By Special Demand Only

Regular readers of this blog (all four of you) will have noted both a change of header and a change of profile. This is no longer Martin Foreman's acting blog; it's my theatrical blog. And as well as removing my age from my profile (you don't really need to know how old I am, do you?), I've de-emphasised the acting part of my activities.

The same regular readers will understand why I have taken this step. It has been clear to me for some time that although I enjoy being on stage or in front of the camera, the pleasure I get from performing has never outweighed the effort and time I (like every other actor) have to put in as part of the preparation - seeking out new roles, preparing for auditions, preparing for rehearsals, waiting around while others are rehearsed or scenes or set etc etc.

If I were getting large amounts of money for my acting, I'd go through the boredom and stress with a smile on my face and a song, albeit off-tune, in my heart and I'd spend considerably more time looking for acting work. But that ain't going to happen. There are plenty of other actors of my build and type, many of whom are better than me, for whom money is a lesser consideration and who are less put off by the preparation to perform.

Which brings me to my second reason for not pursuing acting. I have some skills, but I'm keenly aware that I'm not as good an actor as I would like or could be. I stand in the wrong place, I forget directions, I don't convey the right emotion, I stumble through my lines. Not always; not even often, but enough to make me aware that I am not fulfilling my task. I know I could be a better performer, but that would require investing time and effort and money that I don't really have on what would be a gamble (no guarantee at the end of the process of a leading role in the West End or Hollywood).

In short, I don't have the fire in my belly to make acting the sole or primary interest in my life. Which means that although I will continue to peruse jobs on offer on Casting Call Pro and Spotlight, I will seldom apply for roles. That doesn't mean that my acting career is definitely over - I still get contacted by directors who see my profile and ask me to audition. If there's money in it, I follow the lead. But now my primary interest in the theatre / radio / film concern at the moment is writing and producing and it will be these that I mostly cover in this blog.

What's coming up? The last three days (four performances) of Californian Lives at the King's Head in London - click the link in the column on the right. In July there will be a short run of Tadzio Speaks, of which more shortly. And then my leading role (yes, as an actor) in the short film Innocence, which is currently in post-production. In other words, plenty to be going on with . . .

New insights

We're halfway through the run of Californian Lives and last night's performances were the best so far. I'm taking part of that on trust - I was in the foyer for Robin Holden's Los Feliz - but John Vernon's Ben and Joe's and Carolyn Lyster's Sunset were the most impressive I have seen - and I'm convinced I will see better yet.

As reviews and audiences confirm, those who see Californian Lives are almost always captivated by the stories and personalities portrayed, but only I have seen almost every performance and how the actors reveal more and more of their characters. Last night the wryness in Vernon's Man in Bar was stronger, his invisible drinking companions clearer, while the contrasts between young and old, cynics and romantics, the bar and the world outside became almost three dimensional. Similarly with Lyster's grandmother; her emotions have become more vivid as her unseen children come fully alive and her invisible husband inevitably ages.

Of course I claim the credit for creating these characters. But I am thrilled to see depths in each that I had not noticed when I first typed them onto the screen. Not that I necessarily agree with all that I see. Holden's Man in Diner conveys a more unpleasant personality than I would if I were on the stage. But that is fine. Enabled by director Emma King-Farlow, he gives a strong performance which holds the audience's attention from start to finish. He enhances both the text and my enjoyment of it.

Vernon's says that changes in his performance come from complete familiarity with the script. As his mind no longer has to focus on which words or actions come next, he is free to explore nuances in each word, line and action. He has always told his story well - the impact of the arrival of a young stranger on a group of older men - but the professionalism of his early performances has given way to a deepening emotional involvement with each of the characters he describes.

While Vernon has relaxed into his role, Lyster says she remains terrified by hers, although you would not know it. I have never seen her give a poor performance and now she is filling the stage. There must be a disconnect between her conscious mind, seeing every performance as a combat she has to win, and her subconscious, which has fully absorbed her character and which cannot help but depict both her and those around her.

I would like to be more definite and give specific examples, but I can't do so without giving away key elements of the plot. So let me leave it there, with my thanks to all concerned for the new insights and pleasure they have given me.

It's all in the mind

Reality, that is. In both senses of the word. What's out there is only our interpretation of what's out there. The only thing we can be sure of is what goes on in our own heads. Right?

No, I don't really want to get into a philosophical discussion and anyway my opinion tends towards the opposite view - that there is a reality outside us which we can never fully comprehend. The reality we create inside ourselves has a good chance of being a delusion. Besides, we're usually not very interesting - each of us is little more than a collection of ignorance and prejudices that we disguise as rationality.

I fell into this reflective mood yesterday evening at a performance of Seth Jones' Reality, a two-act play that, like some dramatic TARDIS, has a tendency to drop into a theatre for a couple of performances and then dematerialise again. (Seth, I should point out, gave me the role of Steve Marks in Clouds of Grey, which will likewise exist in a second incarnation for only two nights at the Park 90 theatre next week.) Reality is about a woman whose inner demons and angels manifest themselves on stage. Neurotic, psychopathic, schizophrenic, mentally ill - I'm not sure which, if any, of these epithets apply - she argues with herself, commits violence on her (female) lover and encounters a therapist - not necessarily in that order. The writing is intelligent, the drama holds our attention and there are sizzling performances by all five players (it would be invidious to pick out any, so I won't mention Katharine Beresford, my acting partner in Clouds of Grey) and my attention was held throughout.

But . . .  it wasn't my Reality. I'm lucky, I suppose, in that I have few, if any inner demons (and certainly no interior angels). I get through daily life with the minimum of fuss and my self-doubt is manageable. I'm aware of my faults and have a reasonable opinion of my virtues. And because my interior life is relatively calm and ordered, I have little interest in it, except to occasionally look it over and wipe off any dirt, in the same way as I keep my kitchen reasonably clean.

Which means that other people's struggles with the voices in their head and their difficulties in dealing with the world around them do not engage me emotionally. I'm interested to see the characters on stage, but they do not touch my psyche. I suspect many others will have the same reaction, which means that while Reality will resonate strongly with people whose inner lives range from unsettled to chaotic, no matter how good the writing or the performances, it will not reach as an broad audience that its creator and performers would like.

     

Head Meets Brick Wall, Metaphorically

I should be happy. Actually, part of me is. A big cheesy, beatific, self-satisfied beam lighting up my face and stretching my lips upward from cheek to cheek. Faded teeth showing (well, I'm a Brit; I have standards to maintain).

And it's all because of the reviews of Californian Lives. No, they haven't all been fantastic, but the vast majority that mention my writing do so in glowing terms. "Martin Foreman's Californian Lives is a masterclass on the art of the monologue" says Beige. "Martin Foreman’s writing sparkles at times and is shot through with wry humour and an air of melancholy" opines West End Wilma in the draguise of Tony Peters. "fine descriptive writing" says The Public Reviews. "splendidly understated, yet utterly convincing, portraits of love in California's emotional desert", in the words of Broadway World.

But let me not be selfish. There's plenty of praise to go around. "Robin Holden's performance demands attention ... [he] has a strong sense of stage presence and practically radiates energy ... John Vernon is a brilliant actor ... a very natural and confident performer possessing a great command of language ... Carolyn Lyster carries the material well; her performance is poignant and her character well crafted. Once again, the acting is formidable." One Stop Arts is just one of many reviews that tells us how good the actors are. And let me not forget that "Emma King-Farlow’s direction is to be commended for its lightness of touch" (Entertainment Focus).

What more could I want? Well, headline praise from the nation's dailies and other periodicals, an interview with Graham Norton (although that's a double-edged sword) and an audience with the Queen (Prunella Scales, that is, not that Janey-come-lately who usurped her). But the nation's dailies do not concern themselves with fringe productions that only run twice a week, even if the run is for six weeks, so Californian Lives continues to operate below most people's cultural radar.

C'est la vie. That's life. That's the way the cookie crumbles. Pick up the crumbs, stuff them in your mouth and move on.

In this case, moving on means doffing my writer's cap and donning my producer's beret. At which point I face the reality that a great review does not a full house make. After a good opening weekend, we are following the trend of a poor second week. Advance sales for Sunday and Monday are abysmal.

Who to blame? Well, several candidates put themselves forward. The Great British Public, for one, because they don't read the good reviews, follow the Twitter feeds and Facebook page and rush to tell all their friends and book all the seats so they can resell them at a profit, making themselves a fantastic profit in the process.

But let's be serious. A large part of the problem probably lies with me. As producer I've thrown myself into the deep end of this process and I have made a number of mistakes. Chief among them has been waiting for the reviews to launch the second round of publicity - but I forgot to book the second round in advance and the reviews have come in too late to get out before the upcoming weekend. I've also relied on a designer who, through no fault of her own, has been unable to put together the revised leaflet (that's flier for those of you who have been influenced by US culture / are under 40 years old). Ditto in co-ordinating with our host theatre; I haven't anticipated all the problems that can arise when two sides think they are on the same wavelength and then they discover they aren't.

So I've been spending most of the last few days glued to my computer, tweeting, Facebooking, emailing, calling, nudging, encouraging, pleading various contacts to come or to persuade their contacts to come see the show. Has it been successful? The fact that sometimes it feels as if my metaphorical head were engaging in frequent knocking of the nearest brick wall should give you some idea of my present state of mind. To see whether the head has penetrated the wall or vice versa, check back in a few days when I will blog on the status of the show will come later. In the meantime, with all due humility or arrogance (choose which you prefer), I hereby beg, demand, plead, insist, wish, command, fill in the verb of your choice, that you come to the show. And if you still need convincing, check the reviews.

One down . . .

John, Carolyn and Robin

. . . eleven performances to go. Preview night was last night and all went well. Each of our three actors held the audience spellbound for 30 minutes as they told their stories. The sets were minimal but striking. The lighting subtle and effective. From Robin Holden's young Man In Diner, through John Vernon's middle-aged Man In Bar to Carolyn Lyster's old Woman At Home, we weaved tales of love and betrayal, of uncertainty and emotion. At the end the applause was long, there were whistles and tears and complete strangers came up to me and said how good the whole evening was.

I'm proud of the characters I have created and grateful to the actors and director, Emma King-Farlow, who have brought them so vividly to life. I'm a little less proud of my production skills - but I have little experience in the field and this my most ambitious project to date. Which means I am disappointed but not surprised by the fact that the theatre wasn't full last night. Still, we had a good crowd and expect an even better crowd this evening.

So, come and see us. You will be moved. You will not be disappointed.

And while you're booking your seats on the King's Head website, I will be devoting half my energies this week to promoting this fantastic show - and the other half to immersing myself once again in Steve Marks, the violent criminal I portray in the upcoming Clouds of Grey....

Under Pressure

Three days until opening / preview night. Am I feeling the pressure? Kind'a sort'a... I thought we had all the furniture sorted out, but no, it's still uncertain whether we can get a sofa and Director Emma insists that the table in Los Feliz be round, not rectangular. A simple item, you would think, but neither I nor anyone I know has one. So later today I'm off to do the rounds of local charity shops where I hope to pick one up cheap. Then there are other minor props still to be secured, menus to be laminated, checks (US for restaurant bill) to print out and so on. On top of that, sales are sluggish - ok for the first two nights, but low thereafter. Despite the energies of myself, our P R person and various cast members, we haven't yet been able to generate the buzz we need to get advance sales. So various consultations are taking place to see how we can boost interest at this late stage.

The good news is that I don't crack under pressure. Well.... that's not quite true. When something unexpected happens, I can have a short spell of annoyance or even anger. But I'm lucky in that my bad moods usually subside pretty quickly; within a few minutes I invariably recognise the problem and either deal with it or accept that it cannot be dealt with. What I don't do is sulk or run away.

Which means I'm busy getting on with what I need to do. Right now, the most important thing is lunch. I'll get the lamination done this afternoon and if I can't find a round table in the neighbourhood I'll pick one up from Argos. This evening to the theatre, where the cast will see the new stage layout for the first time. In the meantime, more publicity emails and tweets. And tomorrow? Who knows.

Colour Me Beige

I've been interviewed, by Beige magazine. The photo is frightening (it's this one here) but you might be interested in what I say about playwriting