The Drowned Man – The End
And in the spirit of reblogging (my own blog posts), 3 days late for the actual anniversary of the end, here – again – is my write-up of the final show. My final paragraph has not entirely come to pass yet – the show is still a long way from being a distant memory. It still feels so much a part of me that I wonder if I will ever be able to let it go. Over the last year, since it finished, I’ve celebrated my (big number) birthday with a party set in 1962 Hollywood; I’ve been back to New York to re-watch Sleep No More, with some of my favourite TDM cast members in it, and to catch up with New York friends and meet a few new ones; I’ve booked to see things I never would have been brave enough to see in the past; and I’ve become genuine friends-for-life with certain cast members and fellow fans. So I’d say the experience was worth it. Now all that’s left is for me to direct my first immersive production, inspired by (but definitely not imitating) Punchdrunk. Watch this space.
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Show 22 – 6 July It’s the final show. I’ve both longed for this day and desperately wished it would never come. Deep down I don’t ever want the show to end. It sounds trite, and maybe months down the line I’ll be able to reassess my feelings with more clarity, but in my current state of mind I feel as though it has been one of the most profound experiences of my life. It’s like I’ve rediscovered theatre. It had almost started to become a bit mundane, over-exposure (both on and off stage) had lessened the magic. I could see the mistakes, I was hyper-critical of slow scene changes or word stumbles, it was becoming rare for me to leave a production and rave about it. It had to do something different – Black Watch, Curious Incident, London Road – for me to truly love it. Now there’s a whole new aspect to theatre – in Punchdrunk’s world I can actually become part of the dream, and, yes, immerse myself. And it’s got me excited again. I want to try new things that I would never have been brave enough to try before. And it’s awoken a love of contemporary dance – to the extent that a perfectly executed move will make me actually cry.
The end of The Drowned Man feels like the break-up of a relationship – admittedly a slightly difficult relationship where after every date I’d feel on a massive high but then when TDM didn’t call or reply to my emails, I’d be left bereft. I would read people’s Facebook updates about amazing evenings and feel even worse. I was definitely the needy one in the relationship.
In many ways I have been looking forward to it finishing for a while. This constant up and down of emotions has been at times exhausting. And I have spent so much money. I don’t want to even think how much money. And I don’t resent it. I can’t think of a theatre company that better deserves my cash. But I’ve also got to the stage now where I don’t need a constant fix. Where I can wander the Studios feeling a bit lost, unsure of what to do because I’ve pretty much done it all already. Where a two-month break had become a good thing because I could go back and rediscover it as if for the first time – with different actors, new little scenes.
So yes, maybe it’s time. But it’s hard to let go.
And I worry that this final show could be utterly miserable. If I place too many expectations on it, will I end up sobbing quietly (possibly even loudly) in a corner somewhere because nothing goes how I want it? Will I hate every other white mask in there just because they’re getting all the experiences and I’m not? But then, if I don’t go, will I be sitting miserably on a sofa in Tooting, wishing desperately that I was in Paddington? I don’t really have any choice in the matter.
On the day, the queuing starts very early. When I arrive at the local pub at about 1.45, there are already people queuing back to the exec entrance. By all accounts the queue has a bit of a party atmosphere, which is lovely, but I don’t need to be in the first lift tonight. A group of us have decided that we’re not going till 5. This isn’t an easy decision. We have always been the ones to arrive an hour early and be the only people queuing for at least half an hour. But things have changed, and so we hang around in the pub till 5, determined not to leave too early. I’m trying very hard to have no expectations for the show – this is about saying goodbye to the space, not about following three loops. It doesn’t matter if I don’t get in until loop two.
It’s tough but we hold out. And when we arrive at about 5pm, the doors are open but the queue is still stretching back around the corner. But it’s a great start to the evening as waiting in line with us is the incredibly lovely James Sobol Kelly – still my favourite Harry – who has a ticket to pick up and wants the full lift experience, but doesn’t want to push in.
After dumping our bags we register that there is no cast board. It’s exciting, but it does feel odd going in with no idea, apart from the usual photos in the lifts.
My only real plan is to say goodbye to the space. So I leave Larry’s lift one last time in the basement. And without even thinking I head straight for the PA’s office. As I get there I suddenly register that this was in fact the very first thing that I did on my very first show – when I came across a glamorous, leopard-print-dressed, red-bobbed PA (Fania Grigoriou as it turned out) – so tonight I’ve come full circle. There’s no PA to be found this evening though. I visit every space in the basement – often completely alone, no white masks or performers – and let the darkness, the music and the smells wash over me, running my hands along the wall and making a point of entering every room. I don’t feel moved to tears down here, but the spaces hold a lot of memories.
I come across BadlyDrawnDrownedMan in the foley room and wave. Without words we step onto the wooden sleepers that hold the various sound-making materials, and in sync step down into a space each, crunching, crackling our way around the noises. We leave our separate ways. I even make it into the drafting room, when a group leave and hold the door open to the models section. I wonder if it’s open to all today, but I poke my head around the corner and spot Mia Mountain’s Phoebe in there and duck out again, feeling guilty for trespassing. I don’t see a single character besides Phoebe, although I do pass a white-masked James Sobol Kelly, saying his own goodbyes to the space.
My final room before I head upstairs is the sunflower room. I close the door, breathe deeply, and realise I’ll never see the basement again.
Now for the ground floor. First stop is the finale stage and I see that Pascale Burgess’ Alice Estee is giving the grocer his script. I head over, hoping against hope that it’s Jesse Kovarsky, as the lovely James Finnemore is playing Marshall. When I realise it’s Monsur the sadness suddenly hits me right in the guts and I crumple a little bit, thinking I’ll never see Jesse perform in Temple Studios again. I struggle to control the tears as I head back in to wander around every ground floor space. I end up in Conrad’s dressing room.
I poke around briefly before I realise that it’s probably time for the 1:1 and I don’t want to be hidden in there when he comes in. But as I’m leaving the cage Adam Burton comes in with four white masks and locks the door behind him. Something is different here. He comes to each of us in turn and removes our masks, saying he knows who we are and why we’re here. Ironically he does know who at least a couple of us are – quite possibly all of us. He looks around each in turn and selects just one – Frances Koncan – to take into the cage for the full experience. It’s fascinating to watch a 1:1 taking place. We can’t hear everything he whispers but it’s an insight into what actually happened when we’d had the 1:1 ourselves, and how easy it is to be starstruck/awestruck when it’s you in the spotlight.
Feeling a bit happier, I head back to the finale stage, ready to go upstairs for a short while before I hit Studio 3 to drink away the sadness. And I almost bump into Paul Zivkovich’s Fool. PAUL. ZIVKOVICH. FOOL. I knew he was back for a visit, but assumed he’d be in the audience. I am incredibly excited to see him as I never got to say a final goodbye, even from behind my mask. It very nearly makes up for the fact that Jesse isn’t on, and I’m so pleased to be able to watch his snow scene again with Marshall. His William was my first show crush and it’s endured. I still love everything about him – his beautiful dancing, the way he moves across the stage, the way his eyes always look on the verge of tears, the way he is so incredibly, perfectly expressive.
I stick with him for the scene in the birthday tent, where, after Kath Duggan’s Lila leaves, he gets his sellotape in a tangle and can’t make the final line stick to the paper. We’re all a bit giggly and he’s clearly struggling to keep a straight face himself. On his way out he pulls the tablecloth (it’s unclear whether this is intentional or not), knocking over the glasses he’s just stacked, and gets someone to restack them. She does as she’s told, and then he knocks them over again, this time definitely on purpose, a cheeky glint in his eyes.
Not even pretending to read his map, he leads us down to the foley room. So I guess I am going back to the basement after all. The room is so packed it’s impossible to see much, but I catch little moments between people’s heads. As he makes his way out, I wait in the corridor and spot Emily Mytton’s Alice Estee loudly leaving the ante-room. Wait a minute – it was Pascale in the tent earlier. Something is going on here.
It starts to make sense when, after the script is dropped off in the ante-room, we come across Ira Siobhan’s Claude working those incredible spikey, bendy Claude moves with ANOTHER Claude Estee in a white mask. I recognise Omar Gordon behind the mask just as he takes it off and puts it on Ira, and Omar then struts off as Claude. When we reach Stanford’s dressing room there are two Frankies standing there, mid-kiss, and Daniel Whiley passes his mask over to Conor Doyle and heads to the party. Paul’s Fool then sits down at the dressing room table just as another masked Fool (Alistair Goldsmith) comes in. Paul hands over his jacket, drops his case, they each take a drink from the flask, and Paul heads off still dressed as the Fool but now masked. I’d wanted to see his snow dance so am slightly sad, but does this mean what I hope it means?
I leave Paul being trailed by a large group of masks and head to the orgy. Peeking over the heads of the huge crowd… yes! Jesse is now Marshall (currently being stripped on stage). I well up again with relief. And this also means that Leslie Kraus is Wendy, which makes me incredibly happy. Clearly I had more expectations about this show than I’d let myself believe.
I follow her and Lily Ockwell’s Andrea (now swapped with Fania, who is suddenly the PA) up the stairs, and watch the murder leaning against a tree, trying to control the sobs. I decide to wait for Marshall rather than following Wendy upstairs so I sit myself down on the stairs, practically alone in the vast, empty space and have a bit of a weep. It suddenly hits me that now I’m at the final loop, everything from this point onwards will never be repeated again. It’s a tough concept to come to terms with. I’m not sure I have yet.
I stick with Marshall for the first part of his loop, unable to stop crying every time he dances, and watching the birthday tent from the stairs so I can see Andrea dance her bit. I laugh and cry through the fun, uplifting snow dance again and stick with him up to his and Wendy’s caravan dance – which I’ve only ever seen once before, watching it shoulder to shoulder with a masked Hector Harkness, trying not to shudder or sniff too much as I cry.
But I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to follow characters tonight, so it’s time to leave him as he heads to his bedroom scene with Dolores. I run upstairs in time to catch Greig Cooke’s William tree dance, followed up by Sonya Cullingford’s Faye caravan dance – an abiding memory from my first show, in which Sonya’s Faye was the first character I actually followed.
As TJ Lowe’s Andy arrives to dance with her, I suddenly realise I need to head to the Horse & Stars now. When I get in there, it’s already starting to fill up, even though not much is going on, but I get a prime spot on the blocks opposite the bar, surrounded by friends, and it’s not long before Andy comes in for his 24 hours dance, which I was so sad not to see a few shows ago.
And then it’s the hoedown. The last ever hoedown. I’ve written before how this has become my favourite scene in the whole show, and it feels incredibly important that I’m there for the very last one. I’m so overwhelmed that I completely fail to notice that Badlands Jack is back. It all just feels right. As soon as the opening music kicks in, the white-masked crowd starts to clap in time, and then it’s Nick Cave and we’re all whooping and clapping and stamping in time. I wonder how this must feel for the cast to feel the warmth and love of the crowds around them. It must be a struggle to stay in character. As they flop to the floor and William leaps for the chandelier structure, the crowd erupts in applause and cheers.
I’m so delighted to see that Anna Finkel is back for one night as Drugstore Girl, so I follow her out to the drugstore for a short time. But I want to finish my show with Faye singing ‘Walking in the Sand’. It’s such a sad moment but it feels right to be there with her. Felix Barrett has clearly had the same idea and I follow him through the saddlery, and sit down at a table just before Faye staggers in to get her drink from Nico’s barman, and sings her song, crying real tears no doubt.
I follow Faye and Harry down for the finale, not looking for a walk-down or a walk-out. Trying to keep my expectations as low as possible for the finale. I make a point of placing myself a few people back just so I know I can’t be picked. And the finale is happy and sad all at the same time.
The second-half William and Wendy dance as usual until they get to the moment by the pools. And suddenly there are the other Wendy and Marshall on my side, and presumably the other William and Mary on the other side. And Stanford is walking forward, acknowledging all of them. Holding a gun. This is the final ever moment of the show. The very last moment of drama. As he puts the gun to his eye and shoots, there is a bright flash and bang, and the crowds erupt in applause so loud that we all miss the final voiceover. But no matter. We’re flinging roses onto the stage, and the cast are coming back on for a bow, and many of them are sobbing right along with us. We all get to our feet for a standing ovation – we can’t not stand for them. It’s their first and last bow.
The cast get Felix and Maxine up from the crowd and raise them over their heads and everyone storms the stage. There are walk-outs of a sort, but we’re all leaving together and everyone, cast and audience, mingled together, end up in Studio 3, tearful but joyful too.
It’s the perfect way to say goodbye to my favourites among the cast. I know I shouldn’t have favourites, but I do. I can’t help it. Those people who I only needed the briefest glimpse of – a dance on a roof, a shake of a moustache, a clamber in the trees, an incredible back bend, a velcroed red dress, a stamp on the bar – to make me feel happy.
Thank goodness I have the Monday off to recover from our audience wrap party in Studio 9, although the lack of sleep and alcohol are not the only things I need to recover from. One day is not enough to recover from this show. It could be a long, slow recovery. One day – maybe – these thoughts will be distant memories and not a part of me as they are now. One day I may be able to listen to the music and not start crying, or remember a particular moment or 1:1 without feeling as if I’m back there, or walk down a dark corridor and not picture myself in the basement, or smell certain smells and imagine I’m in the doctor’s room or dust witch’s chapel, or drink whiskey without being back in Studio 3. One day.
-THE END-
FOUR YEARS AGO. Will it ever happen again?
