Quarter to ten and I’ve just come out of watching the last night of the immersive Wolf of Wall Street in Moorgate. Right now the building is still open to the public and they’re gently shepherding the muggles away so the people who worked on it can get stuck in to celebrating the end of the run. There’s plenty of fizz left behind the bar so I’m worrying about this whole damp January getting a little wetter. I’m here by virtue of the fact that I’ll be on the team for the get-out, running around with tools deconstructing and carrying things in this very cold building. I’ve ordered a proper breath mask and some heavy duty gloves online because sometimes it’s worth having good kit and I’m going to be here for two weeks.
It’s a big old show. Three floors it was, loads of big rooms made into more small rooms and then dressed up to look like it’s the nineties and we’re in Long Island. It’s been a tough one in terms of the audience and the basic logistics of it. I think most of the company are relieved it’s finished and they can get back to more sensible jobs. But I can still sense from the atmosphere tonight that they’ll find themselves missing aspects of it. The decompression is a big part of the job when it comes to theatre. And these guys are decompressing like they’ve got The Bends. And the party hasn’t even started yet.
I came on my own in a trilby and ended up being pinned as “Frank Sinatra” by most of the actors that didn’t know me, and roundly victimised by those who did. I had to do a press up competition with a very healthy looking twenty-something Argentinian called Dennis and was roundly humiliated (with my shoulder as my silent excuse to myself.) I managed four to his twelve in seven seconds. I really need to get more exercise. Perhaps that’s February. Although this get-out will be a good start. Fuck me it’s going to be a lot of work. I wouldn’t even know where to start with it. Maybe a sledgehammer.
The company marshalled and awarded each other numerous certificates. The bar was out of beer and red wine at the start of the evening and most people in the know had brought their own. It stands to reason they wouldn’t restock when we are coming in with the hammers on Tuesday but I hadn’t got the memo about no booze left. It was lovely to watch them decompress with nothing to decompress from myself and I remained mostly sober although Sam did give me a Budweiser.
A tough show. They are bunch of troopers. And I thoroughly enjoyed my evening watching them work despite the reviews.
Rebecca and I did a French exit, as we were both feeling the end of our engagement while the party was just kicking off. She lives on the same side of town as I do which is rare for currently working theatre professionals. We shared a number 11 bus home and tried to unravel reach other’s bullshit.
All in all a lovely night and I got home at a reasonable time, oh joy. Bed now.