Goodbye To Edinburgh

Yesterday morning was my last in Edinburgh, so I spent some of it in the Elephant House cafe, which I hadn't had a chance to do so previously this year. The cafe gets an extraordinary amount of negative feedback on sites like tripadvisor and foursquare, simply because it trades on the fact that JK Rowling is supposed to have begun writing her Harry Potter books there. This - the negative feedback - is a trifle unfair on the Elephant House, as it's an entirely understandable angle to pull. People who gripe about the cafe celebrating its (admittedly probably quite weak) connection with the world of Harry Potter are like those who'd want to firebomb an old house just because it had a blue plauqe stating that Arthur Conan Doyle once lived there.

Why wouldn't you celebrate the fact that JK Rowling (probably) wrote (some of) the early drafts of Harry Potter there? Frankly, I'm somewhat unconvinced that the story is entirely true as it stands, since popular myth tells us that JKR began writing the books while a young mum, and there doesn't seem to be a great deal of room to get a buggy in there. Although I'll acknowledge that it's probably got a hell of a lot busier in the last ten years.

Of course, that's one of the main reasons people complain on tripadvisor: that it's always so busy, packed with Harry Potter fans (thereby presumably overlooking the resason they were there in the first place). It's probably about as busy as the Black Medicine cafe on the other side of town which is smaller and a lot more awkwardly designed, but has a better system for reducing waiting time and lines at the counter. Plus, it seems slightly cooler than the Elephant House. Well, I once sat next to Will Poulter just before Son Of Rambow came out. I assume that counts for something.

What the Elephant House doesn't have, apart from the sign outside declaring that JK Rowling started writing her books here, is any mention of the boy wizard at all. There are, in respect of the cafe's name, a great deal of ceramic elephants, but Harry Potter appears to be wearing an invisibilty cloak.There's not even any reference to anything vaugely magical - not even a twig repesenting a wand, and you pretty quickly realise that the figure that Must Not Be Named is Warner Bros, doing everything it can to protect its product. That's understandable, but its a shame that its strength is so overeaching that the Elephant House can't even have anything on display like a witches hat, which by and large predate JK Rowling and the films by at least a couple of years.

I'm now wondering if it might not be a little too mean to write a film for Warner Bros that excusively deals with the adventures of a gang of elephants. Who live in a house. See how the cafe and WBs copyright department cope with that ...

What Show Are You Doing?

My last evening at the Edinburgh Fringe. I'm out in about a hour or so to see a couple of shows (and that in itself indicates all that is crazy about the Fringe ... for some performers and audiences, the day only really kicks in at around 6pm). One show that I'm seeing is research, of a kind. I'd meant to do a lot more research in the types of shows that I saw up here. I've got an improv show coming up in May, for the Brighton Festival Fringe, and since it's a long form style show, I thought that it would be instructive to see a few, 'specially as it's a type of improv I only have a bit of experience with.

But here's the thing. There weren't really a great deal of improv shows that leapt out at me. I think improv can be a bit of a tough sell, it's instructive to see how such a show can come across to me, someone who's actively seeking one out. The improv show that I'll be working on, due in May 2013 (since when did my calender start getting booked years in advance? Isn't that supposed to be a sign of success, or something?) won't exactly be an easy ride. Whatever else improvisation is meant to be, it certainly isn't simply making things up as you go along.

Had a lovely chat and coffee with a friend on what was her last day at the Fringe. Almost predictably, we got to lamenting how difficult it is to bring a show up here. Although, if we're being pedantic (which, all of a sudden, we are) she's already brought a show up here,last year. By sheer chance, it was the last show I saw at the Fringe before leaving in 2011, long before I'd met her. It was very good.

To be fair to her, and our shared laments, it was the uni that she was studying with at the time that paid most of the costs, otherwise it's doubtful that she would have been able to afford it. It's a depressing fact that money is a significantly more important factor in getting a show to the fringe than, say, talent. I've spoken to at least two people this year - who I didn't know - who felt trapped in shows that they absolutely hated, being directed by people who they thought were talentless idiots. The reason, then, that the show existed was because these directors had a bit of cash to throw around. And, bizarely, in both cases, because the directors were completing a PHD in Theatre. However, in both cases, the depressed actors involved said that I should really get along to see the show. Presumably after nearly a month, the flyering instinct never leaves you.

Three Kinds Of Me

So, I have a new upcoming project. This one has a bit of a quick turnaround, as the show goes up in October. That doesn't leave a great deal of rehearsal time. I'm not yet sure if the fact that it's a one woman show will make rehearsal more or less difficult. It's by no means a foregone conclusion.

One conclusion you may have correctly drawn from that first paragraph is that I'm not in it. The one woman in question is a good friend Sarah Charlsey (she's such a good friend that I even manage to spell her surname correctly occasionally), and she's written the piece that she will be acting in. It's not precisely the first time I've directed a friend - it's not even the first time I've directed Sarah - but this time, the dymanics are somewhat different.

First of all, I've been asked to direct someone else's creation (we'll pass over the small detail that I wasn't actually first choice. I'll keep that in reserve if things aren't going my way in the third week of rehearsal). Normally as a director, at least at this level, when it's all local, and a compartively small amount of people are watching, you choose your own project. Therefore, I have in my head (as I imagine a great many directors do) a bubbling pot of various images for possible in-the-future productions that may never happen. I have great opening images for both Three Sisters and Twelfth Night, both of which I imagine are far too expensive for any venue I currently have access to. Likewise, I have a whole series of ideas for a show that I tell anyone that will listen that I definetly will write a script for one of these days (it involves Victorian women using silks and Arial skills. I have yet to convince anyone - including myself - that that little detail isn't just for my benefit).

However, the goal posts change somewhat if you are directing your friend in the script they themselves wrote. I'm not exactly expecting to have any arguments regarding costume ('but they have to be wearing a Thomas The Tank Engine jumper, that's what the real David was wearing!'), but you never know. Quite often as a director (and indeed, as actor, designer, or most anything else) you play around with the expectations of the script: you know that such and such a scene is a moment when everyone's royally annoyed with each other, so you see how it will work if each actor plays it really positive and nice. Usually, the audience will pick up on the tension anyway, in a passive aggressive way. I'll let you know how it all goes; the first rehearsal is this week, after I get back from Edinburgh.

A Day Off. Sort Of.

Within the finishing line (for me) of Edinburgh this year, as I'll be leaving in a couple of days. I've enjoyed it more than I did last year, although it feels more like hard work this time round - the reviews I've been writing have felt like more of a struggle, particuarly in the instances where I've attempted to review things that are somewhat outside my 'comfort zone'. There have been a couple of things this year that I knew I was never going to review, simply because I liked the performer too much. I'm thinking specfically here of the likes of Daniel Kitson and Josie Long, who I happened to see on the same day. I knew that I didn't want to review them,  just see them as a punter, because I wanted to simply watch them without the need to make notes, and also (this may the more important point) there comes a time when it's entirely pointless to review performers you already expect to like and be positive about. There are a couple of acts this year that, keeping that in mind, I suspect I have written my last review for.

However, I feel like I've become a true Fringe veteran today because I 'almost' had a day off. In years past, I would feel like I was wasting a day up in Edinburgh if I wasn't seeing five or six shows. Considering it takes about five years to truly get a measure of the city, and there can be less than three minutes between shows, this way madness lies. But today was somewhat relaxed, and I had no desire to complicate matters. I still had one show to review at the end of the night, but the rest of the day was fairly empty. Which is not to say that I didn't fill it with a couple of shows anyway - Richard Herring's Talking Cock (actually the first time I've seen him live), and earlier in the day, Angela Barnes and Matt Richardson on the Free Fringe. Both shows were great fun, and both were crammed to the rafters with punters. It's very delightful to see such huge audiences attend shows headlined by performers you have at least a nodding aquaintance with. I'm sure I'll be boring people with 'I knew them' type anedoctes in less than a year.

The other way I know I'm a Fringe veteran actually started a couple of years ago, but I thought I'd gotten over it. However, it kicked in again today (or was it yesterday? It's the Fringe, I have no idea). It's the point where, as an audience member, you begin to take as keen an interest in the sightlines and lighting rig as you do the act on stage. I get frustrated by this, this niggling hope that at some point I might have the chance to bring a production up to the festival. Of course, at the moment, without recourse to a lottery win, this seems to be pretty much impossible.

These latter days of my Fringe visits are the most cruel - surronded by thousands of creative people, relaxed after a couple of weeks off, my mind begins to start actually having a couple of good ideas that might genuinely work as Fringe ideas, and just today I had an idea how to rewrite my Brighton Fringe play from a couple of years ago to get it to a Edfringe-manageable time of at least a hour and a half. Nobody seems to have told my head that in a very short time, it'll be back at work. It seems a shame to let it know ...

Where Is Everybody?

So, Edinburgh feels odd this year. Actually, that's an entirely meaningless sentence, since I'm pretty sure that someone somewhere is required to say 'Edinburgh feels odd this year' every year, no matter what's going on. I know that it felt odd to me last year, but I also know that was just me, that I wasn't really enjoying it, despite the quailty of the acts. This year, I'm having a better time, although I'm reasonably convinced the acts aren't.

I knew that I'd truly arrived on the Fringe this year when I'd seen a terrible show followed by a really good show (I think that's like, one of the rules or something). The good show was from Belt Up, an adaptation of A Little Princess, a book that I incidentally have never read, and now think that if I ever had a daughter to read it to, I might not be able to get past chapter one without having a massive emotional collaspe.

The really bad show, by the way, I'm not going to name. I feel bizarely lucky that I had to pay for it - I'd much rather wasting some cash on it than having to suffer a headache trying to think of something positive to say something about it in a review. It concerns me that some companies seem not to truly understand what the concept of this 'international' festival really is - you know, the idea that they might be seen by audiences.

Of course, that's what's odd about the fringe this year - audiences, or a seeming lack of them. For as long as I've been coming to the fringe (which isn't that long), the chatter has always been that the audiences are down on the previous year. This is always a claim that ends up getting shot in the throat the following month when the fringe society release their figures, and it's discovered that all manner of records have been broken. But this year, it feels different even when you're not sitting in a poorly attended show. It's out there - or rather, people aren't - in the streets, and in empty Pleasance Courtyards. You almost feel like this is what it's like in the other eleven months of the year.

On the plus side, at least it's easier to go down the Royal Mile. I even managed to get a flyer, and usually only the best people get given flyers. I know, because they told me.

Post Olympics

So, that’s it, then. Two weeks of watching the planet’s athletes doing what they do best are now at anend, and now Great Britain can go back to doing what it does best, namely, returning to a foul mood and not being quite so positive. It must have been quite a strain for the nation’s cynics over the last fortnight, like a middle aged man holding his stomach in when a pretty girl walks past.
Having little or no interest in sport, I ended up seeing little to none of the games. In fact, most of what I did see was essentially the opening and closing ceremonies, both at big screens – one in Brighton, on the beach, and the other, tonight, at the BBC Garden at the Edinburgh Fringe. There were, of course, these big screens in town centres all over the country, allowing people everywhere to soak up that atmosphere of fun, comradeship and support for the nation’s Olympians. Well, except in Worthing, where last week someone nicked the laptop and cable that were needed to transmit the footage from the BBC. Maybe in Worthing they assumed that basic thievery was an Olympic sport, and they were going for Bronze. And by ‘going for Bronze’, I do of course mean simply pinching it from a railway line.
However, the atmosphere at those screens was wonderful. A lot was said about how easy it was to get caught up in a sport that you had no real passion – or, indeed, fundamental knowledge – of, and that’s even more true within a crowd of amenable people on a sunny day getting swept up in all the high drama of, say, dressage.

We’ve learnt a lot from these games. We’ve learned that we’re in dire need of stronger role models than the cast of TOWIE. We’ve learned that despite what we’re continually being told, that actually most people are pretty fond of Great Britain. We’ve learned that an alarming amount of people want to sleep with Tom Daly, regardless of what they thought their sexuality was. And, I don’t know about you, but I’ve learned that every time from now one I use a taxi, I want it to be like the ones the Spice Girls use.

Hot Under The Collar

Another Ghostwalk last night. These past two days have been about the hottest and sunniest of the year so far. Now, I realise that that last sentence could easily have been replaced with 'these past two days have been the sunny ones' with no real effect on accuracy, or reality, but it's worth mentioning because of the Ghostwalk costume.

As you may or may not know, or even care, in order to do the walk, I have to wear a suitable outfit, all Victorian cape and top hat. Despite this get up, an inordinate amount of people I pass, while leading a large procession of tourists down Brighton Lanes, still feel compelled to ask what's going on, almost as if they half expect the answer to be a New Oreleand funeral. Tell you what, though. If it is going to be a New Kreleans funeral, then I at least want some chap at the roadside to be asking 'Whose funeral is it?', then some dude behind him to say 'Yours, baby', before sticking him with a walking stick blade. And that's my obscure filmic reference for this column sorted.

Anyway, I digress, which regular reader(s?) of this column will attest readily is a real issue, and it's something I'm working on. Look, there I go again. Anyway, Ghost Walking in sunlight. It's an odd thing, since invariably you get a very different atmosphere in the winter months, when it's already dark by about four o'clock, but because you're in a seaside town, the potential audiences can be somewhat smaller. Conversely, in the summer months, the audiences are noticeably bigger, but the Walk is done before it even begins to get dark. It means that in July and August, the walk never gets overly spooky. No-one seems to mind, however.

But it is noticeable just how hot it is this year when you're dressed like an 18th century undertaker. It's very hot and sweaty (the top hat is particularly punishing, and adding a full cloak seems to be asking for a full on collapse), but the effect is worth it: you clearly get a very different response from audiences dressed in the hat and tails as opposed to, say, a t-shirt and jeans. Whenever it all seems to get too hot, it's worth remembering the words of Charles M Schulz, who, as the creator of the long running 'Peanuts' cartoon, should be your go to point for most words of wisdom. Snoopy is spotted dazing in the sun, and it's lamented that, as a dog, he's always stuck in a full coat of fur. Snoopy takes a moment, and responds blithely: "Some of us prefer to sacrifice comfort for style ..."

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.