The End of the Beginning

Yesterday was the last performance of the first run of my first appearance on stage since I was a spotty-skinned, spotty-brained youth many decades ago. And of course I fouled up in the speech that I have come to hate:

Oh no, for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter. 

Easy, isn't it? Every time I rehearsed it in front of a blank wall, I got it right, playing to the audience as directed and using hand gestures to distinguish between "she" Rosaind and "she" Celia. Then I would go on stage and every second performance my mind would go blank as the attempt to explain to the audience confused me. So again last night I ad-libbed to cover my foul-up (against the director's note) - and this time the audience wasn't amused. I recovered by the end of my short appearance, but I have come to loath this minor role of Charles the Wrestler and will be happy if I never see him again.

I then restored my reputation and confidence with my final appearance as Jaques de Boys (let's forget the noise in the dressing-room as I kicked the box before entry). For the first time I felt it had real power behind it and I was aware of the potential within me for strong and serious parts where I don't have to play wordgames - an impression reinforced by dear Kate Glover in the post-run party, who told me that for the first time she felt the potential menace in my stage presence.

So this is the end of the beginning. The last week has been exciting and nerve-wracking, stimulating and depressing, boring and informative. I'm aware that my performances so far have been inconsistent, but I'm also aware I did not wholly disgrace myself and I didn't damage the overall production. I'm glad I've got so far and I'm grateful to all those who gave me the opportunity and supported me both off and onstage. To name-check (in addition to the already-mentioned Jeffrey Ho and Daniel Yabut) patient director Marianna Vogt, smiling S M Davey Kelleher - and I'm not going to add any more labels except talented and friendly, to the following, with an apology where I have not been able to find a link their profiles - Will Wheeler (Orlando), Ryan Wichert (Oliver), Bryan Merry (Adam / Sir Oliver Martext), the very special (ok, she's an exception) Kimberley Maloney (Le Beau / Audrey), Clare Langford (Rosalind), Gabrielle Curtis (Celia), Jeryl Burgess (Duke Frederick), Yvonne Riley (Duke Senior), Catriona Mackenzie (Amiens 1), Tracey Pickup (Amiens 2), Owen Nolan (Corin), Kate Glover (Jaques) and Kate Bancroft (Phebe). I hope to see you all again - and work with you if you'll have me.

It's Official: Are You Following Me?

Remember the mutilated corpse? Me, I mean, last Saturday. Head back on a chair, with my eyes cut out and my throat slit. The only part of me that moved being my hand falling off my knee when my "son" discovers his father's dead body.

I got paid for that part. The money landed in my bank account yesterday. All £12 of it, for two hour's acting work (well, let's be fair; 45 minutes acting, 45 minutes preparation and 30 minutes waiting for the film crew to turn up). That means I have now been officially paid to act - or my arm has. The first goal of my year - to be paid for appearing on stage or film - has been met. Now for my second goal: to find an agent.

The film, by the way, is Witness The Beginning. Here's more information.

Yesterday was a busy day. I turned up for the 12.30 call at the doomed Greenwich Playhouse, without time for lunch. There'll be a break about 2.00, I thought, enough time for me to skip out for a sandwich. I thought wrong. For five hours, under the beady eye of the glowering Bruce and schoolmistress stare of the steely Alice, we were blocked and reblocked. In the first act I'm one of the Cardinal's men - appearing and reappearing to add menace to his presence. Hunger apart, it was a worthwhile afternoon. Unlike As You Like It, which was rehearsed bit by bit in a classroom in Holborn, I could see from the start the coherence and strength waiting to be brought out.

Which doesn't mean that the show I'm currently in lacks these qualities. It's sold out, and last night was the best performance so far. I even raised the first laugh of the evening, in my short speech where Charles the Wrestler is explaining to wicked brother Oliver that Rosalind has not been exiled with her father, but remains at the court with Celia.

It's a confusing piece, where neither character is named and they are only identified by ambiguous "she"s and "cousin"s. The direction calls for me to play it to the audience, using my hands to demonstrate the difference between the two young women. Doing so, however, confuses the wrestler and annoys his patron, and last night, as he turned away in irritation, I ad-libbed "are you following me?", which brought out the laughter.

The good mood continued throughout the evening. In a strong cast, it's invidious to pick out individuals, but the comic element was particularly helped by the skills of Jeffrey Ho, playing the hapless Silvius in love with the contemptuous Phebe and by Daniel Yabut's capering. And of course there are the shenanigans with the other lovers and exiles in Arden, whom I'll cover in later posts. They all came together again last night, and the strongest cheers yet at the end of the show had us all running back in for a second ovation.

Not Bad

The second night. The theatre was overbooked and extra chairs were brought in, further reducing our limited stage. I fluffed a line in my first scene as I addressed my second speech to a silent audience - an audience which stayed silent through the wrestling match and long into the first act. Only with the entrance of dismissive Phebe and lovestruck Silvius did we hear the first murmur of appreciation. In the second act there was occasional laughter, although less than the night before. At least when I came in for the final scene, the audience was still attentive in the overheated room and the final applause was genuine.

I left the dressing-room to get the tube home and found myself face to face with friend Todd who had come, unannounced, to see the production. He was genuinely flattering about my own limited roles and the production as a whole and I was genuinely flattered that he had taken time to come and see me.

Back home I found myself unable to sleep. I'm not sure why. Now the run is underway, any tension should have dissipated, but my mind kept revolving round lines from the play and other things in my life, none of which are problematic, but which for reasons unknown my mind could not let go off. When the Other Half rose at 5.30 for his morning shift, I tried to stretch out without him, but in the end I gave up and shortly after 6 got up to deal with the piles of emails and books that have been waiting for days and weeks to be dealt with - so maybe that's what churning my subsconscious.

Meanwhile, the first review has come in. Mary Tynan, in frostmagazine.com is generally complimentary, although she credits the wrong actress playing the part of the evil duke. My attention is moving on, to my first rehearsal, today, for the Duchess of Malfi, being held in the doomed Greenwich Playhouse. And I now have six (count 'em, six!) followers on Twitter. Is there any reason why you aren't one of them? @actserious

Second Night

At sixteen I was Private Smith in a school production of The Long and the Short and the Tall, a laconic Northern Englishman in the jungles of Malaysia surrounding by the advancing Japanese army. I stood on stage, gormless, reciting my lines with the enthusiasm of a metronome. I didn't need anyone to tell me that my acting was awful and I resolved never to tread the boards again.

Memory tells me that was a one-night production. Skip forward 40+ years. Last night, I appeared on stage in public for the second time, in two short roles topping and tailing As You Like It - as Charles the middle-aged Scots wrestler and Jacques de Boys the young (!) son of old Sir Rowland. In the first I got laughs - unexpected but not unwelcome; in the second, I held their attention. In short, I acquitted myself well.

In my downtime - almost 2 hours, I sat in the dressing-room reading the paper and doing Sudoku, watching and chatting with fellow thespians as they exited and entered. Laughter and applause drifted through the blackout curtain from an overflowing auditorium. At the end of the show, we trooped off after the curtain call, to be hauled back in again by ongoing applause. In short, it was a very well received production.

I was tense but not nervous, a little bored during the long wait off stage. I don't do happy - at least not in real life - but I was content and pleased that I had taken this step to explore acting at this late stage in my life. As I add another credit to my short CV, the next step is to take the phrase "would-be" off the heading of this blog. Now I know I can call myself an actor.

And Back Up

When you reach bottom, there's only one place to go... Yesterday we were in the theatre running through the tech, then the dress. My threatened sore throat didn't materialise and my mood gradually lifted as the day went by. I even had a positive note from the director, which didn't surprise me, as my confidence was back where it should be.

Today is the first night. Am I nervous? No, because I haven't had time to think about it. Rushing around the past few days left me a pile of emails and paperwork to deal with all morning. Now the Other Half is dusting the living-room and making me feel guilty I'm not helping with the housework. First night nerves may arrive tonight - and almost certainly would arrive if I had a significant role - but at the moment All Is Well

Roller Coaster

The past few days began well, went downhill, back up, down again, up, down and now really down...

First was the first meeting of The Duchess of Malfi cast; three hours in the doomed Greenwich Theatre with Director Bruce, Producer Alice and various members of the technical crew. Highly professional and a sense of being back in school, with strict rules and firm timetables. A good start.

Then came another rehearsal for As You Like It; the details are already foggy in my mind, and I do not remember any particular problem, but I came home out of sorts, and went to straight to bed for a long, pleasurable sleep.

Saturday morning was an audition in a venue near my home for a music video. I would be the barman, a role I'd enjoy. I won't hear for several days, and even if I don't get it, I made, I think, a good impression.

On to As You Like It, a speed-through. The young cast around me rushed through their paces, enjoying every minute. I fluffed my lines, majorly, and left the stage angry with myself. The fact that all the other older actors found the experience unpleasant and some coped no better than I did, didn't lighten my mood.

From there to Snaresbrook to be filmed as a mutilated corpse, discovered at my desk by my son returning home. The only part of me which moved was my arm, flopping off my knee when he touched me. Uncomfortable but fun.

Back home, exhausted, I thought I'd sleep, but the speed-through failure rankled in my mind and I tossed and turned for hours, angry with myself. Sleep, when it came, was spasmodic and I woke up in the morning in a foul mood.

To Holborn again for another run-through of AYLI. My lines were better but not perfect. My presence was stronger but I again fluffed lines, again the director pointed out faults and again my confidence fell, to its lowest point yet. From Holborn to the White Bear to paint the set. A relaxing evening and my mood improved, but again I was pleased to get home and collapse into bed.

A good night's sleep until 6am, when I woke with a sore throat, dozing fitfully until I finally woke up. I now sit at the computer, catching up on emails, with a headache and a sense of dread. Today is the Tech, followed by a Dress. I know I will be competent, but everyone else will do well. I know the director will criticise whatever I do. I know I will be in a bad mood. I know I will come home with a worse headache and a more painful throat. I know that opening night, tomorrow, will not be the best start to my stage career. At least I also know that my parts are so small that no matter what I do, I will not harm the overall production.

Win Some, Lose Some

I'm lazy and a tad insecure. I like life to be certain, to know what's happening and what's about to happen and to have my days planned and unchanged. Life, for some obscure reason, doesn't play by my rules.

When two groups of film-makers say they want to use me on the same day and it seems possible that I can shoot one in the afternoon, then shoot to the other set to shoot the other in the evening, plus attend a morning audition, of course I spend twenty-four hours juggling emails and text messages and phone calls to make sure it will happen. When everything is in place, I twitter about it (reminder - I still have painfully few followers - cheer me up by joining #actserious). Of course it doesn't work out because my afternoon shoot is moved to the evening, so I have to be replaced. It would be poetic justice if the evening shoot gets canceled as well...

Meanwhile, today's As You Like It rehearsal has been called off. Bad news in that I needed the rehearsal to secure myself in the role. Good news in that it gives me time to relax and to go to two parties tonight - one being the wrap party for last year's film, The Players, the other being a reunion of Poor School colleagues last year. Not that I will be out late - I have a costume fitting and the first meeting of the Duchess of Malfi cast tomorrow morning, followed by the AYLI rehearsal in the afternoon. So many performances, so little time...