Two hours on Shakespeare, three hours on poker. They are coming together. Act 1 of As You Like It has been blocked, and on Monday, we will go over the short duologue between Charles and Oliver.
I'm happier about The Players, but not yet ecstatic. Our missing cast member, the Dashingly Handsome Young Jack, turned up last night. I couldn't work out whether his distant attitude was his personality or his character. My own character, Spike, settled over me, although he's still not fully there. All but one of us knows his moves - let's hope the dealer gets it right for tonight's dress rehearsal. More accurately, rehearsals; the film is so short that we should get through it at least twenty times before the end of the evening. Tonight we shall probably all be seeing cards in our sleep.
Friday, 16 December 2011
Wednesday, 14 December 2011
A glass of brandy and Anthony Powell
To the Old Fire Station in the Holloway Road last night, for another rehearsal for The Players, the short film we're shooting on Sunday. I'd missed one rehearsal, when everyone sat around playing poker so that the cast could get familiar with all the elements of the game. To make up for it, I had spent an hour playing a moneyless game online to remind myself of the mechanics of Texas Hold Em. In a rapid-play room, where thinking time is limited, I started with 400 chips, headed up towards 600, then fell back towards 0. Only by risking All In on a hand of three 7s did I manage to keep in the game, quitting with an overall loss of only 50. Poker is fun, I decided, as long as money isn't involved...
Back to last night... The rehearsal room was cold, I had slight toothache, my seat at the table was uncomfortable, one of the cast had had to quit and his replacement wasn't yet available, we were slow at picking up the mechanics of the game to be filmed, we spent ages analysing each character's motives for every move he made. As time passed, more questions distracted me: shouldn't this character have more chips? shouldn't that character react differently in that situation, surely by now we should be rehearsing much more and discussing mechanics less?
Pluck the log from thine own eye... As I mentally criticised the script, the director, my fellow players and the makeshift set, I was also conscious of the weakness of my own contribution. I forgot some moves and repeated others. I couldn't get into character - even though the director had not asked us to - and felt increasingly lost and incompetent. Where should I be looking at this point? What should my hands be doing? How can I convey my thoughts and emotion with just a glance?
At the end of the evening I said goodbye to everyone cheerfully and walked out into the cold, windy street depressed.There was no bus in sight and the busstop indicator said the next one was 12 minutes away. I was shivering. A taxi brought me home to warmth, a glass of brandy and Anthony Powell's A Dance to the Music of Time.
After a good night's sleep and a thorough review of the script my optimism returned. There's still time for everything to come together; besides, I've never made a film in my life, so who am I to decide whether it is going well? As for my acting, perhaps I shouldn't worry. In costume and on set, with the whole sequence running without interruptions, the Spike I had created earlier will surely come back to life. Let's see what Thursday's rehearsal brings.
Back to last night... The rehearsal room was cold, I had slight toothache, my seat at the table was uncomfortable, one of the cast had had to quit and his replacement wasn't yet available, we were slow at picking up the mechanics of the game to be filmed, we spent ages analysing each character's motives for every move he made. As time passed, more questions distracted me: shouldn't this character have more chips? shouldn't that character react differently in that situation, surely by now we should be rehearsing much more and discussing mechanics less?
At the end of the evening I said goodbye to everyone cheerfully and walked out into the cold, windy street depressed.There was no bus in sight and the busstop indicator said the next one was 12 minutes away. I was shivering. A taxi brought me home to warmth, a glass of brandy and Anthony Powell's A Dance to the Music of Time.
After a good night's sleep and a thorough review of the script my optimism returned. There's still time for everything to come together; besides, I've never made a film in my life, so who am I to decide whether it is going well? As for my acting, perhaps I shouldn't worry. In costume and on set, with the whole sequence running without interruptions, the Spike I had created earlier will surely come back to life. Let's see what Thursday's rehearsal brings.
Saturday, 10 December 2011
The Ideal Mistress
Q: What happens when a glitzy West End production starring two household names gets mediocre reviews?
A: Half-price (plus fees and commission) tickets are available from the tkts booth in Leicester Square.
Q: Did the glitzy West End production deserve the mediocre reviews?
A: Yes.
Q: So the evening was a waste of time of money?
A: No, it was hokum. It was fun.
Q: Pray, illuminate us . . .
The play in question was The Lion in Winter, the Broadway play that became a famous film (Peter O'Toole, Katharine Hepburn and Anthony Hopkins in his first screen role), about Henry II of England and his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine. She supported one of their sons in his rebellion against his father and was imprisoned by the king for her pains. The play presumes (an unlikely) reunion of Mum, Dad and their three sons one Christmas and the power struggle - mostly verbal - between them.
The stars were (are) Robert Lindsay (of BBC's My Family) and Joanna Lumley of New Avengers and Absolutely Fabulous fame. (To heterosexual men of a certain age there are only two British actresses worthy of the name: Judi Dench - the ideal Mother - and Joanna Lumley - the ideal Mistress.) Both give creditable performances which only occasionally remind the audience of their television personae. The only real drawback is that both monarchs come across more cuddly more than cutting.
The main problem is the script. Throughout two and a quarter hours parents and scheming children are pitted against each other in a succession of plots and counter-plots, so bewildering that we are never quite sure who is allied with whom and what their goal is. Indeed by the time we get to the point where Philip, the young king of France (Rory Fleck-Byrne), tries to get back into bed with eldest son Richard (Tom Bateman) (while Richard's brothers are hiding behind the tapestry), we no longer care. Let's just go with the flow, we tell ourselves, and if we're getting bored with the story, we can always admire the set - and the set, courtesy of Stephen Brimson Lewis, is so stunning (see pic) that it deserves top billing.
At £33.50 for good seats in the stall, this is a production well worth seeing. At £60 it's only for diehard Lumley fans. So wander down to Leicester Square one afternoon and treat yourselves. It's ideal entertainment for a Winter evening.
A: Half-price (plus fees and commission) tickets are available from the tkts booth in Leicester Square.
Q: Did the glitzy West End production deserve the mediocre reviews?
A: Yes.
Q: So the evening was a waste of time of money?
A: No, it was hokum. It was fun.
Q: Pray, illuminate us . . .
The play in question was The Lion in Winter, the Broadway play that became a famous film (Peter O'Toole, Katharine Hepburn and Anthony Hopkins in his first screen role), about Henry II of England and his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine. She supported one of their sons in his rebellion against his father and was imprisoned by the king for her pains. The play presumes (an unlikely) reunion of Mum, Dad and their three sons one Christmas and the power struggle - mostly verbal - between them.
The stars were (are) Robert Lindsay (of BBC's My Family) and Joanna Lumley of New Avengers and Absolutely Fabulous fame. (To heterosexual men of a certain age there are only two British actresses worthy of the name: Judi Dench - the ideal Mother - and Joanna Lumley - the ideal Mistress.) Both give creditable performances which only occasionally remind the audience of their television personae. The only real drawback is that both monarchs come across more cuddly more than cutting.
At £33.50 for good seats in the stall, this is a production well worth seeing. At £60 it's only for diehard Lumley fans. So wander down to Leicester Square one afternoon and treat yourselves. It's ideal entertainment for a Winter evening.
Friday, 9 December 2011
Ass Backwards
Is it because I'm old, or did I always do this?
We're practising the opening ritual of the umbrella wrestling scene. Marianna The Director suggests that we plié as we raise our weapons above our head. My knees creak as my body lowers slowly towards the floor. And my backside sticks out. I can't see myself in a mirror, but I'm sure I look as if I'm lowering myself onto a lavatory pan...
Marianna hasn't noticed this, but now that she looks, she isn't impressed. Can't I keep my back straight? Well, a little, but my ass still thrusts itself outwards and my descent is even slower. Not impressive. I ought to be pleased that I have an ass - the Other Half insists that my backside is as flat as my singing - but I'm aware that this is not the right time or place to show it. Marianna suggests an alteration. The plié goes and is replaced by a lunge. I can do that. So honour is restored and the cast and audience are spared a laughable sight. Now it's time to practice my battle-cry...
We're practising the opening ritual of the umbrella wrestling scene. Marianna The Director suggests that we plié as we raise our weapons above our head. My knees creak as my body lowers slowly towards the floor. And my backside sticks out. I can't see myself in a mirror, but I'm sure I look as if I'm lowering myself onto a lavatory pan...
Marianna hasn't noticed this, but now that she looks, she isn't impressed. Can't I keep my back straight? Well, a little, but my ass still thrusts itself outwards and my descent is even slower. Not impressive. I ought to be pleased that I have an ass - the Other Half insists that my backside is as flat as my singing - but I'm aware that this is not the right time or place to show it. Marianna suggests an alteration. The plié goes and is replaced by a lunge. I can do that. So honour is restored and the cast and audience are spared a laughable sight. Now it's time to practice my battle-cry...
Monday, 5 December 2011
Life Is Good
For much of the past year I have been operating under a grey cloud. I don't do Depression, but I'm an old hand at Irritation. Despite the fact that I have no financial worries, my health is very good for my age, I have a comfortable home, good friends and a loving companion, I was not finding life enjoyable. Each morning I woke up with a sense that the day ahead was full of small tasks that I had no wish to undertake, and each evening I would go to bed feeling that another day had passed in which I had achieved nothing. Outwardly, I was amenable; inwardly, I was decidedly grumpy.
Given that background, in the last week my mood should have darkened. I have developed a persistent cold/cough and, this morning, when I should be full of energy, I find an ache lurking in my bones, hinting at the first stages of flu. Yet, rather than falling into a Slough - or more likely Puddle - of Despond, the adrenalin is flowing and the serotonin (pictured) is bubbling. In short, I'm decidely chirpy.
This renewed approach to life is down to my new drug: Acting. Acting gives me a kick. Acting brings me to life. Acting makes me feel good. Acting stretches me. Acting allows me to experience parts of myself - and parts of other people's lives - that I have, until now, had little contact with. Acting is different. It's challenging. It's fun.
On Friday, I was being interviewed for the part of a corpse. On Saturday, I was a strutting athlete rehearsing a fight with umbrellas. On Sunday, I was a diffident ducker and diver (the poker player, now a Scot, no longer a Londoner). And today in audition, I was Malvolio, berating Olivia for his imprisonment. Some of these situations were easier than others - my stage fighting skills are limited and I have not yet seen the full extent of my gambler's character. But even when I am uncertain of my abilities and nervous that I have not produced the effect the director is seeking, I am glad to be in the situation I am in.
Today, in particular, I gave what felt like a powerful rendition of Malvolio's hurt at his situation, but it required only a couple of notes from the director for me to really bring the steward to life, as I seethed with anger in the first half of the speech and then almost collapsed in grief towards the end. It was a powerful sensation and even if I do not get the part, I am grateful to the producers for the opportunity they gave me to experience and present it.
Perhaps I only feel this upbeat because I am at the beginning of my career. I might feel very differently after a year of auditions and rejections. Point taken. But acting is not the be-all and end-all of my life and if I fail to reach the level I aspire to, of a small income and regular performances, I will yield the stage to others and seek some other interest to keep Irritation at bay. In the meantime, however, thanks to Acting, Life Is Good.
This renewed approach to life is down to my new drug: Acting. Acting gives me a kick. Acting brings me to life. Acting makes me feel good. Acting stretches me. Acting allows me to experience parts of myself - and parts of other people's lives - that I have, until now, had little contact with. Acting is different. It's challenging. It's fun.
On Friday, I was being interviewed for the part of a corpse. On Saturday, I was a strutting athlete rehearsing a fight with umbrellas. On Sunday, I was a diffident ducker and diver (the poker player, now a Scot, no longer a Londoner). And today in audition, I was Malvolio, berating Olivia for his imprisonment. Some of these situations were easier than others - my stage fighting skills are limited and I have not yet seen the full extent of my gambler's character. But even when I am uncertain of my abilities and nervous that I have not produced the effect the director is seeking, I am glad to be in the situation I am in.
Today, in particular, I gave what felt like a powerful rendition of Malvolio's hurt at his situation, but it required only a couple of notes from the director for me to really bring the steward to life, as I seethed with anger in the first half of the speech and then almost collapsed in grief towards the end. It was a powerful sensation and even if I do not get the part, I am grateful to the producers for the opportunity they gave me to experience and present it.
Perhaps I only feel this upbeat because I am at the beginning of my career. I might feel very differently after a year of auditions and rejections. Point taken. But acting is not the be-all and end-all of my life and if I fail to reach the level I aspire to, of a small income and regular performances, I will yield the stage to others and seek some other interest to keep Irritation at bay. In the meantime, however, thanks to Acting, Life Is Good.
Saturday, 3 December 2011
Wrestling With Umbrellas
I didn't get the corpse job. I was too young to play a dead seventy-year-old. Well, I knew that, but Hamish The Filmmaker had felt a little embarrased by calling for an old man to play dead and had stretched his age limit down to 50. I didn't expect to get the work, but it was an excuse to get out of the house, travel to sunny Ealing and meet someone who might nevertheless decide to cast me in their next blockbuster.
I still have the wheezy voice and lack of energy from the cough/cold that's been bothering me all week, but The Show Must Go On. Boosted by caffeine, I will spend this afternoon at my first rehearsal for As You Like It. I'm Charles, a Scot in a Mexican Lucha mask, wrestling with umbrellas. That's right, umbrellas. Well, Marianna, our director, comes from a clown backrgound and this production is modern-quirky, so It Just Might Work.
Back home to rest and decide whether I will go out tonight as planned. The Other Half is telling me to stay in, but the party animal in me is restless...
Tomorrow the first rehearsal for The Players, the quirky (there's that word again) short film about a poker game shooting later in the month. I'm Spike, a nervous Cockney minder. I have no lines in this production, so I have to act London - and no, that does not mean a Pearly King or Beefeater outfit. I'm not sure what we're going to be doing for six hours, but I'm mugging up on my Texas Hold Em and preparing to sell the family jewels in case rehearsal turns into a real game.
Then comes Monday and an audition for Much Ado About Nothing. I'm taking no chances; I've actually read the instructions before turning up. Which means that unlike last time, I've learnt the correct speech with which to impress them - Malvolio confronting Olivia on his release (I know, different play, but Directors Have Their Reasons) - and I think I'm in with a chance for Leonato.
Finally, immediately after that audition, I was supposed to head into the country for a week, to act the starring role in another quirky (it seems to be my speciality) short film. Except I haven't heard from the producers for over a week and I suspect it ain't going to happen. I can understand they may be having financial or logistical problems, but it would be polite to keep me informed of what is, or is not, happening. The fact that they have been incommunicado means that I am most definitely Not Amused.
I still have the wheezy voice and lack of energy from the cough/cold that's been bothering me all week, but The Show Must Go On. Boosted by caffeine, I will spend this afternoon at my first rehearsal for As You Like It. I'm Charles, a Scot in a Mexican Lucha mask, wrestling with umbrellas. That's right, umbrellas. Well, Marianna, our director, comes from a clown backrgound and this production is modern-quirky, so It Just Might Work.
Back home to rest and decide whether I will go out tonight as planned. The Other Half is telling me to stay in, but the party animal in me is restless...
Then comes Monday and an audition for Much Ado About Nothing. I'm taking no chances; I've actually read the instructions before turning up. Which means that unlike last time, I've learnt the correct speech with which to impress them - Malvolio confronting Olivia on his release (I know, different play, but Directors Have Their Reasons) - and I think I'm in with a chance for Leonato.
Finally, immediately after that audition, I was supposed to head into the country for a week, to act the starring role in another quirky (it seems to be my speciality) short film. Except I haven't heard from the producers for over a week and I suspect it ain't going to happen. I can understand they may be having financial or logistical problems, but it would be polite to keep me informed of what is, or is not, happening. The fact that they have been incommunicado means that I am most definitely Not Amused.
Thursday, 1 December 2011
A Corpse With A Cough
I'm auditioning for the part of a corpse tomorrow. The role calls for me to lie motionless in a bed. Shooting is expected to take no more than a morning. I've been asked to give my thoughts on the character's background...
In the meantime, I've picked up a cough. The question is whether I'll die of it- which would make my playing of the part more realistic - or whether during filming I'll erupt with unexpected expectoration. I'll keep you posted.
In the meantime, I've picked up a cough. The question is whether I'll die of it- which would make my playing of the part more realistic - or whether during filming I'll erupt with unexpected expectoration. I'll keep you posted.
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