In Context
Theatre “My brain is not broken…it is beautiful” “You say to me, Your brain is broken. It’s like an adult’s brain that doesn’t work properly yet. Don’t worry, you say. One day you’ll be ok. One day you’ll be just like me. I don’t say anything. I pick up my plate, put it in the kitchen and go upstairs”.
Published Online January 23, 2015 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/ S1474-4422(14)70268-6 Brainstorm Park Theatre, Islington, London 8–11 January, 2015 Directed by Ned Glazier and Emily Lim For more on the Islington Community Theatre see http://www.islingtoncommunitytheatre.com/ Upcoming production at The National Theatre, London 21–25 July, 2015 For information and tickets see http://www.nationaltheatre.org. uk/shows/brainstorm
466
A small community theatre in Islington, London, hosted a big performance that every parent and teenager should see. Created with cognitive neuroscientist, Sarah-Jayne Blakemore (University College London, London, UK), Brainstorm is an impressive theatrical production, showcasing ten young talented actors, their mobiles, and their music. The teenage performers and creators invite the audience to interact with their world—to explore their brains, to look inside their messy, chaotic, vibrant, confused, brilliant, and developing minds, to share in an understanding of who they are, and who they are becoming. In a world where parents struggle to understand their teenage children, and likewise, teenagers wonder whether their parents were ever young, this play blends basic neuroscience and psychology with contemporary social culture. Watching as an adult, there are some uncomfortable moments as the teenagers capture the parent–teenager communication breakdown with comedy, but also with a seriousness that makes you squirm with selfawareness: the mind of the teenager, which we ourselves once were, is easily lost to us as we become adults. Brainstorm, supported by the Wellcome Trust, is in a constant state of transition, evolving in parallel with the developing teenage brain. The cast members script each version of the play, but the underlying theme— understanding the brain and gaining perspective and insight into the mind of a teenager—is an ongoing project. The stage is set in a bedroom; as you take your seat, pop music is blasting from an iPhone and during the wait you find yourself wanting to turn it down, or off. As the actors come on stage, the narrator, 17-year old Kassius introduces us to the characters who immediately pull out their phones and disappear into the cellular void. Communication, and learning, is enabled by instant access to virtual reality and messaging platforms, but the teenagers tell us they are learning something new everyday, from the world around them. “My brain is like my phone”, says one teenager—both having storage capacity for knowledge. Text messages are projected onto the stage set so that the live conversations are made visible to the audience. The texting is so fast it is hard to keep up, but you feel compelled to try and make sense of their text-chat. The play is not just a social commentary about conflicts in the generational divide, but it creates a thoughtful dialogue around brain development. Our brains are not
just rubbish versions of the adult brain, they collectively say, but they are different for a reason, and this is why: brain maturation is still under construction, our neurons are firing and there are just “way too many connections”. The actors present their neural pathways in metaphors: “pot noodles”, “tangled X-box cables”, and “my messy bedroom”. The bedroom, the teenager’s private space is their stage, and it has been adapted to teach us about their brain. It may be messy and disordered but that is where we are right now, they seem to be saying. Tidying and decluttering is similar to brain pruning or sprouting, and it will happen at different times for different people. The character’s dialogue switches from teenager to adult, so that the younger and older brain are talking to each other, simply but effectively conveyed by the words “I say...you say”. The thrust of the message is that the teenage brain’s pre-frontal cortex is barely awake but the limbic system is hyperactive, sensitive, and keen to explore. With this knowledge they ask the adults to trust them to grow into themselves, to allow their neural connections to strengthen as they learn from their own mistakes and experiences. Noah, the boy who cannot sit still, plays the role of his pre-frontal cortex as a whispering voice to demonstrate that he is not quite ready to be sensible; he is still playful, but not reckless. This play is also about the splitting of the parent–child bond. The moment when the child realizes that they are individuals with separate identities, and the parents must allow this burgeoning independence, however hard it is to let go. One teenager’s response to the parental gripe, “Why are you like this?” is “I don’t know why, I just am.” If you are a parent of a teenager, you will undoubtedly hear yourself in this play: the empty threats, demands, exasperation, and the fears. However, the play is not mocking the adult, more reflecting on growing up and coming to know ourselves. “We all have 86 billion neurons” Kassius explains, our brains are the same but just as people are different, so is brain functioning. “What do you know about me?” the teenagers ask. Our assumptions and judgments are often misguided and determined by our own values and expectations. As each member speaks to their younger self and says, “you don’t know this yet…” the transitional nature of identity is conveyed: we are work in progress. Only with superior technological advancements, have the complexities of the brain been accessible to scientists. We must not forget that these teenage technology experts are the future. “I’m like this for a reason…I am becoming who I am.” The young members of this theatrical company have created a platform to be heard, and it works.
Jules Morgan www.thelancet.com/neurology Vol 14 May 2015
Theatre “My brain is not broken…it is beautiful” “You say to me, Your brain is broken. It’s like an adult’s brain that doesn’t work properly yet. Don’t worry, you say. One day you’ll be ok. One day you’ll be just like me. I don’t say anything. I pick up my plate, put it in the kitchen and go upstairs”.
Published Online January 23, 2015 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/ S1474-4422(14)70268-6 Brainstorm Park Theatre, Islington, London 8–11 January, 2015 Directed by Ned Glazier and Emily Lim For more on the Islington Community Theatre see http://www.islingtoncommunitytheatre.com/ Upcoming production at The National Theatre, London 21–25 July, 2015 For information and tickets see http://www.nationaltheatre.org. uk/shows/brainstorm
466
A small community theatre in Islington, London, hosted a big performance that every parent and teenager should see. Created with cognitive neuroscientist, Sarah-Jayne Blakemore (University College London, London, UK), Brainstorm is an impressive theatrical production, showcasing ten young talented actors, their mobiles, and their music. The teenage performers and creators invite the audience to interact with their world—to explore their brains, to look inside their messy, chaotic, vibrant, confused, brilliant, and developing minds, to share in an understanding of who they are, and who they are becoming. In a world where parents struggle to understand their teenage children, and likewise, teenagers wonder whether their parents were ever young, this play blends basic neuroscience and psychology with contemporary social culture. Watching as an adult, there are some uncomfortable moments as the teenagers capture the parent–teenager communication breakdown with comedy, but also with a seriousness that makes you squirm with selfawareness: the mind of the teenager, which we ourselves once were, is easily lost to us as we become adults. Brainstorm, supported by the Wellcome Trust, is in a constant state of transition, evolving in parallel with the developing teenage brain. The cast members script each version of the play, but the underlying theme— understanding the brain and gaining perspective and insight into the mind of a teenager—is an ongoing project. The stage is set in a bedroom; as you take your seat, pop music is blasting from an iPhone and during the wait you find yourself wanting to turn it down, or off. As the actors come on stage, the narrator, 17-year old Kassius introduces us to the characters who immediately pull out their phones and disappear into the cellular void. Communication, and learning, is enabled by instant access to virtual reality and messaging platforms, but the teenagers tell us they are learning something new everyday, from the world around them. “My brain is like my phone”, says one teenager—both having storage capacity for knowledge. Text messages are projected onto the stage set so that the live conversations are made visible to the audience. The texting is so fast it is hard to keep up, but you feel compelled to try and make sense of their text-chat. The play is not just a social commentary about conflicts in the generational divide, but it creates a thoughtful dialogue around brain development. Our brains are not
just rubbish versions of the adult brain, they collectively say, but they are different for a reason, and this is why: brain maturation is still under construction, our neurons are firing and there are just “way too many connections”. The actors present their neural pathways in metaphors: “pot noodles”, “tangled X-box cables”, and “my messy bedroom”. The bedroom, the teenager’s private space is their stage, and it has been adapted to teach us about their brain. It may be messy and disordered but that is where we are right now, they seem to be saying. Tidying and decluttering is similar to brain pruning or sprouting, and it will happen at different times for different people. The character’s dialogue switches from teenager to adult, so that the younger and older brain are talking to each other, simply but effectively conveyed by the words “I say...you say”. The thrust of the message is that the teenage brain’s pre-frontal cortex is barely awake but the limbic system is hyperactive, sensitive, and keen to explore. With this knowledge they ask the adults to trust them to grow into themselves, to allow their neural connections to strengthen as they learn from their own mistakes and experiences. Noah, the boy who cannot sit still, plays the role of his pre-frontal cortex as a whispering voice to demonstrate that he is not quite ready to be sensible; he is still playful, but not reckless. This play is also about the splitting of the parent–child bond. The moment when the child realizes that they are individuals with separate identities, and the parents must allow this burgeoning independence, however hard it is to let go. One teenager’s response to the parental gripe, “Why are you like this?” is “I don’t know why, I just am.” If you are a parent of a teenager, you will undoubtedly hear yourself in this play: the empty threats, demands, exasperation, and the fears. However, the play is not mocking the adult, more reflecting on growing up and coming to know ourselves. “We all have 86 billion neurons” Kassius explains, our brains are the same but just as people are different, so is brain functioning. “What do you know about me?” the teenagers ask. Our assumptions and judgments are often misguided and determined by our own values and expectations. As each member speaks to their younger self and says, “you don’t know this yet…” the transitional nature of identity is conveyed: we are work in progress. Only with superior technological advancements, have the complexities of the brain been accessible to scientists. We must not forget that these teenage technology experts are the future. “I’m like this for a reason…I am becoming who I am.” The young members of this theatrical company have created a platform to be heard, and it works.
Jules Morgan www.thelancet.com/neurology Vol 14 May 2015
