March 2010 Archives

…whilst the host makes it all up, it would seem. As the winners of the 2010 Olivier Awards recover, I can only hope the same can be said for poor Anthony Head who for one reason or another put in a less than superfluous performance as Sunday night’s host. He didn’t look at all comfortable behind his podium from the get go and that’s before the traumas of autocue were brought in. It was also unfortunately long after his script writer had been hired, who single-handedly managed to redefine what a gag could be: comically unfunny.

Of course, maybe he was nervous or tired, or perhaps under-rehearsed. Or maybe he’d overindulged in Blue Nun as dinner was served. Either way lets be grateful the awards were not televised this year. At least we all know Louie Spence is panto; this was just car crash. If the awards were to be televised once more, and I am all for that, then perhaps everything would’ve been a bit tighter and more effort taken with the overall presentation of the evening.

On the up side, a glorious hat-trick of wins and a wonderfully classy performance from Hello Dolly was a welcome relief from the evening’s bumbling and bad sound, which for the latter I forgive the sound team and lay blame solely on the shoulders of a former sporty spicy type of lady. Surely one of the Nolan sisters was free? Anyway, anyway, anyway… A well deserved trio of awards for the team at Regents Park and I’ve no doubt their 2010 season will bear more great theatre.

In rehearsals this week, we’ve got to the end of the show and now head back to the top and piece it all together. Adding new cast to a current company who know the show continues to prove a massive learning curve, but has thrown up some brilliant discussions along the way. One thing I think is vital in rehearsals is being allowed to mess up — to fail, to fall over quite spectacularly, perhaps breaking a horse puppet leg in the process or indeed kicking your fellow actors’ shins. Not deliberately of course. This failure and discovery of things that don’t work is the best way to find out what does work, and having that journey makes the result all the more valid and meaningful.

However, to make the rehearsal worthwhile, I think there must always be some element of success, no matter how small, to make sure you have something positive to leave the day on. And from experience, sometimes not being given enough time to achieve even a glimmer of success leads to frustration and stress, and doesn’t make best use of time. Allowing actor’s to try, fail, and then build on failures, making a bit of headway, perhaps just a small step up, is key to keeping the company engaged and ensure rehearsals facilitate both practice and progress.

On Monday I made my second visit to Legally Blonde to see a very youthful looking Dad. Needless to say he was marvellous and it was a joy to see friends doing so well and being so good at it. Incidentally, it was all the better for a second visit, having previously been part of the raucous gala press night crowd who had a little bit too much admiration for ex-boyband members than I deem appropriate - the fact they had any was a bit of a shock to be honest. But Sheridan Smith and Jill Halfpenny gave stellar performances and along with the cast, I can only hope that Smith gets a few award nods at next year’s theatrical prize givings.

And I leave with two bits of official news. Firstly, as of March 20, we’re officially enjoying spring and so expect to see daffodils aplenty teamed with the odd lamb, albeit minted with gravy if you’re in Highgate. Secondly, as of May 29, Pete Waterman will make a return to our screens to officially ruin our chances of doing well in Eurovision so expect a sea of ‘nil points’ teamed with national embarrassment.

Oh the shame.

“Alright, darling?”

It is not often that the lone female will respond to the cat calls that come from the other side of the road in a positive manner. The young man in question looked really rather surprised as I stopped in my tracks and hot footed it over in his direction!

No, I had not been seduced by the ancient courting ritual of ‘shouting boorishly at strangers in the street’, but such was my desperation last Tuesday, that I found myself whipping my script out of my bag and demanding the chap drop his drill and read my lines to me. Yes, I spent last week agonising over what, I have now decided, is the hardest accent in the world. The Geordie in question was more than happy to oblige me with a brief lesson, but luckily for me, a kindly director has since put me out of my misery and has allowed my ‘randy student’ to relocate from Strother to Cambridge (maybe it wasn’t kindness, maybe it was the fear of riling up the north eastern contingent of our audience…) So for now I shall postpone ordering the box set of ‘Extreme Fishing with Robson Green’, and allow myself to enjoy Ant and Dec without analysing their vowel sounds.

There is, in reality, very little time to enjoy much of anything except rehearsing at every given opportunity at the moment. For there are three little words that have scared me so much I hesitate to put them to paper. Deep breath… We. Open. Tomorrow.

“We apologise for the delay in this service,” says the ever so charming but perhaps most despised public announcer in Britain, as the 0830 Cannon Street train is cancelled. Thankfully, being a stickler for time and having the immortal ‘train before the train’ motto tattooed on my left bicep, I will hopefully still arrive with plenty of time for ballet barre and a perhaps a few sirens or whinnys before we begin.

But time and lateness are an ongoing bugbear for me, especially in the theatre world. I cannot stand being late in normal life, and unless I’m being held captive by wild and angry creatures from the deep, the chances are I’m usually on time. For me, this goes without saying in the theatre world. During the run of a production, I suppose it’s more obvious - if you’re not there in time, you don’t go on. Simple. In rehearsal however, some people are less concerned.

This irks me for several reasons. Firstly, it’s our job to be there on time and unless you have a remarkably good excuse, no exceptions. Plus, the majority of people at the call will be there on time, and to have to wait for Doris who’s popped to Costa for a skinny cappuccino with extra foam is remarkably irritating. Out of respect for your fellow company and personal pride in being professional, being on time is something that should go without question. Yes, of course there will be occasions when being late is out of our hands; tree/badger/damsel in distress on the line, forest fire at London Bridge etc.. and in which case, you’d clearly be hugely apologetic and enjoy the warm and forgiving arms of the company.

Rehearsals are storming on and we’re making our way through the show gradually. Being the first re-cast production I’ve been involved with, it’s interesting to see how the “this is what we did last time” problem is dealt with. Some of the current company sometimes forget that the new cast don’t know the blocking of scene 21 and so when asked to give it a go, you sort of have to weigh up how much free reign you have to improvise and how much you have to ‘guesstimate’ the original track.

It’s been an absolute luxury to have time to play and discover the story for ourselves, also knowing that there are some set blocking moments to back up the new work. Thankfully, I’m in a team with 2 other rather marvellous actors who can deal with my moments of disorientating cluelessness and moments of brain freeze, not too mention my constant jigging about, bad jokes and musical theatre back catalogue soprano classics. Lovely.

With Theatreland gearing up for the 2010 Olivier Awards this Sunday, there is renewed excitement with potential winners being predicted and gasped about already. The questions on everyone’s lips include can a former Spice Girl win Best Actress in a Musical? Will the acclaimed revival of Hello Dolly finally reap the awards it so deserves? And finally, will Jedward be awarded Best Takeover in a Role for Glinda and Elphaba? Best of luck to all those performing at the ceremony.

After a fairly heated phone call with the lovely, kind and co-operative staff at Sky, we’ve discovered we’re to be internetless for 10 days. Ten whole days. 240 hours. At first, I must admit to yelping like a small dog and weeping into my What Broadband? magazine, but it struck me just how much we have come to rely on the beloved world wide web these days. Be it for emails, social networking, blogging, shopping, music downloads or translating ancient runes (no? Me neither), the web is truly an integral part of our lives. Scary.

Having started writing at 0820 this morning, waiting for the 0830 to Cannon Street, I had intended to finish this week’s blog after rehearsal in time to go live on Thursday. Instead however, I think it may go up on Friday. Late.

Oh, the irony.

“The idea that the babble of the blog is inseparable from critical assessment is taking serious and dangerous hold”, says Michael Coveney in his Whatsonstage blog today - can we see the irony already?

My main umbrage here is the audacity to sort of dismiss public opinion as unimportant and unqualified. Who, after all, are the people in the audience? The paying public? I very much doubt Mr Coveney paid for his ticket, although that is of course a perk to his job. And by some marvellous twist of fate he is of course paid for his opinion. However, does this make his view anymore valid than Joanna’s, John’s or Jeremy’s? Or anyone else, for that matter.

That is the nature of critique. We can all do it, Michael. And with the boom in online forums and social networking, we have to accept that more and more people are going to make their opinions known publicly, for better or for worse, and then make our own choice as to what to take and leave. And at the end of the day, it’s public opinion. We will all have our preferred critic (mine being….eerr… well, me I suppose) and we will no doubt make up our own minds.

Having spoken to friends in the cast, the show has undergone huge changes in previews alone and I’m sure it will continue to evolve and adapt as more audiences see it. As for the few people I know who have already seen the show, it looks set to be a bit of a mixed bag - it will take over from Melanie C’s stint in Blood Brothers and become the new Marmite of the West End. Fair enough. Theatre’s great attribute is the way in which it can provoke discussion and opinion, so I hope the cast and creative team find a show they are ultimately pleased with and proud to be a part of, and the rest is down to Judy over in marketing.

And as for Jack O’Brien, the man at the helm of the Phantasmagorical Sequel, he says there is “too much noise” surrounding the show’s opening - think yourself lucky Jack, Judy and the rest of the marketing department over at Really Useful have saved a third of their budget. Maybe they’ll use it to make a lovely poster for Phantom 3: Love’s Dead, JCS2: Judas’ Revenge or perhaps the long awaited Dogs.

This week I was also reminded of the classic “showbiz detective friend”. You know, those friends that pop up every now and then to ask about auditions, gossip and who’s directing this or casting that. Totally harmless but in essence, a sight bore. I’m all for helping people out, but I’m certainly not the Spotlight Link and have yet to open my own agency. The tiresome thing is when the friendly detective name drops important people and makes threats, although rarely acted upon, to crash various auditions.

I’m very aware how hard it can be to work in this industry, with rejection a cosy bedfellow and not always knowing about certain auditions, but that is all part of it. Harsh, I know- I should tell you that this week someone did tell me I have a heart of stone. Actually, to be totally honest, I told them; no faffing there then! Perhaps, I should’ve followed my true calling and continued with premiere league football or second choice, the Royal Marines.

One major cause for certain hoorah and definite joy is the arrival of Spring. Personally, I would love this turn of season to be officially marked with many a bright daffodil popping up hither and thither as new born lambs run gaily ‘cross meadow and over brier… but for now, I’ll settle for no snow and a slight temperature hike on the oaken barometer. Lovely.

News just in: we are halfway through rehearsals and two weeks away from first preview (great big thankyou to Mr Christopher Warren alias The Miller for pointing that one out!) Tales are taking shape, harmonies being bashed out. Still, I suspect opening night will sneak up on us like a competitive pilgrim playing grandmothers footsteps, so first concern is getting those lines learnt.

Juggling the day job, rehearsals and actually finding some time to sit down and look at what’s going on underneath all that pink highlighter is a crash course in time management and I thank heavens for rhyming couplets. ‘A! false churl, for Gods sweet bones! / This hast thou done for spite, now make ….’ Hmmm, groans? Loans? Ah yes… ‘atones!’ The show is really physical so the sooner the script is cast aside the easier it will be to jump on a knight’s back without the danger of inflicting paper cuts.

I remember back in 2008, on my summer break in-between my second and third year at LIPA, I was performing in Midsummer Nights Dream while a lot of my friends were tap dancing their way through this tasty bit of musical theatre at the Liverpool Playhouse.

It is therefore with excitement that I read of Mark Shenton’s approval of Mokita Grit’s London production of ‘Once Upon a Time At the Adelphi’.

We workshopped part of the Musical at LIPA before it moved to the Playhouse and I loved the music. I have a certain fascination with stories set in that era, and especially one that involve a lot of music. I remember from those early sessions that the show had legs, that it had a definite appeal and I really hope that it succeeds down south.

Above and beyond anything else, Sell a Door’s casting director, Emily Barlow, is one of the actors and Michael Bradley, composer of our Fringe Hit ‘Six Ways’ is the MD.

…couldn’t put me back together again. And this is because as you read this, I will be recovering from an overnight field trip to The King’s Troop, Royal Horse Artillery.

Now obviously, an evening spent in smart dress as a guest not only of the Troop but also of the scheduled State visit surely won’t be too taxing - unless of course I get a little too into the spirit of things and make excess use of a hip flask. Still, I think the real potential pitfalls here are the rude awakening by some chap yelling at the top of his voice, the bitter cold, the pouring rain and the 111 horses that need mucking out and feeding before any sort of riding or training can begin. This begins at around 5am. Ouch. And I still am avoiding kagools or umbrellas. And I’m not sure my 2-piece matching pajama set is the Troopers choice of nightwear - although I intend to put forward a very strong case!

So this week’s news is: Got me a job! As of the 23rd March I shall be Canterbury Taling it up with Tacit Theatre! Huzzah!

All seven cast members are now in place and we have a full compliment of pilgrims. We got our final casting yesterday and I shall be playing the friar, an old man, a randy student and an old hag. So, clearly they’ve cast against type (spare me the obvious jibes!).

We’re all playing a number of characters so it’s a great opportunity to have fun playing with some big physical choices and extreme characterisation… As well as a chance to see if you can still do all those accents that lurk at the bottom of your CV. Ahhh, Generic West Country - a use for you at last!

It has been a long time since I have been so incredibly busy. Exhausted, yes, but I have found in the last two weeks that I have only four to five hours a night to get some sleep (less if I actually want to shower or call home once in a while).

It started badly when I had to change trains at Bologna station and discovered that, unlike Britain, there are in fact three different versions of each platform at three different ends of the station. So when the big screen informed me that my train would leave from platform 3, there I waited… and waited… and waited… until I realised that my train had been and gone.

Confused, I asked a stranger in my best Italian for help. Roughly translated, I believe I said this: “Excuse me. I am English. The train for Brennaro, er, platform 3. Er, now, no. Er??” Luckily the nice man understood and directed me to another train I could catch for my destination and I spent the next fifteen minutes trying to figure out which buttons to press on my phone to make a call to another Italian phone to let the school teacher waiting for me in Crevalcore know that I would be an hour late. So, if you are ever passing through Bologna station, learn the Italian for “Am I on the right platform for the train for…?”