April 2010 Archives

Well, it looks like it’s back to ‘reality’, or at least a past life, for the moment. As I munch through my Weightwatchers hotpot (have you tried them? They’re not just easier on the hips… they’re like, well, an actual hot pot!) I sit at an office desk, with a growing tower of files before me, bathed in the blinking red light of the broken printer that I am sure is being temperamental and will certainly start behaving itself once I call out the repair man.

With the Canterbury Tales now finished, all that is left is the echo of dialogue that repeats on a loop as you try and get to sleep at night and the cast party which will hopefully not repeat on me tomorrow morning! Courtesy of Tacit’s kindly producer, Leo Steele (he assures me that is his real name) we have been invited to their brand new offering to the Fringe and we’re going to watch 100 year old clown Scaramouche Jones take over the space that was but a week ago our tavern. Fingers crossed for a big top and candyfloss!

Having been very sensible, and known my limits, and turned down that third glass of wine, and got the last tube home, I shall get a nice early night before I go off to teach 5 year olds tomorrow morning. I am writing this for all to see, on the world wide web, in the vain hope it will make me stick to my guns. Again; fingers crossed.

And so after 8 weeks of horseplay, hay bales and a seemingly never ending roll of Tubigrip, War Horse has a new cast. Hoorah. With any long running show, the first night for the new cast is somewhat strange, happening amidst continued dress rehearsals and usually with the audience having no idea anything has changed. Indeed, due to the complicated rotation system of tracks within the show we had our final dress five days after opening. And before we’ve really had time to enjoy the buzz of performing and perhaps chomp on a sugar cube for good behaviour, we’re into understudy rehearsals. Bang! Back to five hour rehearsal days alongside the show.

Yes, this happens with any show, and it is only for four weeks, but it calls for an extra bit of oomph to plough on through after the adrenaline fuelled opening week. And so to avoid hitting a dip brought on by information overload and generally being shattered, the only way is to sort of slap on a smile and trot on. That, and gorge on chewy sweets until you’re so high on e-numbers and colourings that nothing really matters anymore.

So with the penultimate show tonight, The Canterbury Tales is coming to an end and it’s all change!

I shall be truly sad when tomorrow night is over. It’s been a lovely journey. Saturday will see us clearing our tabs at the Tavern bar, packing away the corsets and for the last time I shall bid a fond farewell to the pilgrims. Apart from that Summoner — a pox on him.

The last week has been really quite delightful, the show is running on that nice energy when everyone knows full well what needs to happen and how far they can push it.

Having said that, last night was one of those nights where you are reminded that accidents can and do happen, and happen often. We knocked over the minstrel’s bench and his tankard of ale whilst romping, the Pardoner was limping around with a gammy toe and in the middle of the nun’s priest’s tale someone (cough * the Summoner * cough) stood on the hobby horse and it started neighing! Ah, the medieval hilarity.

Yes, another Stephen Schwartz pun, but I’m at a loss as to how best to describe just how irked I am. OK, I can deal with Over the Rainbow’s wholly inappropriate use of pop songs to showcase the girls’ potential for a ‘standard’ based musical. I am also now immune to the “you ditched her so completely”, hoisted up on a silver moon and up into the studio roof until she’s knocked out by a Par 64 lantern ending.

However, I have to draw the line somewhere and at this point I reach for my trusty dictionary (yes, I own a dictionary. Don’t judge me. Hey, go on and judge me, I’ll thrash you at Scrabble); “Mashup - is a song or composition created by blending two or more songs, usually by overlaying the vocal track of one song seamlessly over the music track of another, thus creating a transformative work”.

Who on earth is in charge of the Dorothy ‘mashups’? Firstly, they are not technically mashups, more medleys or at best two vaguely linked songs performed one after the other. Secondly, why?! I’m ever so sorry, and it was a true delight to see Mike Dixon stepping in to MD on Saturday night, but even he looked at pains to conduct the Dorothys in Beyonce’s ‘Crazy in Love’. Perhaps Dorothy was crazy in love in the MGM classic but we certainly didn’t learn of it through some half-hearted hip hop and a suggestive gesture or three. If you must rip off the mashup resurgence, which can only be a nod to Glee, please get it right.

On a slightly better note, this weekend’s programme did raise the issue of stamina, thank goodness. Whoever wins will need to put in a sound performance for 8 shows a week, until of course the runner up is brought in as an alternate, and so must be up for the challenge. This was made very clear and I was very pleased. Give the Lord a coconut.

On the flipside, and those poor Dorothys really are getting a hot/cold time of things, we were led to believe that their performance of America was something of a musical theatre masterpiece. The shame. Yes, it is undoubtedly one of the best musical song and dance numbers known to us, but their rendition failed to chart I’m afraid. The vocals were ok but they failed to manage fairly tame choreography and thus fell at the first flick ball change.

I know some of them are not dancers. Fair enough. Good effort. But let’s be realistic and ensure we don’t insult half the performers in the West End who sweat through vests each night giving it their all. Teach the girls something from On the Town or the superb Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious from Poppins. How’s about a G&S patter song with full choreography or maybe the Jellicle Ball? That’s what I call stamina.

Dorothy may not need to shoulder her leg and pirouette around Oz (although I wish she did) but then let’s not pretend she has to. Get the girls to sing in tune, look pretty and whack on a blue and white checkered frock as they skip out of sync along the yellow brick road.

Anyway, anyway, anyway (read Dawn French’s book), apologies to go on so about the Rainbow, what with our show being chaotic and all consuming at present, I had to take my mind onto something else. I shall return next week with tales of our first seven days and the start of understudy calls…. You have been warned!

Lets forget for one second that people have been unable to go on holiday, maybe even forget that people are stranded in foreign countries just dying to get home and of course I can forget the fact our director was unable to come and view the show last week! But not being able to get my birthday present out to me… that is just a stroke too far.

23 has the prospect of being pretty much a non-age. There is nothing you can do that you couldn’t at 22 - or 21 for that matter. Nor has it the glamour of being a ‘milestone’. You are just 23.

One step closer to… dare I say it… THIRTY!

And so after 8 weeks of rehearsals, last night saw the new cast of War Horse take up the reigns at the New London theatre and what a night it was. As with any first night, it’s quite hard to objectively analyse it amidst the chaos of dress rehearsals, costume plots and adrenaline, but on the whole I think it went well - I didn’t fall into a trench or get hit by a horse, which is a definite bonus.

As the show has been running for a year, we don’t have the luxury of previews as the production carries on rolling with the audience generally unaware anything has changed, we hope. We will of course have time to tweak things and continue finessing moments during rehearsals but it was quite a strange feeling to be launched into the real thing so soon.

With most of my week being taken over by wicker puppets, nuts and countless bottles of water, I don’t know if I’m coming or going really but thoroughly enjoyed crashing out on the sofa at the weekend with whatever banal offerings Sky+ had to offer - and there, glittering ruby red and calling to me was the latest instalment of that wonderful program that humiliates wanabee Dorothys.

Firstly, and quite publically I would like to give my support to Lauren, who should really be given a little dog and a basket full of jams, bread and the like and allowed to skip off for tea with the Munchkin Mayor immediately; be it a popularity contest or a talent show, how she ended up in the bottom two is simply ridiculous. She would make a lovely Dorothy and is one of the few girls who could take on an 8 show week - and do you know what, she’s trained. I feel adamant that if these shows are going to happen, then the best thing that can come from them is for Joe Public to see how important a theatrical training is. I’m all for Simon Cowell and his backbenchers to discover the next singing monkey and catapult him to stardom but that doesn’t quite cut it for me in theatre.

More so than ever, you have to excel in all disciplines of performance if you are to stand a chance at cracking this industry. Some of the Dorothy clan can barely skip in time?! Not to mention the appalling eyebrow acting that Sheila Hancock had to experience last week. Team that with enough GCSE acting to make ‘Our Day Out’ look like Chekhov, and you’re fairly short on potential winners that could pull it off.

I’m sure that the final 12 girls will all learn a huge amount during the show and no doubt make some great contacts but it is nothing compared to 3 years of committed study and the progression gained during training. Lauren is a great example of this and each week puts in a brilliant vocal, having focused on her entire performance and not trying to ‘out-eyebrow’ Doris or show more teeth than Darlene in a surprised smile during the entire chorus of Ding Dong the Witch is Dead.

Anyway, anyway, anyway…. In other news, from chatting to fellow thesps it still seems that auditions are running very low causing much frustration. There also seems to be a bit of trend of late to hold open auditions encouraging everyone and their dog to crowd into the camp-tastic dance palace of Mr Louis Spence and queue for 4 hours, only to discover that the panel kept 4 short ‘character actress’ girls as they only need to fill one part and a cover. Very annoying. Is there a need for casting calls to enjoy a bit more specificity? This business has it’s fair share of frustrations as it is so knowing you’re going up for a part you actually stand a decent chance of getting would be great.

One final hoorah for the wonderfully sunny days we’ve been enjoying recently and I think that’s my lot for this week.

So, I’m sure you’ll have all noticed how lax my blogging has been of late. What with Easter and wrapping up the first half of my tour and then starting the second half I’ve been a bit snowed under. Also, there are very few hotels out here with reliable Internet!

I finished the first half of the tour just before Easter and let me tell you, there is nothing like being back in your home country. I love Austria and think it is a beautiful country, but try doing anything on a Sunday and you begin to miss the 24 hour shopping culture we have in the UK, not to mention being able to read a menu with ease.

Quite a lot really. Particularly when your show involves a great deal of direct address to the audience. That is the joy of the Canterbury tales, and story telling in general: it is for the audience, it is sharing, it is a communal experience.

By in large we’ve had some really lovely audiences. Tonight, we played to a crowded house and the ‘pubby conviviality’ was plentiful. The nice thing about our show is you get to have a chat with the audience after (and poke them during); beyond friends and family we have had a really varied mix- some wonderfully rowdy teachers, a group of tankard swilling zombies and some bemused Germans who coped admirably with the Middle English.

However, last week gave us a taste of the pitfalls of the fringe. The reviews had not yet been published to cast out the net into the public domain and with a five week run, the nearest and dearest will, as per, inevitably leave it till week four to get their bottoms in gear. So, last Wednesday we had an audience of five, comprising of three American tourists who informed the box office on ticket collection that they’d have to leave at the interval, a friend of the Miller and a lone theatre goer.

Now, this audience was a fine bunch of folk - though my sympathies go out to the squirming teenage American tourist who was sat in between her parents as Absalom popped his poker where the sun don’t shine. The thing is, with an audience of five, we were acutely aware of said squirming.

No, this is not a lengthy essay on my favourite member of the 90’s pop fivesome and nor is it a simple but effective guide on the best use of cayenne pepper. Instead, it’s a well deserved round of applause for the true variety of theatre that the West End currently has on offer and the rather marvelous way all types exist alongside each other.

With my show schedule rolling into action on Wednesday next week, I’ve tried to get along to see as much theatre as possible before I only have Sunday matinees available to me; which is of course a day of rest, experimental cooking and my ongoing quest to master campanology. Careful… Think about it… So in recent weeks, I’ve been very privileged to see Sweet Nothings, Priscilla, Pina Bausch at the Barbican, War Horse and Once Upon a Time at the Adelphi.

Bias aside, it is huge testament to the London theatre scene that shows like War Horse and Sweet Nothings can sit alongside Priscilla and all enjoy packed audiences. Whatever your personal tastes, there is always something to excite, move, entertain, provoke or rouse you. Which makes me all the more inclined to get myself along to shows that I might not immediately rush to see - simply to make the most of what’s on offer and allow something new to inform, indulge, infuriate or delight me.

Pina Bausch’s Kontakhof proved to be an evening of much debate yet massively enthralling and a piece of dance theatre that must be preserved, simply to show what can be achieved when a practitioner has the licence to create work with no commercial restraints. She created work that she was passionate about and presented it in such a way that although it’s not always what the audience want to see, we are none the less captivated by her strict structuring of timings, shapes in space and quirky gestural choreography; we see the work through her eyes and it is not necessarily created to please us, thus we are in one way already once removed from the action before we’ve even sat down.

And just a 10 minute ride in a sweaty tube carriage (along with a group of screeching school kids, some drama school student pole dancing or singing showtunes and the obligatory 14 copies of the Evening Standard scattered around the floor like bad carpet) and you’ll find yourself in the Palace theatre facing the biggest disco ball you’ll ever see along with a neon pink lipsick smeared set. Unlike Pina, the assault on the senses throughout Priscilla is wholly deliberate and is orchestrated to give us just what we want and loads of it in an unashamedly brash way that leaves us wanting more as the curtain falls.

Yes, it’s undeniably camp and trashy, but this is trashy with a whole lot of ‘cashy’ invested in it. And so long as the producers remain entirely clear with the show’s intentions, audiences will continue to step-ball-change out of the theatre and nip into Boots on the way home to pick up a new eye liner.

Adding to the various treats currently in town, we can look forward to the imminent arrival of the Menier’s Sweet Charity, while the Broadway cast of Hair have already made themselves very cosy at the Gielgud. I hope I’ll be able to slip out of the stables and catch them at some point very soon.

Trivial item of the week: today is the day I finally discover the fate of my barnet for the next year. Yes, I’m pathetic and should really man-up and I know it’ll be fine and will be right for the show and I’m not nervous at all and don’t mind not being allowed to cut my hair for a year and of course I won’t bleach it as an amusing experiment…. Phew.

And at the end of the day, there’s an easy solution. A friend of mine once proffered these priceless words: bad hair? Good Hat.

Hoorah.

DISCLAIMER: I can only apologise for the appalling, trite and downright awful use of the made up word ‘cashy’. I must learn that not every line needs to rhyme. Not all the time.

Oh dear.

…in a parallel world where monkeys can sing and nothing makes sense. And if you weren’t pushing 40 with no apparent talent, a little too much around the waist and of course, you weren’t a bloke. Although if the first episodes of the BBC’s latest talent search are anything to go by, I think Darren, Jim’s Gran, and John’s rogue poodle would’ve been equal contestants for some of the Dorothy hopefuls.

Having said that, I was delighted (after I collapsed in surprise) to see some genuinely talented girls on the show, with many bringing some great vocals to the competition already. My problem lies in the many girls who got though to the final 50 and really had no chance of claiming the coveted bejewelled shoes. I apologise for any offence caused, but Dorothy is not a rock chick, or a WAG, or a grungy ‘twentysomething’, or indeed a buffet happy hippy and definitely not someone with ‘urban edge’. It’s The Wizard of Oz for goodness sake; hair in bunches, box steps down a yellow brick road and sparkly flippin’ slippers!!

In the real world I would never dream of turning up to audition for the role of Billy Elliot and I’ll wager a fair few pennies that David Grindrod would laugh me out of the room if I turned up to give him my Gavroche. Why do TV castings feel they can blur this line of ‘castability’? It defies sense. It gives people who perhaps aren’t aware of the casting process a false sense of hope when although the final 50 were a mixed bag of colourful hopefuls, the chosen 10 to compete in the live finals are, with 1 or 2 exceptions, all of a similar look and height and would no doubt give a largely ‘as written’ performance of Dorothy.

As the live finals progress, it will be interesting to see how the new panel of judges add to proceedings. I’m particularly taken with Sheila Hancock already - her glorious mix of honesty and throwaway comments have had me chuckling aplenty and we can always rely on Graham Norton to revel in the true camp absurdness of it all. Marvellous.

2 weeks til opening night and things are drawing on apace. A run of Act 1 yesterday brought lots of sweaty actors and only one injury so smiles all round despite many of us not being able to feel limbs, speak or see clearly for some time afterwards. The first full run of the show next week will hopefully be a good marker of where things are and begin the run up to tech and opening.

Best of luck to all those performing in graduate showcases around this time. Any recent graduate will tell you that although it feels like the most important day ever to fall in the traditional almanac, it really isn’t. It is simply another opportunity to present yourself in a good light, and unlike auditions, you’ll have had some rehearsal and direction behind you. Yes, be fully prepared and give it all you’ve got, but don’t spend hours worrying about it or being anxious about agents, castings and who signs with who. Agents are a very personal point of conversation and one who works well for you might not be the best option for someone else. Stick to your guns and go with who you feel most comfortable.

My latest whim is to cover my body in various heated items, aiming to sooth aches and pains developed in rehearsals. Turned out that irons, kettles and insulation tape are less than effective so I’ve plumped for those ice pack-like ‘snap and shake’ heat packs and those bean bag things you whack in the microwave for 2 minutes, and no more than 2 minutes “in case of fire, burning, melting or other dangers”.

With the latter, I really thought I’d struck gold, were it not for the herb like filling that heats up and leaves you smelling like catnip. Any advice on how to curb this unfortunate side effect would be much appreciated.

Or else I might bite the bullet and work with it. Although I’m not sure War Cat has the same ring to it.