Alum learned the trade in the pub, the best place for any theatre talent

Theatre Group Alum exists 25 years. The company, which originated at the Utrecht acting school, celebrated at the place where it all began: the Utrecht Theatre café De Bastaard. On Sunday 23 October, they revived their first ever performance, a play titled 'It', based on the novella The Beast in the Jungle by Henry James. About a man who thinks he is destined for something great and a woman who has a vague suspicion of what that might be. The reunion was heartwarming.

The same actors as 25 years ago, only 25 years older and wiser, and perhaps a bit here and there too sadder. Good art needs maturation. In 25 years, Alum has dropped the pretensions that were still in them when they were young and sky-high. This Sunday, no Bach, no big words brought up, no bare breasts, just two fine actors with a fascinating story. And 40 spectators, including many who were also there that first time, 25 years ago. Then, too, it was sold out to the brim with that number.

It felt good. The performance was intense. The story was told to us as good storytellers can. We hung on the lips of Gabby Bakker and Frank Meijers.

Utrecht

Alum is a special phenomenon in Dutch theatre. It has managed to make consistent quality for 25 years, and without ever receiving excessive subsidies. They are just there, not blowing up high. It also ensures that every four years they don't have to go to great lengths to jump through the hoops of yet another new committee, commissioned by yet another new alderman to do new things with the arts. Indeed, the legendary Utrecht Model, a model in which the city does not opt for one large company, but maintains many small ones, is largely the brainchild of Aluin founder Erik Snel.

But what is the secret of that constant, hairless success of Alum? This Sunday, on the corner of the bar where, as a regular in the 1990s, I spent many evenings with colleagues, I saw it. The secret to success is the pub. And not just any pub, but this pub. This pub, where deep into the eighties directors like Frans Strijards and Willibrord Keesen learned the trade, and where the drama students who would later form Dood Paad and 't Barre Land took their first steps, makes very specific demands on who wants to play there.

Free play

At The Bastard, you couldn't afford to be an artist. Owner Arnold had his own views on what could and could not be done. First of all, a lot was possible. At six in the evening, you were given free rein in the back room with the billiard table. You were allowed to change everything, drill holes, break open the ceiling, paint walls, build weird bleachers, lug swimming pools inside, as long as by ten o'clock in the evening that same room was turned back into the pub space it was for the rest of the year.

The total artistic and creative freedom you were given, for 5 weeks, three nights a week, was really only constrained by a few things. As a director, actor and technician, you had to understand every minute that you were a guest in a café, and that the staff of that café were the boss. Content-wise, you were free, although companies whose highest goal was to scare the hell out of the audience never lasted long there. If, after an hour of intense theatre, you and the still-unwitting actors managed to tear down the stands and the set, put back the tables and chairs and adjust the pool table, the curtain was allowed to be opened, and you received an extra compliment if you managed to do so within half an hour.

Host

Theatre people who have learnt the trade in places like The Bastard have a different mentality. They have less star power, don't behave like kings on a state visit in every theatre they enter. Theatre-makers with a café-theatre past understand that they and the café are hosts for the audience, in whose space you come to do your thing.

It took the people from Alum about 20 minutes yesterday to clear the stage, tear down the stands, put the chairs and tables back, and last but not least, put the beer mats on the tables. Those little things that a barman thinks about, and an actor usually doesn't.

At 9.30, nothing reminded us of the theatre that had just made such an indelible impression here.

Pub owner Arnold saw that it was good.