The last time I properly crammed a Shakespeare part was a long long time ago – I think 2007. Someone had been sacked and I was drafted in to replace them on a tour playing Malvolio. It turned into a delightful thing in terms of fellowship, a helpful review at Edinburgh by Gyles Brandreth no less, and sadly no more money than we started with, but that’s touring theatre, particularly when you’re young.
I’m curious to know if my time addled brain is going to soak this up the same way. It’s Merchant of Venice and they’ve lost their Gratiano. He’s not one I have been near before. I played a Shylock once but that was only short. No delving.
He seems to be the highest status in the play just as he’s given the final line. The person left alive with the highest status pretty much always speaks the last line of all the Shakespeare plays. Now I’ve said it you’ll notice it. But that being the case it looks like I’m playing an upper class twit, which is no great stretch. It opens on Friday back at The Willow Globe, and I’m just so happy to have a chance to go back there so soon after The Factory did Caesar. This is the house show. I love the whole creative team there, and what they are doing. I can’t remember everything I’ve done there… Banquo with a freshly broken rib, Bottom, Malvolio… Bit parts when there’s no time to learn, chunky ones when the world is slower. We told The Odyssey around a huge bonfire one night there, late at night it felt. I remember faces in firelight, snatches of song. This sort of thing is why I’m still plugging. Yesterday I needed to get things off my chest. Saying things can take away the sting of them. Today I’m just excited about the chance of more odd magic, if only I could get the lines to stay in my head.
Three sleeps is what I prefer. I couldn’t really do any work yesterday so I’ve had a few hours today, I’m gonna have all of tomorrow to cram and then I’ll drive to Wales mumbling to myself and plug into the dress rehearsal.
Green land right in the heart of Wales and decades ago now Phil and Sue quite literally planted a theatre. The border is all a living willow, changing with the seasons, teeming with life. The stage is small as is the house, but there is undeniable magic there, and I’ve been going there for what must be a decade now, doing our rigorous but ad-hoc Factory shows, trying to find the balance between fixed and flowing where the magic seems easy, supported by the local audience, and all the lovely dreamers who have joined the team. It’s a thin place, lush from heavy rain, and you might be soaked or eaten as you tell your tale. There are semi-feral chickens now, and one of them joined us for Marc Antony’s funeral oration a few weeks ago. It’s a remarkable and unique place, and it gets under your skin. What a wonderful thing they’ve made, and I’m thrilled once again to be part of something there – this time their in-house show. Likely it’ll be a bit less unpredictable than The Factory, and I’d better get back to line learning and do a bit more before I crash out…
AlBarclay 