Type Casting

A couple of months ago, I went to see a play directed by a friend of mine. During the interval, an elder gentleman who I didn't know approached me, and shook me warmly by the hand. "I saw you in Kvetch," he told me, "and I thought you were wonderful". I almost responded there and then, but something in his manner seemed to indicate that he wasn't quite done yet. And indeed, he wasn't: "I saw you in Hedda Gabler as well," he went on. "and you were terribly miscast." Another pause, which again, I didn't feel able to interject on. "And if you're miscast," he concluded sadly, "There's not a lot you can do". I said my thanks and made my excuses.

But here's the thing. It had never occurred to me that I might be miscast. Not in that particular role, anyway. In fact, it's the kind of role I've been playing on and off for around twenty years, and it is - with some variations - the part of Struggling Brooding Writer In Love With A Woman He Can't Have.

Now, like many actors, I often secretly worry if I'm in any way talented at all, and if all my being cast in plays is pure chance. This is certainly the case in what we can loosely term 'amateur theatre', where there is usually a great many female actors fighting it out for a minimum of parts, whereas there are plenty of male roles available for very few male actors.

You tend to question therefore what exactly it is that people have seen in you when they cast you in whatever role, particularly if 'whatever role' begins to repeat itself again and again.

I'm not exactly sure, but I think all this started in a production of Our Country's Good, in which I was cast as a Struggling Brooding Writer In Love With A Woman He Can't Have. This then was a role that I found myself being cast in fairly regularly over the next ten years or so, including a period where I wasn't even acting for about six years, but apparently decided to go all method and continue to be a Struggling Brooding Writer In Love With A Woman He Can't Have. I'm nothing if not committed.

As typecastings go, it's not the worst, although it does give friends a short cut to teasing when they hear of the role I've been cast in, prompting them to ask if the part was written for me especially (apart from the wonderful Laura Mugridge, who, on hearing I'd been cast in My Zinc Bed - as a Struggling Brooding Writer In Love With A Woman He Can't Have, asked "and what, do you play his upbeat pal?" It's just occurred to me while writing this that any part of Struggling Brooding Writer In Love With Woman He Can't Have is very likely to be at least semi autobiographical, meaning that the writer of such a play will likely ensure that SBWILWWHCH will have a lot of the best lines.

However, it's good sometimes to be considered for something a little left field. In my time, I've played Mistress Quickly in Henry V, and, on one occasion, God, which must have been the first deity with an inferiority complex. I was confused earlier this year, though, when I was asked if I would be interested in reading a particular part. The role was that of a ninety year old man. I'm going to put it down to the fact that I hadn't had a lot of sleep that week, and wasn't looking my best.

Fairly lengthy rehearsal for Medea last night, but then again, at the moment, they're all lengthy. Actually, that's almost a lie, since I'm pretty sure we were able to let the cast go by half past ten, although a few of us had to work on various bits for several hours afterward.

We're in the last few days - literally, about three - before audience members get into the space. There's a genuine, palpable sense of a show about to happen. Of course, it's always like this: you're perfectly aware over the course of a number of weeks of rehearsal that the end result is an actual show, but it takes being in the space, with the lights, the costumes, and of course the dry mouthed panic, to really hit the terrifying fact home: the show is about to start.

Another odd thing that kicks in around this time is that lots of things start to make sense. Not that they didn't before - of course you always know what you're doing (or at the very least are able to fake a reasonable approximation), but suddenly, when the entire play is able to run with the minimum of interruption, when actors are genuinely able to react and respond to each other, you begin to find whole new levels of meaning and narrative thrust. (I'll be honest; I'm not entirely sure what I meant by 'narrative thrust', I just needed some way to end that last sentence after saying 'and'. , and 'narrative thrust' was the first phrase that occurred to me.

In short, it all feels in good health. Of course, as director, as actor - in whatever capacity you serve in on a production, you panic somewhat as your creation begins to exist outside your influences (and interference), and it's true I couldn't quite get everything I wanted in the show, because of basic things like time, money, and the very real possibility that my ideas were deranged. But I'm confident we have a really special show coming up. I just hope I don't fall asleep when it's on.

By the way, tickets for the entire run sold out this week, but we've managed to add extra seats for each performance - some nights are already back down to just 2 or 1 tickets. As far as I'm aware, once these tickets are sold, there'll be no more seats released. Once you see our set, you'll understand why. Anyway, you can book your tickets via this link here: http://www.ticketsource.co.uk/newventuretheatre

Long, long rehearsals at the moment for Medea, and with every day, a change, whether it be in designing the light, the set, or, however implausibly, the cast. Despite the panics and concerns, I still remain very confident about the end product. I have a great cast and crew, a collection of people who are sensitive and emphatic to the needs of each other and are aways supportive. There have been a good few times, I don't mind admitting (well, come on, it's not like anyone's really reading this yet) that I haven't really known what the solution was to a particular problem scene. But I've always felt comfortable that my cast were able (and confident) to wait patiently while I sorted through a few possibilties, some of them clearly insane and unworkable, and at least a few that I doggedly stuck with for more than a few rehearsals, before coming up with the solution that worked. Which, in more than a few cases, was the idea that one of the cast had gently suggested in the first place.

Anyway, we're hurtling toward production week, and the first night is on 16th - just over a week away. Last time I checked, the last night had already sold out, and the Tuesday was down to just one ticket left. You can check up on the current sales here: http://www.ticketsource.co.uk/newventuretheatre. There's at least a chance that we might be able to release extra tickets closer to the time, but no promises.

All of which means that I didn't get much of a chance to see a great deal of the Brighton Festivals this year, which is a real shame - at the very least, I wanted to check out the new pop-up venue The Warren, which by all accounts was a lovely edfringe type place, and of course ended up winning a Latest7 award for best venue. In fact, the main thing I saw over the fringe was a production of 'Antigone', in which the audience mainly consisted of cast members of Medea having something of a busman's holiday. While it had merit, I found that I much preferred a production from years ago, back in Croydon, directed by Richard Vincent, and featuring Holly Sullivan in the title role. I'd love to tell you that my bias was just that - bias, blended in with a healthy degree of nostaglia, but I think the earlier production really was the better one. Although one of my clearest memories of that production was my mother in the audience, panicking throughout the evening that I'd been beaten up. Somehow, she hadn't cottoned onto the fact that I was playing a blind seer, and the dark patches around my eyes were simply stage make-up, and not massive facial bruising.

In the meantime (as if I have meantime right now) I'm writing a ten minute play for the Brighton And Hove Arts Council for their 'People's Day' in mid-July (the day, in fact, that the Olympic Torch is carried through Brighton). It'll start rehearsing as soon as we get out of Medea - so, only for a week or two - and will be performed somewhere near Pavillion Gardens in Brighton on July 14th. If you have any interest in being involved as an actor, please get in touch. It will be a very quick turnaround - a few rehearsals on a few eveinings, and then one single performance. I've already had some interested parties get in touch, and while I sort out the actual characters, etc, it'll be good to know if there's any other interest from elsewhere.