I saw a banner advertising an open air performance of Macbeth for one night only the following Saturday evening. This is a bit like walking in to the local pub and finding out that the Rolling Stones are playing there next week, so, intrigued, I rang up for more information. It turns out that for the past ten years there has been a professional performance of a "classic" play in the gardens at Crosby Hall. The plays are performed by a professional touring company for one night only, tickets are £6 a head from Pritchard's bookshop in Crosby Village. The audience sit on a grassy slope in the gardens (you can hire chairs but the woman suggested it would be better to bring our own) and most people bring a picnic to eat during the interval. There's a fully stocked bar and tea and coffee are also sold although you can bring your own drinks if you prefer. I asked what happened if it rained and was told that it never has done but to bring an umbrella "just in case" . This all sounded too good to be true, I picked up a couple of tickets and turned up looking forward to an evening that, if nothing else, would be an experience.

The first thing to say is that the performance, by Third Party Productions Ltd., was magnificent, the play felt as fresh as if it had been written last week. The programme notes said that the production aimed to "release the innate spirit of the play". What they mean by this is that there is none of the "imaginative reinterpretations" that seem to bedevil modern performances of Shakespeare (Macbeth set in Twenties Chicago, The Merchant of Venice set in Nazi Germany and so on). There is no stage and hardly any props, instead they concentrate simply on telling the story, which they do quite tremendously.

Probably the best example of this is the treatment of the porter's scene. This is a comic scene which comes just after Macbeth's first murder and is intended to act as comic relief as well as providing an opportunity for Macbeth and his wife to get changed out of their bloody clothes. It's a stand up comic routine full of topical allusions which probably had an Elizabethan audience rocking with laughter, unfortunately for us it's difficult to understand the jokes, let alone find them funny. Third Party Productions get around this problem by treating the scene as a modern-day stand up comic routine. The porter starts off true to the text, but when the audience don\rquote t get the joke he first tries to explain it to them, then he ad-libs and improvises until inevitably the laughter comes and the scene has served the purposes for which it was originally intended but which it so seldom achieves today. It\rquote s a long time since I've seen people laughing genuinely at a comic scene from Shakespeare (OK, I live in Crosby and it's a long time since I've seen a comic scene from Shakespeare, but you get my point).

The good news for those of you who don't live in Crosby is that Third Party Productions regularly tour the UK and Ireland. If you get the chance to see them, take it - you won't regret it. On the other hand, if you get the chance to see them at Crosby Hall jump at it. It's worth it for the interval alone, unpacking the picnic hamper and sipping wine in the garden of a country house, with the sound of birdsong echoing around you. In such an idyllic setting it's difficult to believe that you're less than ten miles from the heart of one of Britain's busiest cities, let alone that, at the curtain call of the twentieth century, you're sitting in a field watching a four hundred year old play ab out medieval Scotland ... and are completely gripped by it. Not that it's all wonderful, a peacock managed to squawk most of the way through the second act, prompting my wife to remark that she wished Macbeth had killed the bird instead of Banquo.

So it's official, as well as its many other delights and attractions Crosby is not only cultural, but classy with it - well, once a year at any rate which is more than most places. Another performance anticipated in June next year and I for one can' t wait, now has anyone got Mr. Clough's phone number?