Saturday 13 July 2013

In the past week or so, Brighton had welcomed its annual swelling of the population with the influx of a whole gaggle of foreign language students. Of course, there are lots of such students here all through the year (there's lots of schools in the city for expressly that purpose), but there's a significantly higher proportion from July onwards. The idea of course is that they come over to England so that they can practice speaking English in a country where pretty much everyone else speaks the language as a matter of course (more or less). I think it's a particularly mean joke to drag all these kids over from countries like Italy and Spain, the places that actually have decent weather from time to time, and force them to spend sometime discovering what exactly is meant by a British summer. I suppose if nothing else, it introduces them to the concept of irony, which apparently is one of the trickiest linguistic tricks to pull off when learning English. 

I see a fair amount of foreign language students on the Ghostwalk at this time of year. For the most part, their attempts at English are far, far better than any attempts I could make at any of their languages - indeed, in at least a couple of cases, I'm pretty sure their grasp of English is better than my own. But from time to time, I get a group who clearly have learned only eight words in English (and at least six of those are the kind that the BBC wouldn't be able to transmit before the watershed). In the case of these students, there are a number of different reactions, ranging from shyly smiling incomprehension, to blank indifference. I've heard from several stand-ups who regularly perform at the Edinburgh Fringe who tell horror stories of having to perform a full hour to a room (not) full of about three people, none of whom understand a damn word of English. That's the very definition of a tough gig. At least with the Ghostwalk, it isn't just about the words alone, in the way that can very often be the case with a lot of stand-up. The role (of Jasper, the guide I play on the Ghostwalk) lends itself to being a bit broader, larger, and dare I say, frankly over-acted and hammy. 

All of this means that when I'm doing the Ghostwalk in front of an audience that perhaps only understand 30% of what I'm saying, I have to raise my game. Not exactly in what I say, or even how I say it, because a lot of that dialogue is simply not going to carry over. This requires me to communicate in other ways, not least the way I use my hands. Now, this is a bit of an odd one, because there are times as an actor that I admittedly use my hands far too much (I do tend to over-gesticulate), but it's not often that I consider that I am actually required to do so for my character. Of course, it's all about communication: what you need to do in order to tell the story. After all, that's what it's all about: telling the story. Whether it be on stage, or a guided tour, or a short story or novel. Being clear, direct, and concise. Almost completely unlike this blog, in other words.