Author: albarclay

A break from all the wandering around in the countryside, as apparently I’m supposed to be here to work. Just one show though, and a matinee. It’s a smart move by the company as it makes it possible for people to come see it and then get the train home. Much cheaper train ticket, no overnight stay. Kaffe and Joe did exactly that. So nice to see them. Both Guildhall lads, both Factory, and Kaffe was on the US tour with Claire and Jono from the Othello company. Four out of five of us in that pub after. Katherine was missed.

We were audibly tired. There were some big old accidental cuts. Some very odd cues. Two days off. The machine is very evidently clicking back into gear, and it needed oil. We ran a reasonably quick show, but that was the cuts making up for the long thought pauses.

Joe and Kaffe seemed to love it though, and were talking about the same things I have come to value in this piece of work we are making. The clarity, the lack of bull. I once thought I was gushing when I told an actress after a show that I loved her simplicity. She looked affronted. “Is that a compliment?” Yes, fuck yes, the more you complicate it the harder it is to care. We know deep down when we are being lied to even if we can’t always put our finger on it.

Lou’s last night so I wasn’t gonna stay in The Duck. We had a serious appointment with the cottage, with all the radiators on and a mushroom risotto including very well priced porcini from the Italian deli. Now the heating is off and it’s time for bed, earlier than I would normally but later than the last few nights. It’s been so glorious having her here. I don’t want to wish this job away so I’m not gonna count the days until I get to see her again. But it’s not that long…

Off to bed sober and before midnight. That’ll do.

Another bright day, another day with no show. It’s half nine and I’m ready to turn in really. Partly just from a fried brain after finally watching (and loving) Everything Everywhere All at Once, but also from another good old active strike out into the Cotswolds.

Broadway to start with, and the tower there, but it looked too expensive to go in even though I know it’ll go to maintaining the place. A day like this you can find things that are free, so we did. We drove to Buckland and eventually found a legal parking place within access of the walk up the hill to Burhill Iron Age Hill Fort. It’s not very well signposted. “I’ve lived in this village sixty years and I’ve never been to the barrow,” we were told yesterday. Much the same story with this hill fort. One of the pathways was completely overgrown to the point of inaccessibility. The other one was very steep and felt like a rarely trodden pathway. Some interesting mushrooms. I got my first strike of Meadow Waxcap, which isn’t particularly exciting to be honest. Lots of little brown mushrooms, and a few smoky spindles, largely the worse for wear, edible but not prized, looking like a bucket of eels.

Up the hill and past some very fluffy cows to the fort, which is largely someones field now. It was only really identified as having historical interest in 1960 and the way the footpaths are organised it feels like there’s one that we are trying to be encouraged to forget. It has been grazed a long time and will continue to be. Peaceful up there. Didn’t see anyone else.

Too late for posh lunch at Dormy House, where straight haired highlighted blonde ladies dine and serve in abundance. Instead to The Swan, where straight haired highlighted blonde ladies dine and serve in abundance. There’s a degree of homogeneity up here in these small villages. Some Avon Lady sold hair straighteners brilliantly back in the day and now it’s just the thing. Either that or straight blonde haired brood parasitic aliens have been at work up there.

The Swan is down in Broadway. It’s a village that specialises in taking your money. Grown up toy shops (not that kind) and chocolate shops and all sorts. I bought a present for a friend and lots of expensive chocolate and I’ve already eaten half of my swiss white chocolate truffles, largely as I’ve been writing this. mmmm nom

Back to cosy cottage time.

We are always just round the corner from something weird.

Lou and I had been up Belas Knap, looking in pasture for mushrooms, finding a Neolithic barrow. We sat in it a wee while – the four corners have openings.

Rain always threatening, but sun always winning today and by the time we got down the hill again we wanted coffee. We stopped in the tiny village of Winchcombe, to find a truly peak small-town English experience.

The high street buildings at Winchcombe are largely for sale. The remaining inhabitants might have inspired John Wyndham. We found hot drinks in a place where as many identical straight haired blonde women with lots of make-up as possible silently used secret ploys to make it as slowly as possible. “How’s the latte?” “Surprisingly they haven’t burnt it.”

Round the corner from this glacial coffee waiting experience – watch out for the dogwalkers, they hate you – you will find a meteor painted on the side of a building. “Free Museum,” it proclaims. “The Winchcombe Meteor”.

Upstairs there’s a room. It used to hold a harpsichord. Now there’s a bit of rock in it. The rock is in a single airtight glass container marked “Duran”. There are other smaller bits in other pots, but only one Duran. “only came outside to watch the night fall with the rain”. Not a meteor. I’m getting sidetracked by an eighties pop band. This rock is NOT planet earth. It’s 4.6 billion years old so it pre-dates the earth.

There is something really delightfully overexcited about the way they’ve gone about displaying it all. It’s like a town in the mid west where Billy the Kid once threw a horseshoe.

“From the Cosmos to the Cotswolds”. A bit of the space rock landed on someone’s driveway in the middle of lockdown when nobody had anything to do. “Here’s a laminated photo of a family standing proudly by a bit of rock in a driveway.” They have photos of the family “on American television”. “This is the spike they think Billy threw his horseshoe at.” They even have pictures of three guinea pigs. “These here critturs, these was the closest durn creature to dat dar space rock! It dun fell right by where they was sleeping. Shore woke em up if they was I tells ya.”

Next-gen-Patrick-Moore, Alan Cox… no Brian? The well known Cox without a beard who isn’t into rowing. The one who tried to get us all to repronounce things like Betelgeuse and Uranus by smoldering at us. Sexy star prof. He’s doomed to talk about it on a telly screen on loop all day opposite a few bits of the space rock. Normally they burn up, drop in the ocean, go unobserved. This one landed about 9pm on a night when everyone in the world was shut in their home with their nose pressed up against the window. They tracked its origin by its trajectory. The paving slab it landed on making a distinct “Bop, bop-bop, bop, bop-bop, bop-bop” sound – that slab is in the NHM now. Perhaps in 5000 years time scientists will employ knowledge of its structure to successfully detonate a huge asteroid before impact.

It landed in the Cotswolds so everyone had tupperware and freezer bags and got it bagged up so quickly it was barely contaminated. Pure space rock. A rare and interesting thing. Did your grandad find one? Is that the unremarkable bit of rock you found in his desk? Probably not, to be honest. But I bet there’s a household somewhere, a half forgotten story. “I was sitting out on my porch having a smoke…” SPACE ROCK.

This universe is so big. We have learned so much and built so much. Time is vast and we are swept up in it for now.

We went home and watched The Substance. It’s about objectification, self loathing and how we regret our youthful arrogance years later when we reap what we have sowed. It’s a body horror just on the right side of uncomfortable not to be too funny. Feminist Get Out. I had to have a bath afterwards.

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”.