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.
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
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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