Ars Longa, Vita Brevis

A blog containing opinion and pseudo-academic essays concerning theatre, acting, writing and just about anything else I can digress to. I'm a working actor and playwright by trade, though I also end up getting involved in all sorts of crazy adventures.

[steticehurst]

Jack of All Trades...

On the odd occasion when I actually find myself looking around for something to do, it amazes me. Not because I am busy all the time but because I always have so much to do. There are masks that need perfecting, their moulds repairing or another lick of paint; then there’s plays that need writing, rewriting, editing or (something I need to do more of) shipping out. Gone are the days of waking up, rolling out of bed and knowing exactly what the day has in store for me. I wish I could say, ‘Thank <insert respective deity here> I’m not a slave to a rota anymore!’

I wish I could.

In truth, being many things and being spread out as much as I am has its downfalls. For example, an off day for me is simply a day where I worked at something for eight hours and then cracked a beer and went off to tend to either a) the garden or b) some culinary exploration of potentially hazardous levels of spiciness. A good day is when I knock off everything on the daily to-do list, carry on towards the weekly to-do list and then realise that there are little feline faces looking up at me going, ‘Human, two choices await you. Either you feed us or we feed on you!’

Bless them.

I am, of course, making myself sound incredibly productive. It’s a rare bout of arrogance, perhaps? Doubtful. I’m not curing communicable diseases or working towards bridging the gap between technological advancement and human redundancy. I’m merely making masks for selling and workshop purposes, writing plays to the aim of pushing the boat of playwright towards the great wide sea of a career; on the rare occasion I actually attract the attentions of an employer, I’m doing what I trained to do, learning lines and forming a character. Only the latter is a paid use of time (though nobody really pays you for the work you do out of rehearsals) and is sadly rare given my lack of representation (agents take note) and the throttling of the industry by low-pay/no-pay and the usual bugbears of mine. Perhaps I blame extraneous factors too often rather than myself; perhaps the old adage runs true:

‘Jack of all trades; master of none.’

Allow me to reminisce; don’t worry, I’ll clean it up myself. During the days of college-level actor training, and yes we are going that far back, there was a certain juggling of hats that occurred. By then, I had left the military and was embarking on making the acting profession a conscious career path; I still had, for my sins, my service sector job and was still indulging in the youth theatre group that got the ball rolling for me in the first place. Before too long, I left the service sector job for a position in retail security in the city centre of Manchester and I had added another string to my bow thanks to the college: technical theatre. In fact, what had happened was almost the scion of a lifetime habit, the juggling of roles within theatre. By the end of the first year of training, I was equipped to do sound and lights and act, as well as make props and elements of set; by the second year, my acting was well on the way, I had begun toying with script writing and I was frequently operating shows or stage managing them. Notably, I was now doing two roles at once on the same show; for example, during the pantomime of Alice in Wonderland, I was the stage manager, a member of chorus, the Madhatter (for half the shows) and the dancing lobster in the lobster quadrille.

Disclaimer: no, I am not a dancer; I obviously was just right for the part.

I miss those days, I’ll freely admit that. University was much of the same, juggling roles within shows and shows within roles; I had a habit of being in the right place at the right time and was, admittedly, somewhat addicted to being a fixer. Such indulgence is why my list of credits stands at well over a hundred and fifty shows (sadly, that statistic serves nothing more than a footnote in the grander eyes of the industry). But I never overstepped the boundaries; I always, for the most part, delivered the best I could and usually at expense of things such as my own health. Some readers may remember me mentioning the situation wherein I was denied the right to continue this habit into my third year, for the original piece of theatre I had to submit; long and short, I wasn’t permitted to be marked for technical theatre and acting on the same piece due to the two being, somehow, inseparable. Perhaps then it is no surprise that I slyly put two fingers up at the whole thing and went and did it unofficially anyway; I still designed the lights, got a crew together, ran marketing , wrote the piece and acted in it as well. Moments like that are solid proof that I am more than just a jack at the trades I profess to be a member of.

And I am nothing special (cue self-deprecation). There are countless others out there who sing, act, dance, write, paint, sculpt, knit, design, direct, strip, you name it, all alongside their other talents and their responsibilities. Imagine me giving a respectable bow to each of them (yourself, if you are one of such folk) and acknowledging each one before further picturing procuring me a replacement spine; there are thousands if not millions of them! Whether self-taught or hard-trained, the Jacks or Jackies of all trades are frequently, I find, a force to be reckoned with and a force overlooked.

But what’s the knack to juggling such trades?

I can’t tell you; there’s a reason I am an emerging actor and an emerging playwright. I haven’t stage managed anything I wasn’t producing myself for a good number of years bar a few favours for friends. On contract, I’m a force to be reckoned with; under my own steam, I can only do what the world will let me. The output of my plays is fairly swift but a delay in reliable, third-party proof-reading combined with the scant few theatres that deal in new writing without bizarre criteria is somewhat stifling; I can only play the roles I land and there is only so many times one can explain to the neighbours why you were wandering the garden quoting lines from After the End by Dennis Kelly before they consider calling the police. An ideal proving ground for me would be a rep company that utilised two or more skills of mine; go figure that most reps are forlorn relics of the past or clandestine groups which one has no idea how to contact. Still, I plough away, day by day, hour by hour, digging my holes and looking for gold. At least when I strike gold, I know how to do the job.

What of those who don’t? What of those who, say, claim to direct and act or some other role-cocktail but are plainly ill-equipped?

I have a rule regarding my own promotion: I am an actor, playwright and stage manager. I have been paid for those roles in the past on numerous occasions and am either professionally trained for such roles or can back it up with professional experience. I am not a mask maker; but I am a maker of masks. The rule, to explain, is that anything I can do to a level worth paying for, I advertise myself as being fit to do; if a role is offered to me that I can do or can quickly adapt to do to a level worth paying for, I take the role and equip myself for it. I never, never, step into a role I am going to become lost in and let people down. We could call it the ‘Jack of all trades’ tenet of life, but let’s not make an organised religion out of one person’s take on things here. But it is simple; never take a job you think you can do without honest soul-searching first or a role you think you might like to do. This is surely basic logic for anything but if you are juggling said role with other aspects of life, you really are going to have a bad time when the proverbial hits the fan. Why? Well, learning for a role is always easier if you have a base understanding of it; I frequently tell folks I can work in any department of theatre except costume, because I can’t thread needles. That’s a lie; I can thread needles (I sewed some masks straps today, for example) but wouldn’t know where to begin past historical research into fashions of the time. I also wouldn’t know where to start with, say, projection in theatre past the basics; one cannot simply be Jack of all trades, can they? Directing, however, I do have an understanding of; the odd few times I consider the situation of being asked to direct, I admit I wouldn’t turn down the role. It’s not that I think the role is simple or easy, but that I consider my knowledge base and experience with acting and working with directors sufficient enough to complete the role successfully. I guess what we’re really learning here is that I am a liar; I said I couldn’t tell you the knack to juggling trades and here I am, offering up advice.

I am nothing if not quintessentially human; hypocritical to the core.

When we consider all the strings of our respective bows, each one got there by experience and opportunity; we are not all born knowing how to cast a mask in clay. Learning on the job is all fine and dandy, to a certain level. For example, I cut my teeth in playwriting by writing four plays in my own time before attempting to put a play onstage (a short play at that). I didn’t hamper any of my other responsibilities in the experimentation of it all; I read up and around the subject, attended quasi-helpful lectures and wrote and wrote and wrote. In the end, I created a piece that made naysayers eat their words and provided an evening of, to quote others, ‘edge of the seat’ theatre. That, in my opinion, is a better way of going about things then, for example, wanting to embark on an acting career and bypassing workshops, training and low-level experience and going straight for your first film. It honestly can’t end well, can it? While you’re avoiding looking down the bottle, you can only imagine the frustration of others you’ve engaged. Of course, a collaboration of minds is different; if everyone is there to learn or play, what harm can there ever be in such situations bar embarrassing home-movies in years to come? But if you engage with other professionals with a string you’re still, well, stringing, you risk the utterance of that old adage once again.

So perhaps we should all choose a focus and stick to it? I should make the hard choice between acting and writing, tell my girlfriend to, ‘Look away, honey,’ before putting the unfortunate one down like an old faithful dog slowly succumbing to rabies (my apologies for stirring nostalgic traumas) and get on with life, right?

Fat chance.

I understand the phrase, ‘Jack of all trades,’ really, I do. I also get that spreading my attentions between this, that and the other could be hampering my chances at a breakthrough in any one particular area. I am also aware I am not getting younger and the personified avatar of adult responsibility is lurking over me with a Machiavellian grin; thankfully no-one is yet asking me when I am going to get married, have two and a half kids (answers as to how on a postcard please) and a dog called Eugene. In fact, someone close to me floated the idea of becoming a fulltime writer the other day; I shot it down. Another person dear to me insisted this week that I should focus on my acting; I acknowledged their concern and stated that I can actually write and act at different times without the two interfering with the other. It is that simple; I have been juggling hats and roles for a long time. One day, I may very well have to enslave myself to a company again; I can tell you now the other parts of my life will be affected but not left to rot by the wayside. And why?

Let’s look at that phrase once more, shall we?

‘Jack of all trades; master of none.’

Bet you didn’t know there was another line to it, did you?

‘Often times better than a master of one.’

[steticehurst]

It Pays to be an Actor

When you’re an actor and you answer that age old question, ‘So, what do you do for a living?’ you tend to only get a few variations in terms of a response. If I had a pound for every time someone asked me whether they’ll have seen me in something or the even simpler, ‘Have you been on the tele?’ I could afford a new pair of shoes. I’d be able to replace my much-loved spectacles as well, if I had a pound for every time the questioner simply looked bemused, the cogs grinding away for a response before the flashes of a blue screen dart across their glazed eyes with, you swear, the words, ‘Error 404: response not found.’ This is usually followed by such wonderful non-responses as, ‘That’s nice,’ or, ‘Oh, how interesting.’

A lot of it comes from the whimsical air there is surrounding the profession, as well as the turgid torrent of celebrity culture emanating from places like Hollywood, that mire folks’ opinion. It would be unfair to not also mention the simply awe filled gazes after such a question is answered alongside things like, ‘I don’t know how you do it!’ Good, I think to myself, all the better for me. Because there’s an air of self-proclamation about it all, being an actor. One simply needs to say it, and, ‘poof’ and ‘hey presto,’ you are one; least, if you happen to have forked out for a Casting Call Pro page or weaselled your way into Spotlight you are. Sure, you may have trained as an actor, you may not; you may be a talented actor, you may not. When you say it to the right people, you’re awe-inspiring, an enigma, you reek of glitz, glaour and celebrity. Considering that I am, at this very moment, writing this in my pyjamas next to a cup of stale coffee and with what could be classed as a five o’clock shadow if I was a black bear, their estimations are wildly incorrect.

There is a lot mythos surrounding the profession and none of these could be further from the truth than the wages. Something has, of course, prompted me to deal with this; my posts have become infrequent as other, more pressing details consume me. It is obvious what throws people for a loop when it comes to money and actors; there are some huge pay checks out there, widely reported upon, in major branded productions with household names that we all know and love. Frequent notions of a million dollars an episode here and three million dollars a feature there can leave some of the, well, more impressionable amongst us thinking that fame and fortune is just a dress-up and funny voice away. Consider this: when posed the question, ‘Are Actors and Professional Athletes get Paid too Much?’ on the website debate.org, a substantial fifty-five percent voiced up that yes, yes indeed actors and professional athletes get paid too much. I looked for finer numbers, the total number of responses, and was found wanting; I won’t be doing any detailed analysis sadly. But over half the number of people who responded were convinced that actors and professional athletes are paid too much. ‘Aha!’ thought I, ‘But there are several things worthy of note!’ Firstly, there’s that absence of an adjective in front of ‘actors’ that seems to have cropped in later on: professional. Secondly, it does kind of seem a strange combination of occupations to combine and, knowing what professional footballers get paid, I wondered if perhaps the athlete factor was throwing the results askew.

I was wrong. It was the actor side of the argument.

When people were posed the question, ‘Do Actors Get Paid too Much?’ the results were rather crushing. Just over half became a rather unhealthy three-quarters; seventy-five percent.  Again, raw data eludes me and whereas I don’t consider this to be a true representation of public opinion, there is no smoke without fire. What I can analyse is some of the more fleshed out responses.

‘Look at Selena Gomez…’

And that’s all the analysis I’m going to do. Why? Because it sums up the rather narrow-minded approach so frequently encountered on the internet. Those defending actors pointed to hard work, the fierce competition and even called out, as I am, the other side for simply going for the highest players in the business whilst ignoring everyone else’s plight. Annoyingly, one of those ‘defending’ clearly got so enraged and engrossed in their point of view they clicked the wrong button, answering on the side of ‘no, actors aren’t paid too much,’ before launching into a diatribe of nonsensical ranting about how all actors do is, ‘read lines and do moves.’ Way to go kid; got it in one, now if you excuse me, this character and script analysis and physicalisation is not going to do itself. Once we move on to people who managed to actually push the button they meant to, we find the argument bottling down to cries of, ‘who can spend all that money anyway,’ and my personal favourite, ‘actors, and the rest of the one percent.’

There we have it. In a nutshell.

All this time I was sat here in my pyjamas eyeing my now empty coffee mug and I’ve been financially oppressing the majority of you reading this. I’m sorry, I’ll donate my total three figured wealth in cash and assets to some worthy cause.

Again, I won’t get too hung up because this information is; well, it’s from the internet. That magical realm where everyone can spout any ole tat and sound logical, educated and be safe in the knowledge that, no matter how much people disagree with you, accountability and validity are things for the real world. But, my taxes are due. I don’t mind sharing a few facts for the argument:

Last year, being April 2014 to April 2015, in the UK I earned myself a whopping, grand total of:

Drumroll please.

£475.00 from acting.

So, I won’t be paying any tax on that since my personal tax threshold is nearer ten and a half grand. Of course though, we also have to take into account my expenses, that’s how being self-employed works. Let me see now:

£1,704.46!

Damn, I made a loss! I really shouldn’t have gone on all those networking events, bought all those resources I need to improve my craft, create masks, train tickets, coach tickets, plane tickets, all needed to do my job or at least try to get a job to do. I shouldn’t have splashed out so hard for those headshots I needed as a base requirement to advertise my skills, or those business cards. Sure, some of that figure is offset by earnings made elsewhere in other capacities but, truth be told, that is money I will never see again.

In short: how am I alive? In answer: I’m not even so sure myself.

I may not have debunked the ‘overpaid’ mythos quite yet mind, but I am an actor; bear that in mind. When idiots claim I’m part of the one percent with my negative earning balance, because they can’t formulate a separation argument in their misguided, broad-stroked ways, you have to wonder how we ever seriously think we’re going to manage levelling any playing field in regards to wealth or otherwise.

But let’s move on:

The minimum wage. It is legal to pay an actor the minimum wage. I know, shock horror, but it is. That is a fact. Yes, there are agreements that mean we can get paid more than the minimum wage, but any John or Jane Doe can come up to me and go, ‘Here’s the script, we’re on in three days, learn the lines and it’s an hour long. You get minimum wage for each show,’ and it’s all legal; chances are though, they may want a rehearsal or two and that would also have to be paid to be legal. But why dwell on legality; we artists, right? We don’t have money to throw about; we’re not professional athletes now, are we? Then let us consider doing away with the minimum wage and engaging in profit share! Ah, profit share; how I love thee. Work for free, we’ll do the accounts and you may get some money; I am grossly over-simplifying but the general premise is there. The legality of the affair is somewhat grey. If you and your mates put on a show under a profit share agreement, then fine: it is legal. However, if you are audition, taken on, directed and given instruction, it doesn’t matter what you sign, you are owed the national minimum wage; go ahead and look at Equity guidelines, it’s all there. Chances are, you won’t be earning Selena Gomez rank cash from profit share though, so either way, we won’t be being paid too much; at best, we get paid the same rate, if not lower, than your standard service sector worker.

By the way; those working for free, you’re entitled to minimum wage too, even if you’re billed as a volunteer. Fun fact for the day, make sure you use it; you won’t, I know. You just keep on fuelling the exploitation of actors the world over.

I mentioned the agreements earlier on that mean we can get paid more than minimum wage; shall we observe them? Let’s have a gander at extras first off; yes, they are considered actors. Bet those answering that actors are paid too much didn’t think to consider them, did they? Well, the profession does. For a basic day’s work, a day being a stipulated nine hour period between seven in the morning and ten at night with a meal break, you can expect £84.00 for your trouble. About £9.33 an hour, which isn’t too bad, is it? Night shoots are worth slightly more, follow similar guidelines and equate to roughly £11.66 an hour. Not bad again, though you have to be up all night. That’s all according to the FAA/PACT agreement; the BBC and ITV have a similar setup. It is also only really covering the London area; similar agreements are in place elsewhere in the country. But still, that’s pretty good; that’s an income of around £16,000 a year, allowing for a week off here and there. Yeah? Try a week off every other week or worse. Also, bear in mind that you could only be used for a half-day and only once in a blue moon. There’s no guarantee; what, you thought acting work was regular? Too bad; it isn’t.

Shame we’re financially oppressing you all though. Sorry about that.

Let’s move onto something a bit more substantial in weight, eh? Say you in a stage production, what are you worth then? Nothing loose like a profit share, an actual bona fide, ‘you’re going to get paid Equity/BECTU minimum’ stage production. For rehearsal weeks (note I say weeks, not days, weeks; whole working weeks) one can expect around the £400 mark; it can be less, it can be more, depending on if you are commercial, subsided repertory or otherwise. Performance weeks (again, weeks) can be more or the same. Not bad if you are working it long and hard in the West End or Broadway on, say, a six month contract; that’s damn good. Worthwhile noting that I have never had such an agreement. Is it any wonder? I used the rates to budget a show I was managing at university once, for a laugh; the end figure was astronomical. That’s not the rates fault, and I will refrain from bemoaning the disproportionate balance of funding and jobs outside of London, off West End and so forth because this is about correcting the nasty little murmurings in the corners of the world I live in about the profession I undertake, at a loss, that they seem to think makes me part of a rich conglomerate of elitists.

Excuse me, the kettle has boiled; hopefully coffee will curb my sour nature today.

There is of course a rather philosophical and frankly socialist theory that runs along the lines of, ‘well, take the money off the high earners and share it amongst those at the bottom!’ which I am solely applying to the acting world at this moment in time; world economics is something I won’t touch even with protection and a barge pole. Even if we took the money off the high rollers of Hollywood, would it make that much of a difference? Remember, for every struggling trained and equipped actor like me, there are countless others who woke up one day and went, ‘Today I am an h’actor, darlings!’ Power to them; I will not naysay them. Ours is the right to chase whatever dream we may or may not have. But when we can self-declare ourselves to be part of a profession, willingly counting ourselves as the one percent remember, suddenly sharing the wealth out seems an impossible task. Also, products have different values; we are products at the end of the day, right? To reassure, I immediately responded to my own sardonic remark with a fervent, ‘wrong!’ High pay checks don’t make us products, consumerism makes us products; naff production values and ‘bums on seats’ alongside rather destructive notions such as ‘eye-candy’ and celebrity culture make us products. At that point, it’s not so much a wage as a price tag, but when an actor is proven to be skilled, to be an expert in their field, they deserve an expert’s wage. They inspire, they entertain, they provide, alongside others, the main route for escapism in a world so drab and dreary that looking at an empty mug of coffee pushes me that bit closer to an existential crisis.

I have said some of this before, when I tackled funding for the arts. Theatre, films, music, books, dance, song and every other art form; they teach us something far more important that any of those seventy-five percent of people even chanced to think upon. Where did you learn to love; where did you learn what love was, what it meant to both be in love and lose it? Life experience, sure, but where did you first see it and begin to understand it, if one can? What about hate, revenge, honour, justice, loyalty, patriotism, the values of friendship, the effects of grief? When you see an actor doing their job well, you are embracing a millennia old adage of the exploration of the human condition and of our relationships with one another, ourselves and the world. I am not defending grossly disproportionate wage gaps in our society, nor am I defending Gomez or any other actor you could retort with, ‘yeah, but what about –‘ because I don’t honestly care; I know their wages are obscene, you hear? I know. But at the risk of sounding pretentious, sorry, more pretentious, we are not simply gadding about when we get down to our jobs, poncing about in period dress and ‘reading’ lines (we have to learn them, dumbass). Any actor worth their salt can tell you about the emotions, the themes, everything they have considered and calculatingly employed to make you feel something beyond the turgid wasteland one might encounter simply staring at the world; they help you understand the world you live in, the life you lead. Don’t forget, before the film industry sallied forth with images of people getting shot and falling over, people in the real world never really used to fall over when they were shot; it’s a schema put in force by our exposure to the notion of getting shot in film. Most soldiers don’t even know that they’ve been shot, injury allowing of course. Yet our perception has been so altered by actors and film; don’t forget that. And it’s not just actors, it’s everyone involved; but no-one cares about them, do they? Nobody worries about how much the directors are being paid, or the writers or the producers, do they?

By the way, I’m a playwright too and you won’t believe how little I’m paid for that either. In fact, I’m owed money. But that is a story for another day.

Actors are not overpaid; this is a fact. When we deal with generalisations, we must never forget to include everyone in the debate. Some actors are overpaid, the minority, the true one percent of the alleged ‘one percent.’ Fancy helping me change some opinions? Then simply remind people of this fact when they go off on one about wealthy actors. Finally, next time your mate brags about getting a grand or two for turning up on a film set and bumbling about and saying a few lines, smack them for me; they’re either lying or are arrogant enough to be part of the problem.

Some handy links for those with an interest:

http://www.uktheatre.org/ratesofpay/

https://www.bectu.org.uk/advice-resources/rates/faa-rates (Links to the upper right)

Express yourself:

http://www.debate.org/opinions/are-actors-and-professional-athletes-paid-too-much

http://www.debate.org/opinions/do-actors-get-paid-too-much

[steticehurst]

Saving Face and When to Duck Out

‘I can’t do this,’ I typed into the chat box on Facebook, ‘I really can’t do this.’

Considering the recipient was my girlfriend, those words are quite loaded. Yet, rather than it being the lead up to a rather dramatic yet remote interaction, the consequences of which could be heartrending, it was in fact nothing more than me convincing myself. There’s an odd bit of advice you get when you’re cutting your teeth or, since repertory theatre is now a rare thing, earning your degree: ‘Take every job you are offered!’  There was perchance a time when this statement was true, that it was intended to humble and cub the ego of the big fish in the little pond as the sluice was opened and it found itself in open waters. Nowadays, it couldn’t be further from the truth.

My usual diligence to casting notices had proffered to me a simple little brief in the following:

‘Are you physically fit and agile? Do you have a good sense of humour? Ever fancied performing stunt fighting routines? If you've answered yes to all three then you may want to read on. Kick Ass Films is looking for stunt fighters for its web based comedy action shorts. It gets better.... all fight routines are performed against our female action heroines. Imagine Charlie's Angels on acid. You don't have to be a martial artist, you just need to have good coordination, a great work ethic and enjoy making movies.’

I’ve redacted something simply as it is the only piece of information that could lead to a complaint due to levels of association; even if I left it in, a quick once over on your search engine of choice throws up wholly irrelevant information, as I will detail later on, but I like to be proper about these things. But it ticks all the boxes at first glance; alright, it’s not Iago or anything like a big break, but it is something to keep the wolves from the door. So, I threw my CV their way and played the waiting game (here interpreted as, ‘I carried on looking and applying and then did a load of other productive stuff to keep me from worrying about the future.’ The former is shorter though).

Much to my surprise, having gotten used to the world not seeing talent (sniggers) when it pops up in front of them, I received a phone call. It was a standard response: ‘Can you be here at this time so we can run you through your paces,’ and the gentleman on the other end mentioned nothing much more than that. Oh, and that he would send an e-mail with all the information we just discussed in it which made the whole phone call rather, well, redundant. I don’t like phone calls, you see. It’s not an anti-social thing mind; consider it a collaboration between the development of text based digital communication and concerns for the wear and tear of my carpet: I’m a pacer. That’s right, put me on the phone and I’m like a caged animal, except every now-and-then there will be some bizarre ditty of footwork. The e-mail landed not three hours later, obviously having gotten itself caught up in the digital version of the postman being late, and I sat down to it, ready to prepare for the ensuing audition. The details were similar to all described before now, with one exception: there was a link to their production company website.

I clicked it. My heart sank.

At the accustomed time, when my girlfriend gets to work and our digital exchanges begin, I typed the above words and hit send. I’d already prepared her in an earlier text and explained I was having doubts about a project I was offered; considering how early it was for her, time differences and all that, she doesn’t half put up with my disparagements well. When I sent her the link though, it all became clear why I just couldn’t commit to such a project. I’ve had concerns about project quality before; I’ve looked at scripts and almost quoted Frodo Baggins’ famous words, ‘It’s some kind of Elvish, I can’t read it.’ But this was different.

I’ve never sent my girlfriend a link and had it been blocked by her work’s internet for being ‘pornography.’

I will clear the air somewhat: it wasn’t a porn listing, it was on a major casting site and it wasn’t, to be fair, strictly what you and I would call pornography. What it was, however, was scantily clad glamour models in situations of peril, beating up muscly men; I believe it would fall under the category of ‘fetish,’ though that is merely my opinion. It’s a well-founded one mind, considering a broader search around the topic found review sites surrounding the theme of ‘peril porn’ or ‘peril fetish.’

Needless to say, upon discovering this, it was evident that my career would not be progressed by undertaking the role offered; the pay was veiled in mystery, but was quite good. Yet the content and the nature of it jarred with me on a deep level. It made me uncomfortable and was one of those things that could seriously come back to haunt you in later life. In short: I couldn’t do it. Thankfully, I have a very agreeable partner in life who understands me well enough and trust me implicitly to do the right thing. As such, she had a good laugh at my expense and, once she’d got over the initial hilarity of it, confirmed that my doubts well suitably founded and I should quietly duck out somehow. Another friend assented to this course of action and a further check with another good friend left me wide open to a bit of gentle ridicule; he also told me I should go for it and, ‘be a legend,’ which just goes to show that sometimes it is better not to listen to a third of the people surveyed. There’s an Election joke in their somewhere but I’m not a belligerent individual.

Consider this tale a warning for posterity, to all jobbing actors and those about to hit the profession: do not simply take any job offered to you. My financial situation would’ve been bettered by taking the job, sure, and I would have had a credit from it and potential a return contract or two. But at what cost? I have nothing against the adult industry; my opinions on it are varied and it has its issues butt they are wholly irrelevant here. If people choose to work in it, even in this rather softer’ form, then good for them; I do not. If I wanted to, I wouldn’t be looking on the casting sites I do; I’m not entirely sure how one begins down that road (which is a testament to the state of things and that my life hasn’t become that turbulent. Yet) or where one would even look. What makes this even more frustrating is that there was no warning whatsoever on this casting about the nature of it. So sure, I could’ve taken it; I could’ve followed that old adage and gone merrily along with it all and got paid to have a glamour model beat me up and restrain me in all manner of <insert adjective here> ways. Many men might’ve done; I may receive emasculating comments yet in regards to this. But considering the repercussions and the level of discomfort I felt about it all, I will not be found regretting this decision.

Obviously though, you don’t apply for roles you don’t want or aren’t prepared to undergo; the above example is merely one of those situations where one can be blindsided despite best efforts. It goes without saying that those castings that offer me no financial recuperation get ignored, as well as those that smack of danger such as those attached to notably unreliable production companies (and agencies) or those from ‘reality’ television series where ‘you too can be famous!’ (terms and conditions apply, experiences may vary. May not actually make you famous. Your private life may be affected and your home may be possessed by paparazzi)

Ducking out of auditions, however, is a very testy endeavour. But it will have to happen at one stage or another; when you are eager (see ‘desperate’) and are throwing your credentials all over, there is going to be an off-day and you are going to be in that dreaded situation. You are going to need to save face. Because that’s the second well-known adage: ‘You’re only as good as your last gig.’ Now, if your last gig was playing ‘Pte. Parts’ (pun intended) in a fetish film, you might very well find yourself being overlooked for, say, anything child-friendly. That’s a given.

But also consider another instance that has happened to me; you’ve got the part, the script is in and the shoot is arranged, but suddenly, disaster strikes! The company has ‘unexpectedly’ had their funding cut, reduced or otherwise diminished. Who knows, maybe a hoarding dragon came and burnt down their village, stole their gold, wife and libido and all they have left is several cameras, lighting and sound equipment and a full crew; either way, your pay is either now a thing of memory or is surreptitiously linked to certain conditions like the film winning certain competitions. Oddly enough, discounting the dragon, I made that up, that has happened to me. We were a day off shooting and suddenly the money is gone and the only way I was going to get paid is by the film scoring a win in a competition in the nether regions of Africa; I feel the odd resonations of those phishing scam e-mails when I look back. Here, my career is not so much as in jeopardy but being taken for granted; if anyone agrees to pay you and then retracts that offer, you leave that gig and you walk away, because they do not respect you or your ambitions. It’s time to duck out. No matter how much I plug it, I will continue to do so; you should never work for free. Low-pay is just as bad in the most part, but that’s at your discretion; I would strongly recommend asking the rate before agreeing to anything and don’t be afraid to say, ‘that’s less than the minimum wage.’

We’re part of a heavily network reliant vocation. We need to engender good working relationships. So, turning down work or ducking out of dodgy stuff can be quite difficult; we’re trained not to say no. Think about it, basic improvisation forbids you to say ‘no,’ and when you’re out and about in the jobbing world, saying no, or worse, having a reputation of saying no can be the death of any career. Big-time actors can say no and for any and all reasons under the Sun; they’re successful and all that. Here in the jobbing world though, it’s considered bad form; probably doesn’t help that I’ve referred to, ‘desperation’ more times than I have to things such as, ‘happiness’ and, ‘success.’ We’ve got a culture where those emerging from anywhere other than certain costly institutes are treated like dirt or, more likely, just outright ignored.

But it is okay to say no.

In fact, considering we’re not talking major films, national theatre tours or television series here, we should be more comfortable with saying no, especially when we feel like we are being exploited. It’s a hard and uphill struggle being an actor, emerging or jobbing, I know. But if more and more quality actors turned their noses up at things such as:

 ‘wanted: busty female to put jelly on her breasts for ten second comedy gag as part of three minute sketch - £10’

Logic dictates that we’d see less of them. Note the demeaning nature of the brief, the low-pay considering that, but it’s a believable casting. I’ve seen the likes for men too:

‘… he drops his pants in one scene so male actor must be comfortable with full frontal nudity… film offers excellent opportunities for exposure (*sniggers*) and will be submitted to comps - £40 for three days shooting.’

 That one is straight out of my ‘deleted’ folder from months ago, though the sniggering was me; I couldn’t help it.

It’s a tough one to do, especially if it has to be done either face-to-face or over the phone; any situation where there is either chance for instant rebuke for having wasted their time or deep probing questions as to what your problem is are enough to make anyone squirm. It’s also not professional, as tempting as it is, to fly off the handle at the evident mistreatment you’re on the receiving end of. As much as you want to pointedly enquire as to why you couldn’t access their link due to it being classed as ‘adult content’ or lecture every casting that offers you peanuts for, well, your nuts, on the working time directives and artistic integrity, it just doesn’t bode well for future endeavours. In the environment where actors are ‘ten-a-penny’ and people still do ‘work’ for free, one can be forgiven for getting a little peeved from time to time; in the drudgery of waking up every day to search for yet another job in the vast void of vaguely listed projects, you can’t help but feel entitled to launch into a verbal assault on every offender in firing range. But you can’t; you have to save face. Sometimes it’s acceptable, I guess; maybe it is I who should be taking advice from others and putting my Weaponised British Politeness™ to work in a salvo of scathing e-mails left, right and Chelsea. I would be lying if I said I have only ever dealt with such matters in a passive, polite and professional manner; I’ve never been one to really advocate vile diatribes and exchanges. Yet is that fateful day on the horizon; that day when I get pushed just a little too far to the brink of decency, what then will my response be?

Knowing me as well as I do, it’ll probably be a cross between a Shakespearean insult and the rather more colourful expletives the English language has to offer. Until then, I’ll just keep saving face and denounce the charlatans in our industry for what they are: absolute <redacted for the sake of deceny>!

[steticehurst]

Dialogue - 'Direlogue'

As usual, the turgid activity of sifting through castings has come up with little nuggets of soul-destroying comedy; those moments when you laugh on the outside but die a little on the inside. As I was glancing over the many opportunities to sell my soul for tuppence or engage in artistry for naught but the pleasure of it, I came across this fantastic wonder in a casting brief:

'Must be able to pronouciate clearly 1 line of direlogue.’

I’m going to let that settle for a while before continuing. It’s powerful, isn’t it? It has a certain sense of irony to it whilst at the same time being terribly tragic. Of course, I had to apply, being the broke and desperate actor that I am, but I can only hope that the individual behind this gem is not the author of the script. But it has presented me with a new word to tout about town with glee that I’ve been longing for; from this day forth, bad dialogue shall be known as ‘direlogue’ and to hell with standard English!

It’s been a week for that actually, going off topic for a moment. A recent addition to the Scrabble dictionary has riled me somewhat as they decided to veritably degrade the game by allowing ‘lolz’ and other such ‘ridic’ items to be permissible. But whereas some see the preservation of the English language to be a pursuit for elitism, I think we can all agree that ‘lolz’ is a rather mutilated acronym and, therefore, should not be allowed anyway.

Returning to the point though.

Writing dialogue, or at least dramatic dialogue, can be quite the task; I will focus on dialogue within scripts for the time being, fiction writers return to your literary haunt of choice. It is no surprise that when we write dialogue, for I am guilty no less than any, it is rarely right the first time. It’s clunky, unnecessary and almost always contains a typing error somewhere within it. A lot of this is a reliance on dialogue to carry the action forward; silent plays do exist, as do silent movies, but words allow us to convey an awful lot, don’t they? ‘Words as weapons’ is an oft used phrase and we yearn to hear them used as such. But what are the main causes of ‘direlogue’ and how does one tell when you’ve got it right?

The simple answer is: read it out.

Dialogue should be spoken; I’ll take my ‘stating the obvious’ hat off and put it back on its hook now. One of my bigger faults as a writer comes when I am trying to be grandiose or classical about things. I steer away from writing in proper prose, leaving things such as semi-colons and colons at the threshold, but that does create a jarring in my mind when constructed speeches or classically inspired dialogue. However, a complete jumble of complex sentences reliant on conjunctions and commas can present as many opportunities as it can obstacles; a lot of it depends on the rules the writer and actors follow. Let’s dance about a bit on this.

‘Correct grammar has no place in dialogue,’ some might say. On the other side of the room, a furtive voice will cry, ‘grammar is essential!’ Of course, any obstinately polarised opinion, as in all matters, is essentially flawed. It depends on who is speaking more than anything else. I, being a man of mixed origins, range from having quite a carefully constructed manner of speech to an expletive fuelled frenzy of words, words, words; I’m only human after all. Grammar plays a part some of the time. For others, a lack of understanding of things such as double negatives (‘I didn’t do nufink’) and past participles (‘He was hung’) can lead to poor grammar; we are human, it is human to err. I opt for the rule that grammar is important in dialogue because to consciously misuse it makes a starker statement than a consistent ignorance of it. The same can be said for the inclusion of dialect and colloquial speech. Take this moment from my own Sons of plunder:

LIAM: It’s still a free life. You’d sell your freedom, all you have ‘ere –

ETHAN: Here.

LIAM: What!?

Silence

ETHAN: Here. There is an ‘h’ there, say it.

LIAM: I cannot believe you’d interrupt me to correct –

ETHAN: Look mum raised us better than this.

Several character inferences are made here, even without knowing the rest of the scene or the context for it. Ethan has interrupted his brother’s diatribe to correct a minor point of speech; the colloquial dropping of the ‘h,’ a relatively unimportant point. One could argue that this demonstrates either an air of superiority on Ethan’s part or his desire for Liam to better his speech and therefore himself. You could go to town on such moments and delve into the psychology of such a petty correction that interrupts Liam’s flow. But an over extensive use of dialect can restrict its appeal, depending on your target audience; it also leaves a huge challenge for the folks who are proofreading since dialect, by and large, has no agreed on spelling. It adds colour to characters, however, and is can be masterfully wielded to produce authentic regional dialogue, but it is no excuse for poor spelling.

One consistent element of ‘direlogue’ comes from common mistakes with the English language, mistakes I have passed comment on time and time again. I won’t labour the point mind, but it should be noted that there is, in fact, subtle but important differences in pronunciation for words such as ‘were’ and ‘where’ that negate the whole pathetic argument of, ‘well you know whatta meant.’ Sadly, no, we do not. ‘Where were they’ is wholly more palatable than ‘were where they’ and simply saying that out loud demonstrates that; go on, try it. Oddly enough, ‘then’ and ‘than’ are supposed to sound different as well. Nowhere is grammar, the correct use of the English language, more important than moments such as these; moments where the wrong word at the wrong moment can totally foul up, well, the moment. I will hold my hand up to this: I am an antagonising little proverbial for reading what is written, regardless of whether it is correct or not. I don’t always do this; I’m professional enough to know when to toe the line. But sometimes we all need to learn from such instances; I have had the great pleasure of wincing as an actor read out a line of mine that was so fouled up I had to call for a break to correct it. We all make mistakes.

It should also note that the wrong word choice can produce ‘direlogue’ where the meaning is other than intended; the difference between knowing ‘you’re faeces’ and knowing ‘your faeces.’ That’s a common example, but it can really come about from anywhere; it is not always the misappropriation of the apostrophe. And now imagine if those last four words had come out of a Newcastle docker from the 1800’s; come on now, quickly recover from the effect the Geordie accent has on ‘misappropriation’ and focus. It doesn’t sound quite right, if we allow for stereotypes; if we have not throughout the course of the piece debunked the working class nature implied by his ascribed background, the use of such a word and the context of the phrase is something that does not exactly gel. Again, my hand is up; I have made this mistake. For me, the love of the English language can cloud my judgement and lead me to put words in my characters mouths. Nowhere is this more evident, however, then when dealing with cultural differences in word choice; consider US English and British English. Here is a moment from Duality, my first play to be staged:

BEN: What made you join the army at eighteen?

MALCOLM: What made you go to college at eighteen?

BEN: I ask the questions, Malcolm.

 When we originally performed it, the word ‘college’ was originally ‘university.’ It was, technically, still the correct term to be used. However, I have it on good opinion that ‘college’ is more often the term used. It took me five drafts and a heavy hint from my significant (and American) other to correct that. To a British audience, it might not matter, but I like to cater for all where I can, particularly those who pay far too much attention to detail.

Speaking of detail, I find that ‘direlogue’ is more often the cause of a lack of attention to detail than the over-zealous eye. I was bemused by the lamentations of a gentleman on social media who had found himself proof-reading something that treated the English language like an old Fiat Punto; driving it recklessly until it clapped out from underneath them. Actors rely on things such as punctuation, formatting and clear separation of stage direction and dialogue to help them ascertain who is speaking and when. Without such clarity, rehearsals feel like a murder investigation as each member of the cast sifts for cues as to who did what, where, when and how. A lack of periods will bring about sighs of desperation and more than once I have had to punctuate a script I was supposed to perform; the opposite is also true, where I have had to remove a period so as to include the last three words they forgot to include in the sentence. Why am I surprised, though? Theatre and film are the province of the everyman and the level of education and understanding varies across the board. What I am surprised about, however, is the level of success such ‘direlogue’ spouting folk can have over others I know who do manage to write dialogue.

Conversely, I have recently come under fire for my over-use of the comma in dialogue; a count of forty-eight in two pages was made. As an actor, I consider punctuation in dialogue to exist for two reasons: grammatical importance or dramatic importance. Each playwright will have their own preference in style and the punctuation they use; I avoid ellipses with a passion, believing them to be the same as giving an actor a read. I understand their use, however, from an actor’s perspective but find them limiting in practice. The rules of grammar can suffer in dialogue as well, as my abundance of commas suggest. Due to the mixture of training methods for an actor, there exists a confusion on how to deal with certain punctuation marks, including commas. Some practitioners advocate the complete adherence to every piece of punctuation and others opt to ignore every single piece. It can be traced back to the folio editions of Shakespeare’s works, written for actors and, therefore, containing little to no punctuation; such things were added in later by scholars who were ‘correcting’ the Bard’s work. As such, grammar can mar the reading solely due to how some actors are taught to read scripts. An odd and recent revelation has come to me on some of my peers that they have had the ability to think for themselves removed in their development; that they have been taught that each period is a pause, each comma to be a brief pause. It is the same with beats, an element, I believe, that came to be through film scripts or perchance musicals. This fallacy can easily take something like Shakespeare and turn it into ‘direlogue’ simply because of a few scratchings beneath the words; it would certainly explain the fear behind any cold reading involving the Bard. I find that the correct way to approach punctuation in a script, as always, is more of a greyer affair. I use the following rule as an actor: where the intention of a comma is grammatical in nature, it is to be considered but dropped if it interferes with delivery; if it is grammatically incorrect, it is either a mistake or there for dramatic purposes and, therefore, a greater degree of consideration exists. My biggest downfall in all of this is that I write to match such practice; because I utilise such a versatile approach to produce a decent delivery, I use both grammatically and dramatically correct punctuation. Still, returning and checking is no bad thing and, if in doubt, I err on the side of caution and grammar, my ole faithful friend, takes the hit. The cusp of my point here, however, is that ‘direlogue’ can be the province of both actor and writer alike; it is another lesson in synergy where, when the writer gets it right, the actor should be able to do so also.

Some lines, however, for all their grammatical and dramatic correctness are just ‘direlogue’ by nature. Overuse of any combination of words, especially in our modern world of replicated ideas, creates cliché. Whether it is something along the lines of ‘you won’t get away with this’ or ‘you’re not the man/woman/humanoid I fell in love with’ or simply screaming ‘no!’ at the top of your lungs, when we, the writer, commit those lines to our page we had better be doing it ironically. They have been heard so many times that any effect they may have on your audience is lost; they’re too busy groaning at your ‘direlogue’ to appreciate anything said for a while afterward. Most of these are beyond ‘making it your own’ and are incredibly difficult to deliver with sincerity or any great deal of originality; we’ve all heard Arnold say, ‘I’ll be back’ so many times that as soon as Stallone says it, an uneasy wave of confusion engulfs us. Alongside cliché is things that people just wouldn’t say either at the time they’re being said or even at all; the real province of ‘direlogue’ is, after all, anything that makes us question what we’re seeing and hearing on stage and screen. Throw away lines can fall into this category; things said because reasons. In my opinion, such instances are more common in film than theatre but most common in television. Perhaps it is a case of filling time or more an expectation from the audience, but true ‘direlogue’ in this form makes the observer comment things like ‘who really says that though?’ An odd comment to make considering realistic dialogue is hardly ever authentic dialogue; it is worthy noting that it is incredibly likely that anything and everything has probably been said at some point in time, even clichés. But that doesn’t excuse it; engender interest and cultivate a suspension of disbelief and don’t sell out your characters to ‘direlogue.’

However we go about things, we owe it to both actor and audience to deliver exciting and engaging dialogue, both to say and to be heard. It is no point restricting ourselves to simple sentences when we by very nature speak using complex ones; likewise, no-one really talks in page long prose, do they? Maybe they do; iambic pentameter and rhyming couplets work well enough on stage so we must ask, does it really matter? It takes all sorts. What it doesn’t take, however, is unintelligible, un-ironically nonsensical and undeliverable ‘direlogue.’

Maybe I shouldn’t mention that to prospective employers though.

[steticehurst]

Theatre and Politics: Bedfellows to the End

I have been quiet for quite some time recently. A trip away with my family and my girlfriend is partially to blame, although returning to a very tense country, least of all in the digital arena, has also been somewhat stifling. I’ll freely admit that it has been hard to conjure up anything constructive to write about; with everyone ‘flying their colours’ and gnashing their teeth at the establishment and one another, it has been somewhat difficult to remain open-minded and focussed on non-political themes. Such is the wonderment of the General Election.

Theatre and politics have always roamed hand-in-hand with one another. To harp on about the theatre of Ancient Greece would be stating the obvious, but even when looking East, theatre practically seeps through the cracks of politics in such forms as Yüan plays; those thought to be the earliest form of Chinese play written under the Yüan Dynasty established by the Mongol, Kubali Khan. Throughout history, playwrights and actors have always used the theatre to spread a message about those in charge, the enemies of the state and the general state of affairs. Whether, as in the case of the Chinese ‘music dramas’ above, it was a disguised outcry at the oppressive state or a glorification of the deeds of one’s own country as the likes of Henry V could be interpreted as, the theatre has been as much an influence on the people as their politicians; least, in a way.

When I was in my last year of training, I undertook the stage management of a dance piece inspired by the riots in England in the wake of the Mark Duggan shooting. It wasn’t an ideal appointment; I had joined the company rather late in the process due to complications in my own project for which I was originally destined to fulfil both a technical and creative role for. A different story for a different time, mind. The piece was billed as a political piece of theatre and thusly, as all good university projects dictate, there was a more academic side of my appointment involving the researching of this genre and the presentation of my findings. It did not fare so well. The difficulty with calling something ‘political’ in the theatre lies in the very broadness of the term itself. Depending on your levels of observation, an element of politics can be found in even plays that staunchly swear that they are dealing with something entirely different; few plays can survive the pedantic and surgical treatment that some scholars can apply to them. Yet, in this case I lost out majorly on one simple but crucial facet: the piece was deigned to not be a piece of political theatre.

‘Ah,’ thought I, before uttering something I shall not commit to the page; it ran along the lines of, ‘well, duck,’ but with one letter’s difference.

Despite my statement, here I was being told that a piece inspired by very political, not to mention fresh, events was not a political piece of theatre. It was one of those embarrassing and frustrating moments where one can only back-pedal whilst throwing punches widely forward. The counter-argument to my protestations was thus: it did not challenge the audience’s perceptions on the world.

The utterance of another expletive filled moment of pathos passed my lips as I realised that perchance he was right; I was once again reminded of the subjectivity of art.

Moreover, I was reminded of the subjectivity of politics; of the human condition on a greater level. Modern theatre, which also seems to exists in a cloudy form of genre, is rife with pieces that tackle quite topical themes and subject matter. Great britain, an offering I had the opportunity to witness last year, dove straight into the corruption of the free press and provided some food for thought and excellent comedy around the phone hacking scandal; it even had the audacity to place blame at the public’s feet for supplying the demand for gossip and horror stories rather than factual news. Another of my favourite examples would be Osama the hero by Dennis Kelly, a rather disturbing ditty into the culture of fear and the state of society. Both pieces challenge a perception and deal with very politically sensitive topics; they are, at least by my old tutor’s standards, political theatre pieces.

Both did very well and received critical acclaim and full runs; people went to see them. However there may be a danger that politics can overwhelm the theatre; that oversaturation of a product can lead to a rather poor selection for audiences. I’m, speaking as a theatre-goer for now, not always in the mood for something heavy-going, hard-hitting, thought-provoking; sometimes I just want to sit back and be told a story or laugh heartily at something other than a stand-up comedian. Don’t get me wrong, I love stand-up, though I have my preferences in that form, just like everyone else. But something wards me away from certain pieces; an off air, if you will, from where I know not. Perhaps it comes from the sense of empowerment a playwright or company has when they put on a political piece, but topical pieces, plays about hugely politically sensitive themes, seem to also be the go to pieces for production; I feel like nowhere is this truer than fringe theatre where alternative offerings can be scant on the ground. There is an element of the try-hard about some as well; I have mentioned ‘concept dramas’ before and here they are in abundance. To recap, a ‘concept drama’ is a piece so contrived around its topic that everything else is lacklustre; it is a play about the theme rather than a play about people and their dealings. Where the plot is even secondary to the topic itself. I’m not for naming and shaming, so I won’t lambast any productions I have seen in the past; I’m not a critic, more an interested observer with a constructive agenda to better whatever I can, whenever I can. I am also guilty no less than anyone else in this matter as well. Before the riots in 2011, I was working on a piece wherein the division of the classes in society had driven the working class to revolution; it was to embody the subtle nuances of genuine failings of the establishment and stigma associated with being ‘of the lower classes’ with the era of entitlement and a persecution complex that still thrives to this day. Sadly, the riots happened and my piece was less of a foreshadowing and now wholly in need or a rethink; I had lingered too long and missed the moment. I wrote it, nonetheless, but it became rather less of the comment on society I had hoped; verbose and preachy in places, it was overly damning to boot. I had tried too hard. There were characters and a plot but I had made the mistake my tutor had pointed out during that fateful presentation the year before: it was based around political events. There may be some worth to it, who knows; I have a distinctive lack of feedback on most of my works at the moment, proof that you simply cannot badger the same folk time and time again for proofreading.

There is no remedy for it and no need for one though, this over population of political theatrical offerings. We need political theatre to help us form into well-rounded individuals. The connected industry of film does tackle the same themes, albeit in different ways at times. But here, perhaps, there is the polar opposite situation in place; there is so much designed to be ‘easy-watching’ or solely entertaining, that it can be difficult to find anything dedicated to provoking people’s perceptions outside of the ‘Oscar season.’ Broad statements, however, are wholly damning and easily proven wrong by the dedicated and more educated people among us; take that prior statement, therefore, as more of a provoking of your perceptions than a fact enshrined in stone. I will, however, comment on something different. Theatre, when done right, is an incomparable experience; live performance, in all its forms, is a force to be reckoned with, capable of forming an intricate and unfathomable connection with the onlooker. Audiences attendance is up, at least in the UK, according to most sources; despite austerity, people still make it to the theatre. Whereas the quality of the offering may be in question, and the variety also, there is still that mystery draw. With the nation so politically active and conscious, is now a good time to draw upon both of these conditions?

It depends. Who are we appealing to and why? Moreover, who exactly is included in ‘we?’

Broad sweeping statements are dangerous, as briefly mentioned above, and therein lies the cusp of it all: politics is the province of the everyman; is theatre? A recent defence from drama schools across the nation when the cry went up for more ‘working class’ actors was that around ten percent of their intake comes from such a background. We in the UK have this fascination with the class system and what it means for us and our prospects; the argument for more ‘working class’ actors sitting firmly on the pedestal of ‘proportionate representation’ and the accessibility of theatre and film for such areas of society. It’s a rather odd statement really, but sadly one that is supported by the facts of the days we live in. ‘Odd?’ you may ask, ‘How so?’ The actor, historically, has near enough always been a classless individual. I will elaborate:

Actors in Elizabethan times were celebrated, yes, but often from poorer backgrounds and of questionable character, in society’s eyes at least. Yet, they were invited to the Royal Court and permitted to perform to royalty; the same occurs in France with Moliere and Comédie-Française, Moliere himself coming from quite the prosperous background. Older days saw the Guisers  or Mummers about town; everyday working folk who learned and practised their roles in theatrical pieces for the entertainment of their townsfolk and others. A brief description, I know and one that is, again, not wholly accurate in every circumstance of their being, but they were actors nonetheless; working-class actors at that. Actresses and actors alike were known for being prostitutes on the side at some points in history and yet loved by members of every class imaginable; it is a very mixed bag of tricks. To be blunt, this obsession with actors being well-paid and respectable members of society is not only vastly different from history's rendition on the thespian, but flawed by today’s standards as well. But I’m being pedantic. The issue is not the existence of many eager-eyed and ready-and-willing actors like myself, who earn so little they’re not on the poverty line, they are the poverty line; the issue is the lack of them upon the stage, upon the screen, fulfilling the job role and playing the characters they are equipped for. The same can be said for playwrights as well, though this area is less of a dead cert. All of this, the argument of class, is a very political point that could be a veiled crying of fear that theatre, and film, is not dealing with the issues of the everyman and everywoman; that class divides us still and is perhaps the biggest political bugbear of the general populous.

Whether it is the average living wage or the average cost of drama school attendance, what bothers people most, it would seem, is money; past the original argument of sustaining one’s own life, the cost of living, the disproportionate allocation of wealth is the hot topic of our times. I am undecided if this trumps class as an issue or if they are two halves of the same coin, but there is an argument, least from me, that money and the obsessional accruement of wealth is the biggest danger theatre and film has to face. The common or garden individual needs money to survive; when money gets tight, certain things are abstained from, re-prioritised or found wanting altogether. Theatre ticket prices can be pricey and reflect not only projected ticket sales but the cost of the production as well; as the expenditure of those on the minimum wage fail to meet needs, the ‘working class’ are, potentially, driven away from theatres towards other cheaper, and safer, alternatives for entertainment. Theatre closures, as funding dries up, are also a threat; accessibility and variety diminishes across localities. The ever reviled culture of low-pay, no-pay based gigs for actors and the lesser of evils, profit share, create a situation where, no matter how talented or untalented you are, the career becomes more of a side-hobby; accomplished performers take refuge in secure and well-paid jobs, throwing their talents to amateur-dramatics to sate their appetite, for example. I have lost count on the amount of my peers that either gave up or never tried for fear of such an environment; it would be unfair of me to forgo the mentioning of those who, due to financial or other personal restraints, simply could not in any way risk existence in such a situation. I am fortunate enough to be thick-skinned enough to deal with zero-financial fluidity alongside the rejection and desperation of it all; I am also, my teeth-gritted as I say this, privileged enough to be housed and fed by the kindness of others. I am a lucky one among many, many unlucky others; it is not enough to provide the training of ‘working class’ actors if those casting, with the power to pay as well, mind, are not prepared to take a chance on emerging and ‘lower class’ talent.

If we are to continue to provide political pieces of theatre and to use art for one of its greater purposes, the founding and informing of people’s opinions and mind-sets, then we, whomever ‘we’ refers to, have some internal work to do; we have our own opinions to challenge and mind-sets to change. A return to the mentality of the Guisers, perhaps, where the moral plays and mystery plays of the everyman tackled the religious and ethical issues facing them, whilst telling a story, all done in their spare time. The world of amateur-dramatics does not follow such an example; it caters to the tastes of its captive audience, reflecting the producing models of West End and Broadway by ensuring its offerings will draw a crowd and put ‘bums on seat, laddie, bums on seats!’ It is their way of surviving; I do not deplore them that or seek to deprive them that. I seek the everyman and everywoman actor to be able to engage and challenge their community through theatre once more. I believe in the survival of theatre as much as I believe in people’s survival being linked to theatre; that theatres across the globe need to provide not only what people want, but what they need as well. That if our audience is not challenged by the material, when every other musical produced is a ‘Wicked,’ where style is precedent over substance, or yet another jukebox musical that relies heavily on already successful elements known to its audience; then we hit upon a situation where, with the dumbing down of the material, comes the dumbing down of our audience. Is there a readjustment of the balance required?

Politics is nothing new; neither is theatre. There have been complaints of late, given the Election results, that the electorate is misguided, evil even, some dare to claim; a wedge of class based divide is threatening to be driven in perhaps further still and I am not entirely unsure that the hands on the mallet are many and come from all walks of life. As cries that the ‘working class’ is still under the iron-shod boot of the oppressor and that freedom of speech, the freedom to even be human, is under threat, perhaps now then is the best time for such pressure to be applied for the ironing out of the standards we, that all-encompassing term again, have come to accept within the industry. That way, we can have a truly representative industry; the issues of the everyman and everywoman can be put forward in a new wave of unshackled projects and plays. The gates of the arena can be flung open for the professionals in the shadows to stride forth and set upon ignorance and misinformation, the new gorgons of our time, and strike them down with page and stage alike. Maybe then there will be a creative alternative to the constant gnashing of teeth and 'helpless' cries that could very well be coming from the under-represented general populous? Who can say; it all depends on your perceptions, opinions and mind-sets.

Care to have them challenged?

[steticehurst]

The Feedback Most Needed

Being brutally honest has its drawbacks at times. I have been known to offer critique upon request that, let’s just say, wasn’t exactly what the recipient wanted to hear; it was always what they needed to hear. It’s not something I intended to work on or change; if there were a lack of tact or constructive elements to it, maybe, but put simply, I just believe in telling the truth. Flaws can be overcome; mistakes can be acknowledged and taken as lessons for improvement. Yet people don’t always take kindly to feedback and more and more I’m finding myself holding my tongue on things, even when my opinion has been asked for.

Why?

Well, it ties in quite nicely with another thing I’ve grown to hate about being brutally honest with my opinions. When I have to, for my sake, keep them to myself; when I have to hold back for fear of offending people.

Now when my opinion has been asked for, I generally deliver it as per described above. I ensure I don’t just give blanket answers like, ‘that was good’ or ‘hated it,’ but ensure that I go into detail on where I thought things were going well or wrong with allusions as to why. I correct grammar and spellings, for example, but always explain what has been changed and according to what rule. When I see a duff line, I offer my observation on it and explain how it could be improved, in my opinion, and why it really needs to be thought about. I’m not overly stifling with my opinion either; I will take critique myself and have grown to accept that sometimes I’m wrong.

So why hold back then? What harm could I possibly do?

It’s like this: sometimes I just know that feedback isn’t going to be taken well, even if it’s asked for. But what’s bugging me right now is that it’s feedback that isn’t being asked for that desperately needs to be given – and I know that the recipient is not going to like it!

I’m no casting agent or director. I hastily agreed that with myself when I became an actor, playwright and stage manager and technician. Too many strings to the bow and all that. But what I would love to do, right now, more than anything else, is give feedback to the castings proffered up to me and the rest of the jobbing world. Sure, as an actor, I can offer a few tips here and there to my fellow thespians; as a writer, I can hold my own in a discussion of characters and plot. But how is it my place to tell these people who are offering me employment, how to do their job?

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

The cusp of it all is that it really is my business how they do their job because it is my business as much as theirs. Look at it like this: I’ve been away for ten days, out the country. I’ve been blissfully unaware of anything going on outside of my personal sphere; I was spending time with my girlfriend, my aunt and my father among other folk, new and old in acquaintance. Before I left, I had a brief oasis at Filmonik; as some recall, it is a Manchester based Kino cell wherein many wonderful folk collaborate to make many wonderful short films. But before that, life was fairly grinding; headshot delays (again) and showreel delays (still) among other moments of sheer frustrations involving casting calls and auditions. Since leaving Dickens behind, the acting world had been unduly harsh on me in a veritable drought of opportunities. But ten whole days away from all of this with my nearest and dearest, I was ready (and better equipped with headshots) to hit the game hard once more.

I was met with a torrent of absolute drivel that would make anyone wish they had become a window cleaner like their ten year old self had wished to be.

I have a few bugbears, I’m going to get them off my chest. I rare; let forth on personal stuff, but now I’m going to do it; I’m going to give very vague, yet very specific feedback to the idiots out there who, somehow, are making a lot more money than me by being exploitive charlatans.

First up, and it’s more common than you would think, do not offer me (or anyone) work on the proviso that, based on the trailer you intend to make, if the film takes off and if you get the funding for the film and if I’m still right for the part, you’ll pay me for my involvement at that stage and not before. I once landed a part on an agreed rate of £100 per diem and expenses only to have the chap turn around and go, ‘yeah, by the way, we lost our funding a week back and we were wondering if you would do it for free and let us submit it to this competition which we might win and then we’ll pay you <insert value here> okay?’ No. No it is not okay. This is the artist’s version of those spam e-mails stating that a distant relative in Nigeria has bequeathed to you millions, you just need to provide your details first and so forth. This is not a case of gambling, this is a case of professional work; you do not perform heart surgery on the chance you may be paid the going rate of a call centre operator. It’s almost as bad as no-pay in the sense that really, really, someone, somewhere is going to look at it and go, ‘cor, I might make some money out of this!’ Essentially, it’s no-pay with a baited hook.

But wait! – as the old saying goes – there’s more! Not only is this production company legitimate but they had the cheek to offer one paid role alongside all these other, ‘we might pay you, we’ll see how it goes’ roles. Yes, that’s right. One person’s involvement is more valued than the others, a whole £40 more than the others. What separates out this role from the others? What necessary skill and intricate ability is needed to get a guaranteed pay check from this production company (whose name shall be forever unmentioned, but involves biscuits)?

Nudity.

That’s right, ladies, nudity; honest to God, good ole fashioned ‘tits and ass!’ Isn’t it nice to know that I was once offered £50 to get my testicles out for a shoot and here a tenner less is on offer. It’s like they heard about the gender wage gap and misconstrued it as a fair wage principle, not something to be corrected. Political joking aside; where the hell does someone get the idea that allowing our naked forms to be filmed for such a miserly fee is acceptable? It’s outrageous! Not only are they not willing to pay us for our skills, the talents we have honed and fine-tuned over the years, they’re not willing to compensate an individual for the exposure of their body!

It’s nice to know your worth, I guess.

Next up has to be bad grammar and spelling in castings. I get it, pobody’s nerfect; people are going to make typos from time to time, myself included. There’s guaranteed to be at least one unintentional one in here somewhere (I don’t edit good) but I would never expect this to be used in any other form than a personal exercise or mild entertainment. I’m, not hiring anyone with it, nor am I looking to be hired from it. But when you’re advertising a position on your film, you should really want to come across in the best light possible. You’ve got a script you’re pitching to me to act in, don’t make me afraid of your script’s quality before I’ve even read it; take the time to ensure you’re using English as it should be. Someone casting calls nowadays are unintelligible. The worst ones are were the instructions are so unclear due to conflicting statements or even a complete lack of punctuation. I’m not joking on that last one, I actually have seen one where there was nothing but all-caps and no punctuation. Maybe I’m old fashioned, maybe I’m a literate elitist or maybe, just maybe, I want to know that whomever I am working with can actually communicate with me on a level of competence. 'If your wanting to try something different, than this is it’ was today’s gem, though granted, not exactly hard to decipher. I just despise inaccuracies like this, especially in scripts; when I see this from the outset, I grow worried I’m going to spend more time editing my lines than I am learning them.

Details, details, details. Alongside the above, where a decoder is sometimes a prerequisite just got understand it, a lack of details is another hated notion for me. I need to know dates of involvement; I need to know how much I’m going to get paid. It’s really a display of a complete departure from common sense, ‘we would like you to get involved at some point in the future, for some amount of money and we’re not sure who we want.’ If you can’t describe the role past, ‘male, 18-35,’ then why are you posting the casting call? If you know it’s going to be paid, why simply put ‘paid’ in the amount section when every other professional about you at least attempts to do so. If anything, I shouldn’t be too grumpy about this. It highlights the real pros from the students with a budget or the amateurs with no idea; if I see something that says ‘paid’ where a figure should be, I just automatically assume it’s going to be a case of a pint and a pub lunch, if I’m lucky. Maybe a tenner at most; it has happened. Best occasions of this for absurdity is when the dreaded abbreviation ‘TBC’ is used instead of a figure. What the hell does that even mean? I know ‘TBC’ stands for ‘To Be Confirmed’ (or ‘To Be Continued’ which might be an interesting premise for some of these castings, like they’re just waiting to be finished off) but does that mean there is payment, the amount isn’t finalised, they’re looking for an illegal immigrant first to get the cheapest labour? What does it all mean!? All of the above shouldn’t be in the paid section of a casting site, they certainly won’t appear on Spotlight, I guarantee that; they should be cast off to some other domain where frippery for free is the order of the day.

And it’s not just the students and amateurs, I’ll be fair here. You know it’s bad, you know you are undervalued when a major internet company is looking for various, versatile actors based on a contract wherein, ‘potential payment is in talks.’ Alright, fine, granted that’s not them hiring explicitly; some poor sap is doing the gig for them and he probably has no idea what they’re going to pay. But, oh million/billion dollar firm, your name and logo are attached to this little gem and the fact that the concept is launched, the hiring process on its way and still no payment has been confirmed, no amount, nadda, nothing – well. Several rude words crop up in my mind to describe such a shambolic example of, ‘but it’ll look good on your CV/resume,’ but I think all those words will be already known to you since I have used your service before; frankly, why I’m surprised is beyond me.

Then, of course, there is the almost innocence idiocy that comes with not knowing how filters on the casting sites work. I am male; shocking, I know. So when I look through the soul destroying calls for the day, I expect to see the ones for male roles because I have applied the filters to see just that. Sure, unisex roles can crop up; that’s fine. But when I’m going through and suddenly, ‘we need strong character actresses’ crops up in the description, I can’t help but think a few things.

1: I thought we were all actors nowadays; I know Spotlight still does it separately, but I remember having a sit-down chat early on in my training about breaking down the divide. Maybe I dreamt it; I’ve had worse dreams.

2: Aren’t you going to be a little embarrassed and disappointed when only men apply for your obviously female role. I mean, I’ll take it (it was paid well) and put on any and all accoutrements desired to fit the part but I’m fairly certain it would be better for you, me and the general public if no-one saw that. Again.

3: If you can’t be trusted to operate a simple listing system on your computer, how can anyone trust you to organise your event, pay your employees or even get up in the morning without putting cornflakes in your coffee.

It really isn’t that difficult but it gets even worse when other categories are taking into account. Ethnicity, acting ability, age ranges; why I get listings for fifteen-year old, Middle Eastern actresses with an IMDB page, I’ll never know.

Lastly, I have a real issue with being inundated with requests for ‘real people’ on a casting site. Oddly, I am a real person; surprise! Yet, I am not allowed to apply to these roles or at least am strongly discouraged from doing so; I have, as a laugh, done so before and been told I was not ‘a real person.’ If my feelings could be so easily hurt, I’d have found some way to kick off and sell my story to the media, but I don’t frankly take much stock in oxymoronic idioms or trust the partisan papers who would buy into such garbage. My point here, however, is that I am a real person (‘I’m a real boy, well, adult!’) and, more to the point, fail to see why, on a site designed for casting professionals, you are asking for things other than such. Honestly, it’s like going to an Indian takeaway and asking for PVC u-bend for the second bathroom. If you’re not an actor, model, singer or other entertainment professional, why are you on a casting site? Why would you see these calls? I am, of course, referring to the turgid world of reality television.

When it comes to things like ‘X-Factor’ and ‘The Voice’ I will allow an exception; where else are you going to find talented but desperate singers/musicians to exploit? But why look for a ‘real family’ or a ‘real couple’ when most people around are going to be going, ‘what’s the character?’ I’m an actor and a real person, but I really do not want to see calls for reality television in my casting feed especially since I have requested my filtering system to bar them. I’m not interested in being paid to be me and humiliated/exploited/subjected to pranks for the car-crash entertainment principle; I’m interested in playing characters for stage and screen, in doing my job. Stick an advert in the tabloids and get any old sod desperate for fame to do it, I have a level of self-esteem and professionalism to think about; that could, therefore, make me not a real person come to think about it. When you are asking for ‘real people’ and explicitly telling me you don’t want actors, all I can’t help but think is, ‘well, haven’t you wasted my time and yours.’

The sad thing is, I can’t tell anyone responsible any of this. I can’t reply to the casting with, ‘you know, it’s people like this who make this industry as much a quagmire as it is,’ before laying down the law on whatever infringement they have caused. Because I have a career to think about; because I was told, once upon a time, never to unnecessarily upset, insult or in any way cause offense to anyone in the industry. Why? Because people have memories, long memories at that, and my name isn’t exactly forgettable. I’m not at the stage where I can start saying things to people and get away with it; I have yet to establish myself as an entity. So until that day, until that day when I can safely call people idiots, morons, irreparable and irredeemable charlatans, I have to hold my tongue and withhold the much needed feedback that these people, these scourges masquerading as professionals sorely need to hear. Until then, I will just have to accept that paid has differing meanings. That my testicles are only worth £50, but still more than a ladies parts. That I am not a ‘real person’ and that my casting feed is not going to get any better.

There’s still time to learn the window cleaning trade yet, so not all is lost.

[steticehurst]

Is Love a Weak Character Motive?

As many will have guessed by my continuous references to him and his works, I’m a huge fan of Shakespeare. I can’t rightly explain it in any way that doesn’t sound twee or grossly cliché and, to be fair, I could transfer that admiration to other notable folks of the time quite easily too; Marlowe, Moliere, Johnson, Goldini , all have something of a presence on my bookshelves. Despite this adoration of their works, he says, frantically glancing about for his Complete works of Shakespeare, I will fully profess to not loving all of them equally; to get to the point, I think Romeo and Juliet is vastly overrated.

Star-crossed lovers are all well and good, I guess, but it simply is not, in my opinion, much of a love-story so much as a tale of angst-filled teens who don’t get their own way, are frankly rubbish at planning and are knee-jerk reactionaries; call me out-of-touch, but if anything it is more a cautionary tale as to why you should really take a moment and think about your actions before running off to the apothecary. I am, of course, being somewhat defamatory on purpose and have deliberately overlooked (in this writing, anyway) the romanticist and classical nature of the piece; unrequited love and so forth really does help one understand the actions. But when we get down to it, past the nitty-gritty, is focussing your characters’ motives on love really such a good idea?

Is love a weak motive for your character?

To clear the air, I do read modern pieces of theatre as well as contributing my own to the pool, though at a steadier pace than one would like. The focus, of late, has shifted somewhat from the classic tales of revenge, lovers and war-mongering kings to more modern themes; though some, myself included, would argue that with a little rewording, those are very modern themes indeed. I also proof-read a lot of scripts and other writings that somehow wrangle their way to me through the wonders of the internet; fiction, film-scripts and even wedding speeches have hit my laptop and, diligently, I have given them my scrutiny in full. Barring wedding speeches as an anomaly, quite often within the set of characters there is a set of lovers or thereabouts. So love as a motive is still fairly popular, I would say, and not just in what I read but what I see also. With this in mind, we have to really consider whether it could be a weak motive with so many people opting to include it on such a regular basis; I know myself that love features in at least a third of what I have written, sometimes as a prioritised motive.

What drives our characters is somewhat enigmatic in nature. Very little is left to logic in the most part and we proffer the spurs that drive our characters towards human elements of emotional and spiritual investment; it is, after all, only human to do so. It is also a good recipe for conflict, isn’t it? That all essential part of a play, though, one day, I do wish to write a play were everyone has a grand ole time. In this regards, understanding the motive is part of the battle. And this would be were we hit upon an issue all of its own. Because, really, when it comes down to it, what is love?

For those of you almost autonomously answering, ‘Baby don’t hurt me,’ I’m right there with you in the level of seriousness on this matter. In truth, like everything to do with pursuits of creating fiction, it all depends on the world it takes place in. Perhaps this is why love is as bemoaned as a weak motive; that the rules of love are not wholly understood or grounded within the world of the piece. Perhaps not. As I understand it, love is a very powerful and almost universal human emotion that can be experienced in a great manner of ways towards a great number of differing subjects; you wanted enigmatic, I give you the Rubik’s cube of humanity! In some respects, it can’t be a weak motive when this is considered as it can mean so many things that have a wealth of validity to them. The love of one’s country, national pride, if you will, can be the perfect motive for all manner of wonderful and, well, not so wonderful characters. Likewise, plutonic love, friendship, though cliché, is, again, the basis for providing characters with the gall and determination to drive themselves forth into the unknown; the love between family members, the bond of blood, is well-enough in these regards also. Yet when it comes to lovers, two people falling in love with one another, love in the classical sense, if that term can be applied: therein lies the closest thing to an issue.

Quite often, I find, this is the case because it is mistook as being strong enough to be the sole motive and driving point of a character. In the above circumstances, there is usually going to be something else provoking them on and guiding them to their goal; they may be protecting someone or something or, vice versa, be the aggressor in a situation due to a sense of injustice, if you will. There are compounding factors or there should be at least. Yet too often the audience is asked to suspend their disbelief regarding a character’s actions because the simply ‘love someone’ and therefore it is okay to, say, endanger countless lives or destroy an entire city block. Love can, and frequently does, make humans do stupid things and even undertake feats of great endurance but it really takes some work to make us accept such a motivational, cause-and-effect relationship. It is no good, for example, having a character switch from being seemingly normal, for want of a better word, mundane even, to being psychotically inclined to have the one they love at any cost, including lives; there are classic examples of this really working but the creation of such characters is expertly undertaken with subtle clues and gentle nuances being worked in all over. It is hereby important to remember what Ayckbourn describes as ‘Obvious rule no. 15’:

‘Remember that your characters are eventually going to be played by actors.’

Actors are, by nature, heavily interested in the inner workings of humanity, it’s part of the territory; they’ll dig and delve for all they can and then they’ll ask questions. They seek to justify the actions and validate them internally; to give them conviction. If an actor cannot readily play the moments or requires a veritable lecture of explanations, chances are it’s not written as well as it should be. Often, as an actor, I find such moments, where a bizarre action is justified simply by love, quite awkward to play; about as awkward as any other given moment where a character does something seemingly out of, well, their characte. I find it even more awkward to read as a writer, when I give my attention to all the characters in the bigger picture. Events unfold, conflicts emerge and tensions rise; people even die in all manner of ways and when the dust settles, why?

For love.

It’s a hard sell in my books; harder still if that heady emotion blindsided me and the audience out of nowhere. An audience is never to be underestimated and their interest should be carefully cultivated, especially considering everyone’s opinion on love differs so widely. So when a last minute reveal is utilised to play out the denouement to the tune of love, you may very well find that you have been writing the piece in reverse or simply spun out and driven off a cliff. I am not exaggerating when I say it can derail an otherwise interesting script; past, ‘it was all a dream,’ it could be my least favourite deus ex machine of sorts. You are, for the sake of argument, dealing with real people and whereas glossy magazines may have us believe that, ‘my ex cut off my gnads and boiled them because she still loved me,’ you will find that past the title there are often other forces at work; if we don’t know those hidden forces, as the readers or viewers, the motive of love runs a little too cold for our liking and our immediate reaction is one of disbelief. I find that usually when this critique is proffered, it is met with indignation, denial or, at worst, offence. It is quite hard to see, from the inside, how one character’s love for another doesn’t justify their actions simply because you, as the writer, are aware of those hidden forces; the psyche and personality of all your characters is well known and, for you, nothing could make more sense. It is imperative that the audience is shown something more than a reveal; something that hints and suggests a capability or a determined inclination. Love, and only love, does not a serial killer make. Least it shouldn’t; it is one extreme example of how it can be a building block but never a true, sole motive.

This over-reliance and absurd notion has its roots in certain poetic elements of the emotion, love at first sight being chief among them. ‘Love at first sight’ as a dramatic device is, to be blunt, lazy and expedient in the same breath. We, as humans, like to see acts of love and people falling in love; there are exceptions to the rule, there always are, but as an audience we have come to take it as a sign to root for those characters and invest our attentions and affections. To have their eyes meet over a crowded room and instantly fall in love is unbelievable and yet cost-effective; it could almost be a trademark of the classic writers. But it falters in some respects, especially in modern values. Love is beyond skin-level, at least for most it is; to say ‘I saw him/her and instantly fell in love,’ is to devalue all but the aesthetics of the subject, which is why ‘lust at first sight’ is now so common on critics lips. We have developed a sense that love is something engendered by the way a person makes us feel; by a bond of trust and care struck up with the person in collaboration to the synergy of personalities and the meeting of minds. Aesthetics, of course, do still play a part for most, mind. This is no new revelation; we have been acknowledging this for a great number of years. In fact, where love is a facet of a piece, more and more of those romances are becoming sub-plot or more gently uncovered than before. Gone are the days when we could seriously take the sudden embrace of two characters without any build-up seriously; another thought occurs as to whether people in life and death situations really do feel the need to copulate and fornicate. The fact that such scenes can now incur eye-rolling and giggling shows that where perhaps the writer has gone wrong, it is becoming more and more evident and we are asking more than just, ‘Well, they’re in love’ as an answer; or we should be, at least.

With compounding elements then, love is not a weak motive at all, but a potent fuel to the fire. It is time-tested and we return to it again and again. Yet there are arguments abound for it being a weak motive still, perhaps due to its overuse or, rather, is misuse. Of all characters there are in the world of fiction, it is normally misused in regards to women; I feel relatively safe in stating that without declaring it as, ‘my opinion.’ Too often female characters are given very little in the way of active motives, regardless of what they are; a common and very passive motive for them is ‘they are in love’ or ‘to be in love.’ Unsurprisingly, this can sometimes be all that is said about them, with casting calls running along the lines of ‘<insert name here>’s girlfriend’ or ‘she is in love with <insert name here>’ and that’s your lot, past the obligatory physical description and a few adjectives for good measure. The opposite of this does also occur in regards to what we’ve already discussed; the amount of times I have seen scripts or casting briefs for a female who is obsessively in love to the point of psychosis is unreal. I’ve actually been (fictitiously) stabbed or killed by such a character more than a few times now and it really is getting tiresome. The former is beyond the point of passiveness whereas the other is unerringly active but without due course; someone, somewhere will look at such scripts and see such films or plays and, tutting, go: ‘Women, eh?’ And that’s not fair really. Is it wrong for your female characters to fall in love, be in love or be the subject of love? No. But it is wrong that this should be their only purpose or the sole reason for their pursuits; it requires compounding factors and, most importantly, a strong, well-developed character to sit in. Is it any wonder that so many pieces fail the Bechdel Test outright? That fact speaks volumes, and whereas two women can talk to one another about a man and it can still be a worthy film, play or piece of fiction, if there is no other topic of conversation for them to have we should redress it by examining our creations with close scrutiny. If we are going to talk about love, if we are going to have love as a driving force in our works, we should at the very least ensure that they are characters worth having fall in love.

With that in mind, we should set about addressing another misuse of love within such works. Love is not the province of the binary relationship and this alone could be worthwhile arguing for the pervasion of love as a topic and motive within films, plays and fiction. We have Romeo and Juliet, Bonnie and Clyde, even, to go way back, the ‘original’ coupling of Adam and Eve (Lilith notwithstanding for the time being) and yet we have so few, for want of a better word, mainstream examples of relationships from other areas. We are improving, and homosexual relationships have been successful facets of productions, but if we were to, say, actively discourage people from dealing with love or writing love stories by declaiming it as a weak character motive, we would be quashing a wonderful array of tales before they even began. Bigotry can be found in abundance, depending which rock you look under, and such tales are perhaps a wonderful counter-measure in the sincerest of senses; what better way for prejudice to be conquered than by a homophobe or transphobe suddenly discovering that they, shock, horror, are invested in and sympathise with the object of their animosity? It’s an idealistic viewpoint, I know, and there is nothing in here to say that binary explorations of love should cease to be either, but for those who long ago came to the somewhat ‘radical’ viewpoint that a human being is a human being, regardless of the accidental circumstances of their birth, I think it’d be nice to see a bit more love about the place, in all forms, and it would certainly give food for thought for others.

And so, for me, despite its misuse and overuse, love is still a worthy topic of exploration. As noted, it is so enigmatic in nature, so personal and so appealing to us all; what better thing to discuss than love? We need such expeditions into the unknown because it is something that cannot be, per sae, taught to us. Art has always guided us down such a path alongside life experience; it is as essential now as it was in Elizabethan times. We learn to love by the examples of the world around us in film, theatre, fiction and our lives and society. More importantly, it can be a strong motive and a launch-pad to a great number of doings and it can make humans behave irrationally for both bad and good; having said that, if we could stop linking love to sociopathic tendencies, I might get to play a love interest that doesn’t end up dead in an alley.

It is the province of humanity; all humanity, regardless of age, gender, race or inclination towards homicidal activity. But what is important is that it does not stand alone and, as an equal priority, it no long remains a poor excuse for bad writing, sloppy characters and the province of yesteryear’s status quo.

Love is by no means weak; it is as strong as the person who feeds it.

[steticehurst]

Is Training Essential?

Of all my skills in life, most have been somewhat of an accidental boon or the product of my own discovery. I took up acting on a whim or, rather, I started getting involved in theatre on a whim; my actual progression to acting proper was something more of a dedicated decision. But, at least to begin with, nobody really taught me or trained me to act; it was a natural outflow of sorts, with people eventually guiding it after a while. The same could be said for writing; I picked up the pen on day, after reading more than my fair share of young fiction, and went, ‘I’m going to give that a go!’ I must admit, I took a couple of years out of it after my first attempt, which was for the best; I certainly wasn’t anything to scream and shout about, even if, at the time, I didn’t want to admit it. But I am left with something of a quandary, especially given my penchant for self-taught arts and skills and theory.

When all is said and done, do you really need to be professionally trained at what you do?

I ended up in a minor discussion with someone a few weeks back on the matter and have been noticing differing opinions on the matter in conversations since then. Firstly, I find myself in a difficult situation to form an opinion, but also one of equal objectiveness: I am professionally trained and yet have many other skills that are, for want of a better term, self-taught. To denounce either, actually devalues any of my skill-bases attached to whichever I subject to criticism; so don’t be expected any definitive conclusions here, just another one of my annoyingly balanced rambles.

You lucky individual, you.

A lot comes with professional training that is otherwise unobtainable or, at the least, is somewhat intangible. Professional training usually involves some form of training (shock, horror) by professionals; I cannot believe I just wrote that sentence. But it’s a no-brainer; the clue’s in the name. Now training can take many forms: workshops, lectures, extended programs, you name it. It is a very active thing to undergo. Let us take a university degree or drama school training program. The intensity varies, as does the quality, but all involve a structured program in which the students are progressively led from A to B; they are set challenges to overcome and introduced to new styles, skills and disciplines. In theory, they are preparing people for the world they have set off to join; they are finding their niche, their boundaries and, for the most part, establishing their skills and experimenting in a safe environment. They get instantaneous feedback on their work and, when the training is good, pushed to achieve more and more. There is a lot to be said for this environment and its positive effect.

Yet what of the realm of self-teaching? There are theory books, granted, and these offer insights into all the wonders of the profession, acting here for clarity’s sake, but they are somewhat limited in their effectiveness. Simply reading Le corps poetique will not (sadly) replicate the training program at L'École Internationale de Théâtre and whereas An actor prepares is a wonderful read, best appreciated years after your first reading attempt, it is definitely nothing compared to being put through Stanislavski’s System. However, training is expensive. On average, drama school courses in the UK can run at a maximum of £9,000 a year, with cost of living often being a lot greater than that; university courses now sit at a similar figure in the worst case scenario, annoying taking away the affordability argument there was when I was looking at professional training. Add in that places are insanely competitive, one can find themselves overwhelmed with the impossibility of it all; it is no surprise that certain demographics are underrepresented given the costs involved.

Then there is the obvious question, what are you actually paying for? Wonderful alumni stories run amok across each of their websites and proud histories can lead one to think that everything is a done deal once inside; nothing could be further from the truth. Even at university, which is now no longer cheaper though more funding options seem to be available, there is no guarantee of anything other than a student discount card and a course ‘of some sorts’ in the profession. Not everyone can be the best at what they do; likewise not everyone can be the best at what they teach. And so certain places are better than others and, if you are not clued up or willing to do research, one can get royally conned by an institute that trains you in one profession, when their specialism and main focus is elsewhere. This is the argument that, at the end of the day, you are paying for a brand name and it is one of the most commonly voiced among ‘untrained’ professionals. The argument flows that if you are good enough to do the job, but couldn’t afford the label, you shouldn’t be discriminated against because of that. It’s an odd one but in truth there are merits to it.

After all, what better training could there be than doing the job?

To that, I have but one erring thought: how did you get the jobs? Open castings, on the whole, are not frequent and rarely are they as ‘open’ as first advertised; look at the successful candidates for open castings in major Hollywood productions and you may notice those termed ‘first-timers’ have a healthy array of credits backing them. In days gone by, rep theatre was a route in; a way to tread the boards in an intense and, through my eyes at least, fulfilling manner which bolstered your reputation and experience. Sure, one can get extra work but will it lead to bigger things? Who knows; there are few guarantees in the business. It takes a very proactive individual to engender any success in a career in acting, that or a well-timed connection or nepotism on an unparalleled level and not all of these are accessible to everyone. There’s a current notion that working class actors aren’t represented well enough in the industry and that perhaps bears a resemblance to the aforementioned prejudiced against the untrained; you cannot be on Spotlight, for example, without having had some training and other sites actively segregate the untrained from the trained. No wonder then that untrained actors can’t get work and, I dare say, there is a correlation between the working class and being, again for want of a better term, ‘untrained’ professionals.

Then again, what exactly counts as training or a credit?

I attended youth theatre at sixteen going seventeen; it was my accidental introduction, on a whim, to what would be my professional focus now ten years on. I attended workshops, created roles (my first notably being a tree; simpler times) and performed in front of audiences. I didn’t count myself as a professional and my training wasn’t accredited in anyway but note a word in this sentence: training. Anything where you are taught and then practice a skill is training. Such workshops are in abundance across the nation and I count myself as fortunate that I was part of one of the more welcoming and, in my frankly biased opinion, one of the better ones in the area I lived in at the time. When it comes to youth theatre, there are many a jaded offering that promise stardom in exchange for cold-hard cash; look around their sites and you may see agency representation and success stories taking precedent over actual workshop content. There are so many out there, including franchises under company names, that to begin cataloguing and reviewing them all would be impossible, but it is worthwhile noting that when the training is never the focal point in the advertising pitch, you may be on to something somewhat sour. But if you strike gold, you’ll be rewarded with invaluable skills. It is safe to say that I have learnt more or less the same in and out of the classroom and rehearsal room; that my skills have been refined by amateur outings as much as professional plays. In fact, I would, without a doubt, consider an actor based on their talents before looking at their credentials for this exact reason; I know many a peer from my university who are outclassed by amateur players.

My ultimate thought on it is that there is a lot to be said for both; those who are serious about it all should really be exploring all avenues. I have a degree, a first class one at that; I have a fairly decent list of credits to back it up and I still struggle to find work. On my shelf, I have books on acting in various styles, by notable actors, by analysers of the craft and practitioners alike; theory books on accent, stage fighting and, of course, my beloved commedia dell’arte and playwriting. I frequently watch theatre, when I can, and I keep an eye on modern acting practices, though I freely admit that that eye is somewhat lax and altogether too distant from time to time; I do not believe in mimicking others. A varied source of instruction, I find, is for the best and we should be honest with ourselves as to what this exactly means; there is no truth in claiming hours and hours of endless television as professional development.

But all of the theory is useless without something to exercise it through, without professional practice; just as ‘hoods make not monks,’ one route alone may not make you any more an actor than the other. Likewise, I would not be anywhere near as good (or so I’m told) at what I do without having researched and evaluated my own practice; something I know how to do through the acquisition of theory and understanding differing techniques. I was gifted some knowledge but I picked up an equal measure myself. And yet in a realm where my worth is valued by everyone else, I would be a fool to sit alone nurturing my craft for the day when I will finally get to show it off; I must keep seeking validation from those in the industry, by getting work. My degree, contrary to belief, is not worthless and its value is determined by one thing and one thing alone: what I do with it or, rather, what I do with the skills I acquired through it. It also demonstrates a wealth of determination, of conviction and commitment. To those serious about the profession, it demonstrates that I toiled at my craft at length and, given my accomplishments, progressed well enough in the esteems of my trainers. It also vindicates my being paid, in most respects; 'professionally trained, professionally paid' is the latest mandate, but seems little solace for those struggling to make it without the former words of the statement.

At the end of the day, an actor from <insert drama school here> may very well be better than me or be better equipped, but, in truth, so long as I outlast them in determination and continued practice, I will emerge as their equal or their better; I have seen many a bookie’s favourite disappear into the shadows for want of trying. Determination and courage are far more important qualities than self-professed or accredited talent, in my opinion; the ability to pick oneself up, dust off and carry on regardless, evaluating your skills and redressing your faults as you go will, one day, lead to success. Imagine it as this: dig enough holes, you will find gold. But, to amend that statement, training and theory combined with determination allow for the best results: dig enough holes, you will find gold; know where to dig and you will need fewer holes.

But one has to be reasonable in this matter and has to concede that, if you are serious, you are never finished training, professionally or otherwise. Today it could be Meisner, tomorrow the gentle art of mime; it matters not. To obstinately refuse to accept and acknowledge either self-taught skills or the professionally gifted serves simply only to deconstruct the craft and alienate your place within it; casting professionals take note of this. Because, sadly, professional accreditation makes for good advertising, and until there is a shift in the expectancies and assumptions of those casting the actors, the trained is always going to win out. It doesn’t necessarily make them better, just at an advantage. Society still piles up idolisation on the feet of the few amidst the turmoil of many, even as the ever increasing popular outcry against elitism increases. Working class or otherwise, the best people should be who the ones casted and, whether we like it or not, they could come from anywhere and with any amount of training.

[steticehurst]

What is Art?

Depending where the above question is posed, you could be in for a rough time. It is the sort of query that reduces a quiet auditorium of hungover students, still semi-pickled from the night before, into a frenzied mess of debate; it is also that question which everyone, at some point or another, will have found themselves being asked, internally or otherwise. Given the heated debate, it is no surprise then that there is not a wholly definite explanation; it remains purely subjective, they say, given that a great many things that are considered ‘art’ to one person may very well be considered trash to another. But if art can exist, it must also not exist; logic dictates that if something can be considered to be art, other objects, items and experiences, must also not be art. So what exactly makes something art; in essence, what is art?

Now, before I incur any great magnitude of wrathful or pretentious commentary, all a flurry of frenetic objections to my trying to define art, this is merely a moment of mild philosophical debate. The world has got far too caught up with opinion being stated as fact, in my opinion, and also with an idolisation of certain individuals over others; we have lost the will to think for ourselves in a broader sense. We must question ourselves from time to time if we are ever to progress, in my book anyway; it is no use sticking loyally to one side of an argument without occasionally taking a day-trip, an even-handed and constructive day-trip that is, to the other side’s point of view. Therefore, if you do feel the need to lambast any of my coming statements due to disagreement, feel free; just ensure that it is your reaction I am hearing and I will welcome it. I am not beyond rethinking certain things.

Moving swiftly on from pseudo-disclaimers:

Art, as we currently perceive it, comes in a wide variety of agreed-on forms. We have theatre, for example, a domain I am quite comfortable discussing. Theatre as a category itself though can incur a great number to its flock that some would rather see under a different banner; the introduction of a veritable plethora of genres and sub-types is, in this case, not surprising. As the world changes, so does our theatre; the popular topics of our times are frequently discussed in modern plays whilst our need for escapism and spectacle is served also in these mediums but more so by the musical theatre crowd. Then we have elements of a more experimental branch that can, at times, drive past the pale and enter into a realm that some declare to be more ‘performance art’ than ‘theatre’. Without becoming bogged down in what-makes-what-what, (because, quite frankly, who the hell knows?) the labels and definition are, in themselves, faulty at heart; we are not dealing with exact sciences here. Just as actors can turn their hands, usually, to many differing genres, trying to pin down anything in the theatre world to exactness wholly agreed on is akin to one trying to herd cats in a minefield; it’s not advisable, frustrating, dangerous and frequently messy.

It can also be explosively charged for some.

Yet, none would argue that theatre is not art. What of dance and opera, two other things that grace the stage? It would surely be ill-advised to say, ‘that is not art’ towards such things. The debate really forms up, interestingly, when something crops up that does not fit, per sae, the norm of what is expected from the theatrical arts. That grey area of ‘performance art’ is usually the culprit; people see something (or in some cases I have heard, ‘were subjected’ to something) and question its purpose, its aims and objectives, the message, the quality, it matters not, they question it:

‘Yes, it’s all well and good, but is it art?’

An interesting thought to have, no? I have contextualised with theatre but experimentation exists in a lot of art forms and each and every single one of them has encountered similar scrutiny as they emerged. Movements in film and painting, writing also, have all been subject to intense observations on their going against the grain and validity in the greater scheme of things. The counter-argument is quite intense sometimes, and the common assumption has become that everything is art. But, to paraphrase a bit of popular culture, if everything is art than nothing is art. There has to be a differentiation between an act of art and, well, an act of necessity. It is the same argument of objection I encounter to the statement, ‘we are always performing, all of the time.’ The emptying of the bowels, for example, in the privacy of your own home, with no voyeuristic act taking place, ergo, no-one is watching or listening, is not a performance. Such arguments are designed to detriment any discussion on the subject by simply negating the need for discussion; it is malformed logic, a non-point, that nullifies anything that was said before or after the comment is made. Not because it is correct, but simply because it utilises an age-old method of reinforcement via an all-encompassing and sweeping statement that cannot be disproved and takes its validity from such a characteristic; ‘I have this book and it says this,’ would be another such statement, though I have removed elements to make it applicable to the various systems in which such arguments could exists. To me, it is the height of laziness combined with faux-academia-come-smugness; we are not always performing, everything does not happen for a reason and, just as there are not always plenty more fish in the sea, not everything is art.

It should be noted, however, that art can be found in the most unlikely of places and most unconventional mediums; elements of artistry exist in the most brutal and unexpected times. Warfare, for most potent an example, can have a flare or artistry; battle plans with a flourish of colour and an understanding of the fury of combat to such an extent that troop movements become a fluid and devastating act of graceful destruction. Sun Tzu was considered to be an artist for his work for example, and though war horrifies us, it also captivates our interest and we are strangely drawn towards depictions of it in many guises. Yet if you ask people about recent combat theatres (the name itself indicating an artistic link) and whether they consider them to be art, they will reply that they do not, and usually with a good deal of confusion as to why you would even ask that in the first place. If we applied the logic discussed above, they would be wrong, but those who would answer that ‘war is art’ are, nowadays, vastly in the minority. However, we must consider that some do consider elements of warfare to be artistic and the swathes of military re-enactors across the globe do claim to make art out of the depiction of warfare and we have entire echelons of filmmakers and video-games houses that specialise in the depiction of an activity that was deigned destructive enough to be, colloquially speaking, one quarter of the riders of the apocalypse. Given this application of twisted logic, perhaps we should reconsider what art is or, rather, why we so liberally apply the term to objects and events?

Imagine for a moment that art is neither an object nor an event; it is no book, no painting and no performance known to humankind. It is unquantifiable in a physical sense and is something entirely different that we have, though I doubt this is a new idea, overlooked.

I remember an explicit moment in my life wherein I was visiting an art gallery in the town in which I spent my teenage years. We moved about the gallery from portrait to portrait, landscape to landscape, taking in every brush stroke and dab as we went; the quality of the depictions were, for a medium sized town gallery, incredibly admirable and the works were in line with classical depictions of art. Then, as we turned a corner, I found myself in the modern art section or, at least, where new works of art were collected. Nowadays, I find ‘art gallery’ to be rather a misnomer; paintings, sculptures and like items exhibited in their halls are but a few examples of artistry, valued nonetheless mind. But here, in the nearest corner, was something I did not expect to see upon a wall in such a place. Complete with protective glass frame and informative plaque, here was something entitled accurately enough as ‘a blank, ruled, piece of A4 paper’. It adhered to nothing of what I had seen previously and struck me, at first, as being something of a joke. Surely, in all seriousness, this item, that I could find in great abundance at home and elsewhere was surely not being considered art? It had a value too, if I remember, though the fine details escape me. I was stood there, in the middle, well, a corner of an art gallery, looking upon something and going:

‘Well, that’s all well and good, but is it art?’

In truth: no. A blank, ruled, piece of A4 paper is not art. It is but a catalyst for art, in my opinion.

Here’s something to consider: what if art, as mentioned, is not quantifiably physical because it is quantifiable only on a personal level; because it is something much looser yet, incredibly so, much more defined. It may seem awfully abstract to think like this but if we reflect on each and every moment we have ourselves encountered, be it similar to the above or different, perhaps the question we are posing should be directed inwards rather than outwards. I propose that no object, event or other subject previously referred to as art, is in fact, art; what if, instead, art is merely a product of our emotional, logical and, dare I say it, spiritual reaction to the piece in question. Art being the reaction rather than any given physical subject may not be a new idea; I have read a little on the matter elsewhere, I am sure, though my memory fails me on it. But more and more I am considering that we have, for a long period of time, been glorifying the external rather than celebrating the internal.

Such a theory allows for a difference in opinion and does not elect itself to the lackadaisical idiom that ‘everything is art.’ It permits for a difference of opinion without deriving any of the subject’s qualities, in essence, protecting it and putting the onus on us and delivering much needed responsibility into our hands rather than the artists. For surely, everything is art to the artist and they strive imperatively towards their goal, least we would hope; what little use they are if they simply throw paint on a canvas and turn around and go, ‘God, this is so tedious.’ It is, in a way, a physicalising of an internal happening for them, a reaction to something else, even a manner of communicating to the rest of the world something from within their very core. It is easy to get caught up in perhaps slightly whimsical notions of artistry and I myself am no less guilty than the next person at such gushes, but with such a revised way of defining art, we can never deny to the artist the importance of their work; the art existed, albeit internally, the moment they set about creating the embodiment. This theory is flawed in some respects, I will not highlight the flaws mind but I have no intent to deny them, but within such an idea, there begins a ceaseless cycle from any given subject; the original moment of art, the artist’s reaction, brings about a product that could, in a way, instigate a new moment of art in those that looks upon it. If art is a reaction, a thought provoked and an emotion evoked, than each person that experiences the artefact that came from art, and has a reaction to it, is involved in the creation of art all on their own, a moment of potential uniqueness wherein what they feel or think is, in itself, a work of art. When a beholder looks upon something and feels nothing, or their reaction is so minute and infinitesimal that it warrants little further through on it, than we must relent: art has not been created in this circumstance. The subject matter is no less for it for it is the catalyst of many other sources of art, and is the epitome and manifestation of the original artist or, at least, the owner of the source.

It would explain how different works of art can be worth millions whilst others are taken for granted; worth is dictated by a personal belief of value, ergo, the innate wealth found within the personal reaction of art. When millions of people settle down to listen or watch some subject matter or another, each and every single one of them weighs it up in their estimations and, though we are often waylaid of our money before settling in our seats, the reaction post-experience is what truly ascertains its value. It does, however, implicate a personal responsibility, as mentioned above. It asks that we seek out and experience this reactionary moment wherever we can and that we constantly ask ourselves and the artists of this world deeper questions than we may have done previously; that we embrace the unusual or lesser celebrated art forms for the innermost reactions we experience, with honesty and integrity. That where there is a crowd following blindly, we weigh up our own estimations and judge for ourselves the reaction of art without being swayed by popular opinion or hype; likewise, where there is a lesser degree of focus, we should turn our heads and take it all in, so as not deprive our own sense of art and, in doing so, to be drastically honest, our own well-being.

But what of those who claim they do not value art? Those who continuously label artists and the students of art as being lazy and bone-idle, out for nothing but a doss? There are even politicians out to strip art from educational institutes at every opportunity. If you believe art has no value, either as a measured reaction or in the more traditional sense, then you need to do a few things. Stop watching television, film, theatre, dance, opera, in fact, any form of performance; that is art and you do not value it. You are permitted to read only that which provokes no reaction in you; literature of any fictionalised means or that uses semantics that are in any way provocative towards your human emotions is hereby, by your own words, denied to you. You may live in a house but it may have no aesthetic qualities to it and I wish you good luck in finding such a dwelling. Your clothing may only be base and uninteresting, and certainly not from any designer range or of any given form we currently know of; it was a reaction and act of art that brought even the humblest of clothing to being. You may not worship for all things considered Holy are the products of some art and even the very words on this page are forbidden from your speech; to speak is to create something which can be reacted towards, that is, it is to potentially engage in something with an element of artistry. For you see, to deny art’s value is to deny your own humanity, at least under this method of thinking it is; to react in a manner spiritual, emotional or even logical is part of human life and, as the saying goes: art imitates life, life imitates art.

As such, perhaps we should all stop asking ‘do I think this is art?’ and focus inwards instead so that we can engage and be honest about our reactions and opinions without fear of being shouted down, of feeling embarrassed or uncomfortable for either declaring something to be, due to a lack of personal investment, which is on your part, not art or for, vice versa, believing something to be the most wondrous example or human embodiment we have yet seen. Perhaps then, when it is our personal thoughts and feelings we value, that we estimate equally towards what we currently consider art, we can free our minds and opinions from gimmicky and cheap external swaying and come to a better understanding of what art truly is. For, least in my opinion, art is anything that reminds of us a simple thing: that we are human. It is our humanity in a concentrated form or even a dilute form, but in such a way that we can react in a way the necessities of life cannot bring to us. We are all artists, in a way, though perhaps definitions need changing to allow for those who bring such catalysts, such works of art, into being; but not everything is or can be art.

[steticehurst]

No Part Too Small?

There are no small parts, just small actors. Putting aside the potentially offensive nature of taking this statement literally, there surely must be small parts out there; a character or two that really, really, is justifiably worth complaining about?

Imagine the scene: you trained for many years at the prestigious school of what-cha-ma-call-it and made a name for yourself within the, relatively small granted, but very competitive society of your training institute. You’re primed, ready for your first big break, whatever it may be. You’ve had lead roles, supporting roles, straight and character, comedy and tragedy; you couldn’t be more ready for the big time than you are now.

And you get cast as ‘Man 1’ in a small advert for car insurance.

I reckon it is a fairly regular story, least for the emerging actor. We’ve all been there, taking any job we can just to get by. But when all is said and done, are these small parts or are they something else?

It wholly depends on what the definition of ‘a small part’ really is. It could refer to a brief appearance in the piece, be it on stage or film. You enter into the shot or onto the stage, say a few lines and then disappear; you’re off, finito, bye-bye! ‘Job done,’ you might say, before returning to the dressing room to get changed and make-off to the pub. It is, after all, still a part; I have had some very interesting experiences playing shorter, token characters. I’ve even hung around for half a play, entered for one scene and left, only to wait until the final scene and return to give one line more. There’s something to them, they carry a weight and purpose, there’s substance to them, even if they are a fleeting moment on the wind. It’s no lead, mind, is it? No Hamlet or Lady Macbeth; I’ll use Shakespearean roles to keep it wholly understandable to all. And yet, where peers or even myself have undertaken these briefer roles, before any of us could get a word out, we are told the ever repeated mantra: there are no small parts. Okay, so what if the part doesn’t have many lines; I readily agree that smaller supporting roles or even roles with no dialogue are more than enough to warrant being valued parts. So why keep mentioning it? Methinks, sometimes the director protests too much, betraying their darkest opinions of such roles; keep schtum until someone actually complains, that’s for the best.

But again, I say, there must be small parts. Take for example this given situation: you’re required to come on for a scene, say nothing, do nothing, just be there in a costume and not draw focus. It’s literally the equivalent to ‘living scenery’; I always jokingly refer to such parts as, ‘torch-bearers’ in loving reference to Shakespeare and his frequent inclusion of silent observers and servants. But surely, without a shadow of a doubt, literally playing the torch-bearer, and only the torch-bearer; that would be considered as the undertaking of a small part? Maybe. I can’t really defend everything and perhaps this is the greatest fear of an actor, to be forever ‘torch-bearer’ and nothing more. Most acting theory dictates that you must know your character; you have to make decisions about their actions and emotional journey. Can there really, though, be much to internally discuss when all that is required is to enter the scene and perform some cursory, usually non-consequential action? I’m flying in the face of danger here; some people are heftily going to disagree with me on this: I do not see the point of labouring over the development of such characters. They’re blurred shadows in the backdrop of the main focus of attention; in fact, heavily invested acting or little quirks of character can actually detriment everything from their portrayal, to that of the entire scene.

But I must protest my own statement somewhat, as I frequently do. They’re essential. The role of chorus, the realm in which such parts usually dwell, is nothing to be sniffed at. In fact, most chorus parts are made up of a multitude of such parts, usually with an increased importance, purpose and quintessence to the piece in general; imagine any major, cast-heavy musical without chorus or, worse, with each character having the same amount of stage time and emotional investment. It’d be something entirely different, wouldn’t it? For those more inclined towards film, it’d be like having a feature film with no extras (which do exist, mind) or where every single person on screen has a fully fleshed out story and journey to undergo. It’s a mixed bag of tricks; the presence of such parts makes the piece, the absence of them, in certain cases, creates an odd, bare reality. An interesting observation, however, is to note how often briefs for new plays stipulate a limit on the amount of characters there are included. One explanation for such a limit is purely financial; you have to pay actors or, at least, you should. The more characters, by and large, the more actors necessary; the undertaking of multiple roles at a time is a grand ole thing and all, but not every director or production is happy with that. Musicals still have such parts but, as mentioned, the chorus adds a level of dramatic flare through added vocals, dance routines as well as the like parts mentioned above. Likely it is then, that these parts can never really be considered small; whether you’re coming in and stating, ‘my lord, the queen is dead,’ or filling a wine glass as a waiter before step-ball-changing off into the wings, you’re doing it for a reason and for a purpose and ae more than likely to have a grand old time doing it. Like the pebble that starts an avalanche, who said it was just the top bill that kept things a-rolling?

So are there no small parts?

Call me bitter, but the casting world seems to think so. We, as actors, can try and invest as much time and decision making into a role as possible, but sometimes it hardly seems worth the effort. When we are offered roles with the description of, ‘small part, shouldn’t be needed for more than a few hours,’ it makes for an undesirable pitch; combine this with a shockingly low pay deal (ignoring no-pay gigs, £10 still takes first place in lowest offer yet) and you have a recipe for disinterest. ‘Tis the curse of service,’ as a wise villain once said, ‘There is no remedy for it.’ The over-population of actors and near-famine levels of opportunities lends to a sentiment that we, the actors, should be thankful for any bone thrown to us, no matter how uninterested even the owners of such bones are in it; sadly, being the nature of the beast, the actor is forever allowing themselves to be used in such a way, time and time again. This is the realm of the small part; the one no-one really cared about. It is the province of certain calibre of student film or play-makers; the ones who have to , for the sake of their degree, put something on stage or screen, but have little-no care for what it is. I do not want to even allow for a lack of skill to enter into the equation, because there is a stark difference between a character thrown on the page because a deadline is looming with the thoughts, ‘I suppose I really must do some work,’ and a character that is intended for realisation in the surest meaning of the word; consider it the difference between bare bones and a corpse devoid of all life.  As a playwright, I can tell the levels of investiture with each character as I proceed, usually cutting out unnecessary bit parts or developing them into something more tangible and it frustrates me greatly when I come across an unloved character. They stick out like sore thumbs, their awkward dialogue tumbling out because nobody bothered to proof-read their lines; ask the creator of the part about their character, and it’s all superfluous or passive details. ‘He’s a lawyer,’ was a recent one I came across; despite the scene involving a heavily emotionally charged basis, that was, in essence, all I got.

These ‘small’ parts have little to no grounding in the world of the play or film, and their motivations and humanity is secondary to whatever turgid concept the writer (or other person masking as such) wants to discuss; I am naturally distrustful of certain themes for discussion from certain demographics because of this. Tell me your play is about <insert topical theme here> and I switch off and am instinctively cautious about any part you may offer me from it; your intentions are clear from the outset and it is not a story of character but an agenda. There is, of course, exceptions to the rule and I don’t set out wanting to be proved right, but proved wrong; I adore the moments when someone has given me a script that was, at the end of the day, just poorly advertised to me. Sadly, they’re few and far between and time and time again, the small parts come a-flocking in. The biggest source of despair from this is that they’re clearly the parts no-one expects you to flesh out, or even would prefer you did not. Maybe I’ve become too good at reading into characters, pulling out every last detail from the script until I know everything I can about them, filling in the parts still wanting with the imagination, but when the script says nothing about a character who, in every sense of the word, is considered a main or lead part, there is a danger that the part is, within this new terminology, small due to its instigated insignificance.

A counter-argument would flow thusly: it’s our jobs as actors to take such parts and give them purpose, to make them into significant roles. And we can; every decent actor I know (and I am fortunate to know a fair few I would call ‘decent’) can take even the part of torch-bearer and make it ring with the echoes of humanity, warts and all. But I tire of parts like that, where nothing is given; I don’t expect a spoon feeding, that’s a sure-fire way to get me annoyed in fact, but I do expect a little more than just words on a page. And, to be contradictory in balance, not every part is salvageable; there is an old saying about polishing excrement that would fit nicely here, along with an addition about rolling it in glitter. Perhaps it’s the stage of my career I’m in, perhaps I just long for a role I can sick my teeth into, but whether I think there are such things as a small part or not is irrelevant: those casting think there is.

We can’t all be lead parts and those that can, certainly can’t be all the time. I accept that fact, every actor does; well, except those playing lead parts in simply everything. I actually really enjoy supporting roles as they frequently have very interesting elements to them whereas lead roles can get, well, a bit samey. But what really gets me excited as an actor, wheat really drives me forward, is when I read a character that crackles with energy, with emotion, with a purpose. That could be the romantic interest, the villain, the bloke who sells the main focus a used-car; it doesn’t matter so long as I look up from the page and go, ‘I love them!’ Once, in the midst of a script I considered beyond aid, a character was introduced literally to have be a punchline, but he was so perfect for the moment that he was ultimately more endearing than all the main parts. Is it any wonder, in this case, that we see supporting characters get spin-offs? Classic British comedy shows provide wonderful examples of characters like these, things like Fawlty Towers, Blackadder and Dad’s Army. Every single character, near a spit, has something going for them, no matter how brief there appearance is; Lord Flashheart’s brief foray in series two of Blackadder is, in some ways, more memorable than some other scenes involving the namesake character himself. All because those who penned them, and indeed, those who brought them to life, understood that any character, no matter how, for want of a better term, small they were, has to be fundamentally interesting to play and observe. Yet, when we are faced with a character who has not received any love and attention, we can be labelled as being wooden and unskilled if their rendition is boring in performance; likewise, if it is too grand or we ignore instructions to ‘reign it in’ when we know that playing it any smaller would be as good as playing it neutral, we can get lambasted with being a diva or a ham. It’s a double-edged sword.

And it is never easy to truly tell, from the outside, who is at fault. I’ve seen both circumstances come about where an individual can’t act a decent part as well as a decent actor languishing in a poorly constructed cardboard cut-out. We are all, writer, actor and director, responsible for ensuring that the small part, the unloved part, is a non-existent entity. The actor must acknowledge and accept that even the extras roles are necessary to flesh out and make real the scene around them; that even though they may not be the main focus of attention, without them and their actions, the world presented would be worse off. It is the job of the director to ensure that such parts and their players are valued, and that no role is overlooked in the developmental process. As for the writer, they should take care over their characters, like children or pets, if you will; nurturing them and allowing their qualities to ripen and flourish and not to throw in malnourished parts that wither from interest on the first read.

As for those paying the wages; if you could stop offering peanuts instead of the right and legal wages, or even just stop referring to parts as being, ‘small,’ I’m sure the world would be thankful.

[steticehurst]

The Audition That Never Was

Let me tell you a story to chill the bones –

No, wait, no that’s the beginning to something entirely different.

The other day, I embarked into the far-flung reaches ofSouth London to attend an audition. It would turn out to be rather a non-event. The first difficulty with it all was navigating my way through the lack of decent rail travel that plagues a Sunday. I had entrusted my travel plans to a frequently used internet-based rail website, who will not be named for fear of libel or, worse, an unjustified increase in traffic for them. Needless to say, it does not take one an hour to get from King’s Cross to London Bridge unless you really do insist on stopping off at the Harry Potter gift shop on the way. ‘Elongated travel,’ thought I, ‘To an unknown place to audition for a relatively unknown gig for an undetermined amount of money. What could possibly go wrong!?’

I’m adventurous like that, you see. I really don’t have much of a care in the world for exactly how I get somewhere, or even how long it will take me to arrive, I merely care about doing something towards my career that might actually enable me to strive for a living. Failing that, I’d rather be able to deflect into some other career path at a later date, safe in the knowledge that at least I damn well tried to make ‘Ticehurst’ into something more of a household name and less of a stumbling block for all those pronouncing it for the first time. So I’ve come to relish journeys of all sorts, no matter how humdrum they may seem (see previous blog post about being an adventurous little vagabond). But where exactly was I going, I hear you ask, or at least kid myself into thinking in the vain hope you have some interest.

Ladywell, is the answer. The audition that was to be held there was something of a surprise to me, a wildcard long thought to be lost down the back of the sofa and, consequently, suffering the same fate as pennies and crumbs of flapjack. I had originally applied to it in the blanket way I apply to everything I can do each day; I say everything, that’s a lie, because I don’t apply for things that require me to get my bollocks out for a tenner or insist that, though there is a script, everything will be loosely improvised utilising method acting to achieve ‘the director’s golden vision,’ which I have long since interpreted as meaning, ‘this bugger can’t work with scripts!’ I digress; I had applied for the position way back in the infancy of February and had heard nothing since. The actual advertised dates were long since memories on the cutting room floor of life so I was a teensy bit surprised when, out of the blue, I was contacted to come and audition. ‘A delorean,’ was my first thought, ‘wherever will I find the plutonium!?’ was my second but, sadly, this was not to be an experiment in time-travel but simply a rescheduling it would seem. In reality, I was never given any explanation as to why, almost a month on, I was being called up to show off for a post that should’ve been long since closed; there’s an element of ‘no questions asked’ about some people that would excite me had I not worked with the actual clandestine users of such a phrase. With these people, however, there is the smack of arrogance along the lines of, ‘why would you ask us anything? We are looking at giving you a role, you lucky devil, bow before us!’

Maybe, given that sentiment, I should just avoid working with megalomaniacs?

Nevertheless, I was bound to Ladywell on a blustery Sunday when I could’ve been in the park with George (now with more shameless references). The whole journey, as estimated by a well-known purveyor of, supposedly, discounted rail fares, was intended to be near two hours in length and so I had prepared a light lunch and a well charged e-reader that is always brimming with literature both fine and intellectual; I branched onto both labels by indulging in a bit of Pratchett. Now, most actors will tell you of the pre-audition nerves, that dread swooping over them that they may very well make a complete idiot of themselves in front of everyone; I, for one, paraphrase here and there (and everywhere, if caught off guard) and totally invest in the phrase, ‘off book is a lie,’ and thusly worry constantly that, not only will I foul up my chosen speech, but that someone will notice. For some other actors, their greatest fear is that they may be freeze up or that they will have some physical defect known only to the casting director whereas I, being just a little more than weird in life, worry more that someone will stand bolt upright and launch a copy of Shakespeare’s Complete works at me midway through whilst screaming, ‘Shame!’ Thankfully, I need not be worried on this journey; I was told nothing need be prepared and that I was only to turn up as I was, and be prepared to read a few lines. I had checked early that morning that I existed and The Hogfather was also providing proof that the ability to read was well within my grasp still; what more preparation could I do?

But something didn’t seem quite right. I’m always wary of positive things out of the blue, especially if they seem either too good to be true or, in this case, somewhat suspicious in timing or content. Another event yesterday was testament to this wariness being well-invested; sometimes my gut spoils me by supplying me with well-rounded instinct and by putting up with curries that could galvanise nails at fifty paces. The purported  casting director had a CV (or resume, for those across the pond) that was dwarfed by my own; she seemed less qualified to direct than most workmen, you know, the ones who carry the red and green sign with the respective  words, ‘stop’ and ‘go’ on them. She could, apparently, school me on my accents since she could do any North American accent under the sun, African (being a single accent, you know, not divided by regions or countries in the slightest) and a fair few English regions to boot, but what was lacking was anything of real substance for what she was claiming to be. But I was questioning that hand that offered me a part and that, as the saying goes, will not help you win a BAFTA; I think that’s what Cumberbatch said, but I’m not sure. I had set off regardless of this and consigned myself that, even if the worse came to be and I was in something sub-standard, it wouldn’t be the first time and it would have to be absolutely dire for it to take pole position in the list of projects that I had wasted my time on in the past. They were going to pay me at least, market rates at that which I assumed would receive further clarification by the day’s end since there are many ‘market rates’ in the industry and let it always be known that regardless of where you buy your carrots and swedes, the black market’s rates could still apply to the advertised fee; I made the decision, as I stepped off onto platform 9B (because 9 ¾ is a trademark nowadays) at King’s Cross, that I wasn’t going to accept narcotics, firearms or illegal immigrants as payment.

Hopping onto the tube, and leaving bad taste behind, I sped my way to London Bridge; I, of course, didn’t really speed off anywhere, but literality will get you nowhere, oh ye who facetiously read too much into that statement. From there, it was a simple hop onto a train headed towards Hayes that insisted it have ‘(Kent)’ next to the destination in case anyone thought they were getting a bargain by going to the western version in a time period that would make even Father Christmas consider getting a yearly pass. I sat down, started reading, looked up and realised I was about five seconds away from missing my stop, and surprised everyone on-board with some colourful language and a blurred flurry of movement as the doors closed. I was, you may breathe a sigh of relief at this, on the right side of the doors: I had reached my destination.

Well, almost.

I still had a bleeding great hill to climb, unbeknownst to me or a well-known provider of maps for navigation who shall not be named because, damn it, do I need to really tell you? The actual venue was set in the middle of an absolutely charming park; I don’t often use that word, but when something is as twee and friendly and unashamedly single-minded in its race-demographic, one can only use such a word and with a heavy dose of sarcasm to it too. Children played harmoniously, a couple of elderly golden Labradors sat dozing, labouring no more and unbothered by the wind and a café sat squatting in the middle promising nothing but the finest teas and a zero-point hipster population; it would’ve been nice to have lived in the area and to enjoy it, but you just knew that if you tried to enjoy yourself too much, some pensioner would come over and try and make polite conversation. I am being overly harsh and satirical, forgive me; the park was beautifully kept, despite the smashed chain-link on the tennis courts, and, were it not for my breathlessness at marching uphill in an attempt to be on time, I would have wandered it at length. But perched in the middle, as out of place as you can get, like a compulsive truth-teller among politicians, was a college; a faded couple of buildings that refused to tell its age like some indignant forty-something year old who swears they’re only thirty-five. And crowded around outside the gates, looking hopeful, was a bunch of people.

Outside the gates. Ah.

Something wasn’t right. The unwritten law for auditions, having run a few myself and facilitated even more, is that you are always there earlier than your first slot, ready and waiting; actually, I’m sure it is a written law or at least common sense and professional courtesy. You also make sure you or someone else is visible enough to meet your potential cast and welcome them in, explain to them the happenings of the affair and so forth. What I was met by was a bunch of equally confused actors numbering fifteen or so, give or take, all of which were a little nonplussed as to why they had come for an audition and been met with a locked gate. All of this I had assessed from a distance, but I never do like to rest on assumptions alone, so I struck up a conversation with two likely looking gentleman on the outskirts of the group and set about finding out what was going on.

And so began the waiting game. The audition was scheduled for one in the afternoon and that had long since passed; well, it was ten minutes ago by the time I started talking to the gentlemen. Nobody knew where the auditions were being held exactly, and information was scarce on anything except what was advertised and conveyed in the messages we had all received. As time went by, we were let into the compound by some benefactor who had taken pity on us but still no sign of the casting director. We were starting to get to know each other quite well, actors have a habit of getting along famously, for the most part, especially when faced with testing times. I had gotten to know about Bulgarian careers in acting in the past, now transferred to the British section of the industry; other stories, some horror stories, were also coming to the front and, despite the conditions, everyone was remarkably upbeat. But where was the casting director?

A quick whip-around had uncovered the fact that, despite some people asking for it, no-one had received a contact number; someone had already sent an e-mail in which was detailed just how many people were lingering about the agreed location, waiting desperately for something like a glimmer of hope for a paycheck, and yet there had been no response. This lady, had she ever existed at all, was nowhere to be found. There is that odd moment in these situations, when all hope finally fades, patience gives way to common sense and, despite the mob-mentality of ‘we must wait,’ someone throws their hands up in the air, betraying that they care just a little bit more than popular songs would have us think, and go, ‘sod this for a game of badminton,’ and make off. An hour after arriving, that moment came. Despite all the joking about, the good humour and pleasant conversations in which we joked that they were secretly filming us and this was the audition, somebody gave way and said their goodbyes. It only takes one, from there, the groups dynamic is set; we would all leave shortly thereafter. There was no sign of them and we had all deigned them far too unprofessional and lacking in intellect to have created some intricate candid system of casting and so we left, swearing to leave a vast array of negative commentary and feedback on the casting site towards she who did not appear.

I checked this morning to see if anything had come of it and, true to form, nobody has said anything. ‘We’re not spineless,’ I reasoned with myself, as I, too, had not yet let forth my frustrations, ‘but we don’t want to dash our chances completely.’ There comes a point where we must all weigh up our professional pride, professional chances against the treatment of us by others; to be stony faced and stalwart in the face of brazen disregard for our time on the off chance that one day, maybe tomorrow, someone might get in touch and go, ‘Gee, I’m sorry. Can we try again?’ is, to me, rather foolish. But it’s the web, the connections of people that we’re wary of. Still, talking about this all again has made me somewhat indignant at it all; I may very well go and wreak some just desserts after all.

Mind, given the pleasantries and good humour of all there, it was the best audition I never had.

[steticehurst]

The Joy of Letters

Letters! Not those of the alphabet, but actual words on paper; a physical piece of communication from one person to another. I know, I know, we all get bills in the post and notifications about an increase in rent or utility bills but, honestly, when was the last time you received an actual letter?

I’ve always had a soft spot for them since, oh, I don’t know, University. Well, maybe a bit sooner than that, but now I have some sort of love affair with what most consider outmoded, time consuming and, dare I say it, bad for the environment. Carbon footprints and deforestation aside for one moment, letter-senders have slipped well into the minority as the digital age has crept in and I think it is perhaps time we asked ourselves: ‘When was the last time I actually sent one of those things?’

There is a lot to be said about the humble letter. In an age where one can watch a film, shop and communicate across thousands of miles, all in an instant and without leaving the comfort of home, it could be safe to say that we, as a species, or at least those of us in developed society, have grown a touch, well, lazy. Perhaps lazy is not the right word to use, maybe I’m thinking more towards an ‘over reliance on convenience’ more than anything else, who knows? What I do know is that this has had an obvious effect on how we communicate with one another. The biggest culprit for that is undoubtedly Social Media wherein we have perfected the art of communicating to one another without actually communicating to one another (Zen riddle not included with this blog post). Day by day goes by and we glance at the screens and we see what ails our friends or an image of what they ate for breakfast, with added filters and sixteen hashtags; we see all the intimacies of their lives displayed in pixels and, in essence, bypass any interaction with them bar a click and, if we feel the need, a cursory comment. All this, remarkably, happens in a public forum constructed under the banner of ‘social media’ and, if used correctly, it is a great way of keeping in touch with friends, family and colleagues far and wide.

Or is it?

I mean, I know so-and-so is getting married to wossname; I know what-yer-ma-call-it’s newborn’s name without ever being in the same room as it or the parents. In fact, I’ve not even been in the same room as half the people on my friends list for several years (some I’ve never met!) and yet I still know exactly what they’re up to. Four decades ago, if you wanted to let people know of the entrance of your latest spawn into the world, you would either sit down with the telephone and a cup of tea, settle down for the long haul and get ringing, or you would write a letter, especially if long distance calls would be made in lieu of said letter. If you wanted to privately have a word with someone, you didn’t pull up your instant messenger app and tap out something without care or grace, you sat down and put your thoughts on paper; imagine how many digital domestics could have been averted if people thought about what they were saying and actually reread it before pressing send! There is a counter argument that instant communication allows for instant results, and I respect that; trust me, with a six thousand mile distance between me and my partner, I know all about the joy of instant results. But it also engenders instant dismissal, frustration and all the other negativities too boot. Imagine you’ve just said, ‘hey,’ to someone, that oft used conversation instigator in our modern world; you pressed send and then what? You wait. You wait and wait; they may respond, they may not. There’s no guarantee that your conversation is ever going to be immediate or even reciprocated and, to be frank, if the only effort you’re going to make in starting a conversation is, ‘hey,’ can the recipient really be blamed? It’s a roundabout case I’m making, I know; the crux of it is this: we have long given up on being social through the expenditure of effort because we no longer have to do so. We have labour saving tools in place, things that make saying, ‘happy birthday,’ wholly impersonal yet oh so practical; we could propose to someone sat next to us without ever turning to face them if we wanted to.

Depressing thought of the moment: in at least one instance of the above situation, someone said, ‘yes,’ without so much as batting their eyelid. Ponder on that a moment and then promise me that you are better than that.

I’m a sociable person yet I have trouble maintaining good communication with people. I don’t take much stock in the introvert-extrovert argument, rather, I don’t stick my oar in when I’m not invested in it; I just accept that I will talk to most people, most of the time. But physical communication, for me, is quintessential for maintaining relationships; be they with friend, family or significant others. As much as Social Media and other digital forms mimic that interaction, they’re always somewhat jaded for me. There’s a lack of personality to them, hence why we so often litter them with emoticons, expressive abbreviations or have to frequently explain ourselves when our meaning is lost in translation. Are we, perchance, losing the ability to communicate effectively, at least in the written form? It’s a thought to be considered; when we can usher off a correction, an explanation or even a complete rewording within seconds, our words become far more finite and we become even more fickle towards them. Yet a letter; committed words to paper, where additions and corrections are mere trailing bits of paper following after the item has been sent, letters force you to consider and weigh up each word and their effect on the receiver. Suddenly, we are not throwing words piecemeal at our peers, but we are carefully constructed an artful communication wherein we can convey our deepest emotions, our gratitude and other like instances of humanity; our communication has some worth to it again.

It’s not always practical, I know this; we can lead busy lives and sometimes we really do just need to know what someone is doing Wednesday morning at five-to-midnight, Tuesday. But what about all those friends from college or university who have moved away from your area, or perhaps you did yourself? All those nights you spent talking until the sun came up, drunk or otherwise, are now denied you by distance, but can a five-ten minute foray on Facebook ever offer up the same quality of communication? I think not. As far as quality of communication goes, we have, on the whole, a lot more to ask of ourselves. Spelling, grammar and even the extent of our vocabularies has somewhat degraded over the years and it is not strictly generational either; I have seen a multitude from the older generations adopt, wholesale, the disjointed ‘text’ speech so often labelled as the product of the young. To what end is such butchering of our language? I know certain phone carriers charge by an allotted amount of characters, forcing us to be economic in both speech and purse alike, but I think few can safely use that counterpoint considering the state of phone contracts nowadays. Without getting too bogged down with ‘correct’ use of the English language, I wholly believe that if we took greater care in choosing what we say and how we say it, our ability to communicate effectively with one another would be enhanced exponentially. Letters provide us with this and they also provide a training ground for those who wish to be better writers or even an entrance for those who might like to, but are so afraid or embarrassed at their level of skill with language that they don’t even attempt to; who better to practice on then your friend in the county over?

A physical reminder to write back is always nice as well. I’m as guilty as the next person for responding to things; I read an e-mail, nod to myself sagely, promising to respond and then promptly find three months have squeezed themselves inconveniently between me and that decisions, and now it feels awkwardly too late. Yet, a letter? It sits there, open on my desk until I respond to it; often I won’t continue with what I’m doing until the letter’s response is ready and waiting to be sent off on its way. It’s a like-for-like sort of thing; the effort and time gone into it compels me to actually ensure it gets reciprocated; maybe it’s just British politeness, maybe not. Regardless of the encouragement from my own sense of politeness, even considering its near weaponised potency, it is less a willingness to not appear rude and more of a sharing of a gift, because it feels just like that, like you’re receiving a gift. It is not so weird to think of it like that, actually; you have, in your hand, an actual manifestation of someone’s time, effort and thoughts of you. There is no excuse to feel anything else, if I push the envelope as far as I dare; since we have mundane and effortless communication available, there is no need to send a letter for everyday reasons. We should still adopt them more, in my opinion, but consign them to the duties of conveying love, affection, admiration, pleasant and wondrous memories of that time you did that in wherever; they should be the font of our personal lives, our private and most dear tethers to those we call friends and family and all else we proffer our love towards. They are more meaningful than greetings cards, cheaper too considering the commercial death-grip on them nowadays, and nothing can really accurately replace them. E-mails come close but they lack that physical personality; the font is consistent and uniform whereas handwriting betrays the emotions of the scribe through fine nuances of dots on ‘I’s and the crosses on ‘T’s.

Maybe it’s the writer in me and maybe I’m more old-fashioned than I would care to admit. Maybe I’m right, maybe I’m wrong; truth is, I can’t be one without being the other in the realm of opinion. But I would like to see more letters through my door; more love-notes from friends who I haven’t seen and haven’t had a shred of decent communication from in such a long time. I think you would like it too, after all: we could all do with a little bit less in the way of lip service and a lot more in the way of genuine, caring communication with one another. So dust off the notepad, select your weapon from the pencil case armoury, and start taking the time and effort with your messages that they deserve.

Unless you’ve really got to know why they’re late. That’s what texts were made for.

[steticehurst]

Knowing Your Character

There are a great deal of approaches to acting, all of which have their own die-hard aficionados and steadfast critics. It is the nature of the beast, an artistic beast at that and the above statement can be applied respectively to any art form in existence. There are those who adopt a rigorous approach to things and, contrasting, those who opt for a more relaxed undertaking. Some choose to steep themselves in their chosen character’s lives, forsaken their own temporarily, whilst others seek some, in my opinion, bizarre collaboration with their own psyche and that of the character’s. One could say that, quite frankly, despite the route undertaken, the destination is the same: a well-developed and presented character. However, I fear, it is all grossly subject to the opinion of whomsoever is asked to provide it; I may feel one way towards a representation of a character and the method used to derive it, and there will undoubtedly be scores who scorn such an opinion and, of course, vice versa.

So rather than suggest acting techniques and pull them apart one-by-one (assuming that it would be a biased outlook) for your reading pleasure, I thought it better to highlight certain ways of finding information regarding a character, the methods of analysing and providing the all-important information that will supplement their growth and development, however you so choose to go about that.

Firstly, we’ll deal with the script. That is, of course, assuming you’re dealing with a scripted character; I will come to devising and improvising. Within the script is an ingrain biography of the character provided to you by the writer or dramatist as well as a key for the general setting of the piece. It sounds like a no-brainer, doesn’t it? But past the notations on the dramatis personae and the stage directions, there is a wealth of hidden snippets within the dialogue that in the desperate throes of getting the delivery right or identifying emotional tone and so forth, can be overlooked quite easily. There is, therefore and, of course, in my opinion, a lot to be said for script analysis. Those, like myself, who have worked the technical side of theatre will undoubtedly have encountered a similar scouring when contriving props lists, setting plots and other crucial documents; for the actor playing a single part, it’s actually a lot less laborious for the most part. Quite often nowadays the first thing I will do is sit down with a script and work my way through it noting down all the key pieces of information available; it is something I really came to appreciate after working with Oliver Baird on Festen what seems like an age ago now. The easiest and most time-effective manner I’ve found is to go through the piece and, on separate lists, note down the following: what your character says about themselves; what your character says about others; what others say about your character, and finally, the given circumstances of setting for each scene. This should give you everything you need to begin formulating your character, assuming you’re in anyway diligent to detail and believe in character research; this may be the only time I recommend an acting technique if researching a character is not considered mandatory practice for an actor by some technique unbeknownst to me.

From your lists you should know the facts about the character in question: where they went to school; how old they are, anything definitive and completely unquestionable. You’ll also have an idea of aspects of their relationships by what they say too and about others and this can give you a lot of things to play with in the rehearsal room, discuss with your colleagues or use in any way you see fit; it’ll give you a better sense of the words being said too, in the long run. You’ll also now know where each scene is taking place and under what conditions too; the amount of times I have seen a complete and unforgivable disregard for the environment is shamefully abundant.

The above method is not solely for script based pieces mind; if you are working on devising an adaptation or even a script based off an existing work, you could do the same thing for the source material. A personal example would be Bob Cratchit, in the Great Dickens Christmas Fair. Although there was a script in place, returning to the source material and carrying out the same process revealed a veritable plethora of additional information about the long-suffering Clerk and his relationships which proved invaluable considering the action continued for the whole day whilst not on the stage, facilitating countless improvised scenes in the ‘streets of London’. I was going to make a comparative case for a similar method of information gathering for writers as well but I’ll leave off until I’ve covered another point.

Establishing when and where the piece is set is vital and, if not given by the script, finding this out from the authoritative creative is a must. There is a bad habit among actors, especially from those in training, to forget that we, humans that is, have not always behaved and spoken as we do today; I do not mean to say that someone in an Elizabethan play will be texting, no-one’s that foolish (I hope) but I am implying a more detailed examination. Figuring out the setting in both period and place will allow for a greater branch of research to be undertaken into social conditions, etiquette, gait and posture, accent, you name it really, and it all gives you as an actor something to play and work with. Assuming you’ve reacted badly to that last statement in a rebellion against realism, that’s fine. No-one said this was all about realism; it’s about finding out as much information as possible to use or, if you wish for a less realistic approach, misuse as you see fit. Some productions will also have a specialist in dramaturgy on hand to assist in these regards or the director themselves may be quite the expert but an actor can do no harm delving themselves.

To writers, to return to the promised comparison, this technique is a goldmine also, assuming you are working on an adaptation or a piece using a literary piece as stimulus. On the rare occasion when I work from something like Macbeth or, more recently, the Prometheus myth, foregoing an in-depth analysis of the piece is somewhat foolish. I will freely confess though that unless you are working on lifting just the one character from the piece, as an actor might be tasked to do, the process is an encumbering one; to complete the aforementioned for each character might be overkill (or not) and a more broader, adapted approach could very well be adopted. I tailor my analysis for writing, directly from my analysis as an actor which, in turn, is inspired by both suggested practice and my experiences as production and stage management; in short, there is something to be said for getting to know what you are going to write.

Of course, not everything is scripted. Some of the best pieces I have seen were plucked from the aether by a group of professionals without the aid of a playwright. There are, however, no set guidelines for how a devised piece gets underway. More often than not with a scripted piece, the script is the starting line; everything else comes after the script is finished. But devising can start from a theme, an envisioned character, even a theatrical style and from there everything is brought about. So how does one accrue the vitals on a devised character? If it is a character inspired or attributed to an existing work, the above method applies and the soon-to-be-mentioned to boot. If it is not, than herein lies the wonderful Art of Play; literally playing with the characters in the rehearsal room, getting them up on their feet and letting them explore their world. Experimentation with temperament, emotion, situational improvisation can all reveal aspects of your character and discussion with your colleagues will keep it in-line with the rest of the ensemble; the Art of Play is useful for scripted pieces also, allowing for hidden truths to come to light and is good practice for improvisational skills regardless. There will still be facts about setting that need to be adhered too, which will no doubt be agreed by the company; outside the rehearsal room, research could still take place. We are entering murky territory however, as some might see devising and improvisation as some holy or sacrament form of acting where research, discussion and forethought are all stifling tools of other techniques. If you have carte blanche with your character and piece, you are something of entitled to that opinion; I will nay-say it no further.

Beyond facts though, there is of course a great deal about characters that still bequeaths nothing but questions. Was their childhood happy, or are they just saying that? Does he really love her? We are, of course, stepping into the world of what Stanislavsky referred to as ‘the magic if’ and the world of the imagination. I have come to some conclusion that, given you are indeed working without carte blanche, to jump to using your imagination to fill in the necessary blanks before picking the script clean of details, could potentially lead to a premediated presentation forever at loggerheads with the brazen facts of the piece. Actors are only human and humans make mistakes form time to time and nowhere is this more clearly highlighted than in the rehearsal process where someone has mistakenly assumed something is to be the case. It can really jar the proceedings when an actor has gotten into their head that, say, they have a long lived dislike for someone close to them, a brother for example, when in essence they actually shouldn’t. This is often where the director will step in or the company, if one is found wanting but a lot of this can be avoided by simple discussion or logical thought. If this is the case, what then? How will it affect my character and their world? Sometimes it is better to allow others to provide you with information about your character or at least to discuss it prior to adopting it in stone. Of course, those who are not a fan of realism or even naturalism will have seen Stanislavsky mentioned and switched off; analysis and the methods described are really not as pedestrian as you might think and in all honesty, the same occurs in any technique: decisions are always made, consciously or otherwise.

But can there be something like too much information? I think that is a point for evaluation. Too much information is subjective to the individual who is doing the gathering and wholly relatable to the character’s needs as well. There is an armada of character development tools on the internet aimed at helping people develop characters for acting and writing alike, most of them in the form of questionnaires; the age old technique of hot-seating is similar in its make-up. Given that not all characters are alike in needs and some are the briefest of appearances, the veritable ‘torchbearers’ as I like to call them, the realm of ‘too much information’ is entered when you, in fact, spend time creating surplus information for the character; information that is, and never will be, required to facilitate their creation. This is an opinion, I know, but I think it has some merit. For example, it will not aid my portrayal of Bob Cratchit to know exactly what television show he would watch. Even if we overlook the blaringly obvious historical fallacy, what does it matter? Certain arguments could be made that it would allude to hidden aspects of his personality but if they are hidden, why do we care? They won’t be seen. They won’t manifest themselves in the character. There are indeed certain hidden elements that will manifest such as non-visible conditions and the like and establishing things such as political affiliation, perhaps, but in all honesty it must be all kept relative. In truth, you will end up with surplus information when you analyse as well; there’s just not enough stage time for everyone to hear everything out. Yet, to provide another trap of using such tools, reaching for a quick list of questions can lead to other, more counterintuitive situations. I used to work alongside actors who would forgo reading the script in-depth and would instead take to the internet for their trusty questionnaire and answer all the questions, regardless of what was within the script. So, to add to the realm of ‘too much information,’ we can add misinformation. There is something to be said for allowing a questionnaire to inspire new characters into light for devising and improvising, as well as writing but be prepared to not use all the developed material; you may also find that certain aspects will need to be altered to marry up with the company’s ideal but characters are malleable as it is.

A counter-point though: too much information is always better than too little. It is better to be wholly informed than underprivileged in the grander scheme of things; appearing ignorant in your presentation will diminish the returns of it. But striking that balance between worthwhile knowledge and surplus knowledge is vital and really, no matter your approach to actually acting the part, knowing is half the battle won.

[steticehurst]

Is Feminism and Equality Ruining Your Childhood!?

There’s been a large number of my sex railing on about certain facets of Hollywood recently, complaining that feminism is ruining their childhood. ‘Ruining their childhood?’ thought I, casting my memory backto Ghostbusters in the original incarnation, ‘How odd.’

I’ll be frank, I don’t often opt to openly use this blog for voicing my opinions on sensitive issues such as race and gender inequality simply because I’ve been bitten before. I’ve had backlash from both sides of the argument despite my personal standpoint and openly voiced opinions on the matters at hand.

But, really? Feminism, ruining your childhood?

I also am known for writing long blogs, usually capping at about two thousand to three thousand words. This one could be quite short in its summary really:

Is feminism ruining our childhoods?

Short answer: No.

Long answer: Still no.

To the men complaining about the recent incarnation set to hit the screens sometime in the future: you are not, despite your lack of tact and maturity, children anymore. Your childhood is over. Nostalgia is a fine thing and no-one is taking that away from you, unless, to allow for a small part of counter-argument, it means you’ll have to sift through your search results when you look for Ghostbusters to download online. My condolences that you should have to actually put some effort into acquiring your entertainment, for once. Now there may be someone out there who is prepping a lambasting retort about how the children of today will never know how great the original film was or how ‘the ghostbusters were men, Goddamnit!’

Let’s take this slowly, shall we?

Firstly, children have better things to be concerned about than the pros and cons of feminism, like schoolwork, their rank on the latest Call of Duty (Advanced Warfare methinks) or GTA, first romances or, depending what we exactly class as children here, whether it really is a good idea to pour talcum powder everywhere in place of snow. They really don’t care about a new film, which happens to be a remake, with women in the lead roles, hell, they coped with Frozen well enough as I and any other adult sick to death of hearing its show tunes will tell you; don’t you dare tell me to ‘let it go!’ If I had a child, which I do not, and they came up to me and said, ‘Daddy, I was wanting to watch this film but the lack of lead male characters in it makes me feel drastically uncomfortable and makes me immediately question its quality as a film,’ I’d firstly be amazed at his grasp on the English language and then be sitting them down and explaining to them that they’ve been spending too much time on the internet and in all the wrong places.

Moving swiftly on; the film, the original that is, will not suddenly disappear into the ether like Prometheus Unbound by Aeschylus. To contextualise for all those not furtively seeking a classical Greek play; it will not become a fragmented mystery for generations to come and many centuries later, given that we haven’t blown ourselves up, it will still be around for people to go, ‘Wow, they were strange back then!’ and ‘Did you see the price of gas!?’ There is a difference that needs to be acknowledged here: it is a remake, not a replacement. And I know any other day of the week I’d be banging on about constant remakes this, commercialised knockoff that but the point remains here that there are some guys out there upturning the pot over the inclusion of female leads.

Really? We are still playing this card, guys? I know not all of us, granted; most of us have looked beyond the female leads and found other observations, positive and negative, about remaking films with cult followings but there are enough of us, once again, throwing decency to the wind and going:

‘Look! Women! For shame!’

I can smell the insecurity from here. The fear that one day there will be no-one to feel superior to without actually having to work for it, without having to have proven themselves in a feat of physical, mental or ethical prowess, without engendering respect from their peers by their words and actions. I’m not putting it down to justified fear, which would undermine the whole damn point of fighting for equality, I’m putting it down to unadulterated cowardice of stepping up to the plate and acknowledging that security is something to be earned through hard work, determination and courage rather than the withholding of privileges, rights and the opportunity and knowledge to do so towards other, so called, ‘lesser beings.’

Let me offer up an example of my day to day life for all you who fear equality:

I get up, I eat breakfast and then I set to finding work for myself. I’m an actor, primarily, and that means sifting through casting after casting until the situation dictates anything different, an agent or complete surrender to some other, more mundane, way of life. Hundreds of them, sometimes, all in a single day, gradually whittled down to a comparative few. Now, sometimes the filtering systems on casting sites, isn’t the best; it’ll throw up German speakers (mein Deutsch ist nicht schlect) and jobs local to some backwater place in Wales but also jobs for different ethnicities to me. Do I get mad at that? No, I get frustrated at another casting I can’t apply for, but I don’t get mad; I just accept the situation and move on. Take into consideration I am white and male and you can imagine how incredibly frustrating the situation must be for those who are not; my frustration at another casting I must discard is nothing to what must be felt by those going through and lamenting how few roles there are for them. I know nothing in the grand scheme of frustration in comparison and, knowing how frustrated I get, from time to time, that says a lot for all those who are struggling alongside me, unseen, in the grander world. I don’t take to the internet and complain about how they want someone from Algeria or Jamaica because, in my opinion, I’d rather them get work. It's the same when I see people complaining about gender roles being reversed in theatre. I want a diverse theatre and film scene, for both race and gender, because I’d rather work with people from all over; I’d rather have conversations in the green room or rehearsal room where I can hear about someone’s celebrations last Ede or how the Romanians stereotypically perceive the British, from the horse’s mouth. Why? Because that’s what we need; we need integration with the people we share our world with.

Why we feel the need, to revert back to gender, to restrict women is beyond me, it always has been. Maybe it’s because most of my friends and family are women but I think not. I’ve always had this notional idea in my head that regardless of the accidental circumstances of our birth, regardless of what colour, sex, gender orientation or sexual preference we come out of the womb as: we’re all human beings. We all have something to give to the world and to one another, lessons to be learnt and works of art to be appreciated. I have never understood the concept behind paying women less for the same role; pay grades should be based on the job you’re undertaking and your relevant skills and experience, not the contents of your underwear. I have never understood why women are lesser to men, even when physical anatomy is concerned; sure, there are differences but overall, pros and cons weighed up, and speaking as a layman on the matter, we’re about on par. This bizarre concept of subservience dictated from ancient lore and archaic religious instruction, this patriarchal intuitionism that is still prevalent today, I never got it. And you know what? I never really did understand why a simple two letter word that we appreciate as a small child, I am of course referring to ‘no’; yeah, I never really got to grips with why that was so hard to understand once sex was involved. What is there about us, men that is, that gives us the right to deny someone’s refusal; to overrule their denial of consent and carry on regardless? The fact that we, humans now, are still having to tailor laws and still having to fight an attitude of animalistic disregard for the rights of women to be able to choose when and who they engage in consensual sexual activities with, the same right we as men seem to have always had: it’s all beyond me.

I never got it.

I never got why the Church of England couldn’t have a woman bishop? A black president seems like a fine idea to me, if he’s the right man for the job and two terms of being voted there seems to show a majority of voters think so, right? If two men or two women want to marry each other, to be happy, to have a prosperous home and even, and I know this is pushing the boat out, provide a loving home for an otherwise parentless child, why the hell are they denied this when it’s a right anyone else?

I know I’m voicing things that others have done so before, and for a long time too, but really? Ghostbusters ruined by feminists? Your childhood, ruined by feminists?

Let’s take it at stock value, shall we?

You may say feminists have ruined your childhood if, as a child, you were denied the opportunity to play freely; go to school and learn effectively; walk down the street to the shops for your mum or dad without fear of physical or verbal abuse; undertake any hobby or pastime you chose to do; wear the clothes you wanted to and have the toys you wanted, budget allowing, regardless of what gender they historically were associated to; in fact the list is somewhat endless but all the above and more were denied to you by every single feminist, all of them. Then you can tell me and the rest of the world that feminism is ruining your childhood.

I hazard there are an infinitesimal amount of people who can use that statement, if any at all.

Feminism doesn’t ruin anything; when done right, it doesn’t seek to oppress and by that I mean, when it is done wrong, it is not feminism. I’ve had backlash off people who claim to be feminists, simply for being a man; they are not feminists, they are partakers of misandry and I can’t say I blame them too much. Feminism seeks to address oppression the same sort of oppression you may have noticed had I left off the penultimate statement in the paragraph above because people are being denied the right to play freely, to go to school and learn at a comparable level to their peers and so forth. They reach an age and are subjecting to the cat calling I have witnessed first-hand on a regular basis; why anyone ever thought this was an effective way of attracting a respective partner is also beyond me.

So no, feminism is not ruining your childhood or Ghostbusters. It is not ruining anything for you, even your right to be a disrespectful, expletive toting keyboard warrior on the internet; we cannot remove your rights at all and, sadly, the right to be rude online remains to you still. But please, before you consider throwing a torrent of abuse my way, remember one thing:

I could be threatened via the same means you deem fit (which they’re not) to throw at other proponents of equality; you may dare to throw a rape threat at me, we’ll see how well that goes for you. And even if you do deign to direct abuse to me, I welcome it; it means I’ve won. It means that I, rather than your usual targets, will be on the receiving end; a man, not a woman. It means that in some bizarre way the imbalance will be somewhat addressed.

Because feminism is not ruining your childhood, my childhood or anyone’s childhood in just the same way that terrorism is not something you can fight a, somewhat ironic, war against. But inequality is ruining countless childhoods and adulthoods. It is ruining lives and, as someone who is supposedly reaping the rewards of such oppression, I don’t feel so privileged in its benefits; I’m not selfish enough to want to let other people suffer on my behalf, to wallow in fear and near thraldom simply so I can bask in the glow of having a white coloured penis and a penchant for women and therefore an instant right to a well-paid job, the front-row pew in certain churches and ownership of home and housewife. I’d rather suffer among them than have any of them simply given to me, in all honesty. So, as a playwright, I will write strong female characters, nay, strong characters. Period. That way, no matter what, whoever undertakes them, it will be a decent role for them. I don’t include such things as ‘white’ in my dramatis personae as it is so consider this my consent for any ethnicity to have a go at any of my characters. As an actor, I’ll openly stand against any discrimination I come across; you dare pay me more than a female lead of equal role weighting and you’ll find yourself without my talent.

Because what’s the point of privilege if you can’t relinquish it, if you can’t pass it on to others?

Bet you wish I’d just stuck to a short answer now, don’t you? But I think I’ve kept my opinion on equality a little to close in my personal circle for a little too long; any voice added to the call for equality in earnest is a two fingered salute to those clinging desperately to unjustly apportioned privilege and a step in the right direction.

So no, Ghostbusters will not be ruined by feminists.

Though, just to be topical, I bet the overuse of CGI will.

[steticehurst]

Absurdist or Surrealist?

Despite the return to the necessary drudgery of sifting through the casting calls for specks of gold and other distractions alike in both obligation and promise, I managed to finish yet another play script the other day that had sat idle for far too long. It seems to be a January habit, perhaps, to take an embryonic idea from three or four years ago and thrash it out into existence after a moment of determined inspiration; last year it took the form of a classically inspired piece of drama come tragedy come social commentary that was longer than Hamlet. This time, thankfully, it was something of a more gentle and comedic nature. I had always wanted to immortalise a late night creation of mine from years past in play form, thinking that when life provides you with some insanity induced from long and exhaustive labour, you could do far worse than allow that momentary lapse in rationality provoke a new character to form. Hence, with a tortilla for a face, complete with eyeholes and a mouth cut-out, I ran out of the storeroom and proudly proclaimed to my peers that I was ‘Tortilla Man’ and struck a superhero pose. My memory fades on their reactions but it was a moment of pure surrealism and hence, when I sat down to pen it, I tried to reflect that in the work I created.

But is it possible to write something truly surreal?

The definition of surreal is likely to differ depending on where you read it; something weird, otherworldly even or disturbing. However, Surrealism is something not altogether different but at the same time a little more refined. If we are to consider the Surrealist movement of the early twentieth century, then essentially, when considering theatre, a surrealist piece of theatre would be something that tried to portray the subconscious mind, sans censorship; in essence, reality without our natural defence mechanisms of appropriateness and behavioural norms coming into play. Least, that’s my quick interpretation of it. In the Surrealist Manifesto, written in 1942 by a chap André Breton, formerly of the Dadaist movement, it defines Surrealism in the following ways:

Dictionary: Surrealism, n. Pure psychic automatism, by which one proposes to express, either verbally, in writing, or by any other manner, the real functioning of thought. Dictation of thought in the absence of all control exercised by reason, outside of all aesthetic and moral preoccupation. Encyclopaedia: Surrealism. Philosophy. Surrealism is based on the belief in the superior reality of certain forms of previously neglected associations, in the omnipotence of dream, in the disinterested play of thought. It tends to ruin once and for all other psychic mechanisms and to substitute itself for them in solving all the principal problems of life.

So, I was close in my summarising; I had at least come to the cusp of the point in a pithy manner without posturing too much on ideological doctrine. I should, however, clarify that I have nothing but vehement interest and admiration for these visionaries, most of which saw the horrors of the First World War either first hand or in the hospital wards they worked in afterward; from their experiences came their inspiration on the human condition. Free association, automatic writing and accounts of dreams were there weapons and the goal was to tackle the perceptions of mankind.

But a problem arises, especially when concerning the written word. A stream of consciousness on a page is something incredibly difficult to achieve. I should make an addition there; a stream of consciousness, without censorship, is almost impossible to achieve. Think upon it; you try and write a sentence without considering word choice, grammar (hence it stops being a sentence) or even meaning and you will quickly find yourself petering off mid-flow. We’ve become so engrained in coherent sentence structure (for the most part, at least) that to step away from the programming we have is a strain on our reserves. Sure, we could allow ourselves to relax a little or even, for those willing of whom I am not one, a little ‘persuasion’ could be applied from an outside source but even then, what you write would still have been corrected as it fell out onto the page. Even lowered inhibitions are not likely to produce anything other than that which you could write where you completely sober but wouldn’t; that is not Surrealism, but your personality being revealed. Try it now, even if you are not a writer, grab a pen and paper and simply write words on the page, one a line, without letting your environment or the previous word affect your choice. Now show it to someone you deeply care about or even a stranger will do. I have no doubt someone, somewhere will have done it but to most, the concept is a little more than daunting.

Given all of this, it is very unlikely that my piece is in fact a piece of Surreal Theatre. It is a play, for a start, and must follow certain conventions or make a stand against them; the fact that my inspiration was a character, rather than simply my consciousness, dictates that it cannot be Surrealism either and that conventional means must be applied. But past that it will be edited and that is, indeed, a form of censorship. However, some may say it has elements of Surrealism in it; they may look at outlandish characters, odd juxtaposition and set forth with the word, ‘surreal’ on their lips. Yet, in my opinion, they are the sorts to simply throw out an exaggerated, high energy character who does not fit in the world we know and call it ‘surreal’ for want of a better term or, more likely, to give it added validation; in short, they do not know what the word actually entails and despite the usually comedic results, the character to the outside spectator quickly becomes abhorrently laboured, their justification in the grander scheme of things being nothing short of pedestrian.

Surrealism on stage is problematic, least in my own conclusions. But what, then, is my play? Perhaps Absurdist is a better term to use for it? Ah, but here lies yet another complicated kettle of fish. Whereas with Surrealism there was a dedicated movement attached, here there is none; type in ‘absurdism’ into your word processor of choice and you will see it is not an ‘accepted’ word in the English language. This has always struck me as odd given that there are so many writers attributed to the lexicon, The Theatre of the Absurd: Beckett, Genet, Ionesco and Pinter all spring to mind. They even deal with a similar field as the Surrealists, the meaningless absurdity of the human condition, though most attached to the genre also weathered the Second World War and the unimaginable atrocities that occurred within it. In this field though, my play still does not fit; Tortilla Man, as strange as his journey is, exists in a world much like ours but is not confronted with a world where he is cut off from all traditional religious and metaphysical roots. To be frank, I never intended to honour my piece with such a title of Absurd. It selectively deals with certain futilities of the human condition but does not, how should I say, capture the raw essence of the human condition; it is perhaps more satirical than Absurd.

But again, the Theatre of the Absurd is quite often mistakenly represented, at certain levels, as needing outlandish costume, exaggerated characterisation and downright silliness; I have, perhaps, had a narrowed experience but I do speak from personal experience. It’s a fallacy to bottle either Surrealism or Absurdist theatre to piecemeal conditions or a checklist and for anyone to truly succeed in staging such a piece, I believe an understanding of the motivations behind each, very separate notion, need to be understood and sincerity given to the source material. Take Ionesco’s works, for example, and you will find that great wealth can be instilled in the production, simply by trusting the script; one of the better renditions of Rhinoceros I saw was delivered with wholesome conviction, almost realism, and left me with a marked impression. On the contrast, I was involved in a bizarre and brutalised rendition of The bald soprano before I had myself grown professionally and academically enough to realise that what we were doing was cheapening the piece into short term entertainment. I have also had the mild realisation that, in some cases, Absurdist theatre is more than a little bit aware of the futility of theatre, from time to time; surely it can’t all mean something, can it?

So, at the end of the day, other than being another day older: what exactly is my play?

It began from a surreal moment in a fast food restaurant I worked at (for my sins) ten years ago. It has absurd notions, that is, there is an element of disharmony to it and does deal with elements of the human condition without steeping itself in the enormity of it all. It is comedic in places and there is some drama but the term, comedic drama, seems to fall flat on its face.

Maybe, just maybe, I have allowed myself to get caught up in the absurdity of labelling my own work; into pigeon-holing it before it has even seen a second draft. Surely that's the domain of other, more qualified peoples?

Still, least we know the difference between Surrealism and the Absurd now, right? That’s something to look forward to in the least.

[steticehurst]

New Things For A New Year

Planted firmly on the road to recovery from the onslaught of the teardown (or get-out, to keep it British) of Dickens Fair, I’ve actually had some time to think about the affairs of the year just gone. Of course, I say ‘year just gone’ but for some the trivial incrementing of the yearly digits has yet to occur. The Chinese, Thai and various Indian New Years are all still on the calendar, Gregorian or otherwise. But I shall entrust my timekeeping to my wondrous Smartphone and cease being contrarian: it is the New Year, two-thousand and fifteen. As the clock crept closer to midnight in Ole Blighty, I was met with the usual selection of status updates, text messages and just general broadcasting about how the year had been for people; most welcomed the new year as closure on a long and arduous full-set of days whilst others were, sadly, too inebriated to get their words laid out in a coherent fashion. The clock I was following, however, was eight hours behind those many at home as I was, and still am, in California. I’ve never really been one for gushing forth with emotional tones and reviews when it comes to New Years and being stone cold sober as I read the words of others, it was hardly encouraging to lay waste to a year of my life whilst promising to improve the next one that graced me with existence. In short: I’ve never really done New Year’s resolutions.

I find them to be hollow promises, reassurance that we will treat others and ourselves better in the coming year. That we will actually use our gym memberships rather than just own them and swear on kicking those bad habits of ours. Between Thanksgiving (its inclusion sprouting from its ill-fated, indirect appearance in the UK this year and to keep parity with my US kin) and Christmas and New Year, well; that’s an awful lot of good will, thanks and appreciation given to others along with a promise we’ll do better the year to come. I never bought into it because, and this is not to be seen as a holier-than-thou attitude, I constantly address my dealings the whole year round. It seems folly to sit and make a list of resolutions because the arbitrary turning of the calendar happened when I could just take a moment every, say, two months and go: ‘So, what do I need to do to get beyond where I am now?’

Having said that –

It’s round about that time for me and nothing will quite get in the way of personal improvement like the satisfaction of being involved in a worthwhile project for a few months. And thus, to be hypocritical once again, I guess I should perhaps indulge in something similar to New Year’s Resolutions. Thankfully, mine aren’t nearly as mundane as ‘lose X amount of weight by the Summer holidays’ or ‘quit smoking, drinking and binge watching Family fortunes’ but I still think sharing them is one way of making it more like a contractual obligation rather than something akin to the empty promises of an election campaign. Ah. Satire.

Where to begin –

1. Get Out the House More Often – Appreciate the World

I spend a lot of time in front of a computer screen. It’s an irrefutable fact. My careers as both a playwright and an actor lead to a lot of time being invested in the digital world, whether that be searching for roles, writing plays, contacting companies or typing out verbose blog posts to keep the ole fingers warmed up and the vernacular well exercised. Yet, there’s a wonderful world out there and I damn well know it. I’m a lover of nature and have been known to walk around for miles and miles in search of new and wonderful features of it; rivers, forests and woods have all felt the gentle tread of my boots. There are relatively few cities in the UK that have not, at some given point or another, met my gaze or even deemed me fit to grace their streets but nowadays, it’s a different story. Part of it is that pressure to find work, to produce exemplar pieces of theatre and to be seen  working; nothing as grandiose as the folk who explicitly write in public places so as to, quite literally, be visible to the populous as a writer but there is something to be said about living with folk who know what you do and know that if you’re not out at auditions, likelihood is, you’re not working. It’s hard and it’s probably nowhere near as bad as I’m making out but it keeps you glued to the seat, the bed, wherever and it certainly keeps you inside. Now, sure, I could just go outside and take the laptop with me, or a notepad, but I miss wandering and hiking.

It’s about balance. Getting out and about is also nothing more than common sense in the grand scheme of things. Better health; a greater insight into the world we live in; exposure to the denizens of this Earth and a boost for the imagination are all part and parcel of just closing the lid of the laptop and getting out into the real world for a change.

That being said, I kind of do need to keep pushing the career.

2. Taking Free Gigs – Learn the Value of My Time

Of the no-pay/low-pay circuit. How I hate thee. I made this promise to myself a long time ago and yet still the most common opportunity I see is below equity minimum or even worse, for nothing. It’s a no-brainer now that I am beyond it. It could very well be great exposure, but so is any number of paid opportunities that are probably produced on a higher budget, ergo, are going to look a lot better when seen. And whoever invented the phrase, ‘it’ll look great on your CV/resume/portfolio’ needs to reassess how often and to whom they offer their opportunities towards; I have well over thirty acting credits to my name of a varying degree of style, genre, medium and professionalism. Take into account my technical credentials, my playwright credentials and my producing credentials and you have a count just below two hundred. My portfolio is fine. Profit share is even too dubious for my liking; it smacks of poor producing values or skills, like the budget was ill-thought out.

Regardless of my bug-bears, I’m done with it. Favours for friends is one thing and the Filmonik Kino Festivals are wholly undertaken by choice due to their sheer fun as well as the professional stomping ground it provides. But the time has come to shirk the shackles of the drudgery of taking any ole role to ‘boost the career’. My time is worth more than a Subway sandwich, if I’m lucky.

3. Apply Some Pressure From Time to Time – Demand Deadlines

I have come to the conclusion that sometimes, just sometimes, I’m too nice. That bothers me because, quite frankly, I like being nice. I love it when people enjoy my company, ask me for advice, want to hear my stories, ask me questions and what not (more on that later) but I have come to the conclusion that some people have mistaken this for a lack of backbone or some dereliction in regards to my attention to detail. Right now, off the top of my head, there are at least five outstanding jobs or favours that still have not been completed. Now, before I come across as standoffish or ungrateful, I would like to point out that I am as far from mercenary as they come. I roll about life looking for opportunities to better the experiences of those around me, not, as some would say, to make myself feel better but simply because that is, in my opinion, an astute philosophy to have; it mirrors the onstage principle of ‘make everyone else look better and, if they do the same, everyone will look amazing.’ As such, I would never agree to do something for someone and then not do it. So when I am left dangling like a sock on the line to dry, waiting for someone to remember they pegged me there, it’s more than a bit frustrating; especially so when you consider that the favours I ask for nowadays are nearly all career related.

Take this for example: I was asked to write a play, on commission, for someone who found me through a mutual friend of ours. It was supposed to be a paid gig, we had an agreement; I would write it, he and I would co-produce it. The play is written. I, to this day, over a year and a half on, am still not compensated for my time. Last I heard he was ‘going to give it a proper look over the next week’ around about this time last year. I should charge interest.

It’s not all as serious as that and I certainly am not about to start keeping tabs or refusing favours for others because of it (see part about loving to help others) but it is high time that when people offer to do things for me or I ask, even pay, them to do things for me, I apply some pressure. Now, some people have genuine excuses for delays and I accept that, I’m a reasonable person but when it starts holding me back, well, I get stick from people around me because of it. And you know, they’re right. Think to yourself if you’re like me, from time to time or even all the time, and I think you should promise yourself to amend that this year. I know I will.

Now, who wants to do a showreel for me?

4. It’s About People – See Friends and Family More

I am seriously bad at keeping in touch with people and I have no idea why. This is as common an entrant on my self-improvement lists as murder is a mention in the news. A lot of it could be blamed on modern technology, social media tricking me into thinking I’m all up to date with the happenings of my social circles (a Venn diagram of astronomical proportion) but in all honesty I’m not so sure it is that at all. I get caught up in my own little world and what’s going on around me that I completely forget to send people a message from time to time. I forget that people actually have lives and that, whatever I once was to them, I may now only be a distant memory or an afterthought in the overall picture. That’s fine, I accept that. I can’t be everything to everyone, I have tried and failed at that before, on every level; it’s messier than a barbeque rib eating contest that’s ran out of napkins, trust me, steer clear. But as time progresses, as caught up as I am in pushing on through the darkness of being a nobody, I feel the distance of friends more and more. Sure, as some would hasten to point out, I have my girlfriend, but even we spend most of the year, painfully, on opposite sides of an Ocean (and continent) and when it comes down to it, really right down to the common most core of the problem: I miss people.

Seriously. I haven’t seen some people for years and haven’t sat down with others for longer than that. A lot of it is my disinclination to hold friendships over text communication; an oddity seeing as I can text a significant other till my thumbs fall off. I have a contacts list in my phone of some length but I still feel that awkward sensation of: ‘well, what do I say?’ That needs to change.

I want to sit and swill beer with the lads I met at University whilst being dreadful at darts, pool yet sill putting the world to rights. Yet another city needs to fall to the insanity of yet another of my dearest friends and I as we run amok spouting forth quotes from The Mighty Boosh. And all because, in all honesty, I’m afraid that I’ll be forever making new friends whilst letting old friendships wilt away. Despite all that though, there are a lot of folk Stateside who I should keep bouncing a line to from time to time; one of the loveliest moments of Fair was having a cast member ask if we could be pen pals. Moments like that are what I live for and I have lived too few moments with those that make them possible.

5. Cleanse the Mind, Body and Soul – Keep Off Facebook and Relax More

I spend a lot of time on the computer, we covered that. The annoying habit of sitting online on social media has crept in massively over the past year. A lot of that is because it forms a method of communication, via its rather frustrating messenger service. But a lot of that is also because it allows me access to the dealings of the world. That needs to change.

It’s a horrible place; an extension of the hatred, ignorance and commercialisation of the world like so many internet entities that there are. When I am subjected to images of decapitations, shot police officers and other such undesirable images, without my consent, I think it’s high time I reconsider how long I steep myself in social media. They’re isolated incidents mind, what gets me more is the incessant keyboard war that rages on and on in the forum of my newsfeed. I have said it time and time again, I support a lot of things that I believe will make this world a better place but it is getting to the stage where the arguments I support are being made unsupportable ; they are being made in a way that my support receives either backlash or overzealous scorn from those that disagree. We live in a very political, social and personally aware time and yet we are still nowhere near finding the correct way to talk to one another; I have seen ‘pacifists’ threaten violence against people over issues such as war. It’s ridiculous!

It’s also stressful. There’s an election in this year and it is only going to increase with ferocity as tit-for-tat conversations erupt between staunch proponents and opponents of <insert party here>.  Between the click-bait links and stupid quizzes from places like Buzzfeed and the screams of the ignorant a-mingling with the now-screaming words of the wise, I’m not sure I want to be present on Facebook bar small doses, from time to time. It’s not an absconding from the debates that matter, nor is it me ‘copping out’ from actually fighting for the things I believe in merely me acknowledging the futility and absurdity of trying to argue the toss with a bunch of 0’s and 1’s. When the digital world has made its mind up as to what exactly constitutes equality, racism and so on, then maybe I’ll ramp up the addiction again and return to a more prominent presence; likelihood is we’ll actually agree with one another.

It’s the same off the net too; I’m going to take more of a reserved approach to arguments and debates, choosing to listen rather than scream the ‘righteous’ word down people’s throats. And I’m going to take up meditation because, in truth, I’m rather sick of being stressed and tense over what some idiot thinks they’re entitled too because of X, Y or Z.

Relax, be civilised with your debate and we’ll get along just fine.

6. Cover My Tracks – Review, Edit, Rewrite

This year saw a lot of new works coming together in regards to writing and acting credits; five wholly new plays finished, two nearly finished, another one started and three beginnings of fiction. Now, as much as I would like to with some, I can’t really revisit certain roles I’ve played but I think it’s high time I returned to some of the works I have written over the years and actually go beyond first draft. The goal last year had been to attempt a play a month but life is never that simple and words are not always forthcoming; a play every two months is a far more achievable goal, especially with another career path to juggle. As such, there is quite a lot sitting in my ‘finished drafts’ folder that has the suffix, ‘first draft’ attached to, often with dates long since past.

As such, it is time to review some of the ole works and see if they still pass the cringe test. At least two are in need of a total rewrite from prose-dialogue to actual dialogue; a number more will need reformatting to meet my current setup. It’s also about time I started shipping them about a bit more, rather than simply wait for the radar to pick up submission opportunities. Sadly, that’s not always easy when you have no idea where to send them too; nobody said I was good at being a professional, just that I was good at acting and writing plays. Apparently there is more to it than just being able to do the job, go figure.

And so sums up my brief missions for the coming months and the new year in total. No doubt it’ll all go South by March and then I’ll need to add another one to the list when I start panicking about failing and being unproductive; one I think we can all take a moment to reflect upon:

7. We All Have Plenty of Time Left for Us to Achieve Something Meaningful

[steticehurst]

The Great Dickens Christmas Fair: Characters and the Truth of Things

Charles Dickens may, too some folk of lesser opinions, be yet another wordsmith in a long line of such literary figures but there is something quite different about him; something sets him aside from his contemporary peers (for the most part) and certainly from modern equivalents. Not only were his works plentiful but they held meaning and truth at a social and political level to the extent where public opinion was actively swayed by what they read. A note on truth though, and a note worth voicing in regards to a great many things: the truth of things is merely what we accept to be the correct course that a reality (chiefly our own, for our day to day lives at the least) has taken. There is a lot of talk about ‘truth’ in theatre, for example, which some poor souls interpret to their own detriment with exhaustive acting techniques, plucking from their very soul the emotions rather than creating a ‘truth’ anew. As such, what was in Mr. Dickens’ novels was not always strictly bound in the existence of things. Bob Cratchit, for example, and his wage of fifteen shillings a week is almost beyond realistic terms of comprehension; to have survived with the plethora of children in Camden Town at the time is a Christmas miracle in itself. Yet, as those in theatre and storytelling know, a suspension of disbelief is required and a new ‘truth’ is invested in; we allow ourselves to accept such unworldly things as ‘love at first sight’ and nearly divine intervention at just the right moment, the timer on the bomb stopping just at the last second, if you will. Dickens engendered such worth into his works, a wholesale ‘truth’ built off the influence of the world around him and, indeed, society itself among more personal stimuli. As such, we are left with living and breathing representatives of the deserving poor, the criminal underclass, redemption, lechery and, through and through, what it is to be human.

Now for me to outwardly claim that Dickens achieved this wholesale, in every novel and in every character would be unfair; as would the assumption that this achievement sets him aside from other great writers, before him, at the time and after. It is something all writers, dramatists and other such imaginers strive for in their work. At Dickens Fair, the somewhat challenging task is to take such well known and established characters, characters which have been presented in various forms over the many years since their debut and present them once more. Few are free of a stigmatising rendition or the precognitions of those fans of the novel and there is, of course, the over arching ‘truth’ of the Fair itself. Sounds daunting, does it not? To nail the character down and hold it up for scrutiny for all to see knowing that anywhere in that thronging crowd, in a bustle so thick even a small four-legged animal would have trouble keeping out the way: there may be an expert.

Actually, I’ve never really thought about it like that until now. Part of this is because, as an actor by trade, I don’t cater to the expectations of the audience past the obligatory ‘good show’ theorem; I attend rehearsals, do detailed research, make character decisions and so forth, putting my faith in the director and my fellow cast members that we’re heading the right direction. Another part is, with no shadow of a doubt, I’ve never heard any utter the dreaded lines: ‘Well, that’s all wrong.’ In fact, anything to this effect is rather nonexistent. Why? Because the work is at a level wherein everyone is with hand on the rope and pulling; everyone is invested in the ‘truth’ of the piece. Like Dickens, I must for my own balance-minded mind’s sake note, not everyone nails it all the time, even me. We’re human and require nourishment and other things; such needs we even attempt from within the characters where possible which is admirable in my books. But whether they are named by Dickens or by the actors themselves, each character lends itself to the Fair and the ‘truth’ within.

Let me take you back to the Fair and the ‘Streets of London’: I briefly mentioned a few folk that we may meet on our walk around but let me introduce you to a few others. As we wander the hubbub, avoiding the children as they run past, you may find yourself being hawked to by some Mongers. Theirs is a hard life, as you can tell by their raiment, so do take pity and purchase from them if you can; ever grateful of even a penny, from the Grand Concourse to Grenadiers Gate these poor folk can be found. Show them some sympathy and hearken to their tales but do be aware; not everything they sell is worthy of your eye. You may also, given that the time of day is in your favour, be greeted by the Miracle Sweeps of London. No finer bunch of sweeps you shall find, mark me on that, and though their chops be blackened with soot, they say it’s good luck to kiss a sweep on the cheek; I will lay off on such a thing but you feel free. Theirs is a life of hardship also but they weather it well and never have I failed to espy a grin or a smile upon their face; ever ready for work, negotiate a seasonal deal with them for your sake and theirs. A hefty ‘Cheers’ beckons us towards the Leather Bottle however, and there, propping up the bar, is some of the finest business fellows in all of London: The Pickwick Club. Sam Weller, Mr. Pickwick and all the club it seems, are ready to welcome you to London. These are some of my favourite folk to bump into for their readiness to engage in the discourse of the day, whatever it may be. Wherever they are, there is merriment and generally quite a lot of it too, a pint or two’s worth, some would say. Never a cold reception and a grand look to them all, even Sam Weller, given his unfortunate state of attire, looks wholly fit for the season (his cockney accent is wonderfully apt also).

We shall return to London but first, a note: there are hundreds upon hundreds of these people, all about their business in the streets. I perhaps should throw more to the actors themselves than to the characters. The people of Fair come from all walks of life. There is no demographic overlooked and no discrimination offered on any count; name any fractious label society deigns fit to use and there will be, happy and welcoming, a member of the Fair standing in answer to it. There is a family sentiment that strikes true throughout and is no foreign thing to me (though I am a foreign thing) as casts and crews I have been a part of in the past are equally stalwart in our love and loyalty. There are professional actors, semi-professional and amateurs alike, all working in unison and not one overlooks the other without a degree of reprehension from the rest; families bicker and argue but the strength of family is such that these things can occur and the glue will hold true. The reason that when an audience member, a patron, goes to Fair and is enveloped in the ‘truth’ of it all to a degree where they feel as if they are stepping back in time, is because of the wholesome and whole-hearted work of, not just the cast, but everyone involved. If ever the argument for theatre as an organic whole (an argument I consider myself a staunch proponent of) needed evidence, I hereby present it. This is not the idling rambles of an actor, nor an outsourced endorsement but a critical and, almost, academic opinion on the state of things; just as Dickens is made by the people he created, it is the people who create Dickens Fair that make it what it is.

Back to London: We’ve got ourselves into a rather odd state of affairs at the Docks, it seems Jeremy’s girls have taken a shine to you, and me but that’s besides the point; Jeremy knows I can’t pay, see, but he has his eye on you. Don’t fret though, he’s a pleasant enough chap to do business with, just don’t handle the merchandise too much before you’ve crossed his palm with silver, if you catch my drift. Though, do me a favour, if you don’t have any coin whatsoever, follow me quickly; I’ve just seen Mr. Scrooge head into Mad Sal’s, we can negotiate a loan for you from the rather overly astute businessman. Nicely does it as we pay our respects to Miss. Penny the Stage Manager of the Music Hall and her two rather burly men at the door and – ah! It seems Mad Sal and Mr. Scrooge are having a fiery debate in the middle of the floor:

“It says ‘Mad Sal’s Alehouse’ Mr. Scrooge, not ‘Mad Sal’s Workhouse’ don’t it? Now shove off!’ She rails loudly, swaying slightly from intoxication.

“A hundred pounds madam, that’s my final offer. It would be better to accept it now than further incur my business interest,” he returns, eyeing the drab walls with scrupulous intent.

It seems Mr. Scrooge is adamant at acquiring yet more property in London Town.

Stepping out once more, here is an example of ‘truth’ at work. This moment is unwritten; the two characters are from separate books and never meet in the literary sense but we, for I play one myself, are all from Dickens’ mind and exist in the one locale: Dickens Fair. As such, our interactions are inevitable and this is one such gig; some are planned out, some are spontaneous in their entirety and differ day by day across the board. Hence why the ‘truth’ needs such heavy investiture and why everyone is trained at workshops and, to return to my point from previous blogs, why the experience is never the same regardless of who the observer is. You could be at Fezziwigs, dancing and cavorting the day away in the good care of the host, hostess and their daughters and have a wondrous time but never know such a moment existed on the other side of town. Ah, to be in two places at once; to waltz and witness a miser and a madwoman at loggerheads at the same time. Nightmarish to think upon it? Well, yes. But then again, I could never waltz.

I have digressed the conflict away and now, standing before you is the infamous miser himself: Mr. Scrooge. Studying you over a set of glasses, likely unchanged for years and just lightly cresting his nose, he values you with his eyes. Cold, frost itself perhaps, creeps its way over you as you feel yourself cashiered into coinage as you stand there, daring to wish him a ‘Merry Christmas.’ This is the effect the man has on all who he passes; well not all. You watch as he storms away, an odd fellow, without a great coat but with a remarkably long scarf, tottering after him, apologising for dawdling and thusly receiving a berating of untold proportions. You may note the latter fellow looks strangely familiar but nonetheless we shall move on. Here and there we go: at the Green Man, Sir Mulberry Hawke and his cronies wash down a hangover with champagne before a bold Nicholas Nickelby confronts the gentlemen and makes such a scene; Bill Sikes tears past you, and as you breathe a sigh of relief of having escaped possibly the most dangerous man in London, you realise he’s on a furious hunt for Nancy and dread the outcome; an auspicious greeting is offered to you by a rather dashing David Copperfield, a lady on his arm no doubt and as we flit about you see people spontaneously shudder, shiver and break into a fit of giggles or nostalgic mirth for seemingly no reason whatsoever though, upon closer inspection, your eyes cheat you into seeing a chained Ghost of Marley haunting the footsteps of Scrooge about his business or the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, that shadowy wraith of a creature, skulking among the crowd. Better yet, you pass through the fog of your mind further and see a jolly, incandescent soul, ever smiling and ever contagious in his mirth as he never ceases to deal out the Christmas Spirit of the Present and yet, past him, at a slower step, a stunning and hauntingly beautiful Spirit flows along giving thoughts of the longing past as she makes her way through the crowd, her holly crown disappearing at the last.

We are all characters in our own lives and it is important we never forget that. The characters at Dickens Fair are so many that the only way I could ever see fit to do justice to them all is thus: look at the ones I have mentioned and the high opinion I so clearly have of them in their representation. I have chosen them, not because of their quality over others or for my increased exposure to them but because they are notorious in their reputation and so easily provide me with the cusp of all things here: they provide a clear level of quality which I can say, without a shadow of doubt on my soul, is in parity across the Fair. The ‘truth’ instilled across the event is beyond description in the fullest form that could be possible had I the means to rally forth into the ‘Streets of London’ and document everyone and everything I saw that day; it would be a candle, flickering in the wind, to the roaring fire that is the truth of all that happens each day at Fair. It is theatrical ambrosia in a sense and is ever improving; no product, no performance is ever perfect. But for a guaranteed occasion wherein, no matter your attendance in years previous, a wholly new experience is warranted, every, single time: look no further. We, the characters of Dickens Fair, will deliver; there are no qualms on the truth of that.