'Just learn your lines and don't bump into the furniture'

After months of working towards it, we actually performed ‘the play’ to the paying public last weekend. Whilst we have rehearsed over a long period, the rehearsals have been very occasional, only every other week or so, up to the last month. It’s not enough, and by a couple of weeks before I was feeling very under-rehearsed.

Our ‘dress’ had been more of a technical rehearsal, but had also demonstrated that quite a lot of us were shaky on lines. We planned a pre-performance speed run, which also had quite a few problems, with K and I totally drying in our first scene together. I have some very quick costume changes – of character and of time period – from 1913 to 1951 and back again in the space of a scene change, and until the day of the performance I hadn’t been able to rehearse with full costume and props.

All went ok until the middle of Act 2.

I start Act 2 as ‘Shirley’, 1950’s bar maid, complete with tight skirt and red stilettos. I finish that scene, and almost immediately come back on as 1913 suffragette. As I dashed back on, E hissed ‘in the performance, can you remember to change your shoes!’ I looked down to realise that my suffragette was very visibly still wearing the bar maid’s red shoes.

As the audience began to fill the seats, we hoped they were feeling generous, as it was quite a nervous cast who gathered ‘back stage’*. It was a relief to see that we had a full audience, as weather was lovely, and we had picked up some of the day visitors.

As it turned out, the performance went much better than the run through. There were a few shaky moments, where people were reaching for lines, and apparently two pages were missed out of one scene, but as the rest of the cast didn’t spot it, I doubt that audience did. In one scene the actor playing opposite me and I swapped lines, but we got through it.

It ran much more quickly than we’d expected, as we'd never managed a full run without stopping before, and very quickly, we were at the last scene, and then the curtain call. As we stood waiting to go back on, one of my fellow cast members whispered ‘this is my favourite bit’.
‘What?’
‘The end. It means we’ve got through it!’

I knew how she felt. I know it still needs a lot of work, I know we (I) could be so much better, but I also remember how terrifying, and how exhilarating, performance is, and why I love it so.

Here’s to the next performance, in a little over two weeks time. Now, where did I put those lines?

*Given that we were performing in a medieval castle, there wasn’t actually a backstage area

I used to do this for a living, sometimes I wish I still did

I’m trying to sort out costumes for the play. We have NO budget, which makes things difficult. I borrowed a few things for our photoshoot last week, some of which weren’t quite of the right period, but when you haven’t got a bunch of stick thin actresses in your cast, you take what they can get into.

Having taken the photos, I realise that we’re not quite right on the date. The play is mainly set in 1913. Some of the costumes are too early. We also have a 1950’s section, which brings its own challenges. I had another trip to costume hire on Saturday. P and I are good at this, having worked together for three years.

‘I need 1913 – and definitely need a wig, my hair is totally wrong for the period’. We agree that I have ‘first refusal’ on the mother’s wigs from The Railway Children when they come back in.

‘I also need to be 1950’s bar maid’. This starts us off. ‘She’s a bit blowsy. I’m thinking early 50’s, pencil skirt rather than full, blouse, heels…’ We start fishing around. There are a few blouses of the right period, but not many that I can get into (‘bl***y actresses, why don’t they eat!’) I fancy red heels. Some are far too nice. I need a belt, so two whole boxes of belts come out.

P finds a beautifully tacky red patent one. It doesn’t match the shoes.

‘Perfect, I think she’s the sort of person who will try, but won’t get things quite right’.

Later I hit the charity shops for a skirt, and buy one a size too small, so that it will be tight. I think it’s going to work.

Phew!

There was a point towards the end of July when I was looking at my diary for August and trying to plan something in. The first ‘free’ day I could spot, when I wasn’t already committed to something, or likely to be doing something, was today.

Somehow August has gone by in a blur of sun (well, in Paris, anyway), rain (Edinburgh!), theatre, holiday, days out, rehearsals, oh, and quite a bit of work as well. It's been fun. Exhausting at times, but fun (well, maybe not the work part, as that's been pretty tough, but all the more reason to do the good stuff). September seems to be shaping up to be more of the same, as I’m still really busy at work, and alongside that have even more rehearsals*, and theatre trips, to fit in.

At least I haven't had time to be bored. Or to do any house work! So one of my priorities this weekend is to have a bit of a catch up, a bit of a tidy, and maybe go for a walk. Best thing to do on bank holidays, I think, and this last summer bank holiday always seems a bit crazy, as everyone dashes out to catch the last of the summer before the schools go back.

*For we are performing this on 26 September and 17 October. Somewhere in the next few weeks I have to actually learn the lines

When I booked, I wasn't expecting to be part of the show

When I was studying modern British theatre at Uni, one of my favourite books was Max Stafford-Clark’s Letters to George, in which he writes about his 1988 production of The Recruiting Officer, which played alongside Our Country’s Good.

One of my favourite plays that I’ve acted in is Stephen Jeffreys The Libertine, so when I saw that there was an Out of Joint/Sydney Theatre Company tour of The Convict’s Opera, directed by Stafford Clark and written by Jeffreys, I just knew I had to go.

I’d got a very good seat in the fourth row, so I was just settling down for the start when a chap came on stage. Now, usually this is not a good sign, and my mind immediately goes ‘oho, who’s not in it!’

He introduced himself as the company stage manager. ‘Ladies and gentleman, we’re looking for six volunteers to sit on stage’. He gestured to areas marked out like theatre boxes. ‘We need at least one man’.

I looked around me. I already knew from our trip to ‘dress as a pirate night’ that the theatregoers of Leeds don’t want to be conspicuous. Let’s say there wasn’t exactly a rush. I volunteered, so did the girl sitting next to me, and one more girl from further back.

‘We still need a guy’. There was still very little response, just a few nervous murmurs. Eventually a boy who looked about 15 or 16 came forward. The CSM took us to the side of the stage, and told us what we had to do, which was just to interact with the actors when they came over, to hold something if we were asked to, and to shout out in the second act. Yes, we had a line!

Taking my seat, I realised the view wasn’t as good. But did I care? Not a jot. I was on stage, in a Max Stafford-Clark production, with actors looking right at me. I was in heaven! The poor boy next to me, who told me he did quite a lot of acting at the WYP, seemed utterly terrified, particularly when kissed 'Mrs Peacham'. I did wonder if he’d make a run for it at the interval. Sadly, my level of interaction didn’t involve getting kissed by anyone.

Basically, it’s the story of The Beggar’s Opera performed by convicts on a ship bound for Australia, so there are many similarities to the themes of Our Country’s Good. They used both original songs, and some modern numbers which fitted well with the themes. That said, it’s not such a good play as OCG, as you get a lot of Beggar’s Opera, and perhaps less than you’d like of the back story of the convicts, and some storyline tended to come to nothing, but then it was played mainly for comedy, and I’d have liked a few darker shades.

Finally, it came to our line. We just had to shout ‘a reprieve’ three times, whilst the opposite side shouted ‘no reprieve’. Still, we got our own curtain call.

I always say that if I can’t be on stage, I want to see the whites of the eyes. This time, I got both.

They say it will be alright on the night, however...

‘I feel like Birnam Wood’, I mutter to K.

We exchange a glance.

We’re getting towards the end of Act 1 and I have just been asked to be a tree. So far, I have given the (thankfully empty) auditorium my Lucy Locket, and my Lady Brute, but surely this has to be the pinnacle, for there I am, standing on the stage of the Georgian Theatre, holding a green painted flat.

Through a combination of circumstances, I haven’t managed to get to either of the earlier rehearsals, so this is my only chance to go through it before we perform to the paying public. As it’s a rehearsed reading, thankfully we’re still on the book.

It’s getting on for 2.00pm, and we’re still in the first Act. When we get to Act 2, we don’t even manage a full run, and so no one has an accurate timing for the piece. This is to prove just a bit of a problem.

Once the performance begins, it feels like it’s actually going pretty well. Our excerpt from the Beggar’s Opera gets a round of applause, and the audience seem to be laughing in the right places. After the interval, I begin Act 2 sitting in the pit, and chatting to the audience before we start, they seem to be enjoying it.

During the interval, K has reminded the director that she has to leave at 5 to catch a train. No one is worried, as we’re sure to be finished by then.

By 10 to 5, however, we’re only about two thirds of the way through Act 2. K’s biggest scene is coming up. She’s playing Dora Jordan, famous 18th century actress, and as she goes through the scene where Dora auditions for the actor-manager, the director leans across to me, and whispers ‘will you take over the part of ‘Fanny’, so that K can get away’. I look a little blank as I was supposed to play opposite K in this scene. I read down the page, and realise that it’s supposed to be ‘Dora Jordan as ‘Fanny’’.

About a minute later, Dora No1 leaves the stage, and Dora No2 (me) moves forward. This clearly confuses the actor playing opposite me, who no one has been able to explain this to, but we carry on.

I continue to skim down the page, through a piece that we hadn’t gone over earlier, and I reach the point where it says ‘Dora sings’.
‘Oh S**t!’

As I neither know the song, nor have much of a singing voice, I have to improvise with a few trills and ‘la la la’s’. Thankfully at that point there’s supposed to be jeers and hissing from the other actors! Somehow, we carry on to the end of the play.

Afterwards the audience are very kind, even complementary, but I can’t believe that they didn’t wonder what the heck was going on!

The play's the thing

After the theatrical one-upmanship and costume selection, the day came for the performance of our rehearsed reading.

Arriving as instructed at 11am for further run throughs, I was a little perturbed to find only myself and the writer/director there. A few minutes later, Shakespearean Actor arrived, and we went through into the studio, where props and costumes were being gathered. When I looked at some of the items, I knew I was right about my costume.

Eventually the others turned up, apart from Opera Man, who couldn’t be contacted, so the first play had to be run through with the writer playing his part.

By the end of a pretty slow run through, it was nearly 1pm, and we had to perform at 2.30pm. I knew the play that needed the most work was the second piece, and yet we hadn’t touched it. Just as we were working out how we could cast around our absent player, Opera Man walked in, unapologetic.

After quickly dashing across the stage of the main house to get changed in the green room, we started a run of the second play. The writer had supposedly worked through the entrance and exit problems from last week, but it still wasn’t very clear, so we sorted things out for ourselves.

Despite all the issues, with costume, lights, and a professional theatre space, I was loving it. We didn’t manage a full run, though, before we had to stop to let the audience in.

As we waited, we stood on the stage of the main theatre, looking out into that auditorium. It holds such memories for me, as I did my first real performances there. It feels as though you can reach the whole of the space from the stage. Shakespearean Actor felt the need to give us a bit of his Leontes, but I was happy just to drink in the atmosphere, smiling at K about shared memories.

Back to reality, they performed the first piece, but I didn’t go and watch, as I’d just seen it. After the interval, I was on.

It seemed to go pretty well, apparently better than the first one, but you couldn’t really appreciate the humour unless you really knew your Chekov. I felt I played my part as well as I could in the circumstances, and actually managed to cry when needed*.

Afterwards, as with all good theatre, a few of us adjourned to the pub, to talk about acting. After all my concerns the previous week, it was actually really enjoyable.

I think I’ve got my taste for acting back.

*Really, she was a bit of a drip!

Never knowingly underdressed

For this week’s reading, we have to provide costume. I’m really trying not to be too precise, but I find I can’t help it. It’s in the blood. I know I’m running the risk of being the best costumed as I go down to Costume Hire.

‘I need 19th Century Russian’
‘Oh, it’ll be The Cherry Orchard* then’
‘Correct’

Later

‘I need to be downtrodden, but not poor’; we find a grey skirt, and I add a blouse which has Fiddler on the Roof inside – it’s hardly the bourgeoisie of Chekov, but it looks about right.

‘I now need an apron’.
The first few that are produced I dismiss as ‘Too Pollyanna’. Others are dismissed as ‘too nurse-y’. I find one with a bib, and no frills. ‘This feels about right’.

Next, I need a hat. There are so many to choose from. Some perfect 19th Century styles, which are sadly too decorative for the character. Others are too contemporary. Finally I find one that’s straw boater style, simply decorated with a bit of ribbon.

‘That’s my wedding hat, it’s Laura Ashley, circa 1980’s’
‘I don’t care, it looks right, so it’s now 19th Century Russia’

I just know I’m going to be more appropriately (and therefore inappropriately) dressed than anyone else on stage!

*It isn't actually The Cherry Orchard, obviously, otherwise I wouldn't have described it as a new play.

Theatrical one-upmanship

I haven’t done much acting for a while, and I really miss it, so, when K told me that they were looking for people for a rehearsed reading of a new play, I jumped at the chance.

So, I go along on Saturday morning, having had the script sent to me last week. I was worried when I saw the level of detail in the stage directions*. Apart from K, I have no idea who is going to be in it.

I get myself a coffee and wait, trying to spot others clutching scripts. Eventually I spot a chap I think I recognise, and correctly identify him as the writer (and director) of the piece.

As we wait for people to arrive, we sit in the coffee bar. A number of them know each other, from a local acting group. There’s R, Shakespearean Actor, who has just played Leontes, and is full of the fact that he’s got an agent, Opera Man, and A, a student. I know R from the Mystery Plays, but I think initially she’s struggling to remember me.

A has just finished an MA in English and Drama, carries a copy of her thesis in her bag, and therefore knows everything there is to know about theatre, asks R, ‘what have you done?’ Shakespearean actor laughs ‘what hasn’t she done!’ Opera Man tells us that he’ll have to dash out at some point, to do promo shots for ‘Yeoman of the Guard’. Everyone is swapping theatrical CVs, of all the plays they’ve done, and what productions they’ve seen. Opera Man tells me of a group he works with, and I make the fatal comment ‘oh, they used to be good!’ ‘They’re still good!’ He replies.

I realise I’m not very good at this game, mainly because I don’t want to be, and it all strikes me as a little ridiculous. R asks me, ‘So, what have you done recently?’, and I know that this isn’t the time to tell them about my evening class! I mutter something about being busy with work.

All the time, I’m wondering what I’ve let myself in for.

*Examples being to say a line 'Russianly' and 'un-Russianly'

Not with a bang

My drama class came to an end last week with ‘An evening of monologues and (one) duologues’.

As we arrived, everyone was asking, ‘how many are you bringing?’ ‘none’, ‘none’, ‘one'. By the time we were ready to start, we had an audience of 3 guests, the other class members, the admin staff, the adult education organiser, and the tutor’s daughter who she’d press-ganged into attending!

We certainly had variety – from Ariel in silver boots and with tinsel in her hair, to Blanche DuBois complete with table, candle and herb cigarettes – and worried looks from the staff who feared that the smoke alarms would go off, a Welsh Nora, a bit of The Dumb Waiter, a couple of modern pieces, and my Mrs Sullen from The Beaux Strategem.

No one forgot their lines. J, who’d legged it two weeks ago, did turn up, but just to watch, and so K gave him my camera to take pics. And as he wasn’t familiar with it, we got a few pics of people just as they left the stage, who then had to be asked to go back and pose. As a performance, it didn’t run like any other that I’d been in, but for many of them, it was only the second time that they’d been on a stage, so they did well.

Afterwards, as we drank the wine, the discussion turned to ‘what next?’ For some of them, seeking out some ‘am dram’, for others, that’s it, they’ve done it now, for one, a ‘career’ as a Jack Sparrow look-a-like. For me, I just don’t know. I do know that I need to do drama, in some shape or form, so I hope that my slight rant about all the theatre projects being for kids and there being nothing for adults went home. I doubt it though.

Racks and torments

I've been back at my drama class again this term, and last night was our 'dress' for our end of term/end of course show. That actually sounds rather grand, when what it is is an evening of monologues and duologues (well, one duologue), with wine and nibbles (well, we have to do something to tempt the audience in!)

We've built our stage (thankfully easier than it sounds), and started running through our speeches - I've chosen one from Farqhuar's 'The Beaux Stratagem' - all the others are pretty contemporary. I run through it a couple of times, and K, our tutor offers some useful advice on pacing it, and taking my time over a couple of sections. Others go through their speeches, and then we come to J - he was there earlier, and had struggled with his lines. We're now doing a run, and we look around - somehow, he's gone. A couple of the guys who have done their bit are rehearsing outside, so we ask if they've seen him - no! It seems he's bottled it, as there's no sign of him. Eventually, about an hour later, we track him down in the pub!