Cam The Librarian

Australian librarian currently based in London. Completely in love with pop culture, high culture, and chin-stroking culture - music, films, theatre/drama, books, comics, games.

[camthelibrarian]

I can never go home anymore: saying goodbye to Temple Studios

I think about home a lot. The concept of home, that is. What it means to people. What it means to me.

Thinking about my actual home is much more difficult for me. Ostensibly, my home is Brisbane, Australia, although I haven’t lived there for over 16 years. In early 1998 I moved to Tokyo for what I imagined would be a short while – a year, perhaps two or three at most.

If you’d told me at the time that it would be 12 years, I wouldn’t have believed you.

As one year passed into two, then three, and onwards towards 12, I’d fly home once a year to catch up with my family and friends. With each year that passed, and with each return, I would notice changes. Subtle at first – a building torn down here, a new one built over there. But over time the landscape of “home” began to change in more significant ways – politically, socially, culturally. Gradually, the Brisbane that I knew, the place that I’d grown up in and known intimately, was largely erased – existing now for me only as some sort of mythic, memory place.

In other words, I came to realise that I could never go home anymore.

But isn’t it the same for everyone? Even if you never leave home, as time passes you can never go back to the home of your childhood, your teenage years, your university days, and so on. Those places now live only in your memories – and dreams.

So even if I’d never left Brisbane, the same thing would have happened. And if I hadn’t left, I would never have found other places to call home. Places like Tokyo … London …

Temple Studios.

It may sound strange to say that Temple Studios felt like home. After all, I never actually lived there – although some members of the cast and crew may have thought otherwise considering how often they saw me there. (And no, I’m not telling you how many times I went.)

But Temple Studios very quickly felt like a spiritual home. It was a place that I yearned to return to, time and again; a place that brought a real sense of magic and mystery back into my life, which I thought was long gone. It was a place that was intensely emotional, flooding me with a range of feelings that I never expected to feel – and some of which I thought I’d lost before my first trip to the studios.

It was a place where I felt comfortable. More than that – it felt like a place where I belonged.

I always remember one night in Studio 3, perhaps a month or so before the end, bantering with Lexie (Jo Bowis). As I was saying my goodbyes before heading back into the studios I thanked her for being such a gracious host and always making me feel so welcome, no matter how many times I’d come. Lexie tilted her head, and smiled at me. “You’re always welcome here – you’re home.”

And now it’s gone. Temple Studios only exists as a memory place – a mythic place. A place glimpsed in dreams.

We can never go home anymore.

But … we carry those dreams and memories with us. We carry home within us. And it is in those dreams and memories that Temple Studios will always live.

Close your eyes. See? The mist drifting through the glade … the fairy lights in the Horse and Stars … the snow scattered across Dolores’ dressing table. It’s all right there.

It’ll always be there.

It’s taken me a very long time to write this. It’s taken me a very long time to properly gather my thoughts and feelings. This is the first time I’ve logged into Tumblr for months. (For all I know somebody else has written almost these exact same thoughts – if so, please just consider it a loop repeating.)

Looking back over my previous posts, pretty much everything I’ve written about Temple Studios and my experiences there has been a series of love letters to The Drowned Man. And I guess this might be my last love letter.

If it is, I want to say thank you. Thank you so much.

To the friends I’ve made through The Drowned Man, who now feel like an extended family. You’re incredible, and I can never express how fortunate I am to know you.

To the fan community in general – I’ve never been involved in a fan community before; seeing the creativity and passion here has been remarkable.

To the crew, who tirelessly kept the dream running night after night; from the woman at the box office who would hand me my ticket with a smile before I even said my name, to the bar staff in Studio 3, to the almost invisible black masks.

To the Walk of Terror, the best house band this side of Encino.

To the incredibly generous cast, who breathed life into Temple Studios, and led us by the hand into a world of mysteries.

To all at Punchdrunk, who designed and meticulously crafted such a beautiful, dark, and sweetly sad alternate universe.

Thank you - thank you all.

Once upon a time, we lived inside a dream.

Now, the dream lives on inside us.

[camthelibrarian]

Writing a new story - The Drugstore Girl revisited (The Drowned Man)

I recently followed Sonya Cullingford’s version of the Drugstore Girl, and her story of desperate longing, of feeling trapped by life and wanting things to change struck a chord with me. It was such a beautifully nuanced and emotional loop that I couldn’t help but write about it.

I never thought, though, that I’d be writing a sequel to that recap.

But I am. Because in the last loop of the late show on Saturday July 5 – the second last show of The Drowned Man, and the last time Sonya would ever play the Drugstore Girl – something finally changed.

Warning – details of Sonya’s last performance as the Drugstore Girl start from here. That said, what happened that night was very much a one-off – as somebody once sang, I don’t think it will ever happen again.

But if you do read on you’ll get massive closure on the Drugstore Girl’s story – and the Grocer’s too.

I walk into the drugstore towards the end of the second loop, just in time to see the Drugstore Girl’s final, fatal scene with the Grocer (Jesse Kovarsky) play out. Clapping manically, he drags her lifeless body into the middle of the drugstore. “Perfect,” he whispers down at her, “that was perfect. That was your finest performance.”

He leaves, and Harry Greener (James Traherne) steps in and helps the Drugstore Girl to her feet. From here, things start to play out as they always do, the loop repeating itself – the Drugstore Girl caught yet again in cycle of inevitable disappointment.

But as the loop continues, a feeling of finality starts to develop. A sense that this is the last time the Drugstore Girl will do these things.

Throughout the loop she liberally pours out shots of vodka – to everyone. Every time she slides a glass of lemonade over to a white-masked customer a healthy dose of vodka goes in too. When preparing a glass of lemonade to wheel over to the Grocer on her rollerskates, a shot of vodka also goes in.

And then, after coming back from the hoedown, she looks up at the five or so white-masked customers standing at her counter. She looks each of us in the eye, places a coffee cup in front of each of us, and one for herself. She pours a shot of vodka into each cup, picks up hers, and offers us a toast: “Here’s to those beautiful people out there in the dark.”

It hits me then that she’s saying goodbye. After tonight, we won’t be seeing her again.

We all raise our cups, clink them together and down the vodka. A moment of unity. There are a couple of sharp intakes of breath around the counter – the Drugstore Girl smiles. “I guess y’all prefer coffee, huh?”

Andy (Rob McNeil) suddenly runs in, and for one last time she tries to calm him down, to tell him she loves him – but yet again, he sprints out, knocking the stand of postcards to the ground. And yet again she sadly gathers them up. When she stands she hands some postcards out to the customers who have helped her scoop them up – another note of finality, of saying goodbye.

She moves behind the counter again, and her gaze flickers over to the script pinned to the wall.

She pulls it down, places it on the counter, and picks up a pen. She knows what she can write. She knows what will happen. She can summon the Grocer, looking for answers. And he can come in, and they can be caught in the cycle all over again. The same loop, over and over, day in, day out.

But no. Not this time.

It’s time to write a new story.

A determined look crosses her face, and she starts scribbling at the bottom of the script.

She runs away with her new friend and they live happily ever after.

She looks up at us, defiant, and throws her hands up in the air: “I quit!”

As she marches out of the drugstore, I barely manage to suppress an urge to cheer. Instead, my eyes fill with tears as my heart lifts. Because she’s finally doing it – she’s finally breaking free. And it’s not because her long dreamed of white knight has come to her rescue. This is her life, and she’s taking control.

In fact, she’s just about to become somebody else’s white knight, coming to his rescue.

She marches into the grocery store – the Grocer looks up, his eyes filled with tears.

“Look, let’s just run,” she says. “Let’s just get out of here.”

He nods, giving her an enormous smile through his tears. Her takes her hands, and together they walk into the main street. “This town ain’t big enough for the two of us,” he says, smiling. They press their foreheads together. They’re both holding a rose, and it’s clear who the roses are for – they’re for each other. “On the count of three?”

Eugene (no longer the Grocer): One …

Kathe (no longer the Drugstore Girl): Two …

Together: THREE!

Holding hands they sprint through the town, laughing. I follow, and I glimpse them running down the stairs, hear them still laughing – and then they’re gone. They’re out. They’re free.

And it’s beautiful.

[raspberryberetgirl]

One of my highlights of the year so far.

Quite spoilery…you may wish to look away if you *have* seen this work.

[latetothewrapparty]

One of my highlights of the year so far, too. And it’s been an exceptionally fun year.

SPOILER for Symphony of a Missing Room — Please, don’t peek if you haven’t experienced it. It has been running intermittently for five years in various locations, so you may yet get the chance. It’s such a rare treat that I would really hate to spoil it for you.

There’s an old thought-experiment of a brain-in-a-vat, a mind disconnected from reality, but fooled into experiencing a simulated world conjured up through skilful manipulation of its senses.

In the most beautiful, enchanting way, Symphony of a Missing Room is a little like that. A dreamy journey through another world, constructed in your own mind through nothing more than the soft whisper of a voice in your ear, and the delicate touch of your Guide.

I’ve listened to the video linked above several times, but I haven’t watched it and I don’t think I ever will. Symphony was such a subtle, delicate experience, and I think seeing what was done and what was imagined would reduce it somehow. I almost didn’t want to say anything about it, but I don’t want to to let it fade so I’ll try. Like any dream, though, it slips from your grasp slightly on waking; order and sequence becoming muddled, detail blurring. All I have is fuzzy impressions and snapshots:

* Taking a seat in the museum, facing a doorway into the next room, another doorway beyond that, and on, and on: a straight long line of doorways and rooms, one after another, each full of unseen artwork. It feels peaceful sitting here, my eyes naturally falling down the line of endless doorways. I feel my mind quieting, becoming more sensitive, more attentive to small details.

* A pair of headphones is slipped over my ears. A pleasant voice speaks to me, a light, feminine whisper. I’m given a sense of the history of the gallery, the countless artworks down countless years seen by countless visitors. The countless works now gone, existing only in memory; and that, too, fading in time. I focus on an artwork, try to capture every detail of it, close my eyes, try to feel it in my mind.

* At the far end of the corridor of doorways, we see the Guide. A slender woman in a beige dress, her back towards us, anonymous, a presence more than a person. We follow her further into the museum, the clicking of her heels on the marble floor loud in our ears.

* We halt, close our eyes. I feel goggles slipped over my head, diffusing the light, everything a bright blur through my eyelids. A soft touch on my hand and I’m led further into the museum, travelling in my imagination now. The intimate whisper in my ear, sometimes close and confiding, sometimes ahead of me, leading me on my journey.

* The touch of my personal Guide on my hand. The barest, lightest tease on my fingertips to lead me forwards, occasionally releasing me to walk alone, brushing my hand lightly from palm to fingertip to encourage me forward if I become too hesitant, a soft touch on my shoulder to halt me. The bond I feel with her is surprisingly strong, given that all I know is the touch of her fingertip. But I can’t help it; we feel so attuned, like she knows my senses better than I do, how to conjure and evoke feelings perfectly. I trust her absolutely and find myself given over to the experience completely.

* Crouching to walk through a tunnel, my Guide close by, leading me slowly under a low ceiling, sound echoing off the walls. My senses blur together, my mind filling in details, the gap between reality and imagination becoming meaningless. The air feels cool here, faintly musty, the space dark and shadowy. I smell damp stone, the still, chilly air of an underground vault.

* Emerging from the tunnel into another part of the museum, the sense of a vast gallery space around me. The voice of my Guide echoing in the chamber, some distance ahead. My arms spread wide, head tilted back as I walk out into the space, light against my eyelids, a bright, airy room, empty now, but I get a sense of history of the artworks once collected here, and the people who came to experience them.

* Coming to a halt, the Guide telling me there is someone now stood beside me, that I can reach out and touch her. I timidly reach out, my fingers brushing her hand, taking it softly. I’m told that when I stop touching she will vanish. I release her slowly, let my hand drop, then reach for her again and feel nothing there. But there’s an echo of her presence in the space, and I feel the touch resonating again in my memory.

* Being led further into the museum, hearing a babble of voices discussing the artworks around me, a nearby crowd enjoying the museum. My Guide halts me, and we wait as they pass, a gentle breeze against my forearm as someone walks by a little too closely. Their voices fade into the distance as they walk on, if they were ever there in the first place.

* The voice of the Guide whispering to me that the room ahead has been forgotten, sealed off, unexplored for years. I reach out and find a smooth stone wall blocking my path, keeping me from the room. I press my palms flat against it, imagine the space beyond. My Guide leads me away, and I follow reluctantly, my mind still trying to push through the wall and sense what lies beyond it…

* Dancing slowly around the room, then returning to the sealed room again. The voice tells me that the wall is now gone, and I feel a little stab of excitement. I reach out, find my path clear, and a hesitant step or two carries me into the long-forgotten room. As I enter, a rapturous, soaring symphony swells up and my Guide and I dance across the threshold, arms spread, spinning around, feeling the museum opening up and accepting us, like explorers discovering a lost city, a moment of pure magic and wonder and joy.

* Venturing further into the museum, exploring new rooms and spaces. Walking past rows of statues, their shadows falling in stripes across my skin and eyelids, alternating patches of light and dark, the smell of sunlight heating dry stone. Then travelling down to the lower levels of the museum, where nature has reclaimed part of the building, hearing snapping twigs underfoot, birdsong, the whisper of a gentle breeze through long grasses; feeling the humidity of trees and bushes, smell bright sun warming damp earth.

* Losing track of time, eventually find myself back inside the museum building where a gentle touch on my shoulder halts me. My goggles are removed, and I slowly open my eyes and find myself in an empty room with my fellow visitors; my Guide gone, never seen, but her voice still whispering in my ear to explore…

* We wander further into the back rooms of the museum, tiptoe down the aisles of the storage rooms, finding shelves full of unseen artworks, examining them in quiet wonder. So much art and history packed in such a small space is overwhelming; almost like entire lives collected, carefully folded away and stored here, waiting to be unwrapped, spread out, appreciated in all their glory.

* At the end of the storage room is an old man, lying on dust sheets, asleep. We each quietly find a spot and lie down next to him. I close my eyes, feeling my breathing slowing, sinking deeper into the dream, almost not noticing when the headphones are taken from me and my senses are my own again.

* Finally waking gently from the dream, being led quietly out of the gallery, around to the front of the building through a pretty Victorian shopping arcade.

I feel unable to talk, my senses still sharpened and almost overloaded by the world outside, everything, no matter how mundane, seeming so bright and beautiful. It’s early Sunday morning, and London is quietly waking up: the soft murmur of conversation, the click of heels on pavement, the rumble of a passing taxi. A familiar symphony, but one that to my newly-awakened eyes and ears seems strange, fresh, and almost unbearably glorious.

[camthelibrarian]

An absolutely lovely write-up from latetothewrapparty here of Symphony of a Missing Room, which was by far the best thing I saw at this year's LIFT Festival. Latetothewrapparty captures the gentle, delicate nature of the experience - it's a lyrical, poetic piece.

[camthelibrarian]

TIme for one last dance (The Drowned Man)

It’s finally hit me. The Drowned Man is finishing. A week from today that portal in Paddington that opens to 1962 Hollywood will be closed – forever. Oh, sure, for the last couple of months I’ve known it was finishing – but I haven’t really felt it until now.   Perhaps that was me in my denial stage?   So, it’s time to fondly say our goodbyes – to share one last dance, to hold hands one last time, to raise glasses in memory and celebration. To gently kiss this beautiful dream goodbye and let it float away from us.   Apologies for the purple prose – I do lay it on a bit thick sometimes, don’t I?   Anyways, will any of you be paying final visits to Temple Studios during this last week? I know that some of you have already said your goodbyes, but I’ll be taking my last tours of the studios on Thursday, Saturday (both shows), and Sunday. Do say hello if you see me – provided I’m not sobbing inconsolably into my dry vodka martini in Studio 3, that is.

(EDIT: Not sure how to reply to people individually and directly ... this may be because I'm still something of a Tumblr noob, or it may be that Tumblr is a bit rubbish at the whole two-way communication thing. I haven't worked out which yet. But, anyways, that's the reason for this edit. Sounds like my final shows will be overlapping with some of your final shows, which is awesome. If we haven't met before, do come and say hello - I pretty much look like how I do in that tiny avatar pic of myself, although I can't guarantee I'll be holding up a Lionel Richie album when you see me.

But yeah, there'll be time for a drink or two - martinis or old fashioneds, it's all good. Maybe even a Babycham ... well, okay, maybe not Babycham.

And, in answer to dazmb's question, that was indeed me in the lift entrance area the other week! And yeah, I'm also the guy who briefly turned Conrad's 1:1 into a 1:2 - I am planning on blogging about that, erm, "shining moment" soon, which will be a moment of cross-over with another Tumblr blog ... )

[multumolim-deactivated20200502]

Sonya Cullingford as Drugstore Girl

[camthelibrarian]

This is absolutely gorgeous, perfectly capturing the "girl next door" sweetness of Sonya's Drugstore Girl ...

[camthelibrarian]

Town or Studios? (The Drowned Man)

I’ve noticed something interesting that comes up every so often when chatting to fans of The Drowned Man – an interesting divide. I’ve heard people say things like, “I just feel so much more comfortable in the town”, or, “I just have a better night when I’m hanging out with the cowboys”. Or perhaps, “I always seem to find myself in the studios – I don’t know why”, or, “I almost never go into the town”. It seems that some of us are town people and some of us are studio people, finding ourselves repeatedly drawn back towards the same space.   I find it fascinating that this happens, but when I think about it, it makes absolute sense that we return over and over to the spaces that speak to us in some way. Perhaps there’s a familiarity to these spaces that we find comforting. Perhaps there’s an area that evokes particular memories for us. Or perhaps we enjoy the thrill of spending time in some spaces that make us uncomfortable, that put us on edge.   For myself, there’s no question about which side of the divide I come down on – I’m a studios boy, through and through. I’ve spent several shows entirely in the studios, never venturing into town once. I find that if I don’t have a plan to specifically follow a town based character, I somehow almost always find myself drifting into the studios.   It’s not that I don’t love the town – I really do love the town. There are some wonderful stories that unfold there, and some amazing spaces to explore. I’ve had some really magical, emotional nights in the town. But there’s something about the studios that keeps drawing me back in, something that I gravitate towards.   I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because in my very first show I stumbled out of the lift into the basement of the studios – the belly of the beast. Maybe that first experience, which was spent almost entirely within the studios (except for a very brief moment when I came out through the studio gates for about a minute) imprinted itself on me. Maybe I keep going back because it is the belly of the beast and I’m drawn to the darkness of the studios – it’s no coincidence that most of the overtly sinister and manipulative characters of the show can be found in the studios. Maybe it’s because Wendy’s story hits me in a way that William’s story doesn’t (which I find to be an interesting reaction, since their story is essentially the same – but I think the Wendy vs William discussion is worthy of its own post – erm, which I’ll probably never get around to writing). Maybe it’s because I love cinema, so I’m drawn to that part of the show which explicitly concerns itself with the movie making process. Maybe it’s because it’s where Studio 3 is, and I’m a sucker for a mid-show martini.   Whatever the reason, the studios have definitely got some kind of a hold on me.   And which are you? Are you someone who is totally hooked on the town, and looking to move in? Or are you a studios groupie or extra, hoping to catch a glimpse of your favourite stars, or hoping you’ll be put in front of the camera?

[camthelibrarian]

A slice of life and a glass of lemonade with the Drugstore Girl (The Drowned Man)

Sometimes it’s hard not to feel trapped in our lives. It could be our jobs, or the towns where we live, or even the relationships we’re in, but sometimes we feel that we’re just going through the motions of life. Caught in the same old routines, the same old patterns, the same old loops. But we dream, don’t we? We flick through glossy magazines, click away on the Internet. We dream of being somewhere better. We dream of escape. We dream of love.

I suspect one of the reasons why I (and I’m guessing other people too) make return trips to Temple Studios is that it offers us the chance to escape to somewhere entirely different – at least for a short while. A place completely different to our own lives – a place full of magic, mystery, darkness, but also sudden and unexpected beauty.

But after spending time with the people in Temple Studios and those who live in the town outside its gates, it starts to become clear that many of them are just as trapped as we are. I recently spent some time with one of these characters, and was treated to a beautifully heart-breaking story of longing.

This is the story of the Drugstore Girl (Sonya Cullingford).

Compared to some other characters in the show, the Drugstore Girl’s story may seem very low-key at first glance. Her narrative isn’t at the almost operatic level that some of the other stories operate on – this isn’t a sweeping tale of murder or madness or the supernatural (well, mostly). But her loop is filled with beautiful “slice of life” character moments – pay attention to the gradual accumulation of these details, and you’ll be rewarded with a story just as emotional as anything else in Temple Studios. Perhaps even more so, because the pains and joys that the Drugstore Girl experiences aren’t all that different to those that many of us have felt at some point in our lives.

Warning – details for the Drugstore Girl’s loop from here. If you haven’t seen her loop and want to go in knowing nothing of what happens, this would be a good point for you to tap out. There are also some significant Grocer spoilers too.

Her story starts at work – in the drugstore. She steps in and looks around, giving a small sigh. She can see the day stretching out before her – just like the day before, and undoubtedly the one after too. Stepping behind the counter, she gets to work – stacking a pile of neatly arranged postcards onto a display stand, wiping down the counter, serving lemonade to the customers who drift in and out. She pauses to flip through a magazine, and shows one of the articles (“Don’t do what Tommy Steele did!”) to a customer with a “can you believe that!” smile on her face.

Feeling playful, she puts two coffee cups upside down on the counter, and places a jelly baby under one – looking up she gives me a sweet smile, and then mixes up the cups before pushing them across the counter towards me. I point towards one, which she lifts up – empty. The Drugstore Girl lifts up the other, revealing the jelly baby. She gives me a smile that says, “maybe next time”, pops the jelly baby into her mouth, and then reaches out, dropping another one into my hand.

Sonya is incredibly generous and inclusive with her audience interactions here and throughout the whole loop, sharing out these beautiful character moments with different white masks, bringing everyone into her story. When you’re in the drugstore, you’re not just a passive observer – she makes you part of the town, and part of her story.

Coming outside for a moment, she sees Mary (Laure Bachelot) and Faye (Katie Lusby) dancing with Dwayne (Alistair Goldsmith), who’s doing a pretty good job of sweeping both girls off their feet. The Drugstore Girl slowly walks back inside, looking wistful. She often looks out through the window at the world passing her by. She’s waiting, hoping … hoping something will happen to break through the monotonous humdrum of her life.

And then, suddenly, something does happen.

A mysterious man in a jacket and coat – Miguel (Ed Warner) – comes dashing into the drugstore, swiftly followed by another man in a white tank-top – Andy (Rob McNeill). Miguel leaps around the drugstore with fluid, acrobatic grace, gently teasing Andy as Andy tries to catch him. The Drugstore Girl looks on in a mixture of amazement and concern as Miguel makes a gris-gris for Andy (making a mess on her counter in the process), before magically disappearing through one of the phone booths.

Andy, staring at the empty phone booth, is stunned, confused. Her face marked with kind concern, the Drugstore Girl makes Andy sit down, and brings him a glass of lemonade. She sits down across from Andy, who gratefully takes the drink – and then, looking up, he sees her, really sees her, for the first time.

Andy stands, and they begin to dance through the drugstore, moving closer and closer together. It’s sweet and playful at first, with warmth quickly generating between the two. Andy tries his luck (as Andy does with the ladies), moving in for a kiss, and the Drugstore Girl responds, kissing back, before suddenly pulling away with surprise at what she’s doing. But she’s happy. Glowing. Because something’s happening – something’s finally happening. Maybe today is the day when everything changes.

Andy steps outside with the Drugstore Girl, saying he’s going to head into Temple Studios, inviting her to come with him. She looks doubtfully at the “studio employees only” sign – “I don’t think we’re supposed to go in there”, the look on her face says. Andy’s face flashes with an expression that says, “like hell we can’t”, and swings the doors open. They run inside, like kids let loose in a candy shop, dashing past an amused looking Seamstress (Annabeth Berkeley).

It’s a whirlwind of excitement for the Drugstore Girl. She suddenly finds herself caught up in the shooting of a movie scene, beside Andrea Alden (Miranda Mac Letten) and Faye Greener in a joyous song and dance sequence set to “Bull Dog” by The Shangri-Las.

As the scene ends she loses sight of Andy, but before she slips out of Temple Studios she manages to grab a memento from the costuming department – the blue varsity jacket that Andy wore during filming.

She walks back into the drugstore, gently cradling the jacket, with a smile on her face and her head spinning. Suddenly, a voice calls out from the barber’s chair in the corner – “what’s a man gotta do to get a haircut in this place!”

The Drugstore Girl smiles – she knows this man. “Hey Harry, how’s it going?” She says kindly, stepping behind the counter. Harry Greener (James Traherne), the man who just can’t let go of his dream. But unlike the Drugstore Girl, Harry’s dream isn’t to get out; it’s to get in – back in to Temple Studios just one more time.

Harry steps over, and she offers him a drink – he thinks she means coffee until she holds up a bottle of vodka with a playful smile on her face. He thinks about it for a moment, knowing that he probably shouldn’t …

“Well – don’t tell my daughter!” They share a drink together (Harry quickly asking for a second which he downs in no time), before Harry, emboldened by the vodka, starts his sales pitch for the Miracle Salve polish he carries with him, working the words in to the tune of “Sincerely” which has just started on the radio. It’s charming and funny – but there’s a hint of sadness as we can tell that for all his “make ‘em laugh!” show-biz attitude, he’s been reduced to singing for his supper.

“Okay Harry, you sold me!” The Drugstore Girl laughs. As she reaches for some money, Harry quickly drops the price from $2.50 to $1 – a sting of guilt, perhaps?

As another song begins on the radio, Harry’s face comes alive with a happy memory. “You know, we used to dance to this one. Do you wanna dance? Come on, let’s dance.”

Harry steps behind the counter (Drugstore Girl – “Harry, you shouldn’t be back here”), putting his arm around her. They dance playfully, smiling at each other. Harry spins her around, and then – a moment. Harry’s hand starts to reach out, to gently caress the Drugstore Girl’s face – and then he suddenly pulls back, shocked.

 “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I – I shouldn’t have done that.” Harry pulls away, shaking his head, walking out from behind the counter.

“No, Harry, it’s okay, it’s – ” The Drugstore Girl reaches out in concern.

“No, that was weird. That was fuckin’ weird. You – you looked just like her.”

“Like who, Harry?”

“Your face – you looked just like her. So beautiful. I – I gotta go.”

“Like who, Harry?” But Harry’s gone, taking his ghosts with him.

The Drugstore Girl’s face creases up with worry – and then she realizes she’s got some customers in the store. She puts an empty glass with a straw in it on the counter in front of a customer. Grabbing a jug, she pours a glass of pale yellow lemonade – but as it fills up, the lemonade is now blood red.

Magic. But an ill omen.

Her eyes touch on the jacket she’s left on the counter. She picks it up, gently runs her hand over the embroidered name – Andrew. Maybe he wants it back …

She puts on some lipstick, checking her look in a silver napkin holder. She slings the jacket over one shoulder, and looks towards the door, striking a pose. He could come back through that door at any second.

Seconds pass.

She strikes a pose again – sassy yet casual, with an expression that says, “oh, you’re looking for this jacket I’ve got over my shoulder right here?”

And suddenly, the door opens …

It isn’t Andy. The Drugstore Girl’s face falls for a second as a young man wearing a bow tie and a white apron nervously steps into the drugstore.

“Hello. I’ve just started at the grocery store, and was wondering if I could borrow some napkins. You see, I’ve already made a mess.” He speaks formally, and slightly awkwardly – almost as if he’s rehearsed what he’s going to say beforehand.

The Drugstore Girl hands the Grocer (Monsur Ali) the silver napkin holder she was checking her reflection in before, but pulls out a napkin as she does so. She places it between her lips, and then hands the Grocer the napkin with the fresh lipstick kiss. The Grocer nods his head in thanks, and walks out of the drugstore taking the napkin holder with him.

She frowns – that was strange. She shrugs, and then pulls out a flier for a dance at the Horse and Stars bar. She smiles – maybe it’s time to have some fun. Hopping up onto the counter, she pulls off her shoes and pulls on a pair of rollerskates.

The Drugstore Girl scribbles an invitation on the flier, folds it up, puts it into another napkin holder, and then rolls out into town and over to the grocery store. She trades napkin holders with the Grocer, and rolls back into the drugstore. She notices something folded and tucked into the napkin holder, in just the same way she did before with the flier. Pulling it out and unfolding it, she sees a page from a script. It seems to be a scene that’s set in a drugstore …

She looks up – it’s time to go to the dance. She pins the page to a notice-board, and then rolls out into town, over to the saddlery store where the Barman (Daniel Whiley) is standing. He gives her a cocky smile, and they begin to dance, the Drugstore Girl feeling a little flirtatious. Moving into the saddlery, the Barman sits the Drugstore Girl on the bench, taking off her rollerskates and sliding on a pair of boots. As the boots go on, he leans in further for a kiss, but she pushes the boot into his chest with a smile. She hops off the counter and runs into the bar, leaving the Barman to fan himself down with his hat for a moment, before he goes in too.

Other familiar faces in the town filter in – Mary, Faye, Dwayne. And Andy’s there too. The hoe-down begins, and the Drugstore Girl lets her hair down. For a moment, she’s free. She’s not thinking about the unchanging loop her life is caught in, day in, day out. She’s just dancing.

The Grocer comes skipping in, giving her a smile – and then quickly slips her a folded piece of paper. The mysterious stranger that Andy chased into the bar suddenly appears, picking her up and twirling her around.

And then William (Ygal Jerome Tsur) comes in.

The scene quickly turns awkward, and then dissolves into violence as William gets into a fight with Dwayne. The Drugstore Girl immediately makes her escape, running into the saddlery shop. She pauses to unfold the note slipped to her by the Grocer.

We must be perfect – otherwise we’ll be trapped.

A shadow of unease crosses the Drugstore Girl’s face as she reads this. She knows there’s a truth to these words, even if she doesn’t completely understand – and it disturbs her.

There’s a sudden bang and she looks up – Faye and Miguel are locked in a steamy clinch outside the saddlery. Faye looks over her shoulder and spots the Drugstore Girl, giving her a grin, and then dances away with the stranger.

Walking out into town she almost walks right into a gentleman in a tweed jacket and bowtie – Jasper Tuttle (Edward Halsted), owner of the toyshop.

“Oh, hey there Jasper!” The Drugstore Girl suddenly notices one of his hands is dripping red … “Hey, are you okay?”

“What?” Tuttle responds nervously, looking down at his hand. “Oh! I’m fine, I’m fine! It’s just, um, paint! You know, I caught some kids, and they were messing around with some paint, so I, um, took the paint away from them.” He holds up the jar of blood red paint in his other hand as proof of his story.

“Okay … well, you take care Jasper.” And then she adds, kindly, “You should come by the drugstore sometime for some lemonade. On the house.”

Walking back into the drugstore, she walks behind the counter, roughly wipes off her make-up, and slowly ties her apron back around her waist. Tears are in her eyes. Softly, under her breath, she berates herself for daring to dream of something better, “Stupid … stupid …”

It’s utterly heartbreaking because – well, we’ve all been there, haven’t we?

The door suddenly crashes open and Andy charges in, his eyes wild. He starts grabbing items from the drugstore, runs behind the counter where the Drugstore Girl is. She tries to calm him down, to soothe him. Andy grabs her tightly, desperate, trying to explain.

“It’s William! He’s gone crazy! He’s gonna do something terrible!”

He suddenly looks at his hands, and realizes he’s gripping the Drugstore Girl far too tightly. He softens and relaxes his grip, and as they look into each other’s faces, she sees her chance.

Softly, her lips form the words …

I love you.

Andy, gently, starts to respond with the same words, then he glimpses out the window to where his friend was – but he’s gone. Andy bolts, knowing something horrible is about to happen, desperate to stop it – he knocks a stand of postcards over and it hits the floor with a bang. “I’m sorry,” he yells over his shoulder, “I’m – I’m sorry!”

The Drugstore Girl kneels and begins scooping up the postcards that have scattered across the floor. Her head is bent with crushing disappointment. She’s not leaving. She’s not getting out. She hasn’t met the love of her life. She’s trapped here, in the same humdrum existence she’s always had. And here she is again, cleaning up somebody else’s mess.

A pile of postcards have slid across the floor near my feet – I drop to my knees, and push them together into a pile, and push the pile over to her. She reaches out to take the postcards, and looks up at me, offering the tiniest and saddest of smiles – the words “thank you” are unspoken, but they couldn’t be any clearer.

She steps behind the counter, carrying the postcards, and starts sorting them into piles. She looks up at me, and pushes some across the counter in my direction – together we sort them into neat little piles, each one a different destination. She pauses to hold up a card for the Red Moon Motel. “You ever been there?” she asks me. I shake my head. “Me neither,” she says, her eyes misty with tears.

She thinks for a moment, reaches under the counter and pulls out a jelly baby in one hand. She places both of her hands together, and then holds two closed fists out to me with a small sad smile – last chance. I point to a fist – she opens it, revealing the jelly baby, which she drops into my hand.

She looks up at the page she’s pinned to the notice-board. She pulls it down and starts reading the scene set in the drugstore, describing the actions of a character called the Drugstore Girl. She realizes there’s somebody who has the answers to this monotonous life she’s trapped in – and maybe he knows a way out.

She picks up a pen and writes on the bottom of the script.

Enter Grocer, with answers.

The Drugstore Girl looks up in amazement as the door swings open and the Grocer walks in, right on cue. He’s carrying a script with him. He sits at the table by the window, and gestures to her to join him.

Suddenly, a voice from nowhere begins to narrate the action – the voice of Mr. Stanford, the head of Temple Studios. But the drugstore and the town are outside Temple Studios, so this can’t be a movie – can it?

As Stanford narrates the scene, the Drugstore Girl moves over to the table, and carries out the actions described by the voice-over. The Grocer is carrying them out too – neither of them in control of their own lives, their own destinies.

But the Drugstore Girl has always dreamed of escape, of breaking free. She sees the script the Grocer has left on the table and suddenly grabs it. The Grocer tries to grab it back, and she runs to the counter trying to open and read it. The Grocer runs after her, grabbing the script in a violent tug of war with the Drugstore Girl, finally yanking it from her grasp.

She’s messing with the script – deviating from it. And that can’t happen. Not if the Grocer wants to complete his story, and hopefully break free.

Moving back to the table, the Grocer and the Drugstore Girl fall back into the actions described by Stanford, but going faster and faster. They stand, the Grocer spinning her to face the telephone booths – suddenly, one of the phones begins to ring. The Grocer puts his lips beside the Drugstore Girl’s ear.

“It’s for you.”

The Grocer lets go of her, and she walks over to the telephone booth. She picks up the phone and brings it to her ear – “hello?”

She pauses and listens for a second – “yes?” She listens again, and smiles.

And then she drops lifeless to the floor.

The Grocer quickly steps over, and drags her body into the middle of the drugstore. He looks up and sees us all staring at him, accusingly. But he’s making his escape attempt – not by defying the script, but by following it to the letter, by being perfect. And if the Drugstore Girl is the price that needs to be paid for this, so be it.

His role complete, the Grocer slips out of the drugstore, leaving the girl unceremoniously sprawled on the floor.

A few moments pass before the door swings open again. Harry steps in, looks around, and suddenly spots the Drugstore Girl.

“Hey, whatcha doin’ down there, kid?”

The Drugstore Girl opens her eyes, and looks around, confused. Harry takes her hand and helps her to her feet, giving her a reassuring smile before grabbing his suitcase full of Miracle Salve and heading out the door.

She looks around, not quite sure what’s happening. She stops as she sees me, her eyes suddenly wide with surprise.

“Johnny?” she says, taking a step towards me. “Johnny? It’s you!” She smiles as she reaches out and takes both of my hands. She leads me towards one of the phone booths – we step in together, and she shuts the door behind us, locking it.

Warning – details for the Drugstore Girl’s 1:1 start here.

In the closeness of the telephone booth, the Drugstore Girl looks into my eyes.

“Will you dance with me?” she whispers. I nod, and she slips one hand behind my back, and the other into my hand. We gently rock from side to side, as she softly sings into my ear. “Oh my Johnny, my Johnny Guitar … ”

She stops and lifts the mask from my face, smiling at me.

“You’re more beautiful than I remembered … Let’s run away Johnny! Let’s get out of here, for real this time!”

I nod, and she opens a hatch in the back of the phone booth. “This way!” She leads me through, into the darkness of the Seamstress’ clothes maze. I lose sight of her, and for a second panic grabs me, but she runs back and grabs me, laughing. Her joy at escaping is infectious. As we run to and fro in the darkness, I start to feel that joy – and it’s beautiful. I find myself smiling, feeling happy for her. She’s getting out – she’s finally breaking free.

She laughs at a sudden memory, points to a necklace around her neck. “Do you remember? I’ve still got mine, I – ” she reaches forward, her hands around my neck, searching. “Where’s yours?” she says, doubt entering her voice. Her face falls as the realization hits her – and it’s utterly crushing.

“You’re not Johnny, are you?” she asks sadly. I shake my head. “I’m sorry, it’s … been happening a lot lately. You look just like him.” She slides the mask back over my face, briefly holds me, and tenderly whispers into my ear, “Goodbye, Johnny Guitar”.

Details for the Drugstore Girl’s 1:1 stop here.

And with that, she’s gone. Back to the drugstore. Back to serving coffee and lemonade; to cleaning up other people’s messes; to watching the world pass by outside those big glass windows. Back to flicking through magazines for a hint of glamour, hoping for something better.

But I hope that one day she gets out. I hope that she breaks free and finds herself somewhere wide and bright and beautiful – somewhere full of possibility.

I hope we all do.

[camthelibrarian]

When you were in NY were you with a female traveling companion? Just wondering, I met a lovely couple there about three weeks ago. Wonderful write up on your visit!

Hi there Lies,

I was flying solo, so to speak, when I was in New York, so I wouldn't have been part of the couple you met - but they sound like nice people. Something I've really enjoyed (and gotten a lot out of) about visiting The Drowned Man and Sleep No More is the sense of community around the shows. I've met some amazing people through these shows, some of whom have become wonderful friends, which I'm enormously thankful for.

I'm really glad you liked the write-up!

Cheers,

Cam

[camthelibrarian]

I absolutely loved reading your impressions of SLEEP NO MORE. I am always curious how it seems to people coming from a great familiarity with THE DROWNED MAN. Your post captured all of the things that I personally feel are the strengths of the show, and your comparisons between the two were spot-on! I'm thrilled to be making it back to TDM the final weekend for visits 12-17. Still so much I haven't seen in my first two trips across the pond! Will you be there that weekend?

Hi there Blood - I'm really glad to hear you appreciated the write-up. I wanted to do justice to SNM, particularly for anyone reading who has an intimate level of knowledge of the show.

Some people I know have asked me which one I prefer, but I honestly can't say. That may sound like I'm ducking the question (which, by the way, I know you haven't asked - I'm just thinking aloud here), but because they feel so different to each other I feel that it isn't fair to compare them in a "which one is better" way. They're different beasts, which I'm very thankful for, because it means I got to fall in love with each show on its own terms.

I'll definitely be around for the final weekend of shows, saying my goodbyes to that world of smoke and mirrors, Temple Studios - see you there, and hope you have a wonderful time!

[camthelibrarian]

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again - Visiting Sleep No More

I’ve recently come back to London after spending just over two weeks in the United States on vacation, mostly in New York. While I was there I saw a number of fantastic shows, which I hope to talk about in a little more detail – Cabaret (I’m usually not a musicals guy, but I thoroughly enjoyed this – and yes, it’s all about Alan Cumming), Red Eye to Havre de Grace (haunting but also unexpectedly humorous in places – and beautifully choreographed by Sophie Bortolussi), Then She Fell (an exquisite immersive production that is both beautiful and heartbreaking), and Point Break Live (yes, you read that correctly, there’s a stage show of Point Break – and it’s awesome). However, I’m a chronically slow writer, and I may not get around to writing about those productions despite my best intentions – if that’s the case, I’ll just say now that I’d strongly recommend seeing any of those four shows if you happen to find yourself in New York soon (although not Red Eye, because it finished on June 1st).

But one of the absolute highlights of my trip to New York was being able to see Sleep No More. Going in, I was excited about seeing my second ever Punchdrunk production. That said, I was also a little worried. Worried that I'd spend all of my time comparing it to The Drowned Man. Worried that it wouldn't click with me the way The Drowned Man had.

Thankfully, I fell in love with the show almost immediately, and spent six wonderful evenings exploring the mysteries of the McKittrick Hotel. I'll touch on a number of things that I particularly loved, or particularly struck me.

I absolutely loved the highly refined "late 1930s film noir as directed by Alfred Hitchcock" aesthetic. From the costuming (lots of men in tuxedos and suits, women in glamorous evening dresses) to the décor, the atmosphere is gorgeous, dark, and elegant. And, just as in The Drowned Man with its soundtrack of doo-wop and Shangri-Las songs, the music and sound design goes a long way in sustaining this atmosphere in Sleep No More. Period pieces by Benny Goodman and Tommy Dorsey sit alongside tracks from Bernard Herrmann’s Hitchcock scores, such as Vertigo and Psycho. And, just like The Drowned Man, a lot of this music has a way of looping in your mind long after the show is over - it wasn't long before I found myself in a music store picking up some Benny Goodman albums ...

It's interesting that the emotional tone of Sleep No More almost never varies. I find that the emotional tone of The Drowned Man actually varies quite a bit, with moments of horror and sinister dread, but also moments that are sweet, warm, and sometimes even laugh out loud funny (am I alone in thinking Punchdrunk would actually be able to pull off an immersive screwball comedy - something in the style of "Bringing up Baby"?). In Sleep No More, however, the tone is tightly defined - moody, dark and sinister, with an ever-present hint of the supernatural.

Another difference that struck me is the absolute absence of dialogue in Sleep No More. There's actually quite a lot of dialogue in The Drowned Man, while there's virtually none in Sleep No More, other than a murmured word or two. Absolutely everything is expressed through movement – and yet we know exactly what the characters are “saying” to each other, sometimes even down to specific lines from Macbeth. The scenes where Lady Macbeth is egging on her partner to murder King Duncan, for example, are a joy to watch. (Perhaps we can think of Sleep No More as one of the last silent movies, while The Drowned Man is most definitely a "talkie".)

Being able to explore an entirely new alternate universe was wonderful. I still love The Drowned Man, but after repeated visits certain areas of Temple Studios now feel quite familiar to me. So when I walked into the McKittrick it was wonderful to re-experience the feelings I had when I entered Temple Studios for the first time - a place where literally everything was unknown and mysterious and ready to be explored. It's a wonderful, heady feeling.

After the cinematic scale of The Drowned Man, which is sweeping and epic in some of its areas, the much tighter spaces of Sleep No More really struck me. Of course, in many ways "tighter" is just comparatively speaking - if I had never been to Temple Studios, I'd be describing the McKittrick as an enormous space, sprawling over several floors. That said, many of the spaces are smaller - while The Drowned Man plays out on large soundstages and in deserts and forests, Sleep No More's action often happens in places such as cramped baggage check areas, intimate changing rooms, small crypts. This has a fascinating impact on the choreography, with walls, shelves, and ceilings often incorporated into the movement, with some characters literally climbing the walls at times - it's breath-taking stuff. (There are larger set-pieces too, though, which are wonderful.)

I also loved it as a production of Macbeth. It’s fascinating to follow characters who, in a regular production, have walked off stage – what do those three witches get up to when they’re not busy dispensing prophecies to Macbeth and Banquo? Well, now’s your chance to find out. Also, I find it interesting that this is a production of Macbeth that actually retains Hecate (recent McAvoy and Brannagh productions dispensed with the character – and let’s face it, the scene when she runs around and sings with the other witches would come off a bit goofy in most productions). I won't say much about Hecate, but I can assure you that in Sleep No More she is in no way goofy, and is well worth spending some time around.

I love that there are spaces where you can hang out even if you aren't going to the show itself. There's Gallow Green, the gorgeous rooftop bar with a range of excellent cocktails, and The Heath, the restaurant where diners may sometimes find themselves whisked away from their tables and into a 1:1. You don't need a ticket to go to either of those spaces (and they're kept separate from the show, so there's no risk of accidentally wandering in), but they both maintain the carefully cultivated atmosphere of Sleep No More - so even if you're just popping by for an open air drink for an hour or two, you can still enjoy the ambience the McKittrick Hotel. Even the Manderley bar itself, Sleep No More's equivalent to Studio 3 in The Drowned Man, becomes open to the public after the show has finished and stays open for quite a while, with a different band playing each night. It's wonderful that Sleep No More has these extra spaces - although it does make me sad that The Drowned Man never got to have these kinds of added extras.

Okay, at this point I'm narrowing things down to some specific characters, performers, and moments (so I'm really talking about my specific experiences here):

It was an absolute pleasure to be able to see Anna Finkel and Paul Zivkovich perform again. In The Drowned Man both Paul's Fool and Anna's Wendy were works of heart-breaking beauty (and Anna's Drugstore Girl once took me down to the finale, which is about five minutes of my life that I've never forgotten.) Of course, Sleep No More fans are already well acquainted with Paul as he was there before he migrated to The Drowned Man, but as far as I know Anna is new to Sleep No More. New York, you're in for an absolute treat - she's amazing.

(Anna Finkel and Paul Zivkovich - images taken from Sleep No More's Facebook.)

I loved following the witches, particularly Bald Witch (the stunning Hope Davis – completely magnetic and powerful) and Sexy Witch (who pulled me in into an utterly dizzying interaction – apologies, I didn’t find out the performer’s name, but she was amazing). As I said before, it's fascinating to follow characters who in Shakespeare's text have walked off stage, and see where they go next. And if you’re lucky, you just might get to dance with one of the witches, which is lovely.

(Hope Davis - image taken from Sleep No More's Facebook.)

Banquo (Tim Heck) has some absolutely amazing solo dances (and a fantastic one with Bald Witch too), and a moment of audience interaction that is incredibly emotional – I could feel my eyes tearing up as it happened. I was also fortunate enough to be walked out to the Manderley at the end of the same show by Banquo, which built on the emotions from before – as he smiled gently at me and squeezed my arm, I felt I was saying goodbye to family, or an old friend.

(Tim Heck - image taken from Sleep No More's Facebook.)

Hecate (Zhauna Franks) giving me a mission which saw me pounding through the McKittrick with a very sketchy knowledge of the building's layout in my head, and being rewarded with an utterly bonkers interaction when I (somehow) successfully made it back. She also has, for me, one of the creepiest moments of the show that I saw – but hey, she is the queen of the witches, so that’s only fair.

(Zhauna Franks - image taken from The Pensive Professor on Sleep No More.)

The Porter (Austin Goodwin) - quite possibly the saddest of Sleep No More's characters. If you want to spend some time dwelling on the bittersweet pain of unrequited love, the Porter's your man. He’s also a fascinating character in the way that he pops up on the periphery of a number of other character’s stories – it’s interesting to suddenly find yourself reviewing a scene you’ve seen before through very different eyes.

(Austin Goodwin - image taken from Sleep No More's Facebook.)

Lady Macduff (Kristin Clotfelter) – following Lady Macduff was an experience that I found to be emotional and heartbreaking. But not heartbreaking in the romantic sense, or in the sense of something that’s beautifully sad, both of which would fit for the Porter. Lady Macduff is a character that your heart totally goes out to, somebody that you want to protect, and because of this watching what she goes through is pretty upsetting. It’s an amazing loop, but be prepared to be emotionally bruised by the end of it.

(Kristin Clotfelter - image taken from Sleep No More's Facebook.)

Agnes Naismith (sadly, I didn’t get this performer’s name either) - if you want to follow someone who's trying to unravel a mystery, Agnes is totally for you.

The Manderley Bar - There were a number of different characters in Manderley on the nights that I went, greeting visitors as they came in, but the two characters there I connected with were Elizabeth (Virginia Logan) and Eveen (this was how she pronounced her name in an Irish accent - looking up Irish girls' names suggests I should be spelling it Aoibheann – but if there are any Sleep No More or Irish name experts out there who know how this is spelled, do let me know! She was played by Megh Dixon). I had some highly amusing conversations with Elizabeth and Aoibheann – and I must say that the Manderley hosts are decidedly more flirty than the Studio Executives in Studio 3! I also remember on two nights, after the show had finished and we had all settled in for drinks, Aoibheann singing Nature Boy in the Manderley, accompanied just by a music box, interspersing the song with monologues on life and love that were witty, warm, and sweet.

(Top - Virginia Logan, Bottom - Megh Dixon - images taken from Sleep No More's Facebook.)

One time, during a conversation in Manderley, Aoibheann introduced me to an artist called Gabriel, who sat me down and showed me a book of sketches he had done of McKittrick guests. "This is Agnes", he would say, turning a page, "she's just recently moved in. She's a bit of a strange one." Finally, he came to a blank page. "And this one", he said, indicating the page "is you." And then he began to sketch. Later, when he handed me what is quite frankly the most wonderful Punchdrunk memento I've ever been given, he said, "Have you heard the story that if you take a photo of someone, or sketch them, you steal a piece of their soul? Well, that's complete nonsense. But let me tell you - what you're holding does have a piece of my soul in it, so please take care of it."

The three witches’ second prophecy to Macbeth – a scene that’s breath-taking in its audacity, in the way it absolutely smashes the refined aesthetic that has been carefully maintained up until that point. I could say more, and I know that Sleep No More fans refer to this scene in a particular way, but I really don't want to say anything about it that would lessen the impact of the shock.

The interrogation scene between Malcolm and Macduff – if you’re lucky enough (and fast enough) to get into the tiny room where this happens, you’re in for an incredibly exciting scene.

The finale  – a beautiful gutpunch of an ending that left me stunned every time. At the end of The Drowned Man, everyone always breaks into rapturous applause (and rightly so). That most certainly doesn't happen at the end of Sleep No More (again, I could say more, but I think it would lessen the impact).

It's a little over two weeks now since I returned to London, and my time in New York and at the McKittrick in particular is already fading from something sharp and vivid, and into my dreams … but I dream that perhaps, one day, I will be able to return to Manderley again.

[camthelibrarian]

Guided by the gentlest of hands - Symphony of a Missing Room

Just a very quick post to say that I went to Symphony of a Missing Room tonight at the Royal Academy in London as part of this year's LIFT festival. It was a beautiful, lyrical, intimate, and deeply personal experience. And to my guide, who ever so gently led me by the hand through invisible galleries, gardens, and flooded rooms - whoever you are, thank you so much.

Sad to say it's fully sold out now, but if you get the chance to mug someone for their ticket, I'd consider doing so.

[camthelibrarian]

The Drowned Man - Feeling Like A Kid Again

When I was a child the world was huge and wide, filled with wonder and mystery. There was a feeling that there was something magical around every corner, just waiting to be discovered. Even a simple walk to the local shop carried the hint of adventure – the feeling that anything could happen.

Time passed, and I “grew up”. As I did so, the world shrank, becoming more mundane, flattening out into familiarity. Sometimes, though, I could recapture a glimpse of that magic, a hint of that wonder. Certain places I’ve visited, events I’ve been to, music I’ve heard, art I’ve gazed at, dances I’ve seen have been able to bring these feelings back to me. I suspect this is part of the reason why I’m such a junkie when it comes to culture – I’m looking to reconnect with those feelings.

But lately, nothing has brought this magic and mystery back into my life as strongly as The Drowned Man. When I’m in Temple Studios, there truly is something wondrous around every corner, just waiting to be discovered. And once again, anything could happen.

I know I’m not saying anything new here. I’m sure it’s a big reason why people fall in love with the show as hard as they do. Felix Barrett himself has spoken of his mission to recapture the feeling of a real world “magic hour” for audiences. But on one visit to Temple Studios, there was a moment when I honestly felt just like a kid again.

Spoiler warning: from this point on there are some spoilers for The Fool’s 1:1. I’ve tried to keep the spoilers mild with very few actual specifics (this isn’t a detailed blow by blow of what happens), but if you want to know absolutely nothing about The Fool’s 1:1, it’s probably best to click away at this point and watch some cat videos on YouTube.

I had been following The Fool (Paul Zivkovich – yes, this happened some time ago, as Paul has now sadly left the show) for a while who began interacting with me, pulling me closer into his story. After one of these interactions he took me by the hand, and led me through a door which he locked behind us. We were in a small room with a bunk bed raised a little above the floor. He gently patted the bed, and I dutifully climbed onto it. Gently, he removed my mask, took one of my hands again, and gave me a small smile as he looked into my eyes and started to tell me a very sad children’s story.

And as I sat there on the edge of the bed, with my feet hanging in the air not touching the floor, he said, “Once upon a time there was a little boy” - and I suddenly felt myself turn into a child again.

Later, he led me on a terrifying journey into the dark. At first he just held my hand, but as we walked on, I found myself pulling closer and closer to him for comfort. As the tension became almost unbearable, I actually wrapped my arm around him, clinging tightly to my newfound father figure. I felt his arm encircle me protectively.

After he led me back into the light, we paused at the door and he gave me some advice. I nodded. And this next bit I honestly can’t remember if it really happened or my mind has created this little memory, but he looked at me and said, “good boy.”

And with that he opened the door, and I stumbled through, feeling like a five-year old who had emerged from the heart of a fairy tale …

So when people ask me why I keep going back to The Drowned Man, I usually talk about things like recapturing a sense of mystery and magic in the world, of reawakening an almost childlike joy of discovery. Which is all absolutely true – to have this sense of wonder in my life again is glorious.

But for a moment, The Drowned Man made me feel what it was like to be a child again – and that’s nothing less than truly magical.

[movieposteroftheday]

Danish poster for ACCIDENT (Joseph Losey, UK, 1967)

Designer: uncredited

Poster source: Kinoart.net

See more international posters for ACCIDENT at Movie Poster of the Week on MUBI.

[auilix]

Reminds me of this place I know…

[camthelibrarian]

[Sees tragic car crash] Romola, nooooooo!!!

[camthelibrarian]

1984 - a play for our times

I first saw Headlong’s production of 1984 at the Richmond Theatre in October last year when it was on tour. In February I saw it again at the Almeida, where it relocated for a while, because I couldn’t get it out of my head. It’s now moved on to the West End for an extended run until August 23 – and deservedly so, because it’s a brilliant, intense, unnerving piece of theatre. And I still can’t get it out of my head.

(Image taken from the Headlong website.)

Although the core of the novel’s narrative remains, the brilliance of this adaptation is its laser-like focus on the novel’s ideas of the written record (and by extension history, truth, perceived reality) being malleable things. The play’s masterstroke is to address the book’s appendix, a note on the principles of Newspeak, the tightly restricted version of the English language being created by the Party for the express purpose of controlling thought.

(Mark Arends as Winston. Image taken from Civilian Theatre.)

I have to confess that in the past I’d given the appendix little thought – treating it as an interesting addendum to the main text, but something supplementary to Wilson’s story. It may be fair to say that other readers have done so as well, including those who have adapted it in the past – apparently this is the very first adaptation to actually tackle the appendix. However, for Robert Icke and Duncan Macmillan (who have adapted the novel and directed the play) the appendix is actually the launching point for their examination of the nature of truth and reality (in the programme notes Icke says, “I think the appendix is the most important bit. I think it’s structurally the thing that defines the whole”).

(Tim Dutton as O'Brien and Mark Arends as Winston. Image taken from Variety.)

In the foreword of their adaptation of 1984, Icke and Macmillan argue further that the appendix is far from supplementary – in fact, they note that it briefly intrudes into the main text itself in the form of a footnote near the very beginning (the only footnote in the entire novel), directing our attention to the appendix. The appendix, then, is part of the text itself, not something that exists outside of it – and when considered this way, it starts raising a number of questions. The tone of the appendix suggests someone looking back at the events of 1984 as (perhaps) an historical event. So who is this person looking back? From what position are they doing so? Is the fact that the appendix is written in our form of English a suggestion that the Party has ultimately fallen? What purpose does the text known as 1984 exist in this particular future – who has written it and why? And who is the intended reader?

These specific questions open up a series of more general questions that grow increasingly unnerving and disquieting. Can we ever trust what we are reading or viewing? How do we know that the “official” historical record that has been presented to us has not been altered in some way? When the official record enters collective memory, is it possible to remember it any other way? And if you do, would society consider you to be somehow mad or aberrant? Would you consider yourself to be somehow mad?

(Hara Yannas as Julia. Image taken from the Almeida website.)

A number of times during the play scenes loop and replay themselves, but with minor (and sometimes major) alterations, showing the past (and more importantly our memory of it) being revised, edited. The staging is brilliant, achieving an almost hallucinatory effect at times, leaving Wilson (and the audience) wondering what is real, what is “true”. Characters appear one second, and then literally disappear the next as if they were never there. Walls and rooms that appear solid are swiftly dismantled, suddenly turning into mere props. Particular lines and phrases are repeated throughout the play, acquiring several layers of possible meaning and reference with each repetition.

All of this emphasizes the dramatic (and intellectual) heart of the play – the battle between Wilson, desperately struggling to hold on to his own personal truth, and the Party, insistent that the “truth” can be revised and adjusted (always in the Party’s favour, of course). The play runs straight through for an incredibly intense (at times harrowing) 101 minutes without an interval (which I think would have allowed the audience to relax far too much) – by the end of the play I was slightly shell-shocked (in the best possible way). And the possibility suggested by the final scene is utterly chilling.

The play also serves as a reminder that Orwell’s novel is, right now, more timely than ever. When Orwell wrote the novel in 1947 and 1948, a world in which a government could establish a state of total surveillance over its own citizens no doubt seemed like science fiction to most readers – it still seemed so when 1984 itself rolled around. (Call it “speculative fiction” if you’re uncomfortable with the SF tag.) But in the post Snowden/PRISM world of 2014 we now live in … well, it doesn’t seem like dystopian science fiction anymore, does it? In fact, the specific timing of Headlong’s production (starting at the end of 2013, moving into 2014) proves Orwell’s tale to be frighteningly relevant.

1984 has also convinced me that Headlong are a company whose work is totally worth seeking out – after having seen this, along with The Effect and Chimerica, I’m definitely becoming a fan. (I sadly missed out on seeing American Psycho and Spring Awakening. There is also The Nether coming up at the Royal Court, which sounds fantastic.)

(Image taken from The Guardian.)

[camthelibrarian]

Farewell to Ace Stanford - Temple Studios

With the sad announcement that Punchdrunk is calling a final cut on The Drowned Man on July 6, it’s time to start saying goodbye to that beautiful, mysterious, and frightening world called Temple Studios and the characters who live there.

Although goodbyes are already being said – over the last couple of months we’ve seen quite a few performers from The Drowned Man bid their farewells to Temple Studios. It’s been sad seeing these people leave – some of whom I think have been with the production from the very beginning, and all of them amazing performers who have brought so much to the show. The Drowned Man has even lost a character, Badlands Jack, wonderfully commemorated by Temple Studios, Late To The Wrap Party, Baby Mammoth, and Delirium Dog.

But as Throw The Rose noted, another character also departed on March 30, who I’d like to say a few belated words about (I’m making this sound a bit like a eulogy, aren’t I?) – studio executive Ace Stanford, played with panache by Mateo Oxley.

(Image taken from the Temple Studios website.)

If you never spent much time in Studio 3 during the show, you may have only seen Ace at the very start, welcoming you into his elevator and then out into Temple Studios with a knowing smile. If you happened to drop by the bar, you might have seen him moving between the tables with a martini in hand and a confident strut (nepotism definitely seems to work in these studios), working the crowd with smiles and handshakes. If you happened to stick around for a while, you probably saw Ace take to the stage and set Studio 3 swinging with a number of songs – my favourite being a jazzed up version of Gloomy Sunday, turning it into the jazziest toe-tappin’ tune about suicide I’ve ever heard. He may have even signed you up as a Temple Studios employee and chatted to you about work you had done for them in the past.

I remember the first time I spoke to Ace – I was standing by myself, taking a short break and gathering my thoughts, when he came sliding by, suddenly stopping beside me with a look of recognition on his face.

“Hey, good to see you – you did some stunt work for us on that film “Boom Boom”, didn’t you? Thanks so much for helping out!”

“Oh, well, um, it was nothing really, I didn’t really do much … “

“Don’t be so modest, you were great!”

“Well,” I said, starting to feel more comfortable with bantering, “the critics did say I put the boom in the “Boom Boom”.”

“Oooh, cheeky!” Ace said with a smile. We chatted a little more before he leaned in conspiratorially, “Hey, just between you and me, by the end of tonight I think somebody’s gonna end up on the cutting room floor. Just make sure it’s not you, okay?” He gave me a nod and a smile, and moved over to another table to glad-hand some more visitors to the studios.

Towards the very end of that same show, as I was making my way towards the finale, I passed by Ace, standing on the wooden patio, coolly watching the crowd assembling at the bottom of the hill. He caught my eye and cocked his head in thought for a second – and suddenly shot his hand out to me, palm upward. I put my hand in his, and he swiftly ran me through the crowd, to the bottom of the hill, deftly spinning me around to face the hill and the bloody climax taking place there, standing behind me with one arm around my chest, still holding my hand. As Marshall hit the ground, bleeding out, Ace started squeezing my hand – a pulse slowing, fading. And then Ace whispered into my ear, picking up the thread of our conversation from an hour or so earlier, in a way that sent a chill down my spine, “On the cutting room floor … “.

This incredible attention to detail was one of the things I really loved about Mateo’s performance as Ace (and Mr. Tuttle too, although Tuttle is very much worthy of his own post). One time when I was at the martini bar, Ace came over and started showing off his tux to the barman, saying it was made of Egyptian silk – “Mary Dove’s finest”, he said proudly. That Mary Dove is actually the name of the Seamstress isn’t exactly secret information in the show, but it’s also not widely advertised. For Ace to mention her by name was a nice touch that added just a little more depth to the world.

Another time, at the very end of the show, Ace stepped out of the gloom and held his hand out to me. Taking it, he swiftly walked me into the bar – and kept going, literally sprinting into the mirror maze. Lightning fast he darted around each corner, taking me with him. We never crashed – he knew exactly where he was going. We came to a stop, Ace spinning me around and taking off my mask, so we were both looking into a mirror together. He looked at me, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully – and then quoted the start of Shakespeare’s sonnet 53 to me. “What is your substance, whereof are you made,that millions of strange shadows on you tend?” With that, Ace and his reflections/shadows stepped away into the maze with a knowing smile, leaving me thinking about this world of masks, mirror images, shifting identities, and my place in it all.

As a regular visitor to Studio 3 I ended up having a number of interactions with Ace, who was always ready with a smile and a “look who it is!” or a “good to see ya!”. I remember being taken into a side room with Ace and Lexi and being signed up as a Temple Studios employee (Ace: “When I first saw you, I said to myself that ain’t no stuntman … “). I remember being in that same room with Harry Greener (James Traherne), talking about his return to Temple Studios with Ace and Lexi, and being introduced by Harry as his lawyer (Ace, with a hint of a smirk on his face after I backed up Harry on his claim that he was clean and sober: “You’re a man of truth, aren’t you?” – as we left that side room, Ace pulled me aside for a moment and told me to keep a close eye on Harry, “I’ll make it worth your while.”). I remember walking to the finale on another occasion to suddenly find my left arm gripped by two hands, and then another two hands grip my right – looking around I saw myself flanked by Ace and Betsy (Sarah Sweeney), who then led me to the bottom of the hill.

And I remember Ace’s final night in Studio 3, Lexi saying that he had come into some money and was heading off travelling, before Ace launched into Gloomy Sunday one last time. When he finished everyone in Studio 3 – white masks, bar staff, everyone – went wild.

Farewell Ace, and happy trails – Studio 3 is a sadder place without you.

[camthelibrarian]

Look Left Look Right - My Dear I Wanted to Tell You

In April the theatre company Look Left Look Right created a series of free immersive events for this year’s Cityread London. Cityread London is a programme where every year a book is chosen and highlighted by various events, with the idea being that everyone reads the book at the same time, creating a dialogue around the novel. This year, to tie in with the centenary of the start of World War One, the novel chosen was My Dear I Wanted to Tell You, by Louisa Young. In the five events that Look Left Look Right created, they brought the characters of the novel to life, allowing Londoners from 2014 to brush up against a slice of 1914.

The Recruitment Post

The first of the five events took place on the morning of April 1st. Morning commuters making their way along the concourse at St Pancras International Station were greeted by the sight of a World War One recruitment post. Smartly uniformed soldiers sat behind a desk, taking names and contact details for those who wanted to “sign up” (actually sending people more information about Cityread), while four women in period dress approached passersby and curious onlookers, offering “instruction manuals” (actually handing out free copies of the novel – precisely 1914 copies).

I briefly chatted with each of the four female characters, meeting Rose Locke, Sybil Ainsworth, Julia Locke, and Nadine Waveney, who encouraged me to sign up and “get over there and have some fun, because it’ll all be over very quickly” – their brightness and cheer undercut by my knowledge of what was waiting over in Flanders.

The event was a lovely way of both introducing people to the Cityread concept and getting copies of the novel into their hands, immediately hooking them with a taste of the story and the characters. In addition to this, the St Pancras International Station setting with its Eurostar connection to France subtly reinforced the idea of the young soldiers about to head for continental Europe, as well as being a beautiful period building.

Taking Leave

Something that I find particularly exciting about Look Left Look Right is that they stage some of their productions outside, in public spaces. For example, Once Upon A Christmas took place around the shops of Covent Garden – characters darting past curious Christmas shoppers. There’s something thrilling about a production not taking place in a strictly controlled indoor environment, opening the show up to the possibilities of chance.

On a cloudy Sunday afternoon, a group of us followed soldier Riley Purefoy as he walked along the streets of Kensington, having returned to London on leave. As we walked behind him, his face bandaged to conceal horrific injuries, we could hear his internal monologue – before the event we had all downloaded an audio file which we played on our headphones. Although we were out on the streets of London, being party to Riley’s thoughts made this an incredibly intimate experience, as he walked familiar streets, struggling to reconnect after the horrors he had seen and suffered.

As he thought about them, other characters drifted into view and away again – soldiers he had served with dashing for cover as shells came crashing down, his lover Nadine gliding past the Royal Albert Hall, both stately and ghost-like. At one point I heard the strains of a piano and a violin; for a moment I thought it was part of the sound design of the audio track before realising it was coming from the Royal College of Music I was walking past – a beautiful moment of serendipity. (I should note too that the sound design of the audio track itself was wonderfully evocative.)

In the end, we left Riley as he retreated further and further away from us into Hyde Park, having resolved upon a heartbreaking decision. It was a beautiful, emotional journey he had taken us on.

My Dear, I Have Something to Tell You

On Good Friday two events took place – the first was in the café of the National Portrait Gallery, where a space had been designed to look like a World War One era tearoom. As I sat down in the tearoom, I found myself having tea with two different characters. I was first joined by Nadine, who poured me tea slightly nervously, because she was so excited to be meeting somebody special that afternoon – Riley. Pulling out a map she asked me for directions to Victoria Station, and then we chatted for a little while, Nadine marvelling at how during the war women had found themselves performing jobs they’d never imagined doing before, with Nadine herself taking on nursing duties.

After Nadine had said her goodbyes, I was joined by Sybil, now a war widow, who had come down to London from Wigan. As I poured tea for Sybil, she told me that she was meeting another war widow who lived in Bloomsbury. “Can you imagine that?” she said, “Me from Wigan and her from Bloomsbury – our lives couldn’t be more different. Yet, right now I suppose, they couldn’t be any more similar.” And with that, Sybil said goodbye, and set off on her way.

Making a direct connection like this was a wonderfully warm and personal experience.

Piece Me Back Together

After leaving the tearoom I wandered up the road to the bookstore Foyles on Charing Cross Road, where an area had been converted into a hospital ward. As I stepped through the entrance, the smell of TCP hit me. Bloodied surgical instruments sat on a tray, period wheelchairs stood against the wall. Four beds were in the ward, each with a pair of headphones that whispered the thoughts of that bed’s occupant into my ears.

I was greeted by nurse Rose, who led me to one of the beds, and asked me to lie down. As I did so, she adjusted the headphones on my head, and as I began to hear the thoughts of Riley’s good friend Ainsworth, she held my wrist for a few moments, checking my pulse. Before I left Rose also introduced me to the doctor of the ward, who spoke enthusiastically about the facial reconstruction techniques he was pioneering – significant for Riley’s story.

In time I moved between all four of the beds, hearing the thoughts of Ainsworth, officer Peter Locke (becoming more and more nervous by the day and unsure how to readjust), Riley, and then Nadine in her capacity as a nurse. All four of the stories were wonderful, but I was particularly moved by Nadine’s – describing how at night she would sometimes whisper, “I love you” to the dying men, offering a moment of warmth and compassion.

Club Forty-Four

For the final event, the basement of Soho Theatre was converted into a cabaret hall. The war was finally over – and the surviving soldiers had come to celebrate. My friends and I sat at a table near the stage, as the soldiers sat near us, bantering with each other, one of them eagerly looking to the door as he waited for his girlfriend Rose to arrive. At another table sat the officer Peter Locke, dignified, but swiftly drinking himself into a state.

As this was going on, actual cabaret acts played out on the stage – a physical artist spinning hoops hypnotically around herself, a chanteuse singing songs about rather enthusiastically “supporting” the local troops, and finally the hilarious Bourgeois and Maurice, who I absolutely need to see again.

It was a fun, enjoyable night, but there were still reminders of the darkness of the war. At one point a hush fell over the room as Riley arrived, his face still in bandages. Locke stood up and began to make a drunken speech about Riley, and how he had saved Locke’s life, determinedly dragging him back to the trenches – but it quickly became clear that Locke was barely holding himself together, and was one of the walking wounded, as much as Riley. Calmly, Riley put his arm around Locke, and led him out into the night …

[pursuitofhappenstance]

Badly Drawn Drowned Man Inspired GIF

[camthelibrarian]

Oh ... my ... God. This is BRILLIANT. (Seriously, I'm having flashbacks to this moment right now. Thank you pursuitofhappenstance, thank you.)