Mug Shot

To the Moors Theatre last night for the publicity photos for Clouds of Grey. I had given writer / co-director / co-producer Seth my next, chest and waist size for the white shirt my character wears and he produced a garment that would have been ample for Arnold Schwarzenegger at his most pumped and which had room for both me and any passing homeless waif. Luckily the leather jacket disguised the size and allowed me to strike a variety of poses for photographer Lauren.

There were five of us on set: villains Andrew St Clair James and myself, police Warren Brooking and Barry Somebody (full name still not up on the website) and mysterious individual Phillip Piggott all striking appropriate poses. In my case that meant, among other things, toying with a (real) knife and telling photographer Lauren in graphic detail exactly how I would wield the weapon in her flesh. Which quickly brought that part of the photoshoot to a quick end.

In the meantime I had blotted my copybook by spilling a container of "Creme Puff Gay Whisper" make-up (I kid you not) all over the floor of the gents' toilet. I was using it to take the shine off my pate, and not, as bar-owner Andy possibly suspected, laying a trail to lure the drag queens in Crouch End into his establishment. Mind you, having never visited the bar in drinking hours, I might have been taking coals to Newcastle. And after resurrecting that old simile (if you're old enough to know how it arose, I'd keep quiet about it), I'll get back to learning my lines. Luckily for this aged brain, Steve has a limited vocabulary...

Murder Mystery

I've just read through the script for Clouds of Grey for the third time - and I still don't fully understand it. It's complicated and intriguing and not all the characters are who they seem to be. At least I now (think I) have answers to some of my early questions, such as exactly who dies? when? how?, but other uncertainties remain.

With luck I'll fully understand what is happening by the time the play opens. As for the audience, I can tell from the script that even if they are confused by the plot they'll be absorbed and intrigued by the production - and anyway, it's a reasonable bet that the average bum-on-seat will be brighter than me. Maybe one of them afterwards can explain things to me if I buy them a drink...

I'm not complaining. I like a bit of confusion and mystery in my plots, which makes me a sucker for David Lynch's work. I can watch Twin Peaks, Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive repeatedly and not complain - even if I find myself wondering whether we have moved forward and backward in time, whether such a character has become someone else or is simply being portrayed by another player and whether I'm watching reality, a dream or something in between. (The only exception is Inland Empire, which disappeared so far up its own plot that I gave up on it about hour into the three-hour marathon.) So I'm looking forward to seeing how Clouds of Grey develops and how the various stories and characters come together - and that offer of an after-show drink remains.

Me and Vinnie Jones

Seth Jones, writer, director and, I begin to think, stage manager and all-round gofer for Clouds of Grey, has been in touch with the cast regarding our costumes for the photo shoot on Wednesday. My attire - and, I suspect, my character - are based on that scrotum-squeezing pride or pariah of the football field, Vinnie Jones. The same VJ, of course, who later appeared in several films, most notably in the Cockney caper Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.

When up for the part of Steve Marks, your neighbourhood thug, I had imagined myself as Bob Hoskins, wearing a semi-stylish trench coat, perhaps topped by a trilby. Jonesy, however, has decided to dress Mr Marks in the leather jacket and white shirt as modelled by his namesake in the picture here - neither of which I own. And so our director is either going to rifle through his own wardrobe, or that of his flatmate / landlord / neighbour, or actually buy the items of clothing under discussion. I look forward to donning them on Wednesday.

Back - Not Yet On Track

A week ago I was in Edinburgh at the start of a weekend celebrating my 60th birthday. It seems that a fantastic time was had by all. I appreciate the effort that so many people made to travel to the Scottish capital at a time when most holidaymakers are heading south.

Now I'm back in London, but still catching up with thank you letters, emails, post and all the clutter that accumulates when you're away for even a few days. Which means that my posting on this blog and - more importantly - my learning lines for Clouds of Grey are behind schedule. By Monday, however, I should be back on track. Have a great weekend.

Party on

In Edinburgh with family and friends celebrating sixty years of life and (more or less) one year since I started acting (in The Players, a short film that has yet to see the light of cinema screen or youtube). Normal service will be resumed in about five days time...

Moors Murderer

I got the part of Steve. Thank you, Seth (and James and Rochelle and Jas). Which means that you can see me at the Moors Theatre in sunny Crouch End, from 27th January to 5th February. Prepare for . . . dramatic pause and drum roll . . . "Murder, suicide, Kidnap, domestics, gambling, sour deals and more.When two bodies are found contorted on the streets it is a job for Inspector French and Sergeant Branford. It seems a cold cut case with the arrival of an old villain coming out of prison. But none on the streets know what walks beneath them. Each character holding secrets, each character involved. An action packed drama with many questions to be answered. A dark, dramatic and epic murder mystery."

What a difference a stage makes...

Yesterday I wrote that I was losing my acting muscle. I was about to go to an audition and felt totally unprepared. I wasn't drowning in the depths of despair but I was shuffling through the shallows of .... fill in whatever synonym comes to mind of boredom, lack of interest, lack of confidence .... unshertainty. Then I took the 271 to Holloway Road and the 91 to Crouch End Broadway, walked up Park Road, into the bar / theatre and everything changed.

I had told myself to go in in character, so on with the mockney accent, the wide-eyed expression and the broad shoulders. A friendly conversation with writer / producers / directors / actohs Seth, James and Rochelle about the play-that-they-don't-want-to-tell-us-too-much-about-but-there's-a-strong-Tarantino-influence and then I was on stage giving my spiel to a dying woman. And I was in character. And there was laughter from the writer / director, followed immediately by the statement "I'm loving this characterisation" and all was well. I came to my final line "what's not to love?", bounced off the stage and down to adulation. Would I try another part? The mysterious Creator. Would I? Of course I would. Five minutes later...  that was great, now can you do it differently. Of course I can. Not perfect, but it's a sight reading and producer James loves it, he loves it.

So, forty minutes after I drag my feet in to the audition, I leave walking on air. I'm aware that S, J and R are going to see other actors who may be better than me or give a characterisation that is even closer to what they are looking for, but no matter. Even if I don't get the one of the parts - and I really hope I do because this play looks fun - I know my acting career is not in a coma; it's just dozing.