Young Vic Directors Program

The Young Vic Directors Program has been running for over ten years, offering emerging directors a unique opportunity to exchange experiences with peers and be part of a network of talented directors, theatre-makers and designers working and living in the UK.

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Intro to Directing session. Photo by Helen Murray.

As the only scheme of its kind, the Directors Program provides proactive support for professional directors at the early stages of their career, offering a range of opportunities to help directors develop their craft. These opportunities and activities include skills workshops and projects, including paid assistant directing roles through the Jerwood Assistant Director Program and Boris Karloff Trainee Assistant Director Program on Young Vic productions, and our online network, the Genesis Directors Network.

There are also two opportunities, supported by the Genesis Foundation, aimed at developing directors at different points of their careers. The Genesis Future Directors Award enables us to identify, support and nurture a director to explore their craft and stage a production in the Young Vic’s Clare Theatre. The Genesis Fellow is a two year role at the Young Vic where they work alongside YV artistic director, David Lan.

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The Young Vic’s Genesis Fellow, Gbolahan Obisesan, leading Intro to Directing.

In the last two years the Directors Program has expanded its activities with Reach Out, to ensure directors based outside of London across England and Wales have the chance to access the same opportunities.

Past directors who have been part of the Directors Program include; Rufus Norris, Carrie Cracknell, Natalie Abrahami, Joe Hill-Gibbins, Matthew Xia, Gbolahan Obisesan and Tinuke Craig. Current directors include Ola Ince and Bryony Shanahan.

You can hear more about some of these directors’ experience and how the Directors Program has developed their careers on our Off Book podcast, available on Soundcloud and iTunes.

Directors and Designers can join the Genesis Directors Network by signing up online.

Calais: A write up from the Jungle | Part 4

Lily Einhorn is the Two Boroughs Project Manager at the Young Vic, working with local residents and community groups in the neighbourhood. She is also a freelance writer and community theatre practitioner. In a series of posts Lily shares her experience of a recent visit to the Good Chance Theatre, a newly constructed creative space in the refugee camp in Calais.

There are hundreds of stories. All different. These people are labourers, students, artists, shop keepers, restauranteurs, engineers, public administrators, children.

Those children will never make it over the fence, though. They may have walked for eight months to get here but here the journey ends. Except the Jungle isn’t an end for anyone. It’s stasis. A place where life crawls along, not forward, not back, just along. That’s why the Good Chance Theatre is not a luxury, not a panacea, it’s a lifeline. Its breath for those gasping for air. There is, in the act of imagination, of illusion, inherent hope. In the small moments between reality and fiction there is a space to exist in that transcends the mud, the tents, the asbestos, the unwashed hair and damp clothes. That space is the theatre tent. And without it these people’s lives would be moments bleaker.

I don’t doubt that there are tears in the jungle. There must be depression. Despair. The children’s mothers can’t keep them washed, fed, warm. Men can’t reach their families. Loved ones are held apart by invisible immigration laws so strong you can feel them. It is unimaginable to me. Me with a red passport which means I can keep my child close, keep her washed, fed, warm. That means I don’t have any other recourse but to imagine a horror that might compel me to put her on a boat, leave her behind, or send her ahead. These refugees don’t have to imagine that reality. They’re living it. There must be tears in the jungle, but I didn’t see many of them. People are too busy surviving to cry.

*            *            *

As we drove out, groups of men in black clothes trudge towards the fence, towards an uncertain future. The fog hangs thick in the air but it’s hard not to look at their bent backs and feel hopeless. A high barbed fence. A drop. A run through a dark tunnel or a ride in a suffocating lorry. A field in Kent. Many of these men have family in the other side. A daughter in Wembley. Parents in Manchester. A brother in Bradford.  It’s impossible to say whether they’ll ever achieve the reunion that keeps them going, one foot in front of the other, into the night.

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Calais: A write up from the Jungle | Part 3

Lily Einhorn is the Two Boroughs Project Manager at the Young Vic, working with local residents and community groups in the neighbourhood. She is also a freelance writer and community theatre practitioner. In a series of posts Lily shares her experience of a recent visit to the Good Chance Theatre, a newly constructed creative space in the refugee camp in Calais.

The preservation of hearts is really how, and why, the Good Chance Theatre exists. Two young playwrights, Joes Murphy and Robertson went to visit the camp and decided it needed an arts space. So they set one up. A large, white dome stands glinting in the sun in the middle of Afghanistan. Originally pitched in Sudan to compensate for that area’s lack of infrastructure, it was moved after the French authorities decided to build there – to date nothing has been started. So they moved it. Took it down, set it up again, with around 50 volunteers – scrambling and banging and heaving it into existence. It is a space for expression. For joy. For hope. To talk. To sing. It is a space to feel a little bit normal in. To re-imagine yourself not as a refugee but as someone who can dance or draw or simply listen.

It has been up and running a relatively short time in its new home when my colleagues and myself visited. Men drift in and out, sometimes curious, sometimes bored. If there’s something going in they might join in. Both Joes want to establish a routine – they have an event every night at 7pm. A film night, a music night, spoken word nights. We were there for all three. We learned Afghan dancing to the strains of Sudanese music played on iPhones, guitars, and sung – loudly. We listened to mournful laments, so beautiful they silenced the din. We stood back as men danced with abandon in their coats as rain splattered against the white sheeting. For the spoken word night we set up the stage, lit hundreds of tea lights and settled down in the glimmer. Joe and Joe performed poems and speeches to start the men off, Gbolahan performed one of his poems, then the refugees – the participants – took to the stage. Stories were told in Arabic, Farsi and Pashtun. Some were translated. Some were not. A young man sang a love song to his feet. At some point we had to call it a night but it could have gone on into the small hours, story giving rise to story to song. In the day the tent is a workshop space. Anything can happen. We ran sessions on games that turned Into drawing. We played Grandmother’s Footsteps. We taught children the Hokey Cokey and Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes. They learned fast. Whenever we did drawing, everyone, adults and child, drew flags or homes. The places they had left behind. We decorated the tent walls with colourful images. And I wondered how many British children could draw the British flag. Or would ever feel the need to.

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Calais: A write up from the Jungle | Part 1

Lily Einhorn is the Two Boroughs Project Manager at the Young Vic, working with local residents and community groups in the neighbourhood. She is also a freelance writer and community theatre practitioner. In a series of posts Lily shares her experience of a recent visit to the Good Chance Theatre, a newly constructed creative space in the refugee camp in Calais.

In early November four of us from the Taking Part department and Directors Program at the Young Vic  – myself, Sharon Kanolik, Gbolahan Obisesan and Elayce Ismail – travelled to Calais to support the Good Chance Theatre that has been erected in the refugee camp there.

At a volunteers meeting to organise aid for the Jungle, a refugee camp in Calais, a young man stands up. A refugee with faltering but excellent English. He thanks everyone there for their help but he wants to know what’s next. ‘I am living in nowhere.’ He says. ‘I am living in no hope. We want real life.’

 *            *            *

The strangest thing about being in the Jungle is how ordinary it can be. How oddly familiar. People have naturally congregated into nations. In Sudan young men play a casual game of kick about. Five men, two balls, idly scuffing across the ground. Boys on bikes whizz between tents, grinning and spitting in Bedouin Kuwait. A main road in Afghanistan hustles with restaurants and shops while people wander, browsing the goods. A chai tea shop is lined with synthetic Afghan rugs and papered with posters for an Ed Sheeran concert long since screamed out. The tea is hot and very very sweet.

We’re not in Calais anymore. We’re not in France anymore. This is every man’s land. A liminal space where time passes slowly whilst life moves fast. When we arrived at midday a group of men were hammering large wooden supports into the ground. Five hours later the structure had a roof. Another restaurant. Eritrean food – a gap in the market.

In the bright sunshine the jungle almost – almost – looks like a tolerable place to live. A community of communities, cohabiting peacefully. Children playing, running up and down banks and chatting with friendly adults. Men washing, smoking, talking, even a few women (though they walk without making eye contact. Chatting. Smiling. Looking at the ground). But in the rain, the mud thickens into trenches, puddles gather in the pathways and seep towards habitations. A glimpse inside a small green tent near the theatre reveals no ground sheet. Small mounds of human faeces are dotted about the camp. They’re avoidable when it’s dry. When it’s wet the ground is a sodden cocktail of waste.

 

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