Several years ago as I stood fighting with a black rubber sword in a dream sequence near Didcott parkway, a thought started to form that maybe short films weren’t the skill sharpener or show reel filler I had first believed them to be.
When deciding whether to take on a project there are a few keywords to be wary of. These include “student”, “dogma” (fine in principle but now a byword for shoddy) “will supply food” (are we working for sandwiches now?) “student”, “horror”, “surreal”, and “student”. Now before you start typing a reply about that student showcase surrealist horror piece in a dogma style catered with wonderful organic paella and homemade bread you did last year which scooped every international film festival award going, I would like to add the caveat “there are occasional exceptions” but trust me the word “occasional” in that sentence is doing A LOT of work.
“Shooting on DV” used to be another phrase to avoid like a groin-high, high-speed toddler but as technology has advanced to make digital an industry standard, we need to look elsewhere for clues. The breakdown will often sets sirens blaring: I have lost count of the number of times I’ve read “must be able to portray emotion” or words to that effect. MORONS! Do these imbeciles also advertise for DOPs that “must be able to operate a camera” or runners that “must have kettle experience”? Yes! Yes! I know that isn’t all runners do, but you get my point. Is it likely that someone with such a dim-witted grasp of the actor’s role will put together a beautiful, provocative short film? I suspect they’d struggle to put together a decent sandwich.
And why is it that every fool with access to a camera wants to make a zombie movie? Or a rom-com-horror? Or some equally trashy nonsense. Saw, Hostel, Shaun of the dead et al are all well and good but they’ve been made already, several times. Let’s move on. Let’s put down our blankfirers, rubber swords and homemade bloodpacks and make something original, something revealing about the human condition, something meaningful.
In the meantime, next week I’ll be in Slough giving my Lord Kracken, a 400 year old Russian vampire for the short film “All At Stake”
Thursday, 23 July 2009
Sunday, 19 July 2009
The Emperor's New Clothes
Costume. The final piece in the jigsaw of characterisation, the lustre on the solid gold creation that is your role, the cream on your theatrical scone. Or a hideous polyester sack that will rub you raw, make you look like a star trek extra and will stink like a dead dog in ninety degree heat.
"Call my agent"
There are a handful of moments before the show opens that can define a job for an actor... meeting the rest of the cast, getting on the set for the first time, finding out that the west end transfer that was heavily tipped when you took the job is off (replaced by two weeks at The Stevenage Arts and Leisure Centre) and the day you first get fitted for your 'frock'.
After a fortnight of delving into the subtleties of a character, finding a delicate physicality and slight mannerisms it's a bitter pill to swallow to find you'll be spending 3hours a night wrapped in a velour smock thicker than a 70's lounge carpet.
Sean Connery proving that no-one is safe from the costume mistress
My poor relationship with costume started very early: In a school production of Aladdin (in which i gave my ground-breaking 'market seller') i was inexplicably dressed in a beige dressing gown, in itself not so bad except that in a quick change oddly in view of the audience the knot had become so tight that i had to free my arms and force the gown down over my hips, whereupon down came trousers, pants and all much to the amusement of the fourth year in rows a to c.
Things really reached an all time low though a few years ago in a touring production of Macbeth set in Medieval Britain. The meagre budget had already gone on huge freestanding wooden screens that could be moved to ingeniously define different areas of the castle (in the event they were extremely heavy and unstable, and one night, having toppled one over I was forced perform Macduff's "O horror...murder and treason" speech with one on my back like some strange Elizabethan tortoise). So the costume mistress bought up as much polyester and as many old velvet curtains as four pounds fifty would allow and did what she could. The results still bring a tear to my eye. Nightly for three months "Disco Duncan" was murdered by a Macbeth wearing satin pyjamas who was ultimately undone by myself as Macduff wearing a velour sack with a rubber tabbard (laughably impersonating a leather jerkin). The hazard caused by the static electricity alone doesn't bear thinking about.
And I'm sure many in the audience are still confused that the royal court of 11th century Scotland should all be sporting jazz shoes.
"Call my agent"
There are a handful of moments before the show opens that can define a job for an actor... meeting the rest of the cast, getting on the set for the first time, finding out that the west end transfer that was heavily tipped when you took the job is off (replaced by two weeks at The Stevenage Arts and Leisure Centre) and the day you first get fitted for your 'frock'.
After a fortnight of delving into the subtleties of a character, finding a delicate physicality and slight mannerisms it's a bitter pill to swallow to find you'll be spending 3hours a night wrapped in a velour smock thicker than a 70's lounge carpet.
Sean Connery proving that no-one is safe from the costume mistress
My poor relationship with costume started very early: In a school production of Aladdin (in which i gave my ground-breaking 'market seller') i was inexplicably dressed in a beige dressing gown, in itself not so bad except that in a quick change oddly in view of the audience the knot had become so tight that i had to free my arms and force the gown down over my hips, whereupon down came trousers, pants and all much to the amusement of the fourth year in rows a to c.
Things really reached an all time low though a few years ago in a touring production of Macbeth set in Medieval Britain. The meagre budget had already gone on huge freestanding wooden screens that could be moved to ingeniously define different areas of the castle (in the event they were extremely heavy and unstable, and one night, having toppled one over I was forced perform Macduff's "O horror...murder and treason" speech with one on my back like some strange Elizabethan tortoise). So the costume mistress bought up as much polyester and as many old velvet curtains as four pounds fifty would allow and did what she could. The results still bring a tear to my eye. Nightly for three months "Disco Duncan" was murdered by a Macbeth wearing satin pyjamas who was ultimately undone by myself as Macduff wearing a velour sack with a rubber tabbard (laughably impersonating a leather jerkin). The hazard caused by the static electricity alone doesn't bear thinking about.
And I'm sure many in the audience are still confused that the royal court of 11th century Scotland should all be sporting jazz shoes.
Friday, 3 July 2009
We're Not in Kansas Anymore
"LOOSE DOG KNOCKS OVER MAN" read the newsstand. Now if a crunching headline like that doesn't get the papers flying out of the shop nothing will.
It's when you read something like that you know you are deep in the provinces. It wasn't even a slow news day either because page two read "Double Yellows Have Pensioners Seeing Red".
But while visiting quaint backwaters is a joy of touring one should be aware that entertainment isn't what you might be used to in the big smoke...
...And sing-a-long with John on his organ we did, although few of us were old enough to remember all the verses to "Don't Trap your Finger in the Mangle Mrs Timms", which is probably just as well as the locals looked a little surprised when half a dozen trained and over-confident voices launched into "My Old Man (Said Follow the Van)" with the unwelcome gusto of a crotch sniffing spaniel at a dinner party.
When out and about as a company I feel it's best to remain discreet: Nobody really wants a bunch of turns monopolising their Karaoke night (no matter how much you feel you are raising the standard).
Similarly pub quizs though tempting entertainment for a night off are potential flash points. After winning a fiercely contested event near Barry Island we were left in little doubt that our custom was no longer welcome in the Old Cock.
Go carefully through the colonies dear tourer "The Wickerman" may not entirely be a work of fancy.
It's when you read something like that you know you are deep in the provinces. It wasn't even a slow news day either because page two read "Double Yellows Have Pensioners Seeing Red".
But while visiting quaint backwaters is a joy of touring one should be aware that entertainment isn't what you might be used to in the big smoke...
...And sing-a-long with John on his organ we did, although few of us were old enough to remember all the verses to "Don't Trap your Finger in the Mangle Mrs Timms", which is probably just as well as the locals looked a little surprised when half a dozen trained and over-confident voices launched into "My Old Man (Said Follow the Van)" with the unwelcome gusto of a crotch sniffing spaniel at a dinner party.When out and about as a company I feel it's best to remain discreet: Nobody really wants a bunch of turns monopolising their Karaoke night (no matter how much you feel you are raising the standard).
Similarly pub quizs though tempting entertainment for a night off are potential flash points. After winning a fiercely contested event near Barry Island we were left in little doubt that our custom was no longer welcome in the Old Cock.
Go carefully through the colonies dear tourer "The Wickerman" may not entirely be a work of fancy.
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
There's no business like a bit of business
As we all bumble through this business we gain skills and experience. They are the spoils of war as it were. These skills we store in a sort of actor's toolbox (slightly different to the box of tricks drama school rightly tries to dissuade you from using). This toolbox is a more a kind of survival kit, with an "in emergency break glass' cover.
Veterans of panto will almost certainly have half a dozen family friendly-ish jokes and maybe even a routine that could be trotted out at the drop of a dwarf. Whereas survivors of Chekhov could probably shame a 17th century serf with lengthy Samovar related business. Similarly if you need a bit of life breathed into an ailing or static coffee shop/cafe scene you need look no further than a friend of mine, whom i shall refer to here only as Nicky B. He can do things with sugar sachets, crisp packets and empty prop coffee cups that would enchant and beguile the most disinterested audient (he mostly chooses to do this during my dialogue as opposed to his own but that is another story).
I very fondly remember a recent production with Nicky B where just as I embarked on a long tricky piece of text with another actor downstage he(with maximum palaver and and no small amount of foofaraw) got up and headed off to the cafe counter upstage to begin his detailed and daily routine of buying a prop baguette (in reality a thin paper bag stuffed with napkins) from an equally fine purveyor of business Mr Damian D.
As all this action was out of my eyeline I only heard tell later of Mr B's fine and animated action of buying a snack, Mr D however, not wishing to be outdone by this display signaled that there we no baguettes today (maybe an unexpected coach party ate them all, we may never know) but after a long and gesticulatory flamboyant interchange a panani was offered and accepted. Not content with this new departure Mr B, sucking every bit of dramatic marrow from the bones available, then delivered a 'bit of business' tour de force: An entirely improvised 3 act drama... Act One-The set up: The baguette replacing panini is begrudging recieved and paid for. Act Two- The Twist: The Panini is too hot (cue blowing, juggling and much hopping about) Act Three- The Dénouement: Mr B silently "'ooh'ing and 'Ah'ing" and handling panini like it's on fire makes a circuitous route back downstage to rejoin dialogue at table where said toasted snack is proudly deposited.
Now here I'm afraid I unintentionally undermined this delicately created spectacle by simply and calmly picking up the bag with not so much as a nod towards its lava-like qualities and peered inside at what I took to be a frigid baguette before calmly replacing it on the table. Although I had felt the attention of the audience leave my colleague and I downstage, I missed what must surely have been the theatrical event of the season (unimaginatively ploughing on with the trivial matter of the text) so was confused by the reaction of dear Nicky B who looked at me as though I'd just trampled on his life's work. Which in a way I suppose I had.
Now I wouldn't be so trite as to suggest a moral for this story, but if i did I suppose it would be this: A bit of business is all very well but don't try to upstage your friends with a panini.
Veterans of panto will almost certainly have half a dozen family friendly-ish jokes and maybe even a routine that could be trotted out at the drop of a dwarf. Whereas survivors of Chekhov could probably shame a 17th century serf with lengthy Samovar related business. Similarly if you need a bit of life breathed into an ailing or static coffee shop/cafe scene you need look no further than a friend of mine, whom i shall refer to here only as Nicky B. He can do things with sugar sachets, crisp packets and empty prop coffee cups that would enchant and beguile the most disinterested audient (he mostly chooses to do this during my dialogue as opposed to his own but that is another story).
I very fondly remember a recent production with Nicky B where just as I embarked on a long tricky piece of text with another actor downstage he(with maximum palaver and and no small amount of foofaraw) got up and headed off to the cafe counter upstage to begin his detailed and daily routine of buying a prop baguette (in reality a thin paper bag stuffed with napkins) from an equally fine purveyor of business Mr Damian D.
As all this action was out of my eyeline I only heard tell later of Mr B's fine and animated action of buying a snack, Mr D however, not wishing to be outdone by this display signaled that there we no baguettes today (maybe an unexpected coach party ate them all, we may never know) but after a long and gesticulatory flamboyant interchange a panani was offered and accepted. Not content with this new departure Mr B, sucking every bit of dramatic marrow from the bones available, then delivered a 'bit of business' tour de force: An entirely improvised 3 act drama... Act One-The set up: The baguette replacing panini is begrudging recieved and paid for. Act Two- The Twist: The Panini is too hot (cue blowing, juggling and much hopping about) Act Three- The Dénouement: Mr B silently "'ooh'ing and 'Ah'ing" and handling panini like it's on fire makes a circuitous route back downstage to rejoin dialogue at table where said toasted snack is proudly deposited.
Now here I'm afraid I unintentionally undermined this delicately created spectacle by simply and calmly picking up the bag with not so much as a nod towards its lava-like qualities and peered inside at what I took to be a frigid baguette before calmly replacing it on the table. Although I had felt the attention of the audience leave my colleague and I downstage, I missed what must surely have been the theatrical event of the season (unimaginatively ploughing on with the trivial matter of the text) so was confused by the reaction of dear Nicky B who looked at me as though I'd just trampled on his life's work. Which in a way I suppose I had.
Now I wouldn't be so trite as to suggest a moral for this story, but if i did I suppose it would be this: A bit of business is all very well but don't try to upstage your friends with a panini.
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
Snakes and Ladders ...and more Snakes
Today I found myself gracing the boards of a West End stage.
Unfortunately it was 9am and i was hoovering it.
Some might say it was my finest performance. As I beavered away I imagined the reviews... "A thorough and detailed performance from Mr Webb" (Evening Standard) "Webb's mastery of his craft had the audience spellbound" (Guardian) "Patchy" (Vacuuming Now)
"But this is not befitting of an actor who has performed for Princess Margaret" I hear you cry. Well actually it confirms a truth that many of us 'journeymen' actors already know... Career progression rarely exists in our world: It's a strange path of snakes and ladders (sometimes seemingly with several snakes to each ladder). For example a good friend of mine recently closed a sell out number 1 tour on Saturday night and by Sunday afternoon was in front two dozen feral coked up kids (coca-cola) wearing a red nose and doing amazing things with knotted rope.
I can't see this kind of liquid approach to employment happening in any other field: How many bakers moonlight as teachers?; Do accountants fill odd days as painters and decorators?; Would estate agents occasionally dress as a large sanitary towel and hand out free samples? Well alright maybe in the current economic climate, but the point is this: Sure, we'd all like to be employed in our dream jobs all of the time but actually what some might call my 'portfolio career', as well as hoovering a stage, has taken me to some amazing places... a speedboat at night on the Thames, numerous amazing hotels and restaurants, a concert in St. Paul's, a week on a sun-kissed beach, an Easter parade in Edinburgh and so on and so on. Not to mention some of the amazing people I have worked with along the way.
The business of making this Business work can be unpredictable, exciting and challenging and that is partly what I signed up for so 'vive la difference'
Of course a comfortable 6 month theatre contract would be good about now!
And in case you were wondering how i came to be vacuuming a west end stage at 9 in the morning... For a few weeks I'm covering a friend who crews on a W.End show and the theatre is out hired today so I'm providing some monkey work (including hoovering). And don't tell my agent because hopefully he's feeling guilty about my alternative employment, but I'm actually rather enjoying it.
Unfortunately it was 9am and i was hoovering it.
Some might say it was my finest performance. As I beavered away I imagined the reviews... "A thorough and detailed performance from Mr Webb" (Evening Standard) "Webb's mastery of his craft had the audience spellbound" (Guardian) "Patchy" (Vacuuming Now)
"But this is not befitting of an actor who has performed for Princess Margaret" I hear you cry. Well actually it confirms a truth that many of us 'journeymen' actors already know... Career progression rarely exists in our world: It's a strange path of snakes and ladders (sometimes seemingly with several snakes to each ladder). For example a good friend of mine recently closed a sell out number 1 tour on Saturday night and by Sunday afternoon was in front two dozen feral coked up kids (coca-cola) wearing a red nose and doing amazing things with knotted rope.
I can't see this kind of liquid approach to employment happening in any other field: How many bakers moonlight as teachers?; Do accountants fill odd days as painters and decorators?; Would estate agents occasionally dress as a large sanitary towel and hand out free samples? Well alright maybe in the current economic climate, but the point is this: Sure, we'd all like to be employed in our dream jobs all of the time but actually what some might call my 'portfolio career', as well as hoovering a stage, has taken me to some amazing places... a speedboat at night on the Thames, numerous amazing hotels and restaurants, a concert in St. Paul's, a week on a sun-kissed beach, an Easter parade in Edinburgh and so on and so on. Not to mention some of the amazing people I have worked with along the way.
The business of making this Business work can be unpredictable, exciting and challenging and that is partly what I signed up for so 'vive la difference'
Of course a comfortable 6 month theatre contract would be good about now!
And in case you were wondering how i came to be vacuuming a west end stage at 9 in the morning... For a few weeks I'm covering a friend who crews on a W.End show and the theatre is out hired today so I'm providing some monkey work (including hoovering). And don't tell my agent because hopefully he's feeling guilty about my alternative employment, but I'm actually rather enjoying it.
Thursday, 11 June 2009
Room Without A View
One of the pleasures of touring is the excitement of exploring new towns, browsing the bookshelves of new charity shops (you'll never be short of a copy of 'Angela's Ashes' while on tour in the UK) or finding a late bar to 'unwind' post-show. Sadly this is tempered by the russian roulette of digs, b&b's and small hotels... and I'm pretty sure there's more than one bullet in the revolver.
Now don't get me wrong I have stayed in some terrific digs that have made many an unmemorable stop a memorable stay (if you are ever in Wolverhampton you must look up Graisley Old Hall). But all too often it's a minefield of belligerent landladies, pre-war condiments, bed bugs, thread-bare sheets and ornamental crystal animals. Start telling a digs related story in any green room in the country and it will soon turn into a support group style meeting, each confession more bizarre and horrific than the last.
Here is one of mine...Arriving late and tired to one particular room in Edinburgh i was immediately struck by something odd with the room that i couldn't put quite my finger on. The room while extremely small (pushing even the limits of the abused adjective bijou) seemed clean and just about housed a bed- it would do. Not until the morning did i realise what the something odd was. There was no window. Further exploration revealed that my room was actually a cupboard. A large cupboard yes, but a cupboard nonetheless. And unless someone has given you a drawer to sleep in I think that should win some sort of award.
Even returning to the site of a previous good experience is no guarantee. It seems a year is a long time in the guesthouse world, in twelve months one perfectly lovely digs had turned into a crack den. Literally A. CRACK. DEN. The story needs no further information really, other than to say we were all surprised to go from pleasant Shakespearian comedy in a lovely Georgian theatre to gritty Irvine Welsh drama in just over an hour.
However it's not all horror stories: One tour of saggy beds and woolen toilet roll disguisers (the rolls royce model contains a spanish doll, arms aloft in flamenco pose) was broken up with a four night stay in Norway where we were treated like theatrical royalty (even after we had performed): fine banquets in our honour; charming, wonderful hosts; night- swimming in fjords (cold); day-swimming in glacier lakes (colder); guided waterfall walks with champagne at the end; and pancake-loaded boat trips. In fact if it wasn't for the photos I might have thought I dreamt it.
So keep hope weary tourer, the next stop maybe the best yet.
But I don't fancy your chances.
Now don't get me wrong I have stayed in some terrific digs that have made many an unmemorable stop a memorable stay (if you are ever in Wolverhampton you must look up Graisley Old Hall). But all too often it's a minefield of belligerent landladies, pre-war condiments, bed bugs, thread-bare sheets and ornamental crystal animals. Start telling a digs related story in any green room in the country and it will soon turn into a support group style meeting, each confession more bizarre and horrific than the last.
Here is one of mine...Arriving late and tired to one particular room in Edinburgh i was immediately struck by something odd with the room that i couldn't put quite my finger on. The room while extremely small (pushing even the limits of the abused adjective bijou) seemed clean and just about housed a bed- it would do. Not until the morning did i realise what the something odd was. There was no window. Further exploration revealed that my room was actually a cupboard. A large cupboard yes, but a cupboard nonetheless. And unless someone has given you a drawer to sleep in I think that should win some sort of award.
Even returning to the site of a previous good experience is no guarantee. It seems a year is a long time in the guesthouse world, in twelve months one perfectly lovely digs had turned into a crack den. Literally A. CRACK. DEN. The story needs no further information really, other than to say we were all surprised to go from pleasant Shakespearian comedy in a lovely Georgian theatre to gritty Irvine Welsh drama in just over an hour.
However it's not all horror stories: One tour of saggy beds and woolen toilet roll disguisers (the rolls royce model contains a spanish doll, arms aloft in flamenco pose) was broken up with a four night stay in Norway where we were treated like theatrical royalty (even after we had performed): fine banquets in our honour; charming, wonderful hosts; night- swimming in fjords (cold); day-swimming in glacier lakes (colder); guided waterfall walks with champagne at the end; and pancake-loaded boat trips. In fact if it wasn't for the photos I might have thought I dreamt it.
So keep hope weary tourer, the next stop maybe the best yet.
But I don't fancy your chances.
Monday, 8 June 2009
Panel beating
No it's not a second career in the motor trade...
While chatting with a friend I was reminded of a time a couple of years ago when I sat on an audition panel and thought this topic would make an acceptable first post.
During my third hour in the uncomfortable chair in the standardised, parquet-floored, dusty church hall it suddenly occurred to me that all the old adages like "they're on your side" and "they want you to be good" are completely true. But to my disappointment a large number of auditionees seemed determined to sabotage themselves with any number of tics and displays of oddity that would shame Michael Jackson. While I was obviously sympathetic to their plight and nervousness, having been there myself a hundred times before, I couldn't help being put off.
First impressions really are vital. Backing into the room looking lost, complaining about late buses, struggling with three bags, a coffee, a bottle of Evi and a book of "Monologues From Classic American Plays 1973-1978" is going to make a directors heart sink faster than asking who the company's union rep is.
Come in smiling, upbeat, giving an impression of a normal unmedicated (or at least successfully medicated) person whom one wouldn't mind having a few beers with. After all, often the panel are looking for someone with whom they will be working closely / sharing a dressing room/ stuck in a van for anything up to year.
For the chat section avoid ANY negativity: Now is not the time to bemoan the casting process, your agent, your year of unemployment or the DSS system. Avoid words like "disappointment" "loneliness" and "court order".
When the time comes to 'stand and deliver' and give those monologues that you've not touched in a year or whatever tripe you've been sent to read- simple, calm, ease is the way to go- just get up and do it. During my two days on the panel I was treated to hours of faffing: whole three act plays of people emptying their pockets of all manner of detritus (it makes you fearful of what type of acrobatic monologue is coming that can't be performed with change, a phone and decrepit gum in the jeans) (and one can't help worrying about an actor that needs to carry a penknife! True story).
Other mini dramas included people rolling down their spines, pacing, breathing heavily, humming and possibly worst of all standing in silence with their back to you for what feels like minutes before whirring round and launching into "Rat in the Skull" (And while we are on the topic why not pick something light, if you can make the panel laugh they will be much better disposed towards you. Fact: It is hard work listening to speech after speech about cutting oneself and inappropriate familial touching.)
Once the work is out of the way don't be surprised if the chat after is brief, there is probably a buggered schedule to try to stick to. If you have further important queries like "when are you looking to finish casting by?" by all means ask but don't feel obliged to respond to "Do you have any other questions?" with "Peter Hall: Still innovative after the knighthood?" when a simple smiling "nope, i don't think so at the moment" will do. Thank everyone, smile, wish them luck, smile and make a graceful exit (once on exiting I walked into an adjoining kitchen and had to re-enter red-faced and have a second go).
When you are clear of the building you can collapse, smoke, phone a friend for support/a beer and try to forget that your plans for the next few months and what seems like the destiny of your career is in the hands of a stranger who seemed indifferent to your finest Jimmy Porter.
In short be organised, calm as possible, positive, smile and if you ever get the chance to spend a day on the other side of the trestle table grab with both hands.
While chatting with a friend I was reminded of a time a couple of years ago when I sat on an audition panel and thought this topic would make an acceptable first post.
During my third hour in the uncomfortable chair in the standardised, parquet-floored, dusty church hall it suddenly occurred to me that all the old adages like "they're on your side" and "they want you to be good" are completely true. But to my disappointment a large number of auditionees seemed determined to sabotage themselves with any number of tics and displays of oddity that would shame Michael Jackson. While I was obviously sympathetic to their plight and nervousness, having been there myself a hundred times before, I couldn't help being put off.
First impressions really are vital. Backing into the room looking lost, complaining about late buses, struggling with three bags, a coffee, a bottle of Evi and a book of "Monologues From Classic American Plays 1973-1978" is going to make a directors heart sink faster than asking who the company's union rep is.
Come in smiling, upbeat, giving an impression of a normal unmedicated (or at least successfully medicated) person whom one wouldn't mind having a few beers with. After all, often the panel are looking for someone with whom they will be working closely / sharing a dressing room/ stuck in a van for anything up to year.
For the chat section avoid ANY negativity: Now is not the time to bemoan the casting process, your agent, your year of unemployment or the DSS system. Avoid words like "disappointment" "loneliness" and "court order".
When the time comes to 'stand and deliver' and give those monologues that you've not touched in a year or whatever tripe you've been sent to read- simple, calm, ease is the way to go- just get up and do it. During my two days on the panel I was treated to hours of faffing: whole three act plays of people emptying their pockets of all manner of detritus (it makes you fearful of what type of acrobatic monologue is coming that can't be performed with change, a phone and decrepit gum in the jeans) (and one can't help worrying about an actor that needs to carry a penknife! True story).
Other mini dramas included people rolling down their spines, pacing, breathing heavily, humming and possibly worst of all standing in silence with their back to you for what feels like minutes before whirring round and launching into "Rat in the Skull" (And while we are on the topic why not pick something light, if you can make the panel laugh they will be much better disposed towards you. Fact: It is hard work listening to speech after speech about cutting oneself and inappropriate familial touching.)
Once the work is out of the way don't be surprised if the chat after is brief, there is probably a buggered schedule to try to stick to. If you have further important queries like "when are you looking to finish casting by?" by all means ask but don't feel obliged to respond to "Do you have any other questions?" with "Peter Hall: Still innovative after the knighthood?" when a simple smiling "nope, i don't think so at the moment" will do. Thank everyone, smile, wish them luck, smile and make a graceful exit (once on exiting I walked into an adjoining kitchen and had to re-enter red-faced and have a second go).
When you are clear of the building you can collapse, smoke, phone a friend for support/a beer and try to forget that your plans for the next few months and what seems like the destiny of your career is in the hands of a stranger who seemed indifferent to your finest Jimmy Porter.
In short be organised, calm as possible, positive, smile and if you ever get the chance to spend a day on the other side of the trestle table grab with both hands.
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