In this Q&A, Mark Wheeller reflects on creating the touring edition of Game Over, a shorter, small-cast version of his powerful verbatim play about Breck Bednar. He discusses adaptation, responsibility, online safety, multi-roling and how drama teachers and directors can stage difficult true-life material with care and imagination.
Game Over has already had a powerful life as a full-length ensemble play. What made this the right moment to create a touring edition?
I was originally commissioned by the Breck Foundation, who hoped Game Over might lead to a professional tour. A year or so on, that tour still hasn’t found funding, but I know from experience that many of my most successful touring productions began with youth theatre showcases. Too Much Punch for Judy, Chicken!, Hard to Swallow and I Love You, Mum all grew in that way.
For a showcase to happen, the script needs to be available, and there are already two youth theatres waiting in the wings hoping to do exactly that. So, here’s hoping.
The touring edition also gives the play a new practical life. With a smaller cast and shorter running time, it becomes eligible for one-act play festivals and more manageable for schools, youth theatres and theatre groups. I was reminded recently that Game Over won Best Ensemble, Best Storytelling and Best Actor in a one-off Covid online theatre festival in 2020. This version gives it more opportunities to reach audiences, whether through schools, youth theatres, festivals or, hopefully, a professional tour.
When you first began adapting the play for a smaller cast, what were the biggest practical challenges?
The biggest challenge was to let go of one of my most distinctive ideas in the full-length version: having six versions of Lorin, Breck’s mum. I was particularly proud of that device. In the original play, the Lorins could surround Breck, echo one another, fracture into different emotional states, and physically suggest the feeling Lorin described of being broken apart when Breck’s murderer entered their lives through the internet.
It also created all kinds of possibilities for physical theatre, so losing that meant finding a new way to retain the emotional force of Lorin’s experience while making the play playable by a smaller cast.
How did you decide what could be cut, compressed or reshaped without weakening the emotional truth of Breck’s story?
In a sense, it was a continuation of the original process. The full play was already shaped from long interviews into usable dramatic speech, so I was used to asking myself what was essential and what could be carefully reduced.
I never felt this edition would be created by simply chopping out whole scenes. It needed smaller, more considered cuts throughout. In some ways, I think that has benefited the play. It feels tighter and more focused, without losing the emotional truth of the story.
One decision I made was not to merge Breck’s siblings, the triplets. Doing so would have made it possible to reduce the cast even further, perhaps to two male and two female performers, and if the play tours professionally that may yet become a practical consideration. But I hope not. Keeping the triplets feels important.
Game Over is a verbatim play dealing with extremely sensitive real-life events. How do you balance theatrical clarity with responsibility to the people whose words and experiences you are using?
Using people’s words verbatim helps enormously, but it doesn’t remove the responsibility. I am still selecting, editing, arranging and shaping those words into theatre and I always do that with care.
For me, the key was involving Breck’s family in reviewing the script at various stages. That relationship matters hugely, and it is something I am immensely proud of in my true-life plays.
There is a point near the end where Breck speaks, from the grave so to speak. I asked his siblings whether they would be willing to offer those words for him. One was keen to do so and wrote something incredibly potent. I think that remains one of the loveliest and most moving touches in both the full and touring editions.
What do you think verbatim theatre can achieve with young audiences that other forms of theatre sometimes cannot?
Young people are gripped by true-life stories. They understand that the words matter because they came from real people. That creates an automatic respect in the rehearsal room and the audience too, especially when some of the real people are present.
It also brings out the best in young performers. That was certainly my experience as a youth theatre director. Verbatim theatre motivated my casts in a way no other form managed to do. They felt trusted with something important.
It also brought in audiences. Parents came, of course, but so did people beyond the usual youth theatre circle. We often had to extend runs to accommodate the interest. There is a myth that the only way to attract audiences is to do well-known musicals. They do that, of course, but powerful true-life plays can do it too.
The touring version requires actors to multi-role. What advice would you give directors and performers about making those shifts clear, truthful and theatrically effective?
Clarity is crucial, but clarity doesn’t have to mean overstatement. The audience needs to understand when a performer has shifted character, but the actor still has to remain truthful.
Those shifts can be achieved through costume, posture, movement, voice, accent, rhythm or a combination of these. A small physical detail can often do more than a complete change of costume.
The important thing is that each character has a distinct theatrical life. Multi-rolling should never feel like a compromise. At its best, it becomes part of the theatrical energy of the piece.
For a small cast, the emotional weight of the play is considerable. How should directors support actors through rehearsing material of this intensity?
In my experience, young performers often rise brilliantly to serious material when they feel trusted, supported and clear about why the story matters. From 1983 to 2018, I worked with young people on many challenging plays, and they generally relished the responsibility.
That said, the rehearsal room has to feel safe. Good relationships between cast members, and between cast and director, are essential. I always tried to foster that through openness, humour, trust and a welcoming atmosphere.
The material should be treated seriously, but not fearfully. If the company understands the purpose of the play, and if the director keeps communication open, the intensity of the subject becomes something actors handle with maturity and care.
Are there particular staging choices that you think help the play land most powerfully without becoming sensationalised?
I usually recommend underplaying. With material like this, the actors do not need to force the emotion. The words are powerful enough. Having said that, when I have seen directors take bolder, more physically daring approaches to my work, it has sometimes made me question my own caution. So I think the answer is balance. Trust the material, but also allow moments where the production can let go theatrically.
What is crucial is that the play must be full of supportive movement and visual imagination. On the page, verbatim theatre can look word-heavy, and I always worry that people may read it as a series of talking heads. That is exactly what it must not become.
I want my plays to feel alive on stage. The staging should serve the truth of the story, but also be inventive, physical and theatrical.
For drama teachers considering the play for GCSE, BTEC, A-Level or youth theatre work, what makes this version especially useful?
The smaller cast makes this version much easier for groups to manage. Six performers, three male and three female, is far more practical for GCSE, BTEC, A-Level and youth theatre contexts than a large ensemble version.
It also gives each performer more to do. That increased responsibility can be very useful for assessment, because students have clear opportunities to demonstrate characterisation, multi-rolling, physical theatre, vocal control and ensemble work.
The play also offers a strong combination of serious content and theatrical challenge. It is not just a play about online safety. It asks students to think about how real testimony can be shaped into compelling theatre.
How can teachers prepare students to engage with the subject matter safely and thoughtfully before reading, rehearsing or watching the play?
I favour a calm, low-key approach. I don’t think it helps to make the material feel frightening before students have even encountered it. The story is serious, of course, but students often respond best when they are trusted to engage with it thoughtfully.
A read-through is a good starting point. Once students understand the whole shape of the play, teachers can then explore the online safety issues in as much depth as feels appropriate for their group.
The important thing is to create space for questions and discussion without turning the play into a lecture. It is theatre first, but the issues it raises are clearly significant and worth exploring carefully.
The play has obvious links to online safety and safeguarding, but it is also a demanding piece of theatre. How would you encourage teachers to explore both aspects?
Teachers need to explore both. The online safety content matters, but theatricality must be front and centre. If the presentation is not theatrically engaging, the audience will stop listening, however important the subject is.
That means the production needs imaginative staging, clear physical choices and strong ensemble work. It also means excellent diction. I learned that lesson the hard way. Years ago, we performed Missing Dan Nolan at a festival and did not win. The major criticism was diction. We worked hard on it, entered a bigger festival a few months later, and won. The difference was simple: people could hear what the cast were saying.
From that point on, diction became central to my work. Combined with imaginative staging, it helped our youth theatre win festivals annually, and eventually represent England in the British Finals of the Amateur One Act Play Festivals with One Million to Stop the Traffik.
So yes, explore the safeguarding issues, but never forget that the play has to work as theatre.
As someone who has written many plays based on real events, has your approach to telling true stories changed over the years?
Yes. The biggest change came after I did a playwriting course with John Burgess at the Nuffield Theatre in 2007/08. That developed, amongst other things, my awareness of structure. Before that, I think I had relied too heavily on the power of the true story itself. After the course, I became more aware of the importance of shaping the way those stories are retold.
You can see that most clearly in plays like Chequered Flags to Chequered Futures and I Love You, Mum. The truth of the material still comes first, but I became more conscious of rhythm, build, release, contrast and where the audience’s emotional journey is heading. John’s course was a game changer for me.
What advice would you give young actors performing characters based on real people?
Do not try to impersonate the real people. In most cases, you don’t know them, and neither does the audience. What matters is that you speak the lines truthfully, as though the thoughts are yours in that moment.
When Hard to Swallow was published in 1990, I wrote this in the introduction, and I still stand by it:
The performers should not impersonate the real-life characters, but breathe into them a life that is a reasonable interpretation of the words in the script. The actors should avoid overstatement and veer towards underplaying. Trust the material… you really can. It is, after all, as near as possible to the ‘real’ thing.
Game Over has now become part of a wider educational mission around online safety. What does it mean to you that the play continues to have that life beyond the page?
It is always rewarding when a play continues to be used, performed and valued beyond its first production. Game Over is no exception. Because of its links to online safety, safeguarding and young people’s lives online, it feels as though it has an obvious continuing purpose.
I hope this new edition will help it to be taken up more widely. It deserves to reach more audiences, and I still hope it may lead to a professional tour.
For me, the most important thing is that the play keeps Breck’s story alive in a way that is theatrical, truthful and useful.
Looking back at the journey of Game Over, from its first commission to this new edition, what are you proudest of?
I am proudest of having the approval of Breck’s family. All of them, apart from Barry, Breck’s dad, saw the premiere, and they were very open in their praise. It was magnificent to see the cast mixing with Breck’s siblings, the triplets, after the performances and swapping details. They have remained in touch.
Barry decided he couldn’t face watching it at the time, which was completely understandable. Earlier this year, however, he came to see the Brighton Little Theatre production. I had no idea he would be there. Afterwards, he was wonderfully generous in his praise, and it felt as though a crucial piece of the jigsaw had found its place.
I think he had understandably not been sure about the play. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to trust your son’s life to a playwright you don’t know. So his response meant a huge amount.
The final missing jigsaw piece is the professional tour.
Finally, what would you say to a drama teacher or theatre director who feels the story is important, but worries it may be too difficult to stage?
I would say: don’t pretend it is easy, but don’t be frightened of it either. Verbatim plays can look word-heavy on the page, but on stage they must feel alive, physical and full of natural movement.
I always found that my cast became my experts. They often had the best suggestions about staging, movement and transitions, because they were inside the material in a very practical way. I genuinely didn’t always know where we were going at the start of rehearsals, so collaboration was essential.
The director may sometimes need to think of themselves less as a traditional director and more as a facilitator: someone who shapes, encourages and organises the creative energy of the group.
So surround yourself with a committed cast, trust them, listen to them, and work together. That is how the difficult material becomes possible. That is how you make theatre. And sometimes, together, you can make magic.
