An Actor's Journal

Parting is such sweet sorrow

2011-07-19T12:05:00.000+01:00

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes and ships and sealing-wax.
Of cabbages and kings
And why the sea is boiling hot
And whether pigs have wings."

This is the end of An Actor's Journal as we know it. In fact, this is the end of my blogging project as I know it. I never say never, but for now I've decided to draw a definite line under everything. Considering I haven't written anything for nearly three months, this probably comes as no surprise, but I thought it fair to at least say a proper goodbye.

There aren't many reasons for this. I simply haven't the time, energy, authority or inclination to maintain a blog about acting or being an actor. Many experienced and successful directors and practitioners from Konstantin Stanislavsky and Bertolt Brecht to Declan Donnellan and Mike Alfreds have stressed that acting by its very nature is a process of doing first and foremost. Anything else - be that writing, discussing, eulogising etc - is just circumambulation or, as one of my teachers at drama school may endearingly put it, "bollocks". Over the past ten months I have been inspired, exhausted, terrified, relaxed, confirmed and sensitised to the fact that I have a very long way to go before I have enough experience or insight to even consider acting, let alone writing about it for a readership. Who do I think I am! My primary concern right now should be the process of acting and not any results, reception or reflection which may spring from it. I see that so clearly, now, that it's a wonder I had the gall to assume a blog on it in the first place.

Another fairly obvious reason is that, because of my training, I can't fully focus on both the day-to-day experience of training and the activity of recording it for posterity. As the saying goes, one cannot be a slave for two masters, and I know where my true allegiance lies. I enjoy the training so much I often feel too overwhelemed at the end of the week to even keep a comprehensive record of my own notes, let alone condense, edit and reshape them for a wider audience. There is a reason why training can often seem so elusive and private. That is because it is. Beyond the basic craft of vocal and physical ability to sustain a performance, the essence of acting exists outside of both objectivity and the capabilities of language. The experience is so much more profound, that I envy those who can even remotely describe it as recognisable to others. I'm not describing some form of magic, either. Try and accurately describe love, fear, grief, rage, or any other stong and deep emotion and you face the same problem. Drama, the theatre, acting, whatever you want to call it, is borne out of those emotions and includes an uncanny bond between the actors and audience. The effort of writing about this phenomenon is simply too great for my pretty little head.

Finally - and this is a question I ought to have asked myself long ago - who gives a damn? The majority of readers of this blog were kind enough to continue after an earlier blog I wrote. How many of these people actually want to read this stuff? It's a bit of a niche market, and though we all watch plays, films or television, few of us care enough to talk about it in detail. Those who have the spirit and the knowledge do a better job than I do, so why step on their toes? I'm not trying to be humble, I just know that I cannot devote as much time to this kind of work as many others do. My heart isn't really in the blog, though my enthusiasm for the work at school and future career has only increased.

So there you have it. I'm too lazy to maintain a blog, and not enough people I know necessarily need to read my opinions or even care about such matters. The only respectable option was to make a dignified exit. It has been fun, though, and I'm very grateful to all and any who stumbled across these pages and found something useful to take with them. As I've already said, I can't claim to never return; but for the forseeable future this is, as they say, it.

Thank you and goodbye!

An Actor's Journal

2011-04-30T04:55:00.001+01:00

Sweet are the uses of adversity

Something very strange has happened over the past four months. Although I shudder at the mere mention of the word, the only way to describe how I’ve been feeling is by saying that I’m incredibly happy. That’s right; I have almost nothing to complain about in my life right now.

Not that everything is perfect: I’m still crushingly poor, my home situation is far from ideal, and I have an administrative backlog as large and as difficult to overcome as the national deficit. However, this all pales into insignificance when I consider the positives.

First, as clichéd as it may seem, I’m alive and in good health. Nothing really matters above that. It’s all very well making a million pounds, but if you’re too tired, ill, or stressed to enjoy it, what’s the point? Second, I had a fantastic second term at Drama School, and have recently begun what promises to be an even better third term. Third, I have been slowly carrying out my New Year’s sort-of-Resolution. Finally, I have been making better connections with old and new friends and colleagues; all culminating in creating a happier, more self-assured and less worrisome me. The results have been clear to those around me, too: I’ve been told on various occasions how much happier, better-looking and more grounded I seem. Who am I to complain?

It’s all connected, of course. I think the fact that I made a very conscious decision to take more responsibility for my life has seeped into my way of dealing with the expected and extraordinary issues I face. The returns have been generous. After completing two rehearsal projects at school, I have been given very positive feedback. This is not to say that there isn’t plenty to work on, and goodness knows I’m more aware than ever of how much further I need to go, but the challenge is to work on what I need to work on, and go as far as I can go. One hopes this will be a lifelong career, and recent figures suggest I have an average of fifty years to continue improving and learning. Why waste the time I have now by not focusing exclusively on myself and the areas in which I could push myself?

The most important ingredient to my contentment cake is that I have finally remembered just how much fun I’m having. Acting is a strange job: we deal with raw human emotion and face the issues which dog our species on a daily basis. Despite this, one needn’t feel eternally anguished or despairing. With tears must come laughter, and the only way to treat the job is with a commitment to joy, pleasure and fun. The line between comedy and tragedy is so thin it’s almost indistinguishable. Shakespeare, Chekhov and many others knew this, and I would wager that it’s probably hardwired into our DNA to find and extract the positive from the negative. Drama School is such an intense little bubble which takes up so much energy that one could be forgiven for becoming ever so slightly engrossed in one’s own life. Nonetheless, the bubble is transparent and of one’s own making. You get what you put in, and you must always focus on the bigger picture. No-one is forced to go (indeed, every student auditioned to be offered a place) and it is a training for a career, so if you really do hate it the door is not locked. If ever I slip into a negative stream of thought I remind myself of this and that I have the power to make my experience a happy one. I always honour my natural emotions – I would never force myself to feign “happiness” – but there is a difference between feeling something and wallowing unnecessarily in it. I know I have a tendency to wallow, so I’d like to know if I can wallow in a bit of excitement, joy and pleasure for a while.

All a bit boring and self-help, this time around, I’m afraid; but if you came looking for bitterness and resentment, you arrived too early. I have 60 years to bitch and moan. Come back then.

Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

As You Like It, II.1

In Their Own Words

2011-04-24T22:17:00.000+01:00

I don't really like productions in which the audience is told what to think and what to feel. It's very difficult not to be tempted to direct their feelings - but all you've got to do is direct their attention - to say "look at this". I think that's what audience participation is. They are the editors, they are the judges. It's not like a movie where everything is decided. The audience can look where they want. That is why it's important that wherever they look, there should be extremely detailed life.

All I have to do as an actor is believe in what I'm saying at the moment I say it. I have to make decisions. Am I pretending? Am I lying? Do I really believe it? Do I feel it? How important is it that I get the other person to understand what I'm saying? Are they likely to? All those things. It's not up to me whether the character would have been better off if he had or hadn't said that. It's not up to me to say: is he foolish to say that? He just does say it.

Sir Ian McKellen, British Actor, born 1939

The Magic Space

2011-04-03T14:00:00.000+01:00

Making Something out of Nothing: Actors and the Audience

Theatre is an ancient art; it has existed in various forms in every culture across the globe. It is part of what makes us human, and as with many other elements of human existence it is very difficult to define. One simple yet by no means complete way could be to describe it as the experience of one group of people watching another group inhabiting a space out of which Something is created from Nothing. Often very recognisable stories are played out and – as many have noted through the ages – a mirror is held up to nature. Theatre shows us as we are and what we think we know, albeit in a heightened and often abstracted manner. To have the desire to stand in a space and discover what constitutes the core of humanity certainly requires a huge amount of confidence and bravery, but the space is still empty; rarely will an actor truly know what will happen when he steps across that silver thread and into a world created solely through the imaginative process.

During the first year of my training, classes go back to basics, as it were, by simply looking at what one of my teachers calls the strands which make up the carpet; the elements which make up our understanding of Theatre. Each week we explore first what an empty space is or can be. Then how it can be defined by an actor through technical application, such as the use of the actor’s voice and body, and how space between more than one actor can “read” to a viewer. This enables us to create a variety of worlds. One can travel from deserts and plains to mountaintops and cliff faces. One can be awaiting a boat at a harbour or scouring a forest for signs of life; lost at sea to being cramped in a small prison cell; all through simply being in the space. One can be prince or thief; god or mortal; human or animal. We can tell fairy tales and invent dreams. There is no need of costume other than our neutral items of clothing; nor any use of props or miming objects. It isn’t even necessary to use recognisable language. Communication works primarily through sharing space, and the Theatre is all about this.

Eventually, we were permitted to experiment with a prop, but the prop could only be used in a way other than that which it appeared to be made for. For instance, a boot would become a games console; a scarf could become iron chains; a wicker basket could become an oversized phallus.

“Why bother with this?” one may ask. “What has it really to do with the theatre or acting?” It is true that one can feel lost at first, but once you clear away all previous associations with your own perceptions of theatre and get used to the power of experimentation will the answers come. What is acting if not make-believe? Watching someone use a shoe as a toothbrush and recognising it as a toothbrush is infinitely more interesting than watching someone just brush their teeth. Seeing someone lost on a raft when sat on a bare stage can be more compelling than footage of the same thing happening. Watching people transform into monstrous creatures behind someone’s back is more frightening than any CGI animation. Why: because the audience are invited to imagine all of this along with the actors. They need to recognise the toothbrush, the sea and the monsters through their imagination. They can’t and won’t do it if the actor decides not to share, and who can blame an audience for not responding to an actor who refuses to play with them? No-one will pay to watch a bunch of people enjoying themselves for their own sake.

We are all imaginative creatures, but most of us have chosen lives which insist we use our imagination practically. This is honourable and the actor should have total respect for such a life. It is an actor’s job, however, to use his or her imagination to share with those who are sat watching. Just as a mechanic will be excited to explain the workings of an engine to you if you are really interested, an actor ought to relish the prospect of sharing his mind, his body, and his soul with those who have taken the time and energy – as well as spent the money – to be interested in what you have to offer. They expect something from nothing, and they are absolutely right to do so. The Theatre is a Magic Space.

Further Reading: The Empty Space, Peter Brook (Penguin)

I'll Be Back

2011-03-14T01:54:00.000+00:00

Plenty of updates are coming soon...

Just give me some time.

Film Review: The King’s Speech

2011-01-21T20:33:00.001+00:00

The King’s Speech, (Dir. Tom Hooper; Screenplay David Seidler; Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush, Helena Bonham-Carter)

This film will win Oscars. It is a British film about a British man who happens to be the second in line to the British throne. When unexpectedly cast into that throne, he must fulfil his role as symbolic figurehead of the nation, and when war is announced his must be the voice that reassures his peoples that this is the right course of action. There’s only one snag: he has a speech impediment so detrimental that it has the potential to destroy his confidence and self-worth. He sees an unconventional speech therapist, a retired Australian actor, who works hard to break through the stuffy and awkward exterior to get to the warm, family-loving, dutiful man beneath.

It is a British film with an almost entirely British cast holding a large amount of transatlantic respect and several awards and nominations among them. There is an Oscar-winning actor in the cast: the only non-Brit who plays his own nationality subtly and confidently in a film which touches on the end-of-empire attitude to its colonies. It is a British film telling a true story set in a period within living memory, yet long enough ago to have developed its own clichés. It is a British film which has clearly been given a budget equal to its scope and has invested every penny of that budget on ensuring high production values. It is a British film which British people, Americans and members of other nationalities will adore. It is a British film which has already received a large amount of critical praise. It is a British film which has taken millions of pounds at the Box Office in its first weekend. This film will win Oscars.

And yet...I left the cinema feeling unchanged. I enjoyed what I saw; I thought the acting was superb, the script excellently written, the shots beautiful and the soundtrack effective. And yet...I left the cinema feeling empty.

I’ve been wondering why I cared so little for the film despite having enjoyed watching it so much, and the answer came to me a few hours before writing this. I don’t like romanticism or sentimentality, and The King’s Speech slotted right into that bracket. I’m also not much of a fan of the Royal Family, and while not an anarchist yearning for the Republic, neither am I keen to see an institution which has symbolised a strict class, social, political and economic elitism for centuries be presented as a comfortable establishment with no consequence beyond being nice to look at. Perhaps I’m being unfair. There were moments of unexpected fun, danger, irony and even hints towards the deeper issues relating to the very specific case of the British Royalty of the last few generations. However, those moments were too few and far between for my liking, and I think that’s what it all came down to in the end. On the other hand, that wasn’t what the film was about, and so for me it was simply comfortable viewing.

Having said that, I ought to highlight what I did like. As I said, the acting was superb. Colin Firth skilfully towed the line between magisterial gravitas and inner desperation as George VI. You’d have to ask one of my voice teachers if the stuttering was technically accurate, but as an audience member I found it neither distracting nor pitiful and Firth clearly achieved the mark of making the characteristic an adjunct to the character. For me, though, Geoffrey Rush was the best thing about it. I could watch him do anything and find him compelling. Here, he gave Lionel Logue a mischievous quality which served to equalise both the actor and the character’s status in the film. Really, the relationship portrayed develops through Logue correcting not only George’s speech but also his soul. The link between the latter’s impediments and his fear of the situation in which he finds himself is a tried and tested “better yourself” device made all the more poignant and encouraging by it being the struggle of an unlikely monarch. What Rush does so well is to convince us that the philosophy of speech equals soul is not only that of his character but belongs to all of us, whether we are conscious of it or not. When Logue deliberately enrages the King while rehearsing for his coronation, he asks: “Why should I listen to you?” to which George responds furiously “Because I have a voice!” Not a head was in disagreement with Logue as he smiled and calmly agreed: “Yes, you do.” Of course, that is also a mark of a good screenplay, but for me, watching Firth and Rush develop the two men’s relationship was the most interesting aspect of the entire film.

Likewise, the rest of the supporting cast are fun to watch. Bonham-Carter provides a likeable and approachable Queen Elizabeth (a far cry from the “nation’s grandmother” image with which she became associated for so long), while Timothy Spall (a suitably jowelly Churchill), Michael Gambon (stifling and stoic George V), Guy Pearce (the profligate Edward VIII), and Jennifer Ehle (lovable Mrs Logue) are all effortlessly good. I cannot think of any particular reason for casting Derek Jacobi as the Archbishop of Canterbury beyond being a blatant nod to his legendary portrayal of that other famous stammering emperor, Claudius, but perhaps I’m being cruel again, since his performance is every bit as enjoyable as I’d expected it to be.

In reality, the film was great; it’s the subject matter which really wasn’t my cup of tea. My personal taste counts for very little in the long run. What does it matter? This film will win Oscars.

Turning Point

2011-01-13T19:20:00.000+00:00

In the first week of Drama School we were asked to think about a particular experience of watching a film or play which made us realise that we wanted to act, or which made us more aware of our desire. The piece could be about any point in our lives, but the only stipulation was that we were watching the work and not acting in it ourselves. It didn’t take me long to think of my Turning Point, and I thought I’d share it with you in a slightly edited version.

While I was studying for my GCSEs, I would bunk off from PE class on Thursday morning to go to the National Theatre at 7am and queue for day seats. It was the only opportunity for me to go to the theatre and see a play. I could never afford the advertised prices and no one in my family was remotely interested in culture or the arts to encourage me. At school, I had already built up a reputation of being someone with “talent” insofar as a fifteen-year-old schoolboy could be, and although this was a useful tool to prevent being bullied, I was still lonely and had few close friends. I hated PE because I was never any good at sports, and was just generally a lazy person. So I would bunk off the classes and found that going to the theatre had a double reward of getting out of school and having something to look forward to in the evening.

On one of these occasions, I queued for Martin McDonagh’s The Pillowman, with the intention of taking a friend. I had never heard of McDonagh before, or of any of his plays. All I knew about this one was that it was new writing and the short description written in the season brochure: “a fiction writer living in a police state is interrogated about the gruesome content of his short stories, and their similarities to a number of bizarre child murders occurring in his town.” I was also intrigued by the cast: Jim Broadbent, David Tennant, Nigel Lindsay and Adam Godley. I knew of the former two actors, but I was most interested in seeing something which had had very little prior exposure. For me at that time new writing was an adventure, an experiment with less certainty and far more risk; like a safer and more exciting form of gambling. On this occasion, the bet paid off.

The play was an incredible experience. For two hours, I completely forgot about myself and was sucked into the world of the play. The production was stunning both visually and conceptually, the text seemed flawless, and the performances from each member of the cast were superb. In later years, I would be proud to boast of having seen and known of David Tennant’s talent long before the majority of the country knew him in Doctor Who. At times the play was a mystery thriller; at times a comedy; at times it was meta-theatrical; and at times it was intensely tragic. I recently described the experience as feeling as though a large hand had burst from the stage and grabbed me by the neck, dragging me from one emotional experience to another. The play dealt with some extremely dark themes and ideas, but it was done in such a way as to make me feel both safe and sickened at the same time. I had never before had a viewing experience like it.

Ever since my first visit to the theatre, I knew I wanted to be a stage actor. There was never any question of doing anything else. At times, however, I found it difficult to see the theatre as anything other than a place to escape the mundanity of normal life, an extra-curricular pursuit which some people were lucky or enterprising enough to make money from. I never saw it as a real, living, organic and dangerous place which had the ability to really capture people. I had never been made conscious of its impact before seeing The Pillowman. It was a turning point not simply for intensifying my desire to act, but it also made me aware of how dark the human experience could be and to recognise that every aspect of our existence could be used for theatrical exploration. I began to see the world very differently. It may sound odd in words, but after watching the play I felt more conscious of being alive. Over the years I’ve come to believe that life is theatre and that theatre is the expression of human experience. In hindsight, I think that going to watch this play was the seeding of this belief.

An Actor's Journal

2011-01-05T12:59:00.002+00:00

"Suit the action to the word, the word to the action"

This is a bit of a milestone post, folks. Not only have I finally returned to the blogosphere, but it’s a New Year, there is a New Look for the blog itself, and its writer is undergoing some serious changes.

Of course, the most monumental difference between now and the last time I wrote one of these posts is that I’ve finally begun my professional acting training. To say that it is a challenge would be more than an understatement. Nor would it be an overstatement to say that my life has begun a process of serious change, and I have learnt more about myself in a few months than I have in twenty-three years of existence. As well as this, my understanding of the theatre has been knocked sideways, and although I never had the audacity to believe I knew a great deal, I am now certain that there is a long way to go with how theatre and acting works, and that my body and imagination can stretch so much further than I had previously thought possible. Because of this, I’ve decided one major goal for myself. I don’t believe in New Year’s Resolutions anymore, but I have always believed in having something to aim for, and I know now that my main aim for 2011 can be condensed into three words: remove the clutter.

When I say “clutter” I mean habits and learnt modes of behaviour which have led to emotional, psychological and therefore artistic block. It’s a terminology borrowed from one of the acting teachers at my school and I believe it to be the cause of my particular blocks. The way I’ve led my life so far, with its ups, downs and sideways jerks, has been both a result of and a contribution to the complications in my life. I’ve always gone from one extreme to another, and although the nature of my upbringing and history has been a major influence, I’ve merely substituted one nonsense with another. Materially I’ve been surrounded by junk, and I’ve begun to pick up the habit by collecting possessions without learning the virtue of a tidy and simple non-materialistic lifestyle. Emotionally, I’ve had to hide, pretend, suppress and subdue; not just in terms of my sexuality but also in my relationships with other people. Or I’ve overcompensated by being short-tempered, intensely and possibly overbearingly passionate, moody and highly excitable. I recently did one of those online personality surveys which of course are on the whole a load of rubbish, but amongst the rubbish was a phrase which really struck a chord. It said that I gave the outward impression of a “mercurial personality”. How appropriate a word to describe me! I’m emotionally mercurial, ever fluid and changeable to the point of being completely uncontainable. In terms of an approach to the art of acting, this is quite attractive, but Drama School has already taught me that I’m nowhere near that stage yet. Although I don’t lead a double life, I’m still being somewhat duplicitous with people. I like to give the impression that I’m a strong person, impenetrable, and not susceptible to emotional damage despite (and maybe even because of) what I’ve been through. Well, that’s simply bollocks. I’m a human being, and of course I’ll feel vulnerable or weak at times. I need to achieve a sense of technical, emotional and imaginative stability and security within myself before attempting to go wild with the characters I play. Indeed, I’ll never really be able to act freely with a sense of safety without learning how to touch base with myself. Once I release all of my own tensions, the fun will follow.

Constantin Stanislavski,
Influential Theatre Practitioner

On our first day, we were asked to give very brief answers to four questions: 1) Who am I? 2) Where am I from? 3) What has brought me here? 4) What do I want to achieve? After everyone had spoken a little bit, we were reminded that these were four questions we always needed to ask when approaching a character as a living being within the world he/she/it inhabits. Well, I am a living being in a world inhabited by 6.5 billion other humans and billions of other specimens of other life! Where is the difference between myself and a character beyond the fact of the latter being fictional? A lot of drama from throughout the world and history is about people/characters who stumble through life with physical and emotional tensions, picking up baggage along the way, until they are forced to confront themselves and others, and in some cases the entire structure of the world in which they live. If that isn’t life as we know it, then I don’t know what is. Having had the Christmas and New Year break to reflect back on the first term has made me realise this and that my job as an actor is come to a better understanding of myself in order to understand the character. How on earth could I possibly fully inhabit another character when I do not really fully inhabit my own? I think this might be the key to improving as an actor, and as a person; but I can’t really achieve this until I remove the clutter which leads to block!

I can’t blame it all on external influences since all I’ve done is run away, first to Brighton and then Madrid, creating my own spaces to life a fabricated “free life”. That was all very well and good when I didn’t need to face the reality of my life in London, but now that I’ve had to return and I can’t live independently I find I’m confronted with my own attitudes to myself and my work. I don’t respect myself or how fortunate I have been. A girl in my class recently said something which hasn’t stopped resonating with me: everything which has happened to you in the past, good or bad, pleasant or otherwise, has led you to the here and now. I’ve extended that to understand that if you are in a good place, recognise that not only good or pleasant things have led you here, and that hard lessons will have been learnt. Similarly, if you are not currently happy, then it’s only temporary; but you have to be the one to realise that and use what you can learn from this time to lead you to a better future.

Well, now I’ve said it, it’s time I begin doing it. It’s time to take genuine responsibility for myself and my relationships with others. It’s time to actively learn to manage my time, energy and my money. It’s time to prove to myself and those around me that I can be a strong, independent and capable person. This all sounds a little bit self-help, but why not? One of the harsh realities of life is that you can’t always rely on everyone else to help you, although you shouldn’t be too proud to refuse any assistance offered. It’s a delicate balance between self-motivation and willpower, and willingness to be vulnerable at times and accept guidance. It’s probably the hardest lesson which I’ve only just begun, but at least I’m beginning the journey.

"What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me—nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so."
[Hamlet II.ii]

In Their Own Words

2011-01-03T15:57:00.001+00:00

It was at the [Liverpool Everyman Theatre] in the late Sixties and early Seventies that I realised there was a logic to being an actor. That it wasn't just farting about. The policy at that time was to do things that were only to do with the community in which it was based. So if you were doing King Lear, or whatever, you'd do it in such a way that it was relative to a building site in Liverpool. I followed the miners' strike; I followed the Guildford Four. After reading Gerry Conlon's book I wanted to do the film [In the Name of the Father, with Daniel Day-Lewis] so much that I went to the interview completely in character as Giuseppe and stayed in character all the way through the interview - Belfast accent, old suit from a thrift shop...

I like playing characters that are complex, that are intriguing, that come from leftfield, that do things that are unexpected. I don't like people who just follow one line and that's it – that's why I could never be in a sitcom, I don't think. They're not intriguing enough for me.

Pete Postlethwaite, British Actor, 1946-2011
Read his obituary in The Guardian here

I Have Been Watching...

2011-01-02T16:29:00.001+00:00

If you thought the mammoth post below was long, you ain’t seen nothing yet. In the past few months I’ve barely had any time to read, yet I managed to squeeze that lot in. Most of the time, when not actually rehearsing my own projects, I was at the theatre . So, in the spirit of declaration there now follows a list of art which I have ingested since June of this year.

Welcome to Thebes, Olivier (National Theatre, London), 18/06/10
I was so excited about seeing a play on the Olivier stage after having spent two years away from the National. I was even more excited to learn that this play was to have a predominantly black cast and deal with current political issues in Africa through the not-so-oblique allegory of the Theban tragedies. Unfortunately, the play turned out to be little more than a confused rehash of familiar themes and ideas while seemingly being a vehicle for the National Theatre to cash in on the large amount of pays on in the summer with black and ethnic minority actors in the cast. There were some wonderfully watchable performances by Nikki Amuka-Bird, Chuk Iwuji and David Harewood, but I spent most of the time picking up references only someone with a large amount of knowledge about Greek mythology would get; a cruel irony, considering that most of the audience, comprised of young black people who may or may not frequently visit the theatre, did not get it.

Henry VIII, Shakespeare’s Globe, London 21/06/10

I’d never been to watch a play at the Globe before an opportunity arose to see this production. This is not one of the oft-performed plays, either, so the experience was doubly enriching. Mark Rosenblatt’s production was clever and funny, mixing the pageantry of the play with the darkly political atmospheres surrounding both the events within the play and those surrounding its writing. We are reminded that this is a play written soon after Elizabeth I’s death, and is therefore tailored towards being nostalgic propaganda for the Tudors. However, the machinations of Cardinal Wolsey, played to wobbly-jowled perfection by Ian McNeice are not forgotten, and the characters’ duplicity is cleverly delineated by the inclusion of corridors running along the periphery of the thrust stage as a means of highlighting the differences between the public and private spaces. The cast were brilliant, and the whole production was very enjoyable.

The White Guard, Lyttleton (National Theatre, London), 07/07/10

After the disappointment of Women Beware Women and Welcome to Thebes, this adaptation of Mikhail Bulgakov’s novel was a very welcome relief. The only word I can think of to describe the production is “superb”: superb acting, superb direction, superb lighting and superb technical changes. Special mention has to go to Justine Mitchell, Pip carter, Kevin Doyle, Conleth Hill, and Paul Higgins. For me, this will go down with The Pillowman, The House of Bernarda Alba, and Adrian Lester’s Henry V as one of the best shows I’ve ever seen at the National Theatre.

Henry IV Parts 1 and 2, Shakespeare’s Globe, London, 08/07/10 – 05/09/10

Of the four Shakespeare productions I saw on stage this year, Dominic Dromgoole’s production was without doubt the finest and my favourite. I’ve long been a fan of Allam’s since seeing him in David Harrower’s Blackbird, a few years ago, and my adoration of him has been cemented by taking on Falstaff (a role he was seemingly born to play) and performing it with aplomb. Allam has such presence, the entire audience lights up whenever he is on stage. Of course, he wasn’t the only good thing in it, but he certainly is owed the most amount of praise for this one.

The Beauty Queen of Leenane, The Young Vic, 19/07/10

This play is yet another Martin McDonagh work for which I have nothing but adoration. His gift for the lyricism and rhythm of the rural Irish dialect is unparalleled. In this, the first London revival of the play since its original run in 1996, we are presented with Maureen and her over possessive mother, played finely by Susan Lynch and Rosaleen Linehan, respectively. The main space at The Young Vic is a joy for staging, too, as the use of acetate lining the walls of the auditorium and streaming what was taken to be rainwater down the outside made the audience a part of the physical world of the play. The attention to detail was so gratifying that it was a little disappointing to spot a few moments when the believability was stretched and even broken. One actor in particular seemed to be working on a different beat to the rest of the cast, but the performances were on the whole very enjoyable.

Blood and Gifts, Lyttleton (National Theatre, London), 27/09/10

Political theatre isn’t all Brechtian alienation and verbatim council-flat moaning, y’know. It is possible to set a bog-standard drama in the middle of a particularly relevant political conflict, as J.T Rogers has done with this new piece. Diplomats, politicians, military and religious leaders all juggle their public and private responsibilities in an arena as enchanting and dangerous as Afghanistan during the Soviet occupation in the 1980s. What is most refreshing to watch is the lack of prejudice: there are no good or bad guys, only people reacting according to their personal and political principles. The play presents us with a fresh look at the contemporary history of a fragile state, while examining international relations in a manner which includes rather than alienates the audience. Fast-paced, witty and engaging, this play proved that with a great script, political theatre can successfuly marry education and entertainment.

Hamlet, Olivier (National Theatre, London), 06/10/10

As Derek Jacobi once said, there are as many Hamlets as there are actors to play him: the role - and by extension, the entire play - is as universal and as versatile as they come. Rory Kinnear really had nothing to worry about. Nicholas Hytner’s production has been a commercial and critical success, and the production can pat itself on the back for making the text so clear and accessible, as well as highlighting the political tensions bubbling throughout the play. Though not yet the best version I’ve ever seen at my ridiculously young age, and despite a few weak links in the cast, this was a thoroughly enjoyable show.

Blue/Orange, Arcola Theatre, London, 02/11/10

The question we must always ask ourselves is “Why?” Why revive Joe Penhall’s play about race, mental health and the NHS which left one review in a state of “white hot excitement”? Why convert the cast from an all-male one to an all-female one? Not that the idea wasn’t novel. Having only read the play and taken one monologue as part of my audition portfolio I was certainly keen to see a production of the play, and even more so when reading the twist. However, while watching I couldn’t help noticing just how masculine the language is. Most of the time it wasn’t that prominent, but the scenes of conflict left me feeling more estranged. By the end of the performance, I doubt I was any wiser as to the motives behind the decision to provide an all-female production, but it was gratifying to watch, in any case.

Tribes, Royal Court, London, 06/11/10

After about five minutes, I was prepared to hate this play. Lights up on an average white middle-class privileged family having an argument around the dinner table. So far so Polly Stenham. Yawn: pass the balsamic vinegar and f*@k off. The possibility for cliché and contrivance is so high with these scenarios that the mere suggestion of characters’ guilt, angst or frustration immediately sends me to Sardonic Central Station. However, I was about to be confronted with my own prejudices about what makes for good theatre, as the play was by no means a rehash of same old, same old. The eldest son, Billy, is deaf, and the play became more about him and his experiences as he embarks on a relationship with a woman who was born hearing to a deaf family, and is rapidly losing her own hearing. The play dealt with sense of self, attitudes toward disability and the implications of that all-too-vague term “community”. Though the ending was somewhat easily-resolved, the play raised some interesting questions and left me keen not to judge a play by its poster too much in future.

King Lear, Donmar Warehouse, London, 02/12/10

Snow; Donmar Warehouse; Shakespeare; and Derek Jacobi: and all for free! Christmas certainly came early when I had the opportunity to watch this production’s dress rehearsal the night before previews opened. Unsurprisingly, the only sense of it being a dress rehearsal was the fact that only the circle seating was available for watching it, and the occasional sound of the press photographer snapping away drawing the attention away from the action on stage. Naturally, the majority of the cast was excellent, and composed of well-known performers giving measured and vivid turns. Gina McKee and Justine Mitchell were brilliant as Goneril and Regan, Ron Cook gave a captivating Fool, and Jacobi was superb as Lear. Grandage has done a brilliant job of one of the “great tragedies”, and I would urge anyone to see his production, running until February at the Donmar, then on touring the UK and finishing in Broadway in July. See it if you can!

The Glass Menagerie, Young Vic, London, 20/12/10

I really do love the main space of the Young Vic. It has an amazing ability to seem very intimate despite its fairly large size. Tennessee Williams’ semi-autobiographical play, set in and around the cramped Chicago apartment inhabited by the Wingfield family, looks fantastically intricate in this space, and the two levels of the stage are used very inventively. Deborah Findlay and Sinead Matthews were particularly noteworthy as Amanda, the faded former-Southern Belle-turned abandoned housewife, and Laura, her mildly disabled and extremely shy daughter, the owner of the eponymous collection. Joe Hill-Gibbons follows this year’s earlier success, The Beauty-Queen of Leenane, with a less biting, more bittersweet production which doesn’t fail to draw the parallels between Williams and his protagonist, Tom, played with suitably expressive irritation by Leo Bill. Although not perhaps the most interesting of Williams’ plays, it still stands up as a classic exemplar of his writing, as well as being a part-insight into the writer’s own personal anxieties.

So, that was my theatregoing in the second half of 2010. Mostly highs, a few disappointing lows, and a whole lot of learning and observation along the way. Here's to 2011's theatrical output!

I Have Been Reading...

2010-12-21T20:04:00.000+00:00

Despite having virtually zero online presence over the last four months, I have been present: a state which I never really understood until recently. While horribly busy and inundated with tasks both creative and vital to survival, I’ve stolen moments to myself for books, and looking back, I’ve managed to clock up quite a few literary miles. Here are some edited highlights.

Theatre
Obviously, I’ve been reading plays and books on theatre like crazy. For me, this has been the most productive period of reading on the field of theatre.

Five Plays (Ivanov, The Seagull, Uncle Vanya, Three Sisters, The Cherry Orchard), Anton Chekhov

I didn’t enjoy Chekhov when studying Three Sisters for A-level drama. He was boring, and nothing happened. Now I’m older with a little more experience of life, I now realise that that’s pretty much the case with most human experience in Western Culture. As obvious as it may seem to repeat here, it is still true to say that Chekhov has a brilliant way of exploring relationships between family members, friends and lovers. The range of human emotions and psychology – either expressed or repressed – are all there in a variety of manifestations. Anyone even remotely interested in the trajectory of modern Western theatre ought to at least dip into these plays. I particularly recommend Uncle Vanya and Three Sisters, but I’ve always preferred tragedy.

Plays: 2 (Blue/Orange, Dumb Show, Wild Turkey), Joe Penhall

I chose a speech from Penhall’s Blue/Orange for my monologue “portfolio” when auditioning for drama schools, but that was the only play of his I had ever read. The first two plays in the volume are particularly notable for their scathing critique of complacency in modern society; Blue/Orange deals with psychosis and its treatment in the NHS, and Dumb Show is a detailed examination of our obsession with celebrity. Both these plays are sharp, resonant and very funny. Wild Turkey, a much earlier play, does stand out as a more juvenile piece, very much in the vein of early 90s “in-yer-face” theatre, but is an entertaining read all the same.

Knives in Hens, Kill the Old Torture Their Young and The Chrysalids, David Harrower

David Harrower is brilliant. I love his work, and I have done ever since seeing the London premier of his play Blackbird with Roger Allam and Jodhi May back in 2005. After co-directing a production with a fellow fan of the play with my university drama society, I decided to dip into some of his other plays and was not disappointed. His work is as diverse as it is dark, disturbing, intelligent and thought-provoking. Knives in Hens and Kill the Old Torture Their Young are at opposite ends of the spectrum, with threads linking the two works. The former suggests a remote time in a rural community, the latter set in a modern city in modern-day Britain. Knives in Hens contains a brutal and shocking murder; Kill the Old Torture Their Young provides a panoramic, almost scientific view of a world lost within itself. Yet both present recognisable realities despite their nondescript nature. Both plays’ characters are lost, lonely and groping for connection with anything and anyone around them, in a way which is both absurd and hugely sympathetic. The Chrysalids, an adaptation of one of John Wyndham’s less popular novels, is the only play I didn’t enjoy, purely on the basis of the difficulty of the adaptation. The story is not very theatrical, and the characters are not as fully developed or believable. Nevertheless, Harrower is highly recommended reading and I hope more of his plays are produced on the fringe circuit.

Glengarry Glen Ross, David Mamet

I’ve already stated how much I love the film adaptation of this play, and it was only a matter of time before I got down to reading the original text. I won’t go into too much detail, but unsurprisingly, I loved it. The language is fast, sharp, cruel and highly distasteful, thus a fairly accurate depiction of the brutality of a Chicago Real Estate office. Read the play, see the play, and/or see the film. However you can access the work, access it!

The Oresteia, Aeschylus

The birth of Western Theatre, they say, lies with Aeschylus and the Greeks. Not strictly true, since The Oresteia is the only full exemplar of many extracts of Greek drama from the earliest recorded period of civilisation, but there is a case to be made for theatre to have existed as long as humanity has. Debating aside, the plays are a decent read in the only bombastic, hugely theatrical way that Greek drama can be. Unless you’re desperate to build up a personal collection of the canon, it is probably better to get a copy from the local library rather than buy one.

Doctor Faustus, Christopher Marlowe

Marlowe is brilliant, Full Stop. I would say that, though, since I spent the last year of my degree reading and writing about his work. For a man who (possibly) only wrote seven plays in his short lifetime, what a hell of a dramatic legacy to leave behind. A contemporary of Shakespeare, if allowed to live there is little academic doubt that he would have gone on to rival and possibly even eclipse the Bard. His account of the famed Germanic legend is seen to be the magnum opus, Marlowe’s Hamlet, if you will, but I prefer Edward II. Nevertheless, a good bit of reading for the sake of the wonderful language, and the sheer volume of blasphemy, heresy and general devilish irreverence. The scene in which Faustus insults and beats up the Pope and his Cardinals must be one of the funniest in English Renaissance drama.

The Country Wife, William Wycherley

Raunchy Restoration Drama has been given a bad name by being branded nothing more than cheap comedy of the Carry On type, but I beg to differ. It will forever have a place in my heart, and this classic is a prime example of why. A convoluted plot, involving a man who pretends to be impotent in order to discreetly cuckold as many men as possible, is twisted even further with jibes at social mores and manners of the age. No-one is safe from satirising, from the pompous judges and gentleman to the common fops and fools. In fact, the only people who come off well are those who out-hypocrite the hypocrites. In a time when wit and artifice where the order of the day, it is no wonder its theatre was so richly injected with it. Let’s not forget that women have a lot to thank Restoration theatre for, too, since it was the first time they were allowed to perform publicly on stage. Anyway, I like the Carry On films, so stick that in your chimney and stoke it!

The Actor and the Target, Declan Donnellan

Now that I’m in training to be a professional actor, the time has come for me to read theoretical works on the art of acting. I have nothing but praise for Donnellan, as this is a practical way of dealing with actor’s block – one of the most terrifying experiences for an actor when in rehearsal. Donnellan’s thirty years of experience as a successful and acclaimed director and theatre practitioner are drawn on as a means of confronting what the author calls “the spider’s legs”: the eight questions an actor will ask when feeling blocked, all of which feature the word “I”. Donnellan deftly isolates the actor’s ego and offers a system of debunking it in order to fully explore the scope of a character. This book has been an essential tool for me this early on in my professional training and I’d recommend it to any actors at any stage of their lives.

Respect for Acting, Uta Hagen

Similarly, this thirty-year-old classic is just as useful as Donnellan’s. Packed full with exercises, tips and advice, the book is a surprisingly concise read and left me eager to re-read it, taking notes and searching out a means to work on some of Hagen’s suggestions. Despite its age, the issues the book deals with are universal, as are the exercises offered. Not all of them are necessarily helpful all of the time, but Hagen suggests this as a series of isolated exercises which can form part of the actor’s invisible arsenal when working on a role, and perhaps this is what makes it so digestible and motivating. Also highly recommended to actors.

The Year of the King, Antony Sher

Anyone even remotely interested in the process of acting ought to dip into this book. A near-precise reproduction of diary entries, the book charts the author’s journey from discussing playing Shakespeare’s Richard III with the RSC artistic directors through to the opening night of the now-classic 1984 production. Sher contemplates a variety of approaches to the character, and muses on its wider relevance, as well as reproducing a good few anecdotes. I’m pretty certain any non-actors merely intrigued by the theatre will find this enjoyable and very charming.

Other People’s Shoes, Harriet Walter

Probably the most touching and intelligent account I’ve read so far, this book serves as memoir, opinion piece and suggestions for the actor and actress in the professional world. Walter writes honestly, without any pomposity, and considers the changes in the world and on the stage with a curiosity and cleverness which resonated very strongly with me. Most satisfying is that she refuses to make the book any kind of self-congratulatory list of achievements, despite her highly impressive CV. I’m only vaguely familiar with her acting work, but I’m keen to follow and watch her from now on.

Prose Fiction
As for novels, I’ve had less time and energy to spend immersing myself in literature, but I’ve had a fair few good reads.

The Turn of the Screw, Henry James

I finally had the chance to read this classic, thrilling novella. I’m not much of a fan of James’ work for being overlong and incredibly boring, but this is precisely the opposite, and serves in some way to justify his title as “the master of Victorian prose”. Atmospheric, evocative, engrossing and terrifying, the story centres around a governess who thinks her young charges are possessed by spirits. Deftly playing with ideas about truth and fiction, and the reliability of narrators and reported events, James creates a world of uncertainty, in which anything is possible, and therefore somewhat believable. I loved it.

The Midwich Cuckoos, John Wyndham

I remember seeing the 1995 remake of the 60s film adaptation when I was just a little boy, and got hold of a copy of the book a few years ago. With the summer free of university reading obligations, I devoured this novel in one week. Although written in a sort of stuffy, suitably 1950s vernacular, the pace is so fast you barely have time to take a breath, while the plot concerns itself with a typically sleepy and isolated village invaded in a most peculiar way which gives new meaning to the phrase “long game”. It’s an interesting novel with some insights into Soviet-era paranoia, as the military become involved in the activities of the village. Classic British sci-fi.

The Swimming-Pool Library, Alan Hollinghurst

It was about time I read Hollinghurst. Hailed as the UK’s premier gay novelist, this first novel, written in 1988, bluntly and explicitly addresses the experiences of privileged white gay men throughout the twentieth century with all its consequences. The protagonist, William Beckwith, presents the reader with contemporary gay London, while his friendship with Lord Charles Nantwich shows how the path to Beckwith’s liberal lifestyle was littered with pain and pleasure in equal measure. It is no wonder Hollinghurst has so successfully crossed the border from niche to mainstream; what is astonishing is how uncompromising his writing is, and I’m keen to read his later works, too.

What Do You Mean You Haven't Seen...?!

2010-12-19T16:54:00.001+00:00

In Bruges

(2009; Dir. and Screenplay Martin McDonagh)

Ever since 2003, when I saw the original production of The Pillowman on stage at the National Theatre, I have been a fan of Martin McDonagh's work. I had known about his first feature film, In Bruges, about a year before eventually seeing it. All I knew was that it had Colin Farrell, Brendan Gleeson and Ralph Fiennes in it: a cast which seemed intriguing not least for the very different kinds of actor I had thought of each of them to be.

Although the supporting cast is excellent – I’ve never seen a film in which I’ve laughed out loud to lines spoken by American dwarves and fat Belgians – the three principals are simply superb in their own charming ways. Farrell is surprisingly charming as the ingénue hit man (now there’s a juxtaposition), and Gleeson is wonderfully stoic as his older and more world-weary partner; but the award for sheer absurd fearsomeness goes undisputedly to Ralph Fiennes as Harry, a lyrical, witty, yet totally psychotic gang boss who turns up halfway through the story when his plan goes awry.

With the exception of Ben Kingsley’s turn as Don in Sexy Beast with Ray Winstone, I have never seen such a dangerous display of barely-controlled fury in a character in recent British film. Interestingly, both Fiennes and Kingsley are key names in that group of British actors who have made it in Hollywood for their ability to play calm, intelligent and above all philanthropic men on screen, specifically for such roles as Count László de Almássy in The English Patient and Mahatma Ghandi in Ghandi. These two actors are known and respected for such roles. However, true to their craft, they have stretched their ranges and challenged their audience’s expectations by playing loveable but ultimately nasty characters.

In Fiennes’ case, Harry is pretty much despicable. Nonetheless, he is so wonderfully petty and ridiculous that we feel safe laughing at him as an audience, even though one might consider it foolish to even look the character in the eye if encountering him in real life. And that is where the marriage of good character-based writing and acting works so well. McDonagh, known for his jet black, incisive humour, provides Fiennes with a fully-fledged psychopath who has no compunctions towards killing for a living, but will demand other characters not to insult his children and refuses to kill a friend even though the latter has disobeyed his orders (having said that, he does shoot his friend in the foot as opposed to the head, since he can’t let him get off completely).

The script in general is filled with witty one-liners, responses, exchanges and short monologues which tap deep into the darker recesses of humour. The characters solemnly discuss philosophy before embarking on acts of brutal violence in a manner which could so easily be clichéd were it not for McDonagh’s deft manipulation of the Irish and cockney speech rhythms and lyricism (no real surprise, since McDonagh grew up in London to Irish parents). I use the word manipulation precisely because the language is able to con its audience into a false sense of security with the simple suggestion that Irish people are just as capable as anyone else of violence, murder and brutality irrespective of the cheerful and harmless stereotype often portrayed in American movies.

Equally surprising is just how beautifully shot the film is, painting Bruges as grey and dull by day, conforming to Farrell’s character’s vision of the city, but coming alive with colour and warmth at night. The use of Belgian, Canadian and American actors is also effective, giving the film a feel of literally being on a touristic break while bumping into people of other nationalities along the way.

Funny, frightening and philosophical, this is the perfect film for anyone who wants to sit back and watch a decent story played out with relish and excitement. I can’t recommend In Bruges highly enough.

Who Is The Greatest?

2010-12-14T18:25:00.002+00:00

The Features Editor of The Stage has gone mad. Either that or the team was so desperate to drum up interest in the publication that they sank to the depths of lowest common denominator journalism, launching a ten-part series called - I kid you not - "The Greatest Stage Actor". An attempt to discover "the greatest theatre performer (male or female) of all time", this seemed to me to be an incredibly vacuous and wholly ridiculous waste of time and energy. Narrowing down the list to ten performers chosen by "a selection of industry experts", the public was asked to vote for who it believed to be worthy of such a prestigious honour over ten weeks, each entry being supported by a statement from an academic, journalist or other enlightened individual.

Firstly, can anyone define what criteria would be suitable for the term "greatest stage actor"? Of course, a certain amount of technical prowess coupled with performative truth ought to be enough, but anything beyond that would delve straight into the realm of personal preference. Even then, anyone with a good knowledge of the British theatre industry and its heritage would be hard pressed to narrow it down to just ten people.

Unsurprisingly, the majority of the choices were old (or dead) white men. Despite the winner being Dame Judi Dench, she was one of three female options, all aged over 60; and the youngest contender was Mark Rylance, aged 50. Also, they were all to be British, yet another display of cultural arrogance which buys into the “British actors are the best in the world” jingoism which I admittedly engage in before reminding myself that France has several national theatre companies and Germany fully subsidises over 2000 regional theatre companies.

Ah well, it’s a good thing The Stage is only really good for reviews and job adverts.

In Their Own Words

2010-12-14T17:48:00.001+00:00

Many people, including some working actors, [...] may admire the fact that an actor has a trained voice and body, but they believe that any further training can come only from actually performing before an audience. I find this akin to the sink-or-swim method of introducing a child to water. Children do drown and not all actors develop by their mere physical presence on stage. A talented young pianist, skilful at improvisation or playing by ear, might be a temporary sensation in a night club or on television, but he knows better than to attempt a Beethoven piano concerto. The pianist’s fingers just won’t make it. A pop singer with an untrained voice may have a similar success, but not with a Bach cantata. The singer would rip his vocal chords. An untrained dancer has no hope of performing in Giselle. The dancer would tear tendons. In their attempt the will also ruin the concerto, the cantata, and Giselle because, if they eventually are ready, they will only remember their early mistakes. But a young actor will unthinkingly plunge into Hamlet if he has a chance. He must learn that, until he’s ready, he is doing the same destructive thing to himself and the role.

Uta Hagen, German-American Actress, Director and Coach, 1919 – 2004

Boom and Bust

2010-12-14T17:28:00.000+00:00

At the beginning of last week British broadcaster James Naughtie mistakenly rechristened Culture Secretary Jeremy Hunt. I’m sure your imagination is fertile enough to imagine which word was substituted in place of the cabinet minister’s surname, but just in case you haven’t worked it out the slip up has been recorded and reproduced here for posterity.

The problem with having a surname like Hunt, as well as being a member of a Tory government affecting the largest public spending cuts since the post-war period is that this mistake was bound to be made at some point. After all, the Culture Secretary’s name has been a source of new rhyming slang in the arts world for months, ever since the Public Spending Review in October. In these difficult financial times it is understandable that the government would shave spending in order to claw out of the huge debt the country has found itself in, and cuts to arts spending were expected. The debate on whether this is a good or bad decision is not for here. What interests me is the effect rather than the causes of the decisions.

A lot has happened in British Theatre over the last thirteen years. When New Labour came into power at the end of the 20th century, a so-called "centre-left progressive agenda" (no, I don't know what that is either) was put into the heart of governmental policy. This included, as anything even remotely liberal always does, increasing funding for Culture and the Arts. Time will only tell how deeply the theatre industry will be affected by the cuts, but of one thing you can be sure: regional theatres, theatre companies and the country will suffer.

Anyone reading this might think “well of course you would think that: your main interest is the theatre”. True, but I wouldn’t balk at the economic returns of the theatre in the UK. The West End alone amasses £85 billon each year in revenue (which is roughly the same amount that the banks owe us, by the way). This is primarily because of the reputation of British Theatre at home and abroad. Tourists and locals alike still flock to the theatre in spite of other forms of entertainment and the rising cost of living. Despite the recession, I am reliably informed that the Royal National Theatre has never been so financially healthy: a larger repertoire including more new plays alongside revivals and new productions of old “classics” has attracted a wider range of audiences, while War Horse, which has been running for four years and counting, is the most successful production in the National’s history. That’s all very well and good, but one can’t ignore the fact that more and more of the funding for this has come from commercial sources. It is no longer an oddity to see “Such-and-such a Business is the Proud Sponsor of Such-and-such a Production at the National Theatre”. There is even an entire summer season of plays running annually in the Olivier theatre named after its sponsor, Travelex. The truth is that the cheapest and most accessible theatre tickets are made available only through private investment in a theatre company which professes to belong to the nation and which receives the largest government subsidy in the country! If this is the case, what of the smaller theatrical ventures out there?

A couple of years ago, when the Arts Council announced cuts to grants and funding for smaller theatre groups and companies in the regions, there was outrage within the theatre world. Now, with a virtually non-existent repertory system, the fear is that there will be less opportunity for those who don’t happen to live in London or any of the larger UK cities to see quality productions, thus placing more pressure on those companies with the money and reputation to be able go on tour to provide something worth spending on. This effectively means a lot more investment in “safer”, crowd-pulling options such as Shakespeare and a lot less experimentation in new writing or alternative forms of theatre such as physical and collaborative theatre. All this means there will be far fewer opportunities for the ever-growing numbers of professional actors who come out of the drama schools each year.

Only last summer, the online media was crowing about a “boom” in employment opportunities for black actors: Ruined, Joe Allen Has Come and Gone, Welcome to Thebes, Eurydice, and a few other productions overlapping in various theatres in London all meant that there was work for the black actors and the British public were welcoming it. With the exception of modern takes on classical works, where will the opportunities be next summer? It might be a good time for me as a young black actor in training at one of the best drama schools in the world, but what about when I graduate? Who can say? I’m not naïve: I expect periods of unemployment; but it would be nice to not have to be waiting tables for the entirety of the financial year.

Of course, the theatre is not the only performing art at threat, nor are the arts the most endangered species belonging to the country: education, defence, health, and anything else which has ever received taxpayers’ money is at threat, but perhaps the government ought to consider why it is so vitally important to contribute to the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton when they are making cuts to so many longer-term aspects of the day-to-day lives of this country’s citizens. And if you happen to switch on the television, radio, or enjoy a night out in the next few years and notice a dip in the quality, just think what might be the reasons for that.

In Their Own Words

2010-08-29T17:47:00.002+01:00

I was considering taking a portion of this - itself a segment of an entire lecture - and transcribing it, but this woman is so deft with her performance that I realised it would not have done her justice to simply copy and paste. Watch, listen, and enjoy.

With an explanation like that, why wouldn't you want to do theatre?

Patsy Rodenburg, British Acting Coach

An Actor's Journal

2010-08-26T00:17:00.002+01:00

Now Go We in Content

One month ago, I was a different person. As I said then, I was in a strange transitory place. In a few ways I still am, but the major difference is that this month I've been rehearsing. Regardless of the general turmoil of life scattered about my tired frame, I now get up at ungodly hours and spend most of my energy on pretending to be someone else for six days a week. Who wouldn't want this life? Gone are the concerns about paying rent and bills, the fear of not eating is rendered inexistent, and my social life has all but disappeared; but what do I care? I'm working!

Except I'm not actually working. I'm investing my energy and resources, but with no monetary renumeration. It's all out of the goodness of my heart. Why then, I hear you splutter, would I want to waste my time, money and energy doing such a thing? Three words: experience, networking and wellbeing.

Regardless of the financial benefits (or lack thereof), every single project I am involved with is a training all on its own. Think about it: if you want to be a journalist, you may have to spend a lot of time being an intern at a newspaper office, perhaps being promoted to runner and tea/coffee-maker on minimum wage. All the while, you are watching seasoned professionals do it and make a reasonable living from it. Being in the atmosphere is hugely useful for two reasons. Firstly, you see all the triumphs and pitfalls of the work involved which is the best way to discover if something is really for you. Then there's the inspiration: watching the pros do their thing is a great way of making personal comparisons, and learning as you go. Well, the National Youth Theatre may produce amateur theatre on paper, but the working method and production values are equal to those of the hundreds of successful theatre companies out there. Indeed, several alumni of the NYT have gone on to do great things. The roll call of successful actors, directors, producers, technicians and administrators began their careers with the company, and they all come back every year for a Gala event.

These Gala events take various forms and are essentially fundraisers for the company. The good thing about any theatre comany's fundraising events is that you're guaranteed an entertaining night. Guess who'll be performing at this year's Gala event? Meaning that after performing I'll be mingling with the likes of Helen Mirren, Timothy Spall, Matt Smith and Sir Ian McKellen. It won't just be a chance to rub shoulders with stars, of course, as plenty of industry people (directors, casting agents and representatives) also attend. Say I make an impression with some of these highly influential people: they speak to me and ask me what I'm doing. I tell them I'm off to one of the best Drama Schools in the country. They may make a note of this, follow my progress, and who knows? Maybe I'll be signing contracts the day after graduation in 2013. Another reason not to turn one's nose up at "volunteering" with the NYT.

Finally - and this may come as a shock to you, my dear readers - I enjoy it. I mean I really enjoy it! Goodness only knows how I managed to keep sane doing anything else. Since the beginning of August, acting has finally taken its rightful place as Number One Concern in my life, and boy does it feel good to not care about anything else but my career. Is it any wonder actors find it difficult to function in the so-called "real world"? What is there for us? All that serious nonsense and bluff about mortgages, routine, social manners and 9-5: BORING! If your mind doesn't bend that way, why force it? Why not make some quality (and, who knows, maybe even educational and socially enriching) entertainment, instead, and have fun while doing it? Sounds good to me.

It isn't for everyone, of course, as rehearsals are beginning to prove. The division between the serious and not-so-serious members is beginning to make itself clearer as the days go by. We all like a bit of fun, but the theatre is work nevertheless, and there are targets of a sort to be met. Namely, when you have a week to have the show ready - props and all - you don't want to spend five minutes telling people to shut up and reset for a key scene in Act One. It is hard work, and the fun is a bonus, not a substitute. Some people need to remember that. In the strictly professional world, there would have been quite a few job losses already; but that really is the only difference between the National Youth Theatre and the National Theatre. It isn't to say the ethos and work ethic is any less focused. A perfect training ground for a life in the crazy business we call show.

And this really is the beginning of my new life, as it were: halfway through the run of Relish I start at Drama School. Training from 8.30am until 6pm, then hotfooting it down to the venue to perform at 7.30 will be tough, but I'm perversely looking forward to it. It's a model for what one hopes will be a long and varied career. I want to stretch myself as far as possible, and I'll have to get used to gruelling schedules, weight loss (and gain), and the lack of contact with people in the real world. When one considers that 92% of professional actors are out of work one becomesvery grateful for anything they can get. Stay in that 8% and you're happy.

So I really cannot complain about anything, this month. I'm young, I'm free, and I'm doing what I do best. This is living!

let the world slip, we shall ne'er be younger.

The Taming of the Shrew (Induction, Scene 2.137-144)

In Their Own Words

2010-07-19T04:16:00.005+01:00

It’s important that if you are going to make drama it has to speak to a modern, diverse audience and society - and to be bold with it [...] When I started there were hardly any [prominent British black actors] Now, there is a generation who don’t see a colour bar or a barrier to going off to Hollywood or the West End or The Royal Shakespeare Company; it is great that they feel so involved and we should encourage that.

David Harewood, British Actor, born 1965

What Do You Mean You Haven't Seen...?!

2010-07-19T03:57:00.002+01:00

Glengarry Glen Ross
(1992; Dir: James Foley; Screenplay: David Mamet)

In my humble opinion, there are very few film adaptations which supercede the original texts. Although I have never read or seen the original stage play by David Mamet, I have it on good authority that the 1992 film version is made margianlly better by the exceptional performance of Alec Baldwin in a scene written expressly for him. More about that later.

Speaking as both an actor and an audience member, there is something very thrilling about ensemble casting. Not only does it give equal dramatic weight and power to every cast member, but the work itself often suits the issues dealt with great skill and efficacy. It doesn't necessarily have to have a large cast, like Pulp Fiction; it doesn't necessarily have to deal with hugely important political and social issues, like Twelve Angry Men.What it does need to do, though, is capture its audience by having a tightly bound cast with not a single weak link. A tall order for any dramatic work, certainly, but when it works, boy does it work.

The cast of Glengarry Glen Ross is spectacular, not least because of the star names: Jack Lemmon, Al Pacino, Ed Harris, Alan Arkin, Kevin Spacey, Alec Baldwin and Jonathan Pryce. Nevertheless, the celebrity factor does not come into play, merely because, as the story makes so tragically clear, no one man is greater than the company.

As the desperate characters are placed into a ruthless competition by their employers, a variety of underhand and dishonest methods are shown to be the tricks of the real estate salesman's trade. The fear of losing one's livelihood is expressed in suitably macho terms, the strong language making the film notable for being one of the most colourful out there. This office is definitely NSFW.

Below is the scene which almost won Baldwin an Oscar. Watch, enjoy, and if you haven't alread seen it, get yourself a copy of Glengarry Glen Ross.

Theatre Review: Sucker Punch

2010-07-19T03:39:00.002+01:00

Sucker Punch, The Royal Court (London), 11/06/10

I've never been to the opening night of a professional production. By a happy accident, I found myself among the first few hundred people to ever see Roy Williams' latest play. Before the lights dimmed, The Royal Court's Artistic Director, Dominic Cooke, informed the audience that the production schedule was running behind and that the night was indeed the first time the actors had performed in full costume and with all technical cues. Effectively, we were watching an open dress rehearsal.

Not that anyone would have noticed, of course. This is not the first play in which Roy Williams has used sport as an allegory for what is happening in contemporary Britain: anyone who saw his 2002 play Sing Yer Heart Out For the Lads can testify to that. Williams is a self-confessed sport-addict; he is also highly aware of attitudes toward race and immigration and sport's role in shaping those attitudes. With Sucker Punch, he takes a look at our recent history, along the way commenting on ambition, compromise and how race still gets in the way of how British society sees itself. It is both nostalgic and eerily contemporary: although it is unlikely a 20-year-old white man would refer to black people as "darkies" and "their lot", today, the sentiments and sterotypes remain. The language is either staunchly that of the white working-class or Jamaican Patois which has a slightly clichéd and stylised effect, but does not suffer from this, since the historical distancing technique is clearly meant to be the result of this.

The play is also about the relationship between Daniel Kaluuya's conformist Leon and Anthony Welsh's rebellious Troy. Both are forced to clean the toilets and floor of the boxing gym they break into before the start of the play, owned by Nigel Lindsay's Charlie; both have talent and both become champion boxers. While the former stays and is trained by Charlie, the latter refuses to be another Uncle Tom or white man's toy and relocates to the United States, where he is exploited by a black boxing promoter - played by Gary Beadle - instead. The two are pittied against each other in an intense finale, tragic irony of which is highlighted by troy's father who says: "White people love nuttin' better than to see two black men beat up on each other. They too scared to do it theyself." There is only one winner in the ring, but both have failed.

The audience experience is heightened further by Sacha Ware's staging, the Royal Court's Jerwwod Theatre being refitted in the shape of a commercial boxing ring. The audience become spectators of so much more as the real world merges with that of the play and that of the sport. This realignment of perspective intensifies the reception of the performances, and I have nothing but praise for the cast, almost all of whom are excellent, particularly Welsh and Lindsay. Finally, at just over an hour and a half with no interval, the play really does feel like a match, as the finale is played out in the stalls as well as in the ring, Troy and Leon making spectacular entrances among the crowd. I was spellbound, and I don't like sport.

Probably the most accomplished new play on in the West End at the moment, Sucker Punch is a powerful, entertaining, and challenging production which will no doubt be talked about for decades to come; and I saw it on its opening night!

Book Review: Homosexuality in Renaissance England

2010-07-19T03:02:00.001+01:00

Before the 19th century the word "homosexual" did not exist. It's true: look it up. Before then, any behaviour which we might understand to be homosexual was described with words which we may now find offensive (such as "bugger" or "pederast"), antiquated (such as "uranian"), or simply peculiar (such as "pathic", "catamite" or "ganymede"). However the most important difference was that the words were used to describe behaviour and practices, and not an idenity, because before the 19th century, the homosexual identity did not exist.

There are several books which chart the history of homosexuality in Europe. Bray's research - highly praised when published in 1982 and still largely influential when reading English Rennaisance texts from a Queer perspective - covers three centuries of the legal and social documentary in England of what would eventually become the gay sense of self.

It is refreshingly short, too, making what is essentially an academic text all the more accessible to the casual yet keen reader. The first chapter deals with coming to an understanding of what we would now call homosexuality wwithin the social and cultural context of the sixteenth century, before moving on in the second chapter to give examples of legal records: both enlightening for their presence and frustrating in their ambiguity and slippery terminology. The third chapter looks at the phenomenon in the political context, comparing contemporary ideas of spirituality and morality with the justifications both for and against homosexual practices. It is interesting to note that though there was no distinguishable movemont for defense or pride, arguments were made in favour of segregating the sexes, and promoting what Sedgwick called "homosocial" bonding between men as a means of enforcing the patriarchal structure.

Finally, in the fourth chapter, the study jumps one hundred and fifty years on and focusses on the Molly houses, the earliest-known recognisable homosexual subculture in England. Bray also looks at the economic and political shifts caused by the preceeding Civil War and Restoration which may have contributed to changed attitudes amongst men who recognised their own sexual difference. Indeed, the Georgian period is the first, Bray argues, to delineate such differences.

Concise, simply written, and packed full of insights into everyday life, this book is an informative and enlightening must-read for gay men with an interest in our history.

Theatre Review: Women Beware Women

2010-07-19T02:38:00.001+01:00

Women Beware Women, The Olivier Theatre (The National Theatre, London), 05/06/10

How do you solve the problem of revenge tragedy? We all know everyone but the super-virtuous will have to die at the end of the piece. Every character will meet his or her comeuppance in a suitably poetic manner which will mirror or distort their vices. The lascivious Duke must be killed in his bed; his ambitious mistress must die a whore's death; her idiot cuckold of a husband will die of shame or commit suicide; and the bawdy wealthy black widow who sits in the centre of this perverse web? She must fall spectacularly from grace and be trampled underfoot. All that will be left is the hired help who have been watching the whole degradating affair from the sidelines and the pious Cardinal who will relate the tale in order for it never to happen again. Why do audiences return to these seemingly self-righteous displays of what happens in godless, corrupt societies?

The answer is simple: we like the baddies. They are bold, charismatic and above all wittier and more likeable. It is no surprise we revel in their inevitable downfall - we have watched their ascent with the relish only an observer in the comfort of an auditorium seat can enjoy. At least, that's how it should be. Marianne Elliott's Fellini-inspired visual feast fails to arouse any kind of sympathy for the charicatures which prance and strut about in her modern version of Middleton's most misogynistic play. For all the sumptuous clothing and impressive staging, the production falls flat on its face in its attempt to reach an understanding of how and why corruption and sin is so attractive. Furthermore, for a play which so openly positions women in the role of corruptor and corrupted - both victim and perpetrator - there is absolutely no questioning of this belief nor juxtaposing modern attitudes with those presented in the text, despite what the audience is seeing in terms of costume and scenery. The result is a series of beautiful yet incongruous and confusing set pieces. Even the blood-spattered finale is stripped of its potential and replaced with a technically impressive dance number on a revolving stage. By this point, though, the audience is so disengaged from the action and subtext that people are willing to stop thinking and just enjoy the spectacle of it all.

As far as the performances are concerned, it is difficult to ascribe blame. In most cases the talent is blindingly obvious - Harriet Walter, Harry Melling, Nick Blood, and Raymond Coulthard give amazingly watchable performances as well as they can, and Samuel James is the most entertainingly sinister Messenger in theatre history. However, Elliott's refusal to engage properly with the characters' individual struggles causes tension between the text and the performances, while some of the cast simply have no clue what to do and resort to pantomime villainy, as in the case of Richard Lintern, or monotonous whining, like Samuel Barnett. It is difficult to tell Vanessa Kirby and Lauren O'Neil apart, not aided by playing two versions of the same character; and the whole shambles is finally stripped of any remaining credibility when Chu Omambala's Cardinal storms in with great bombast but little control of his diaphragm: I can't help but wonder if he was directed to play shock and disgust at Lintern's licentiousness a little too literally. In any case, it was all I could do to stop myself bursting out with laughter. I was sat in the front row, and there would have been no escape.

If it were not for the fact that I had previously studied the play, I would have been hard pressed to relate the actual story. Some people in a palace talk a bit, have an orgry and then kill each other. I could have bought that on DVD for a lot less. All in all, the production was a mess, albeit an impressively designed one. A case for a balance between style and substance.

Book Review: What's My Motivation?

2010-07-19T01:49:00.001+01:00

Acting is a terrible business. A career filled with disappointment, desperation and despair. To want to be an actor one must either be mentally ill or a masochist. That said, an actor who gets regular bit-part work can end up doing fairly well for himself, even though he fails to become a big name even among other actors.

Michael Simkins' "big break", as it were, came when he was approached by The Guardian to write a weekly column about his life and experiences as a nobody. Over the course of a few years, these snippets were enough to be able to be combined and compiled into a single volume, and What's My Motivation was born. We budding actors are better off for it. Not only is the book honest and an incredible insight into the world of the theatre for both actors and non-actors, it is well written, easily read, and extremely funny.

Describing Simkins' career from his first teenage encounter with Gilbert and Sullivan through his time at RADA (where he became close friends with Timothy Spall and Juliet Stevenson) the memoir - Simkins is not famous enough to write an autobiography - charts twenty-five years of playing stalwarts and unsuspecting cuckolds, appearing in supermarket fire safety promotional videos and being cut from adverts with Rik Mayall. While reading, one cannot help but learn and laugh at the same time. Devoid of self-pity or resentment, Simkins thanks his lucky stars for having been able to work almost solidly since graduating. As he is very quick to highlight, only 10% of self-defined actors are working at any one time; the trick is to be in that 10%. Hardly an easy task, but made easier by lowering one's expectations of stardom and simply taking what is available.

Apart from its self-deprecating humour, the book is a charming read because of its sheer honesty about the author and his colleagues. Far from being scurrilous or gossipy, Simkins is a professional to the end by praising other, more commercially successful actors by name and deciding to omit any defining details when it comes to bad behaviour. Among the fellow actors he picks out for special mention are A-listers John Malkovitch, Anthony Perkins, and Only Fools and Horses star Buster Merryfield. He also has some cracking anecdotes and standard actor jokes. The episode dealing with a girlfriend's prank gone wrong while on repertory tour and the tale of reading disturbng medical records which double as police files in The Bill are particular favourites of this reviewer; while the one about the actor's wife who gets raped by his agent is probably one of the best instances of dark comedy ever. The book is doesn't shy away from personal matters, describing Simkins' disatrous relationship history, his first dabble with alcohol at 22 years old, and his lacklustre wooing of and eventual settlement with wife Julia Deakin. He also revels in the mundanity of everyday British life: not one driver will fail to understand Simkins' frustration in his attempt to buy car insurance, nor his inability to keep from slagging off his rivals.

In a way, the book is much like a humourous film following a lifelong secondary character; a true account of the man with four lines in the latest episode of Casualty. This should be required reading for anyone harbouring dangerous dramatic desires: if they still want to ruin their lives after reading Simkins' story, then there's nothing more you can do. Give up and hope for the best.

Now, which way to the Job Centre? I'll need something to keep me going while I work towards that 10%...

An Actor's Journal

2010-07-17T01:23:00.002+01:00

The World's Mine Oyster

In many senses, I'm living in limbo. I've finally moved out of Brighton and, barring the odd trip down for my graduation ceremony and the like, I have nothing more to do with the place. Since the beginning of July I have been based in Brixton - a South London district famous for influential race riots in the early 80s - and will be here until the end of August, when I return to the dulcis domus. I may not particuarly relish the idea of moving back in with my dad, but it'll be a cheap and temporary way of surviving while I set myself up properly in London for what looks like the rest of my working life. Part of me wishes I were able to relocate to Madrid, but that is a fantasy. The reality is that not only is it more possible for a black actor to have a successful career on the stage in the UK, but also that (with the exceptions of the experimental, fringe and touring regional companies) Spanish theatre just doesn't compare to that of Britain and is not what it used to be. So Perfidious Albion it is; which is fine, as long as I can be based in the cultural and commercial capital.

Career-wise, things are looking up. The official start of my training will be on the 13th of September, when I walk through the doors for my first day of training at drama school. I cannot wait: after having three months of really intense auditions I knew that the place I eventually chose was the right one for me. In one panel, when performing a section of the Act II Scene 2 "traitor" monologue in Henry V ("The mercy that was quick in us but late...") I was brought close to tears. After that experience I knew I would benefit so much from the training given there. Before that I'll be performing with the National Youth Theatre in the major play of this summer's season, so I'll have that to keep me busy over August. The main worry was what to do with July. I had it all planned: finish university at the end of May, search for a summer job and work part-time over June, move it up to full time for July, then quit and live frugally on my earnings over August. Plans are always perfect; life, however, is less so. I spent a month and a half just looking, applying for almost anything online; handing out my CV in bars, clubs, theatres, bookshops, cafés, restaurants, shops and even in Victoria train station, all to no avail. Finally, this week, after a little CV surgery and a some help from my friends, I managed to get three job opportunities come my way. Jobs are like buses: you wait for one...

So, on Monday I start my new job. Admittedly, it isn't the most comfortable, rewarding or satisfactory job out there, but what can I expect for three weeks' work? Besides, beggars can't be choosers, and it was getting so desperate I was living on one meal of bread/rice/pasta and cheese/chicken/mince a day. Ah, poverty: not so much the actor's friend as the one who's constantly pestering the actor, despite his many attempts to rid himself of its company. Thanks to this placement, I'll be keeping poverty at bay for the time being.

Finally, as the upward trend in my career and professional prospects continues to soar, so the downward spiral of my loneliness and misery continues to sink. It's always the way: my love and work life seem to be in constant diametric opposition; as one goes well, the other goes spectacularly badly. Take Spain: a serious relationship and several lovers; not one single dramatic performance. This year: three plays, three drama school offers and a summer project; but rejection, disillusionment, crap sex, and now being dumped. Without delving into too many details, I met someone who was perfect on paper - a good looking, funny actor who was genuinely interested in me - but for the small inconvenience of being in love with his ex. Such is life: I can only hope that if I have to choose a life of success and singledom over unemployment and a family life, I'll take the former option. Them's the breaks: after all, one needs some measure of heartache and despair to pool and use when playing the dane...

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano,
A stage where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.

The Merchant of Venice (I.i.77-79)

In Their Own Words

2010-07-05T11:57:00.002+01:00

One of the problems with small theatres like the Donmar and the Almeida [is that] they’re wonderful places to work, icons of fashionabilty and all that, but it’s very exclusive. You can’t get in. Plus these places only function if we actors get low wages. The tragedy is that there’s no ticket equivalent of what there was when I was young. I went to see Olivier in The Merchant of Venice for 15 pence... Anyone who says the seat prices don’t make a difference should go to one of the theatres where they have a cheap night on a Monday. The places are heaving. It’s interesting that Olivier, a conservative figure in many ways, was absolutely supportive of the notion that subsidy subsidised seat prices. That’s gone now. Today it’s all about charging the market rate. The market rate cuts people off from the experience.

Roger Allam, British Actor, born 1953