Month: June 2024

Ahh the memories.

This evening was an AGM for a delightful company that I’m sure I’ll be playing with again before long. Fifty years we’ve been running, taking London actors across the pond. Patrick Stewart was part of the first cohort. The whole game of it came out of him and Murph and an idea of what it might be to tour Shakespeare cheaply with just five actors. Two shows a year for fifty years now, and that’s at minimum. We go out and we blend building the show with teaching. But … Murph understood what he was asking for. He got English actors to come to America and go into academic institutions.  The universities know that they are getting practitioners, not teachers.  I never met Murph. He was an American academic that persuaded some actors at the RSC to come to America and do a suitcase Shakespeare. 50 years later the model’s still working. Patrick should know about that part of his legacy – it has given so much to so many actors.

When I studied English Lit at Reading Uni, my final paper on Shakespeare was highly marked. Marking is anonymous and it was the first paper. Apparently it caused a degree of consternation, as I was best known for a bad attendance record. A high first pretty much ensured my 2:1 after fuck all non practical work for three years. I cared about Shakespeare, and I got it. And my eye to it was practical. I even had it intimated that, should I desire, I could come and be a Shakespeare academic.. My “Drama” paper was my worst mark because the academic eye on such things is nonsense. Shakespeare academics tend to understand that the stuff is to be spoken out loud. And often they are quietly awake to the mystic in a way that virtually all other academics aren’t. But it wasn’t my bag.

This company, called Actors From The London Stage, born from Notre Dame University in South Bend Indiana… I’ve met some incredible practitioners because of them. My fortieth birthday party was in Utah, in Provo at the only restaurant we could find with a wine list. In the morning I drove to what is called Bryce Canyon. An older place than the name Bryce. But America is full of stolen things.

Two tours I’ve had so far. Much Ado back then, as Pedro, and Belch in Twelfth Night. I reckon there’ll be more some time. There’s a joy in it, that comes partly from the fact that it is mostly workshops. You might only do 2 shows a week, but you’ll do 15 workshops with … well with prisoners, squaddies, old folk, youth… students of course… but… All sorts.

Joy. It’s a joyful company. It’s a great way to examine a text you know. And it’s a great way to see things while growing in craft. And teaching is absolutely the best way to learn.

Nice to do an AGM meeting for something and not get bored. Also nice to do such a thing without fecking Zoom. I’m not a fan of meetings generally. Every point of discussion today was interesting and everyone there this afternoon was sparky. I never had that familiar meeting experience of realising you’re just watching someone grandstand.

Fifty years. That’s such a long time to keep such a fire burning. It works though. It must be one of the oldest Shakespeare touring companies in the world. They still keep fresh. They rock. And I’m thrilled to be known by them.

Man, social media is becoming impossible. It was never a nice place, but these algorithms that are supposed to serve us what we want to see? They just literally don’t work for someone curious.

I’m prone to magical thinking. It’s an important frame for the world in my opinion. It’s the modern reflex to replace “My life is shit but I’m going to heaven.” In this post heaven world we can talk about manifesting and all that. But I’ve clearly used too many magical words as the social media algorithms for both TwiXtter and Facebook both keep pushing me towards ridiculous overexcited pattern matching posts. It is getting to the stage where I’m really feeling like it is being pushed on me.

Thankfully my brother is a scientist, and considerably more legit than the “scientists say” type scientists. Add to that the fact that I like to empirically test things, that I don’t take things on trust very often, that I’m always going to question the source. There’s a whole machine of absolute dogshit on social media these days, and there are some people, believe me, who are chugging it like foie gras geese.

We are in a war at the moment, and never forget how the Russians invented propaganda. I’m sure they’re at the heart of all the flat earth stuff etc that I’m getting at the moment. I’ve maybe clicked on a few too many links to people’s heavy handed stuff online about the bullshit alien war that’s not going on. Clicking on it doesn’t mean I give it any weight. I’m just curious to see the voices. Normally they are have a forced superiority, which of course immediately kills their message: “Stupid sheeple can’t see how the moon is actually a pigeon”. Intelligentish people who are still espousing it are likely deliberately going for something ridiculous just to highlight the thing at the heart of it: WE TAKE THINGS FOR GRANTED. We should test things, sure, but there’s not enough time to fucking test gravity just because some mook can make specious argument that it’s buoyancy or magic and that there’s some mysterious “down force” that helps us understand which way is down.

So yes, we likely haven’t tested a lot of the scientific theories we have inherited. We are too involved doing other things. We have lives to live while these people are being paid by the Russian state to get us all excited about nonsense in the hopes they can just tiptoe into Ukraine like they did into Crimea.

Mix this with the fact that we need to be lied to. We have made up society. There are all sorts of social consensuses going on. Cultures throughout history have rewarded some behaviours and squashed others. Now we are all knocking against each other but our rules are different. And the people who have always been best at propaganda are trying to shake us up from within.

Ugh.

Sorry I just hit yet another stupid stupid thing about the moon being full of metal or something, which doesn’t work if you think it’s made of cheese or a projection or whatever…

It’s really fun making stuff up. But there was a terrible AI imagine of a UFO spraying contrails, and this is just the tip of the iceberg. For whatever reason, people are trying to fob off stuff they’ve just made up as real. The person who made it knows it’s fake but as often as not they’ve convinced themselves it’s legit to send a fake picture because it backs up something they think is true.

I reckon about 15% of my good friends are currently conversant with AI. That’ll tip to 60 or 70 in the next year or two, and that’s when suddenly the guy who ate beetles for a dare at school has got the means to create plausible videos. By then there might be some regulation. But I doubt it. Any old idiot can mock up any old rubbish in seconds.

It’s a lovely feeling, to be part of a thing. This little company making a populated walking tour in The City… It feels like we are all singing from the same hymn sheet. I didn’t really understand the history of The East India Company – and certainly not in terms of how it changed the world. I was just doing my job, but my job inevitably involves learning new things. Anu Kumar has written this content, geared to be communicated in crowded public spaces. She has found Lisa, ex governor of St Helena, a woman with really deep history and knowledge. She has assembled a team of practitioners.

For me it really is a fantastic gig in terms of expanding. The thing I am always looking for and always finding is willing creative humans. I like the ones who are into the art in themselves much more than the ones who are into themselves in the art. A walking tour about an old company and the relics of empire – that’s never gonna make people famous, so there are no people working with us whose focus is there. It is a lovely bunch of geeky humans. “I have no idea how we get paid for this,” I said to one of them. “I’m not even really sure how much we’ll get.” “I’m not sure either,” she said. “I just figured I’ll do it when I can and find out when they pay us,” I continued, and she laughed. “Yes, me too.” This is not us being naïve, this is us being good judges of character and being trusting. I’m just a part of a machine here, but it is a lovingly made machine and these are people with integrity. It could well end up being a joyful repeating thing that sews itself into all of our gaps between jobs. I know that if I were to tell them I have major cashflow issues after my card got emptied by the car thief, they would immediately help. But I’m happy for now to let it open.

I’ve met some excellent new friends. Young actors, musicians and makers. I often worry that there’s no more room in my head, as I’ve got so many dear friends I never see and barely talk to. But life is so long and varied. We sometimes just stay in touch by staying the same, and only meet up to ring the changes. This is why weddings and christenings are important, I guess. Times where direction shifts need to be marked by the clan.

Ffion helped me with a sexy last minute self tape this morning before the show. I’m getting better at organising my energy these days. I was able to give full focus to the tape, then set back and focus on the opening show. Then dinner with a generous Tristan, who reminded me that I’ve stood him dinner when he’s been low. What goes around comes around. We both had pie and now I’m home and my only real gripe about today is that it really should be warmer. But then if it was too warm I’d be cooking in my Smythe costume.

We are going to be adding new shows as interest comes in. If you fancy it, the eventbrite is here. Multiple actors sharing all the parts so there’s no guarantee I’ll be there, but that feels respectful of our self employed nature, especially considering we will likely be running when possible for the next three years.

Dress rehearsal this morning. Two times through, which was a relief as I expected just one. More or less as soon as I started speaking the first one the writer started giving me writer’s notes. Writer’s notes aren’t necessarily helpful to at this stage but I’m big and happy enough to understand they come from an excellent place. I’ve seen things come apart when writers give impossible notes to insecure actors. I’m not insecure and the notes were good. There was just a degree of nervous energy involved that might have been better absent at this stage when people need to step into their confidence. “It’s yours now,” Pinter would say when asked about his obtuse stuff by actors. Good on ‘im. Come and do all your anxious stuff when the rest of us aren’t anxious and we will lap it up, but when we are about to show we don’t need left brain.

We have a thing and the thing will be lovely even if people are occasionally wearing the wrong hat. Content is always gonna beat style in the long run and we are gonna nail the content down pat pretty quickly, with minimum rehearsal, and the style is just gonna show. Some brilliant people involved, truly. Recent graduates of some of the best trainings in and out of town, smart creatives assembled just by dint of having existed for long enough making nice things and not being arseholes… and me. And a brilliant and motivated writer. And our “tour guide…”

I met an incredible woman. She is at the heart of this tour. She used to be governor of St Helena, where my great grandfather went into exile with his dad who wrote Napoleon’s biography. I am so curious about that island, with my island obsession. That and Ascension and Tristan de Cunha… There are so many archipelagos, so many strange islands… But God I’m drawn to them, by shadows of my past and those of my ancestors.

It also gives me a very different eye on Napoleon to what I casually hear, to the prevailing narrative. “History is written by the winners”. Oof. What might?

We spoke about the island. He escaped from Elba and made Waterloo so he was sent somewhere truly remote. What a thing. He may or may not have eventually been poisoned anyway. There’s an account of his life in six volumes written by great great great grandpa, and I’ve got an early draft of it. It’s in French or I would see how it correlates with the eventual published text. My French is good but not that good. He was Spanish naturalised to France which made it hard for Kerry to track him down on ancestry… the name changes all the time. De Las Casas, De las cases, delascases… And he was Napoleonic. French, Spanish, Corsican? Who gives a fuck if we are all united. They were trying for a big idea.

Then I had to rush off to Glyndebourne. Merry Widow. An old Fitzrovia Radio Hour contact is associate director and Lou is always gonna be involved somehow up there. What a delightful thing. A proper romp of an opera with incredible costume and energy, so populated, so bright, so merry. I’ve got the can-can in my head.

But it’s bedtime. First show tomorrow and I have to send a tape looking sexy in the morning.

Off we gooooo

And Brian is straight off again to Majorca. I can’t keep up. It seems neither can he.

I’m back home alone and running a bath for an early bed. Dress rehearsal for the East India at 9am and then I’m off to Glyndebourne for a rare and fleeting assignation with Lou ahead of my opening show at noon on Friday back in London. Lou and I are out of sync with work at the moment, as whenever I’m free she’s working and vice versa. Good that we’ve both packed up the jobs I guess, but not the most sociable situation. This is why it’s worth snatching an afternoon to be in nature and culture with one another even if my head will be full of show.

So after doing my dress, I’ll be at the Merry Widow open dress tomorrow thanks to Lou. A good friend is assistant director so I might get to see them too. Then I’m looking forward to a bit of culture and a nice picnic. It’s all very weather dependent at Glyndebourne, but the prognosis is pretty good, so I’ll get to see Lou and enjoy a spot of lovely light operatics in the sunshine. Meantime I’ve just been pulling jobs together wherever I can to fill the gap until late August. I’ve really got myself into a pickle with my expensive fun in Japan, but this is the way of the world with me. If I can keep balancing feast with famine it’s all good. But tonight I’ll be raiding the kitchen cupboards and pulling out more of the things I bought when I felt flush. It’s a decent pattern. I’ve got Cannolli beans in there, jarred ceps and dried morels, foie gras, various cassoulets. It’s not just noodles and rice here. With ingenuity and a few cheap staples I can eat like a king for about a month, and I might well do that in the hope that I can replenish next time I’m in fest mode.

Some chauffeuring, some event work. I still want to try and fit in some sort of a thing that ensures my casked ale goes out to people, and I’ll need to go to Jersey, around a building (if flexible) performance schedule for Lark.

It’s only half eight and I’m gonna just sluice myself and get into clean sheets. No work today so no spend. I’ll be happy just being asleep.

I’m home. It’s not cold. On my left hand side, Brian is triumphantly returned from The Ukraine. On my right, Tom is working into his laptop.

I’ve been listening to our future leaders. It really is frightening that this is where society has taken us. Rishi, a man made of paste, no clue about what actual people smell like. Kier, so used to lies and protection that he has forgotten that questions are to be answered…

Rishi pulled out some nonsense £2000 figure. “You will cost every household £2000”. This is the Tory projected cost of his policies. It’s an open goal. “You have projected this figure based on how you are used to raising money. I know you’ll find it difficult to swallow as a billionaire, but we will not be using the bottom to fund the top.”

I got so bored of Starmer being evasive and nonspecific, with his nasal voice, that I tuned out. He’s (apparently) our guy! Blair was dynamic and sharp. This guy is a blanket. If he gets in, I’m scared he’ll just be nothing and that his nothing will be used for another 50 years of the Tories setting fire to everybody. After all, he was the guy who chased out Corbyn for refusing to sign a document saying “Criticising the actions of the nation of Israel is antisemitism.” Quite rightly Corbyn (socialist sadly) felt that no government should be exempt from criticism. He refused to sign and it was the wedge that allowed labour to get the reds out from under the bed.

But surely leaders have to be able to criticise allies? What happens if an allied country were to initiate some sort of slow genocide while observing due process? We would need to be able to tell that country that human life has value – that their actions are awful… Surely?

I deleted the air raid app as Brian is back from Ukraine. He has learned a lot, and seen what it is like over there for real. A helpful eye, particularly as the Russian propaganda machine is so incredibly evolved. Nobody does misinformation like them. We have an election coming up and I have no idea what the people running the misinformation factories think is the best outcome, but the vast majority of humans on this planet these days are talking potatoes. They’ll take on the flavour of the sauce, and won’t even understand that the sauce was made by someone.

I’m disappointed. I can’t think how else I would feel. Kier is terrified to be something. In America you’ve got the demigorgon lining up for a slug out with a dead fish. How do you mobilise patriotism enough that, like in the Ukraine, you can send these passionate youth to their deaths? It is important to love your country, and have an idea of what that means. But so many people seem to be defining things on what things aren’t supposed to be. Not what they are.

I’m too messyheaded today. bedtime

There’ll be some elections. Nothing will change. And we will all die in the end.

I am absolutely shattered. Heavy unicorn costume, ambient heat, lack of air circulation, dancing.

Today I just rested, drank water and ate tinned fish. Can of mackerel on toast mashed up with some cheese and cream and baked for 8 minutes. Can of sardines with tomatoes on toast. No sense pushing the boat out at the moment. I’m skint, but like the finer things, and I needed to rebuild myself after overspending last night. I’m all about working out how to do the finer things for cheap right now. I booked a gig late August, but I fear there’s a big “tick” by my name in my agent’s office, so the only person looking for work in the gap is gonna be me. A little bit of driving, a little bit of unicorn dancing. And so the world goes round. I’m very good at finding the weird things. The weird things are very good at finding me.

I’ve got two pressurised barrels of good quality booze that need to be tapped in the next month. If anyone has ideas about how to turn that into money I’m listening. One stout and one ipa. I’m tempted to run some sort of pop up summer event. If I get a pressurised dispenser second hand for about £400 then I can likely sell the contents of the kegs to offset the dispenser cost. Then I’ll always have the dispenser and it’s not like I won’t work more shows where it isn’t all used.

The East India Company thing will perfectly fit in to stop me from running out of tinned mackerel. It might not provide steak, but mackerel is protein and makes me happy too.

I’m tired and uninspired today. Likely gonna open a can of horrible free flavoured soda and dump some of it into a glass of Japanese whisky. Then drink it, pass out, and try tomorrow out for size. I might have put on the telly but Tom is staying over. I might have played computer games but I’m bored out of my skull with FF12 and too stubborn to start something new. I might have read a book but I’ve got nothing at the mo. This is one of those interim days. Sleep will bring new motivation, I reckon.

I’m gonna be busy and then I’ll wake up. The guys from the club night loved our energy, but I bet that both of us have been useless today as a result. I certainly have. Haven’t bothered calling her and asking. She wouldn’t answer anyway.

The two halves of today could not have been more different.

Morning found me in The City. I’ve found a lovely group of people and I am thoroughly enjoying the thing I’m involved in, and learning as I go. There’s so much about The East India Company that I wasn’t aware of, and the dire times in this country, just out of the plague. Elizabeth’s England – mostly we think of it through Shakespeare, but even then we forget the stakes. Her court was a brutal place – you could get killed pretty easily if you weren’t paying attention. Executions were common. Many of the most powerful nobles and her lovers got the chop. She resembled her dad in that way. And yet she was canny enough to rebuild, with careful choice of who she invested in and why. Plague was terrible for us, and we were falling behind on the world stage. The decisions she made indirectly led to the vast and awful empire. Pillaging on a global scale, but generations of economic security for the few who were here and doing well.

A thoughtful day in the sun, largely. The city is quiet on weekends and we were working on site. Occasional shouty window people, but this show is part storytelling part walking tour. It’s a good frame and now I see it from the inside I can see that it fits together nicely.

I love meeting younger actors too, as Lou will attest. I enjoy and remember the possibilities. What will these people make? Where will this strange passion take them. It is always the way that people come in and out of our working life. I’m happy these people have come in, and on and off this might provide joy for the next three years, when I’m not swept up in something out of town. Multiple actors in each role so it is easier to be flexible – the company understand the pressures of being artistic freelance, and the need to be available for that mystery last minute replacement thing that changes everything…

As soon as the clock struck six I got into my car and drove to Scala in Kings Cross, where I put on a rubber inflatable unicorn costume and danced like a maniac for hours. I was absolutely drenched in sweat after about thirty minutes and by the time I got home I had no moisture left. Retro Italian House music. I’ve done it before. They want us back. Thankfully I do it with a friend and we have found a pattern where we don’t get too knackered. But I am pissed off with myself for forgetting a spare t-shirt or two. Next time. I’m absolutely shattered. Running a bath.

Into rehearsal for this thing in the City of London and now I’ve met the people and understood the thinking I’m considerably more upbeat about it. Learning slightly odd lines in isolation is tough, and maybe I’ve been spoiled – a lot of my last minute learns recently have been Shakespeare. He’s just so easy to learn once you get under the skin of it. You have the verse to help, and there’s an unerring writer’s instinct in those long texts that is pretty much universal and gives the lie to the “committee” theory. The thoughts connect to one another. There are very few vast logic jumps, of the sort you have to make sense of by the half dozen a page with many axe grinding modern scribes. He wrote people. It really isn’t just a quirk of timing and contacts that caused him to jump to the fore. He’s working on so many levels. He uses the sound of words so well for atmosphere and double meaning. He’s honestly even properly considered the vowel sounds… When I hear modern actors translate his words it is always disappointing. It proves they can’t listen to more than their own intention.

An example? The other night there were loads in a production of Twelfth Night I saw. I didn’t have a notepad but I was largely confused as they rarely were necessary. The one I remember was perhaps the one I saw the reason for the best, so it stuck in my mind when other less logical ones fell away. It’s Orsino. I’ve never played him, don’t really want to, it’s not my part. Still, he has romanticised his own feelings towards Olivia. He’s the guy who says “If music be the food of love, play on”. This is an attractive eligible man who really likes the idea of unrequited love, of pining after someone. He’s romanticised his own lack of clarity about someone who just isn’t into him. He thinks if he loves enough, somehow it’ll change. Rubbish of course, Shakespeare knew it, but incels across the world haven’t caught on and never will. Lucky for him Viola just fucking gets his noise and can cut through the bullshit, plus he’s hot and rich.

He sends Viola to try and persuade Olivia to admit him. She asks: “Say I do speak with her my lord, what then?” (What should I do if I’m allowed to speak to this woman you so desperately adore?)

O, then unfold the passion of my love.
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith.
It shall become thee well to act my woes.
She will attend it better in thy youth
Than in a nuncio’s of more grave aspect.

Leave aside the fact he’s outsourcing his own eloquence. That’s Orsino all over.

Nuncio’s. A messenger, in Latin. It’s an awkward choice. The actor I watched recently substituted the word “messenger”. “Why would there be such an awkward choice in an otherwise pretty clear instruction?” he maybe asked. Let me try and make sense of it.

Read that passage above, and only speak the vowel sounds. Try and sound longing. If you know iambic pentameter then let yourself aspirate the vowels only on the stressed beat. This is generally a brilliant exercise to find out how your character is feeling anyway, without putting anything on it. Notice how every stressed beat has a long aspirated vowel. “O theeen unfooold thuh paaashuhn oooorv mai laaaahve.” etc (I can’t write phonetics) to “than iiiin a nuuuuncyos oooooorve more graaaaaave aspeeeeect” Now do it again with”messenger” instead of nuncio’s. Try them both, to make them sound fussy and to make them sound longing. Nuncio’s just sounds more longing than messenger. messenger = ééuh. Nuncio’s = uheeoh.

Shakespeare phrases it awkwardly. Because he’s a fucking genius. And Orsino is romanticising himself. So sure he’ll speak Latin randomly from time to time – it’s a romance language – and every one of his stressed vowels will be aspirated if you go with it. And who gives a fuck if a modern audience doesn’t get it, there’s tons they won’t get anyway, this stuff is over 400 years old. Only one in a few thousand modern people will hear “nonce” in nuncio’s enough to derail their comprehension. It’s lazy work. It doesn’t need to be done. If you’re gonna substitute a word, make the fucking vowels work with the substitution. Shakespeare is working on so many more levels than just meaning. I mean “courier” would be better than messenger. The vowels are a bit longer and less fussy. I just pulled that out my arse. These guys had a rehearsal process. But just… don’t be so arrogant and lazy. This stuff is still around because it is stuff.

I haven’t really got space in my head to write this at the moment. Just out the bath, I’ve been running lines in my head but this is buckets of exposition and without a context to stick it to they just don’t hold well. I’m happy to learn my lines in advance when I don’t have to come up with all sorts of logic jumps to make sense of why I have connected one thought to the next or phrased something unusually. But apparently this is an existing show and the last guy couldn’t hold it in his head. I see why. But I’ve been confident with harder learns than this. Most of the corporate stuff I’ve done for The Globe has been equally as hard to learn, and I do that with the appearance of absolute confidence.

Learning comes in surges. You cram it in your head and then wait a bit while it settles. In the gap it is actually helpful to do something totally unconnected. Truth be told, it is useful to do that during as well. The one thing you don’t want to do is accidentally fall into patterns of movement or speech, like crap teachers teach schoolchildren. I find the most helpful thing is to be distracted. But maybe that’s my neurodivergence coming into play. I learn well while driving or doing the dishes. Or invigilating exams, running silent inside my head while watching the room. Things that can’t be predicted in terms of movement. Then you can test if the meaning has been learnt, or just the noise. Until you have the meaning you can always hit blanks. Once you’ve got the thought structure it is impossible to dry.

It’s harder when there’s not much intention – when the character is written to serve an idea and the thoughts are haphazard. But that’s where craft comes into it, and as I said yesterday, if you take the job you do it to the best of your ability or you’re an asshole. I learnt that the hard way doing a terrible play at The Finborough for no money and putting in minimum work. I should never have accepted it in the first place. We learn by doing but that was a messy way to learn and it did some damage.

So I’ve hit brainflood for the night. Tomorrow I’ll have to feel easy and relaxed first thing in the morning. So I’m off to bed and it is only just gone ten. Alarm is set for very early tomorrow so I can cram more with a fresh head. The context of this is that I’m playing the characters on the wrong side of the moral debate in the play, and like so many “villains” they are somewhat one-dimensional, often in scenes with people who are more rounded.

Anyway, all is well. It’s gonna be ace. They’ve already played it a few times and I get the feeling it’s a joyful show. Bedtime for me.