Monday 2nd June 2014

Gearing up for the next lot of short form improv sessions, which start again this Sunday (the 8th), now that we've had our break during the Brighton Fringe. We're doing something ever so slightly different with this block of sessions. When you've been doing improv for a while (and it doesn't have to be a particularly long while, not really), it's somewhat easy to fall into certain 'traps' - maybe you're often going for the gag, or taking over scenes, so that everyone else on stage has to follow your lead, whether they like it or not. Or maybe it's the exact opposite - perhaps your mind goes completely blank, and you can't think of anyway to progress the scene, and so you prefer to let someone else do all the hard work. At some point, all of us have been guilty of that to some degree.

These next four workshops - over the majority of June - take this into account, with a series of drop-ins that we're calling 'Iron Clad Surgery'. The idea is that each separate session will take into account one of these challenges, and tailor the exercises accordingly, to help performers begin to sharpen the tools in their toolbox. Perhaps the best thing about this is that most of (if not all) the exercises and games we'll be using this month are still the ones that will be familiar to those who have been popping into improv over the last year or so anyway: so it's not like that the unsure or inexperienced are going to be thrown a curve ball. The drop in sessions are as open to beginners as always, it's just that the content of each workshop is going to be more heavily weighted toward whatever particular challenge we're tackling that week. Anyway, for further details, you can have a look at [embed]http://andthisisandrewallen.weebly.com/ironclad-improv.html[/embed] . 

There, you'll also see details of our upcoming long form course, which starts at the end of June.

Tonight, a few of us rocked up to the DukeBox Theatre in Hove to take a few photographs of a regular improv session (not that there's any such thing). It seems we might get an article in the local Argus at the end of the week, so it was thought a good idea to get some photos done, on the off-chance that they might end up accompanying the article. I'm not all that fond of having my photo taken, so it was a bit of an effort not to be openly grimacing in each one. This, by the way, might seem a little difficult to swallow, since - as the person who runs Iron Clad Improv - I made a concerted effort to make sure I was in each and every photograph, and more to attempt to look like I knew what I was talking about. We'll see how successful I was if any when any of the photos get published on Friday. 

In real terms, I didn't get all that much writing done today. In fact, it was close to zero. I managed to think of a single rhyme for a song that appears in Act 2 (however improbable, I am still considering sticking songs in this thing), and scrawl a few notes in the margin for Act 1, but other than that, I've produced nothing today. I'm OK with that - first day back at work after a writing holiday away, after all - but I can't afford to let this happen too many more times. It is always so easy - so seductive, even - to allow a day to go past without any writing whatsoever, and to tell yourself that that'sOK, because you'll always catch up tomorrow.

You never will. 

Friday 30th May 2014

I've got a To Do list that's, like, this long. A lot of it is script related, but I've also got to kick into gear with rehearsals for the next batch of Cast Iron, which will be performed in July. We've got six brand new plays by local writers that will be on stage at the DukeBox Theatre, and it's always interesting to see what the different directors and casts have done with their scripts. I haven't really had a chance to rehearse either of mine in any great detail yet, what with being in a play til the middle of May, but I'm hoping to get back on board with everything some time soon. 

In the middle of directing a production of Twelfth Night as well, which also seems to be very soon (in fact, it's literally as soon: it's on the same weekend), and that seems to be going well. It's an open air production, which is the first time I've directed such a thing, and I'm fully aware that there are about a dozen and twelve little logistical nightmares that I - well, that I'm not fully aware of yet. So it's good that I've got myself surrounded by a great team who are constantly watching my back. Not literally watching my back. That would be a bit weird. And quite niche. 

Anyway, where was I? The main thing I've been working on this morning (GOOD GOD DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT'S LIKE TO HAVE MORNINGS) is redrafting the longform narrative improv course we've got coming up at the DukeBox Theatre in June. We had a great one last year, and we're now revamping and streamlining it for 2014. There's lots of good stuff in it, and it's as useful for actors as it is for improvisers. Genuinely looking forward to being able to deliver it to the new group. I am now of course contractually obliged to say that thing about there only being a few places left, and you're contractually obliged to that thing where you make a 'hhmmph' sneering sound as you decide to assume that actually there's tons of places left, and then I'm contractually obliged to respond, well it depends on what you mean by 'tons', I mean, there are six places left, if that's a ton, then, yes, I guess there's a ton - 

And so on. You get the idea. 

The other major thing I need to be working on is the next draft of this play that I'm writing at the moment. I hacked out a first draft (not even a first draft, let's called it Draft Zero) earlier this week, and now I need to rip through that draft and sort out what's wrong with it. Possibly what's right with it too, but let's be honest, what's wrong with it. What I'm reminded of is the fact that when I'm at this stage (and most of the stages between now and the final draft) is that I absolutely have to be working on paper. I need to be able scribbles notes on it, ask myself questions in the margin (which are normally things like WHAT DOES THIS EVEN MEAN? and WHY IS THIS CHARACTER DOING THIS SHE DOESN'T EVEN LIKE GHERKINS) and, on many more occasions than I care to admit, literally ripping the pages apart so that I can stick that scene in between  those scenes. Then I rewrite all those changes, ideas, half-baked scenes onto the computer ... and then print them all over again. To do exactly the same thing again. At least seven times. There is probably a more productive way to write a play - and certainly one that isn't felling forests at the rate of Orcs in Lord Of The Rings, but this seems to be the way to work for me. 

That, and delaying any writing by messing around on a blog first. Obviously.  

Thursday 10 April 2014

Last week, we had the first performance of our short play night at the DukeBox Theatre, Hove. It went pretty damn well - we ended up having to turn away about twenty people who had turned up on the off chance that they could buy a ticket on the door. For those who got in, it was a great night - eight brand new, short plays by new and local writers. I'm already ploughing my way through submissions for the next night, which will be sometime in late June. Actually, not 'some time' - I know the date; it's just that there's a very good chance that we'll make it a two night run rather than just one. 

What's been most pleasing about this process - and I mean this sincerely - is that people are writing for the first time in ages, or, in a couple of cases, the first time, full stop. I think a lot of us have this hankering to write a little something, and many of us - most of us, in fact - never do. Obviously for 99% of people, it's for the reasons (excuses) that annoy all the writers who actually do manage to write - excuses like 'I haven't got the time', or 'I can't come up with good ideas.' I think one of the major reasons, however, why would-be writers don't, is very simple: Nobody Cares. I'll say that again so we're all on the same page. Nobody Cares. 

Seriously, all those half-finished stories and ideas for novels and fillms and radio sitcoms that litter your bottom drawer? Nobody knows about them beyond you wittering on about this great idea you've got, and thus nobody is waiting for them. More importantly, then, nobody needs them. (and by the way, if you've assumed that it's me that has a bottom drawer full of unfinished and unworked ideas, then, well, shush.) 

And if it's true that nobody cares about or wants your great story (and, sorry, it is true), then it follows that a thing like the short play night becomes really important: at it's most base, at it's simplest: it's an excuse to write. And finally, a showcase for your writing. I think, essentially, that's what I've considered most important about this. Not that anyone actually needs an excuse to write (but, actually: people need an excuse to write). 

Last year, I decided pretty early on that I wasn't going to direct anything this season. I've been directing every year for the last three, and it's always meant that I never really got a chance to see anything in the Brighton Fringe, which was something that I wanted to rectify, since I was missing out on a lot of pretty good stuff. So, firm decision: no directing this year. However, that plan didn't go to - uh, well, plan, since I have found myself in a production of The Crucible. 

It's a two week production, which will be the longest run I've been personally involved with (and after being at work all day too - PITY ME), and it's a pretty big part. I'm just about beginning to feel the weight of pressure on me: the production opens in about three and a half weeks, and in many ways I'm still finding my feet. One of the challenges is that I'm playing John Proctor, which, if I'm honest, is not neccesacrily a role I would have thought of myself first for. Historically, I've always thought of Proctor as being somewhat alpha male - all tall and broad shouldered, which, with the best will in the world, is not ever going to be even your third description of me. So, there has to be another way in to the character, which I'm still working my way through. In fact, I had intended to essay how I was approaching the character in this blog, but - as might be expected - time in rehearsals, and learning lines, has robbed that time from me. 

There are other, exciting things planned for later this year (and, somehow, even next year) ... But I'll chat more about that another time ..  

Thursday 13th February 2014

You know how it is. You're going through your day to day life, minding your own business, when you find, much to your surprise, that you appear to have set up a theatre company quite by accident, when you weren't really paying attention. I'm still not entirely sure quite how it happened. It's not as if I haven't already got quite enough to be getting on with, what with the improv classes happening every week, and the longform course starting next month (don't worry, the plugs will get less coy and subtle soon enough). But it seemed the right thing, and the right time for it all to happen in. 

When I say that I don't quite know how it happened (because, hell, after all, who sets up a theatre group by accident?) I'm not being faeustious. Well, not by much, anyway. I do know that I was involved, as an actor, in one of the Ten Minute Plays at the New Venture Theatre last year. I had submitted a play which didn't get accepted, and I honestly will never be able to tell you if I was piqued enough by that to start thinking about setting up an event where I - and others - would have other and more often a chance to submit work of our own. Well, regardless of what the catalyst was, and what my intentions were / are, that's exactly what happened next. It certainly seemed (to me, at least) that in Brighton, there appeared to be remarkably few events that promoted new writing in theatre. I'm sure there are a few, but it seems that they are sporadically littered throughout the year, and if that's not the case, then the attendant advertising and social networking ain't up to much. 

I'm very lucky in that I'm somewhat surrounded by a good number of passionate and talented people, a good few of whom were also in the NVT production of Ten Minute Plays. Some of them, I'd worked with in A Beginning, A Muddle, And An End (last years entirely improvised play that we produced for the Brighton Fringe), and it would appear that at least a couple of them are willing to work with me again, which is to their eternal credit. If all that sounds like a stumbling attempt at a humblebrag, well, then, I'm not going to disagree with you, but let the record also note that there are also a few people out there who have clearly decided that they'll never work with me again. 

So, somewhat on a whim, I voiced this vague concept of a probable idea that I almost had forming in my head. I'm used to that; I'm a would-be writer, I talk about the possibility of ideas annoyingly much more than the doing the hard work of actually getting those ideas on paper. What I'm less used to is the moment when a few (more than a few, in fact) like minded people voice their agreement on said idea and have questions like 'when do we start?', 'can I send in my play?' and 'cool, I'll bring the biscuits'. Actually, it may be that I'm being fanciful with the truth on that last one. What the hell. It might get me a couple of biscuits. 

So a couple of months ago, it was somewhat overwhelming to be surronded by a gang of creatives, all there for the same purpose. The concept is simple and clear. Ideally, a person will write a play, direct another, and appear in a third. Now, that won't always work, simply because sometimes a play won't get through to the acceptance stage, or someone's confidence doesn't lie in direction, or simple, base logistics (not every play will feature a cast of exactly one person, for instance). But that's the template we're working on, and so far it's working pretty well. Of course, the planning is a nightmare, since everyone has to arrange their rehearsals so they don't clash with each other - and since everyone is involved in everyone else's play, that's almost impossible - but I'm hearing good reports back. We intend that there will be batches of new writing four times a year (with perhaps an extra one thrown in as a Halloween special) and largely speaking, I'm more excited about the process than the final production. Not only is it a lovely atmosphere to meet up and work in, where the idea is that nobody's actually in compeition with each other - ideally, you'd turn up with your half-baked idea, show it around , people will either dislike it, or love it, or like the idea, but let you know that your dialogue / plotting is crappy - and it just means that if you're a nervous, new writer, you don't have to go it alone. The most gratifying part of this process so far have been the people who have taken the time to let me know how pleased they are to finally have an avenue for their writing, that they haven't before quite had the courage. If that's all I end up achieving with this accidental theatre company - well, that would seem to be a good trade. 

Making A Song And Dance

Still doing very well with rehearsals for Three Kinds Of Me (although I had to shout a bit yesterday, something I've not really had to do as a director in about twenty years; luckily and thankfully my ire was not directed at my actor). We're reasonably ahead of where I thought we might be at this point, which is a blessed relief. It's one of the most challenging experiences I've had as a director, made all the more intense because of the singular nature of the piece (it being a one woman show). I have every intention of keeping things as simple as possible (people who have been in a show of mine before will be scoffing right about now), but it may be that there are certain moments in the play that need a certain push, or light shining on whatever that moment happens to be about. That's the danger, however: I can't simply - for example - stick a bit of sad music on to make sure the audience knows that they're meant to be feeling sad. I know that sort of thing happens often - particularly in film and TV - but it should be serving as an embellishment to the main story, not as a replacement for it. Otherwise, frankly, I'm not doing my job properly. What's interesting is how much I'm having to feel my way as we go along. To a certain extent, that's true of any production, whether as director or actor (or, occasionally, even as writer), but the text is such a subtle and elusive one (the lead character has had a massive emotional upheaval, but the play itself is about her recovery), that I'm constantly discovering new things about it. The practical upshoot of all that loveliness, however, is that my production manager and crew get increasingly frustrated the longer I don't fight the show's elusiveness, and haven't yet made absolutely firm decisions regarding set and props.

The other thing to be careful about with regard to music (I am listening to a fair bit at the moment, to see what pieces can/should be used for 3KM), is that I'm absolutely selecting music based on what I feel is right for the show, as opposed to what my personal tastes are at the moment. Having said that, the two can dovetail: about fifteen years ago, I'd been asked to direct a show - again, a piece of new writing, again, a piece about tension, fragility and loneliness - there must be something about me that makes people feel I have something to say about that stuff (Probably best not to dwell too much on that train of thought). For the music between scene changes (there were a surprising amount of scene changes, which switched location quite often), I played some music, most of which happened to be different tracks from an album I was listening to at the time. Of course, some of the reason behind that was simply that I liked the album (it was I, Megaphone by Imogen Heap), but also because it happened to suit the narrative of the play very well. There's at least a chance that I might use something by Imogen Heap again this time around. But everything will require a lot more listens first.

The pub theatre where I'm going to be running my improv workshops from the end of October got its name today. As its a theatre at the back of the Iron Duke pub (in Hove), it's going to be called, simply, the DukeBox Theatre, which I think is fun and quirky. They're beginning to get an online presence via all the usual forums like facebook and twitter, so have a look out for them; it would be great to get their opening season off to a flying start.

Til then, I'm still running drop in acting classes at the New Venture Theatre, still about making mistakes, and starting all over. Tonight's session, my fourth class in this series (although you can drop in at any point) will start looking at script work. There's been some great responses from class members in the past month, so it promises to be a great night. It's £5 a session, unless you're a NVT member, in which case it's only £2.50. If its your very first session, then it's absolutely free of charge.