Month: November 2024

There’s a pattern emerging now, my way through the show. It’s the kind of thing we are supposed to put in blogs, so I’ll take this opportunity to be obedient to the form for a moment.

I get into the theatre at half five. Usually I let myself in with my pass through one of the soundproofed audience doors and then go through the interior to sign in at Stage Door. I’ll get a good ten minutes of rolling around on my own and then other people start appearing, the usual suspects. That cavernous stage becomes our warm up room and we warm it and ourselves up until about ten past six when we all stand in a circle and do something together. Then it’s fight call. This is a less fighty show than many, so I’m only needed for the first beat of fight call which is the slap. Then I’m off up to my dressing room. Likely a sugary snack and frequently a shower before the half is called.

At the half I’ll start changing into Nameless Venetian Man. At the quarter, Chloe will come in and tie my sleeves. I can’t do that bit. Before the 5 I’ll go down into the substage. John Paul might already be there, I might be the first. It alternates. Gradually everyone shows up and 7 of us get into the lift. We go up, usually muttering “don’t go silent don’t go silent”. The lift deposits us on stage but hidden. It makes noises though. Sometimes there’s a lull and the audience goes completely silent and sits there thinking it is starting. It isn’t. The lift goes back down and eventually comes back up with nine more people. Then when we finally get clearance the lights and soundscape make it abundantly clear that it is the start of the show and off we go.

Sing Oti Methimon O Theos. Breath and exit when Iago says “arithmetician.” Go to the soundbox. Read a chapter. Find a note. Sing Mesonyktion. Read a few more chapters. Sing Orthos. Come up here.

Then I listen to the show, keep warm, write, go bother some of the other cast, it varies. But I’m largely up here until the clown. Right now it’s Cassio getting drunk. Hopefully I’ll have this done by the time the clown is up, as that’s when I like to go back down, find a patch of light, and read a lot where we sing the Hesperinos song. I’m making good headway in what is turning out to be a terrible but compulsive book about rich men killing large animals. I picked it for the size. I’m already more than halfway through and it’s huge.

Interval after the song and then back down for the platform. Jono and I have a pleasant pact where we alternate which of us goes up but we break the pattern if, as tonight, we have someone in to watch. Lou is in tonight, so I’m going up.

Immediately after the song, it’s ‘vico time and I go into quick change and Chloe builds Lodo with me. Shiny trousers, jerkin, sword belt, same boots, necklace, rings, beard oil, hair water, sword. Then I wander over to stage left, a few words in character to Desdemona, maybe some playfulness. Then I soak myself in aftershave. I like to smell of my character so the aftershave varies but this is a familiar one as it works for Lodo. Swarthy and expensive. Ombre Leather by Tom Ford.

Then I’m in the pattern of Lodo. Waiting by entrance, a brief moment with Ed. My first entrance. A brief moment with Will about fifty percent of the time depending on where we exit. Then watching some scenes, a moment with Juliet… It’s nice, when the actors pass one another we always have a moment. Touch hands or backslap or a quick whispered word. We stay in the world but share our togetherness, buoy each other up. Second entrance. Moment with John. Then a time to click in offstage with Jethro and Maddy. Listen to the audience reaction to “I know a lady in Venice would walk barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip”. On for the spotlight “Caravaggio” scene, then off in the stage right wing holding onto myself and seeing the variations before I stand in the wings, have a moment with Scott and I’m on for the end of it. Some variance in the scenes and the playing… finding status and trying to coin it all. Picking up the dagger varies. Last couplet. Sing a sing. Bow a bit.

Upstairs, banter. Clothes off. Pub? Usually can get there before most of the audience but, frankly, the current crop of staff in the Duck are Grade A Wankers.

Clown scene is finished. I’m off to hit the crap book.

My little cottage is like an oven. It smells of laundry. There are sheets and clothes hanging everywhere. Before the matinee tomorrow I’ll need to fold and hang what I can. But I’ll likely also need at least a month in the loo as I’ve just had a late night curry from Thespians that was hotter than Wolf Rayet WR-102. I won’t regret it. Everything is an experience.

Joey was in unexpectedly and I wanted to be in his energetic space a moment to remember. He momentarily lived in Chelsea at mine and specialises in being mercurial. He makes music with Maddy – The Amazing Devil. Listen to them as albums when you have time. Trust me on that. I was curious to discover what time has done to him and was pleased to see his light is burning brightly still, and more positive than last time I saw him. I think he knows the darkness too, as we all must. He loved the show. How can you not unless you’re one of these fumbling old perverts they sent to write about it? I went for a single Guinness in the duck to find him before I fucked off home to burn my entire face off in the fiery storm of chicken naga that is now fully consumed, mopped up with nan, drawing its plans against me.

I love this little bubble, and I love Tim for trusting me into it. It’s happy here and we care about each other and the show. We are lightly making magic for each other, with each other and for the people who come. So many school groups. And really vocal audiences that get it and get behind us in it. I insult the reviewers because frankly the old duffers deserve it, they’re the only dark spot on a bright bright thing, and actually many have been very positive. I just wish the quickest ones hadn’t been neutral. Small thing to worry about in the face of what we are weaving.

It’s a hard play, and a sad play. It deals with really dark and thorny things that are so relevant now. Racism, misogyny, violence, misinformation. We do the words and honour the writer. We don’t show off about how clever we are, we just let the text speak instead. The craft of it is in stillness and clarity instead of tricks and choreography. A play like this lands best if we don’t block it. Dead people stand up, spoiler alert, but that’s no more of an unattural choice than someone trying to lie completely still but they’re still breathing and you know it. Corpses in a room are much much bigger and weirder than an actor trying not to blink or shuffle.

Rhys was momentarily up in town, on our stage with the Twelfth Night cast which will be in next, just, as a company, learning how important good voice work is within this space. He knows it of course, he’s been up a few times. But it’s useful to bring it to everyone. You have to be clear without pushing. It’s a balance as there are people right in front of you and others miles away above and behind you. It’s powerful to get used to it in rehearsal before you get into tech. I saw him briefly after a lovely snatched walk down the river to feed the swans with Georgina.

My niece… I think she’s pushing 18 now … she’s in the last year at school and they are doing Othello. If you like seeing women strangled like some of our reviewers this isn’t your Othello. If you’re studying it though it’s perfect, because there’s very little between us and the text. Bless her English teacher, when she discovered Catherine’s uncle was in it she booked a school trip. The school is within the M25. They had over two hours drive either way. And fourteen girls came to the matinee today.

I wasn’t sure what the protocol was, but I figured it was only going to add value to invite them all backstage after. I’m thrilled to be here, maybe some of my excitement will rub off on a new generation. I had to sign them all in at stage door for fire insurance and then gave them the basics. There are tour guides in the building doing everything much better than me, but I could basically take them through one person’s show. Lou has had it before. “Here’s the wall of names, here’s the sound booth, here’s the quick change, that box is full of swords, here’s the secret tarting yourself up area, and here’s an entrance point to the stage. Isn’t it big! Any of you want to be an actor?” *silence* Well done that lot. “Sensible.” So I took questions. Perhaps unsurprisingly we discovered my version of “How do you learn all the lines?” “Well the glib answer is that it’s my job, but in terms of how we do it, I learn the structure of the thoughts first and then fine tune with how the author put them. The show they came to was captioned, our first captioned show, but that meant there was a display with the actual words we were supposed to be speaking. I had a clean show but was perfectly happy to say “I expect at some point someone said things that weren’t quite what was written, but if you hadn’t been following you wouldn’t have noticed?” That was one for the hyperlexic kids like me and Lou, and there was recognition. “We always know where we are in the thought process, so we can’t really get too lost.”

Apparently the experience met with approval. I have been anointed by her classmates with “Cool uncle” which is infinitely better than many of the adjectives that traditionally come before uncle. For me it was lovely to share this with an up and coming generation. They’ll all be positively disposed towards the RSC now, so it’s ambassadorial work for this industry that I still somehow love despite the bruises.

Off to bed now. Nothing in the morning so I can chill until half eleven when I’ve got a free singing lesson from Jox. He just opened up the shop. I’m tempted to do something similar for woowoo. I’ll do some tarot and cleansing for anyone who fancies it. I’m just terrible at scheduling and also won’t do that kind of work unless I know I’m relatively uncluttered myself. I’m never completely uncluttered, the clutter comes with the package. But there are degrees. I’m pretty clear right now though. I have to be. Channeling every night.

I was honestly planning to take it easy this evening. I knew there was a company drinks thing planned. I knew it had been catalysed by one of my closest friends in this company and then hosted by another. It is worth a moment for me to stop and think about how absurdly fortunate I am to be in a company numbering more than two in terms of these long term close friends. Claire, Jethro, Maddy, Scott, Jono … then new friends but right at the core of this work are five people who have been deep deep into who I am for so long that it no longer matters how and when we met.

I didn’t want to go to the drinks. I had my curmudgeon hat firmly attached. Evening show off? I shall munch thumb and scratch bum. How dare you make me go and be convivial? Oh very well then.

It’s ten to three. I’m downstairs on my sofa. We all just walked home, the four of us not in Avonside. I put the heating on earlier so my cottage is toasty. I think we needed an expression of togetherness unrelated to the show. We are just past halfway. It’s good to have a moment to gather before we push to the end. There’s solidity and love in this company. We all see what each other are bringing and we all enjoy the curiosity of difference. It’s rare to find a team so bonded.

I’m gonna cook something, even if it’s just eggs. I know its late but my eating habits are largely targeted to post show and as a result I’ve only really eaten some cheese today. I avoided my vitamins before the matinee, as I knew my tummy was empty. I had some remarkable marmite crackers courtesy of Georgina, and used them on camembert from Ricardo. But largely I’m still hungry, and tired as well, but I’m gonna force awakeness until I’ve got a thing in me just because it feels correct.

I’ll slap up a lunch before the show tomorrow, trust me. I’m just still settling into a discovery of patterns that work for me. I haven’t lost my appetite for fear of election results over the pond, that would be madness. Why would I be worried about things so far away to the extent that I can barely stop fidgeting. It’s all going to be fine. la la la la la.

Eggs. That’s the ticket. Nice eggs. Yum yum. Tasty nice quick eggs and then sleep. Everything fine and happy. Happy and good. Yes yes yes.

This is terrifying. The whole world is watching. I feel sick.

I’m in bed. It’s barely half past nine. Normally at about now I’d be appalled at the shower of shit in Cyprus. “We are gonna lose this island to the Turks,” I’d be thinking.  I’ll give the heavy lifting to Gratiano, three corpses to dispose of and all that. I’ll make sure Iago is nine years a’killing. And I’ll fuck off home to tell Dukey what I’ve arbitrated before I go back to Constantinople and my brother the Emperor, if he can be fucked to listen which he won’t be.

Cyprus was only held by the Republic of Venice for a short time. This play details the end of that short time, and concludes with my character installing an injured governor who is a bad drunk. He speaks last which is my only true signal that he’s higher status than the Duke. But he must be. It needn’t matter though. I just need to show up and speak. It’s a lovely part to play even if I have to really keep myself warm and alert longer than any other character, so it’s normally a really late night by the time I’ve eaten my adrenaline.

I sent a self tape today. A Paxman type, but in the seventies so hopefully the beard will fly. Ally did it with me in exchange for a bathroom door handle. I didn’t want to spend too much time on it, really so we just did it and then sent it. It’s one line. I’ll either get it or I won’t and the decision will be about the cut of my jib and not the nuance of my delivery.

I’m happy to seed things into the future. One line in a thing? Yep, sure. That’s an easy tape, and the casting director is good enough that it won’t be a flood of options. It’s mine to lose, largely. Fingers crossed my tired but willing involvement will be enough because these relationships are at the heart of everything we do.

I’ve been slow writing this blog as it is interspersed with messages on WhatsApp. It’s ten. I’m seriously thinking of putting myself into torpor before I would normally put out my final couplet, and try and serve up the word “relate” like it is the beginning of a whole load more. Bed bed bed. I’ll go turn off the heating. I had a really gorgeous expensive dinner courtesy of Lambs of Sheep Street. I’m feeling warm, full, happy and excited. Three more weeks, and it can only continue to deepen with such a company. So much to look forward to.

1:08am. I just heated and consumed a vast bowl of pasta with pesto and cheese. Easy as pie, tasty and bulky. I can’t go straight to sleep though or I’ll be back at dreamwar. I’ve switched the heating off so it’ll be cooler soon and I’ve opened the bottle of port my agent sent me for press night. A digestif, a bit of cold air, and then a cup of camomile. I’ll go to bed at 2 I reckon, and the cold air always makes for less involved dreams. It’s been a full week both in life and out of it. The dreams have been a little too vigorous. In the matinee today I saw two of everyone. One company member took two shows off for Black Dog. This dark time of year, and even though the company is BRIGHT we are still raked by the claws of Skadi. It’s hard not to notice the early dark.

If you know me you will know how I sometimes just forget to eat. I had a bad patch of it just now where I had nothing but a small bowl of lentil soup in two days and didn’t notice. Often I start trembling and realise, but this time I just got on with it and took a huge cup full of vitamins at the top of the matinee on a completely empty stomach. I sang the opening song and the Mesonikticon – “That was the best entry you’ve done,” said Jox. By the time we got to Orthos I was feeling weird. Got the timing nice on it anyway, yes I know this means nothing to you. Then I went up to my dressing room and yarked an empty stomach full of pills into the sink. Not much to report really, just froth and acid. I have time in the show after Orthos so I had a shower so Lodo wasn’t puffy faced. Then I lay on the floor a bit. Some of the dressing rooms have beds. Ours doesn’t. Confound it.

It was a good matinee for me considering, but that’s my malaise – the work sits on top of everything else. I have to put it there so I do. All the rest was timing, maybe I didn’t need to be sick but I felt it brewing and made the call that it was better when I had time for a shower than when I was on stage in my gold costume. “The duke and senators of Venice greet youaaarrrrgggh”. Nobody is gonna walk barefoot to Palestine for that.

A mushroom risotto from “have you got any allergies” Carluccios (four times today I was asked, thrice by the same person). Then another show, grounded by the mushrooms. Such a warm house. They all stood up at the end. We could barely do that. We are all so tired. It was a very much needed validation.

Half one. I’m slow tonight. I’m gonna see what happens if I close my eyes and lie my head on this pillow. I barely touched the port but considering the day I’ve had there’s a reason for that. Fortnums from lovely Esta, she’s incredible, thank God for her. Self tape tomorrow for a one liner in a nice thing. Bring it. Three more weeks here and then I need to know what’s coming. eek

Understudy run this afternoon. What a treat. But for a bit of singing I mostly got to watch the show with full tech and just a different load of actors. Scott tore it up as Iago. Kevin was wonderful and clear as Othello. Claire in two parts including Emilia and I welled up watching her being brilliant. Maddy too, just a delight as Desdemona. This play has existed for so long, and these characters are mantles that different actors will wear in different ways. Graham was on as Montano and Lodovico, and it was unusual sitting up in the circle and watching the scene before my first entrance, feeling all the build of adrenaline and a strange sense of otherness about the fact I wasn’t waiting in the wings. He was elegant and bright and at one point in particular he threw up the end of a line in such a way as to make me want to remember to do it myself.

They cut fifteen minutes off the run time. That’s a lot of dropped cues and wallowing. I’m hitting the gas as much as possible but mayhaps we all need to be doing that, not least so we can get to the pub quicker.

My godson is in tonight with his parents and his sister. Perfect timing, they’ve booked an overnight stay. I might even get to have breakfast with them tomorrow. This is why I’m writing now as I listen to the bit of play I’m not in. Otherwise I’ll come to it knackered post show. Better scattered and adrenalised than tired and wanting to go to sleep.

I’m so proud of the covers today. There’s a young Guildhall lad, the last year of the teachers who taught so many people still flying in the industry. He was rock solid, as was everyone.

Back to a normal show, and then two more and I’m very much feeling the need for a weekend off right now even though I’m not understudying. Friends have been wonderful though, so many coming to see what I’m up to, what I’m proud of. It’s a good watch, it’s a thorny watch. It’s a grown up watch, so I’m curious to see what Hal takes from it.

Time to go sing “Logos Ponerias”.

I’ve made a bed for Nadia. When I used to go and hang with Minnie they didn’t have these sofa beds. I remember me and Ed Dick freezing to fuckery on two separate lines of cushions. The sofa beds are a great addition to these Waterside cottages. Michelle and I pulled the plastic off the mattress last night. Michelle brings her house on her back so I didn’t need to consider her comfort outside of opening space for her. Nadia has come without a huge and exquisitely refined backpack. She needs a bed. Lou and I have made one.

I love my patchwork quilt. It is the most eloquent present I’ve ever received. It was a rush job and half the material she ordered hadn’t arrived. She had one square of fabric showing the arse of a jaguar, and the rest of it showed way too late. But all the squares have meaning, and the colour shift is all thought through and honestly, people, if you aren’t in the market for an excellent Ayurvedic massage in Ditchling I can hook you up with a quilt just so long as you can pay what it’s worth. I still get lost in mine, and I like that the jaguar is hiding. That’s art imitating life. It’s an incredible piece of work. Somehow I’ve managed to seduce or be seduced by a genius.

Two shows today and I’m properly starting to appreciate the long run. Every show, we can tighten and deepen. Sure, within that there’s the devil telling us to indulge and spread out. But if we keep our eyes on the play and the pace then we can sharpen and sharpen. We are still wallowing at points, and it’s interesting to observe the moments of wallow and to see how quickly the audience gets bored of self indulgence even if we feel within the plot that it is totally justified. We have to keep it moving forward ever forward. My character is momentum though. He has to cut through all the horrors of the play and solve things. “I can solve this,” is a game of Tim’s and it’s something I say repeatedly to myself before I walk on and surprise myself with my final entrance. It’s all I can do not to say “solved” when I’ve finished my final couplet.

We are all so ridiculously happy up here, this company. Tim is a great director for curious actors. We’re all able to express, we all love each other very much, we feel just as it ought to feel in an acting company – a non hierarchical mess of creative fools expressing themselves as best they can. I don’t think I’m the only person who feels this is a special company. The tired reviews from people who are already dead just add to that. I think they all thought it would be raved about and wanted to be the clever one who didn’t rave. Bunch of animated farts. It’s a powerful thing this thing. I’m a small part of a wonderful telling of a strange sad tale.