The surroundings are so majestic they do a great deal of the work for us. But Speech Room is a space that cries out for technique. Listening, it sometimes feels as if people are just intoning vowels when they give their speeches. All those Guildhall lessons with Jeanette and Kate and Patsy about consonants are coming to the front. We know what we are saying but listeners don’t and it is so important in these long long Elizabethan poetry pieces that we HEAR the play. People used to “go to hear a play”. We have only switched to our visual obsession in modern times and going “to see a play”.
My response to my audibility concerns this evening was to hack the fuck out of everything. I’ve got a vocal support structure when I’ve warmed up properly. My diaphragm kicks like a mule. But I was ginger about my back and didn’t roll around as much as I might have before and I really felt the lack of it in Friends Romans Countrymen where my thoughts weren’t aligning with my breath and I kept having to pick myself up and throw myself out again with no recovery time. Largely speaking this is a safe space to play this part, but I’m never happy to turn in work I can’t stand behind so I’m gonna have to get in early tomorrow and roll around, and also make sure I’ve stashed some water behind the tiring house. Act 3 scene 2 is an awful lot of talking and no time for dropping back in. I found myself almost immediately taking my jacket off just as I was trying to radiate and it was restricting my movement. I might try and get a nicely fitted shirt tomorrow and just come with that, put the old will into my trouser pocket instead. Antony doesn’t stand on ceremony at this point.
We finished late. I’m getting changed in what used to be The Guild Room, a little broom cupboard to which the arty folk were relegated in break. It is in the back of The War Memorial building which is vast and you walk on polished flagstones past the busts of the great and the good. Big plaques telling tales of old boys who hit the big time. Poets and statesmen next to each other, and upstairs a light shines in a wood panelled room forever on a portrait of Alex Fitch who died in September 1918 and whose parents wanted him to be remembered at the school he’d just left.
Driving home late I stopped in a queue of vehicles at the drive in Macdonald’s. Post pomposity, Shakespeare and high status architecture I needed to get some cheesy junk with normal people. I had a bottle of water and some chilli cheese bites with barbeque sauce. Easy to eat while driving and available at 11pm. Totally unethical and I should be ashamed of myself. Shoved it into my face as I drove round the north circular. Finished now and I’m in bed with xanax. Back is definitely better every day, and rolling around on a ball keeps helping before I work. Soon it’ll take no more of my thinking and I look forward to that time. Being booze free and a little healthier (barring supper) I am looking forward to noticing how much better I feel on my new healthy minerals and better food regime. Right now all my focus is going into my wonky glutes.
AlBarclay 