Exit Through The Fireplace

That one duff review!

2011-08-02T09:10:00.001+01:00

"...If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same..."

Well I'm sad to say it seems that I can't. Yes, I take praise with polite thanks and treat it lightly, looking for a reason not to take it too much to heart, but give me some public criticism and it seems I'll lie awake at night like a five year old who's just accidentally seen "The Exorcist" (I should point out though that I didn't wet the bed) (last night anyway -after "The Exorcist" I almost certainly did)

The reason for this bout of insomnia and self doubt? "Marcus Webb's Detective-Sergeant Trotter lacks something of conviction behind the eyes". I know, I know! Yes, it could be worse. And leaving aside the physiological queries about what sort of talented specialist oculist might be able to see behind one's eyes, it still hurts.

It doesn't matter that people have written in to congratulate my performance or we regularly collectively receive whoops and cheers and "bravo"s at the curtain, all I can think about is my perceived lack of conviction behind the eyes. The show immediately after reading the review I nearly strained a retina trying to convict everyone in sight from behind my eyes. I baffled myself so completely with extra eye acting that I doubtless gave the worst performance of my career (And theatre goers on the Scilly Isles in July 2005 will know that that is quite a claim).

As I write this I don't yet know the solution to this problem or when my obsession with my ocular inadequacies will pass. Maybe it never will, maybe this is not just the final nail but all the preceeding nails and the rosewood lid and brass embossed plaque to the coffin my career will lie in. I doubt it but one never knows. In the meantime perhaps I should either ask for character glasses to disguise my failings or go back to Rudyard's "If" and try and be a little more zen about it all.

"I am Batman"

2011-02-20T12:53:00.004Z

Sadly no, it's not casting news. Christian Bale won't be wet-wiping down his rubber suit and handing it to yours truly. Rather today's musings centre on audience participation, and more specifically unsolicited audience participation.
I'm not talking about squeals of excitement or gasps of surprise (which we nightly enjoy as The Mousetrap plot twists about like a dad at a disco) I'm thinking of the more loquacious outbursts...

On the lower end of the scale, during moments of revelation we've recently had a few "Oh my God"s spill forth from shocked patrons, always followed by laughter at the unconscious emission. That's fine and dandy for us up on the stage, it means the fish is not only on the hook but it's leaping aboard, filleting itself and turning on the hob. We only have to hold the moment while the audience settles again and resume where we left off.

In the middle of the scale we have comments that relate to the action but aren't necessarily useful to the actor. For example in Act II I have a moment where I draw upon all my training and powers to delicately craft a series of actions that leads the audience to suspect a murder has been committed, the summit of which is a slow turn and a facial expression cross fade from impatience to fear (don't try that at home- it's for professionals only) followed by two beats of silence and a run and shout. A couple of weeks ago during a Tuesday matinee as I was knee deep in my art, having already navigated the facial expression cross fade without injury and exactly half way through my two beat silence, there came a voice from the stalls, that was somehow both fragile and mighty, and spoken with the full certainty that 70+ years on this planet brings, confidently promulgating with a slight northern twang "HE'S A GONER." In actuality he wasn't a goner and I did allow myself a slight self satisfied twinkle at having duped such a confident disciple of the detective arts but to be honest it was a contribution I could have done without.

The upper echelons of the scale are reserved for the most bizarre offerings. Among many contenders one example stands out. A few years ago I was playing in NJ Crisps "Dangerous Obsession" at the Wolverhampton Grand, for anyone who doesn't know it it's a beautifully crafted thriller for three actors with the most precise of scripts- not a word is wasted as it builds to one of the most exciting conclusions of any play I've worked on before or since. If you have plans to see it in the near future you may wish to skip the next few lines... After an hour and a half of steadily building tension my character is held at gunpoint for past crimes, he begs for his life but to no avail because, as he attempts to crawl away behind the sofa the gunman steadily follows and fires three times, his wife screams and sits in paralysed shock. Silence. Gun smoke wafts. More silence. After a few seconds the shot man appears disheveled and shocked over the back of the sofa- the bullets were blanks. It's heart stopping stuff and a moment that is a pay-off for a relentless previous half an hour of taut drama. So you can imagine our delight when in the silence the company briefly gain two additional players. Both newcomers had midland accents and were clearly elderly and compensating for the others hearing difficulties. The updated script went something like this...

Mark (more sobs than words) ...no...no...oh Jesus...
John fires, once, twice and then again, three deadly explosions. Sally emits a sound, a terrible prolonged moan. Silence.
Old man (to old woman) Are you alright?
Old woman Yes I'm quite enjoying it actually
What time is it?
Old man Nearly twenty to five
Old woman Oh.

It was quite a moment. Like pissing onto a low voltage electric fence one didn't know whether to laugh or cry. As I was concealed behind the sofa I had the option of both, which I took. How my two esteemed colleagues coped is a matter of both mystery and admiration. We later laughed how we were damned with the faint praise of "quite enjoying it"

Rather like the Spinal Tap amps go up to 11, an extra special place on the scale must be saved for truly surreal bestowals. And so we come to the title of this item...

Robin Hood. Greenwich Theatre. 2002.
A stage in eerie darkness at the top of Act 1. A church bell tolls. Dry ice. Isolated shafts of light pick out 6 shadowy hooded figures.
Figure 1: Two of the clock, the owl cries.
Small boy at back of auditorium: I am Batman
Figure 2: (suppressing laughter) Three of the clock, the forest stirs
Small boy at back of auditorium: (insistently) I AM Batman
Figure 3: (barely coherent with giggles) Four of the clock, wild things wake
Small boy at back of auditorium: (now quite cross) I AM BATMAN
Mother of small boy at back of auditorium: No you're not dear.

Quite what prompted Bruce Wayne to reveal his identity at that moment will remain a puzzle but needless to say the other 'hours of the clock' went for a bit a burton that day.

Two to Tango...

2010-12-30T17:52:00.009Z

No matter how good the show you are in, how confident you are in the product, every actor worries about audience reaction. Currently when I get my call to stage (30 minutes or so after curtain up) the first thing I do is look through a little peep hole at the audience to get an idea of the size of the house and shorty after I'll make enquiring hand signals to the other actors as to what tonight's crowd are like. Part of me knows it shouldn't matter -after all the show must go on even if they are throwing tinned fruit- but the truth is our evening on stage is heavily influenced by the audience's contribution. It is possible for a play to take off in spite of the audience but generally the experience on each side of the footlights is dependent on the other. When it works (and mostly it does) it can be electric: actors and audience committed, focused and all buzzing together around a great piece of drama.

But there are pitfalls to negotiate along the way...

For the actors there can be a tendency to interpret quiet in the audience as hostility "They hate it!" the actor may internally wail if lines that usually get a reaction don't (or perhaps more accurately "They hate me!"). When, for example, 'laugh lines' have been met with an unfamiliar stoic silence in the auditorium it's not unusual to see actors come off stage and give the audience a two fingered salute. I confess I have done the same myself.
There is an old adage that "you can't hear a smile" which is certainly worth remembering in these moments but in addition some audiences are simply listeners (you don't realise this until moments of tension and suspense when you are rewarded with a silence in which you could hear a pin drop into a bowl of syrup- although you generally have to earn those moments so they tend to be well into the play by which point a "sod you" attitude may have already been adopted).
The truth is we actors are vulnerable out there, but it's always worth trying to regard the audience as 'friendly until proven otherwise'. It's like coming across a group hoodies on the street, one's instinctive reaction is concern but statistically one probably needn't worry: It's more likely to be your twelve year old cousin Tarquin and his strange, malodorous but harmless chess club pals than someone on crack cocaine waiting to relieve you of your new iPhone. Repeat after me "Friendly until proven otherwise" (although there's no harm arranging the keys in your pocket into a makeshift knuckle-duster just in case) (so long as you recognise Tarquin before you go for the eyes)

I believe the secret for the audience is that it's a bit like dinner at Waggamamma: You need to approach it with a generous spirit, then when another diner gets sat next to you, you chat and enjoy something together- it may turn out they were your godmother's first lover or a fellow Coventry supporter or they beat you in an eBay auction for an occasional table. To put it simply the experience becomes more than the sum of its parts. If you sit down without a generous spirit and others share your table it's just someone who can listen in on your conversation, limit your elbow room and hog the soy sauce.
In a theatre where I've worked a lot, Saturday night audiences always seemed to be the hardest to please. Mid week audiences would come with a 'happy-go-lucky' attitude as though they were just pleased to be having a cheeky evening out on a school night, Friday night audiences were excited and committed to having fun whatever you put in front of them, but the Saturday night crowd would always take ages to defrost as though wary we might be wasting the jewel in their weekend crown. Don't guard enjoyment like a gaoler, be a mid-week audience and take fun where you find it.

So as you near the theatre release the angst of your day, lift your eyes, open your heart and look forward to a couple of hours of pleasure- and we in turn will presume you are benevolent estranged family or friends we just haven't yet met.
That way on the night when you're in and in the wings I look to Ashley Cook with inquiring eyes he will raise both thumbs, smile and mouth "They're really lovely"

See you on the green!

The Other Half

2010-11-12T22:33:00.001Z

There's a beautiful book by Simon Annand called "The Half" that with several hundred photographs shows several hundred actors in those last 35 minutes before curtain up. It's a super book filled, as you might expect, with vivacity, ebullience, frivolity, playfulness, as well as no small amount of ego, but also as you might not expect with introspection, doubt, melancholy and subdued focus.

I suppose naturally enough it started me wondering what sort of an image might sum up my pre-show experience. The truth though, which Annand's books captures so wonderfully, is that the half is a slippery, multi-faceted beast. Not only is it different for each actor but also different for each show.
Firstly and most obviously varying make up and costume demands mean that some roles take longer to prepare for than others. Incidentally during the course of a run you'll often find actors, consciously or otherwise, 'playing chicken' with each other- leaving getting ready as late as they dare until one night someone arrives on-stage breathless and still fastening their flies. I suppose this stems from a desire to inject some drama and excitement back into proceedings. Speaking of excitement, a good friend of mine, whose name I will never disclose (or at least not for less than a double gin and tonic) is a strong advocate of what he calls "The Danger Wank": a form of self amusement taken as close to your call to the stage as you can stomach. Needless to say I always knock twice before entering his dressing room and I'm sure there isn't a costume mistress in the land that would condone such an unsavory gamble.
But self imposed distraction aside, tying your own bow tie, fat suits, wigs, aging up, fake moustaches and tights all take large bites out of that last half hour. My own bête noire is cravats- a cravat seems to me a very oily critter indeed: One night it may well give in easily and do as instructed but the next the same neck-tie with the same technique will ruck, writhe and wriggle like a catholic schoolgirl in a front row seat at a JLS concert. There's no telling what mood those damn things will be in so one has to leave plenty of time (or swallow your pride and ask wardrobe for a pre-tied one with a Velcro back fastening)

In addition to costume and make-up requirements some shows (and also some theatre spaces) are more physically demanding than others, or require an explosive energy from the get go. Cue much pre-show limbering, shaking and bouncing. Equally though (and I risk being thrown out of the magic circle for saying so) some shows/roles you can pretty much just turn up. In that case lounging on a green room sofa watching others limber, shake and bounce on "Strictly Come Dancing" is more than sufficient prep.

Finally you get the unusual exceptions: If one starts the play partly naked, the half may well find you frantically squeezing in some last minute press ups to desperately try to make up for the two months of taking it easy in the gym. Or you may need to be set on stage before the audience arrive (often to make a surprise entrance): For one run I spent twenty pre-show minutes every night curled up in a tiny cupboard (although receiving "The Anne Frank Award"at the end-of-run-party nearly made up for it). Some good friends have had to immerse themselves in baths of mud (for 'The Tempest' i think) and paddling pools of water (For the sodden beginning to 'Neville's Island') so the half isn't all crafty cigs and coffee.

So what best sums up my half experience? In addition to those above, contenders could be gobbling grizzly remains of a microwave meal, looking for a plaster, on the phone directing friends to the theatre, trying to learn last minute line changes, throwing up, writing first night cards, trying to stop a nose-bleed and once on tour when the half was called myself and the entire company were in a minibus more than 35 minutes away lost on a Belgium B-road (the theatre was at least in Belgium- we weren't that lost. But we did go up late).

I had originally thought that my half would best be summed up by a picture of me laughing and horsing around with friends. But actually I think a fairer image would be one of me in some state of dishevelment, undress and light panic looking for the costume mistress for help with my missing sock/shirt/wig tape, unruly cravat or breached breeches.
Incidentally this seems to be an omission in the book so Mr Annand if you want to fill this gap for the next edition of "The Half" you can find me flapping about between 6.55 and 7.25pm nightly until next Oct in dressing room 8 of the St Martin's Theatre, London!

Is "Whiting-Up" Allowed?

2010-11-03T13:55:00.000Z

I have just been in the very unusual but fortunate position of going on holiday with my agent's blessing. It's normally a real quandary for an actor: You're desperate for a break away from the big smoke but you know as soon as you book that flight your agent will call with an audition to be the new face of Persil and an offer to do a guest spot on 'Midsummer Murders' (or more likely an audition to be the 'face' of Anusol and a schools tour around the Lambeth borough).

It's not that you get told off as such for taking time off but the "disappointed" tone says it all and there's an implication that you've somehow sabotaged your own career: As if the only reason you'll be playing children's parties not the National this autumn is the ten days you took off in early May. I've even tried sneaking off for a week on the qt, but it's odds on that despite the fact that you haven't heard from your office for several weeks you'll get a non-plussed call asking why you have a foreign ring-tone. I was actually caught out by my agent once while on a ski-lift in Austria, he had bizarrely called just to see if i could scuba dive. I can't scuba dive, but was tempted to say "If you hadn't have discouraged me from taking that holiday to Egypt last year I might be able to" but as I was AWOL up a mountain I thought I'd better not.

Anyway I had already planned to slip off (I have an 11 month contract about to start in town so it's my last opportunity for a while) but still hearing my agent say the words "You'd better take a holiday now" was a novel and pleasant experience.
So off I toddled to Egypt (no I still can't scuba-dive) and had a very nice time thank-you-very-much. Unfortunately despite trying to avoid one I now have a deep, golden tan which may well look slightly incongruous when in a months time on stage I will turn up on skis in the English mid-winter as a sergeant in the Berkshire police force. I'm hoping a combination of powder and stage lighting will bring me back to a suitably pasty pallor. If not a slight rewrite might be needed: "Good evening sir. Sergeant Trotter, Barbados Police"

Death by Jazz Hands

2010-10-12T13:36:00.000+01:00

I love to see a well marked up prop table. An intricate web of crisscrossing electrical tape that signifies that nearby there lurks a spiderlike stage manager with an eye for detail. When a prop is absent the tape clearly outlines the missing item like chalk around a crime-scene body that's already been whisked off to the morgue. In short it is an elegant and effective way to keep props where they are needed and meant to be, and it's a practice that probably could have saved me from a rather surprising demise...

"Where's the poisoned sherry?"- The horrors of an unmarked prop table

Several years ago I was playing a minor role in a production of Martin Sherman's achingly powerful "Bent". After the usual thorough and carefully choreographed roughing up from some impeccably dressed Nazis I was laying face down waiting for one of the dapper wretches to lift my head, slit my throat and dispatch me back to the green room from whence I came. On one night however, no 'bloody blameful blade' arrived. My initial thought was perhaps the SS officer's agent was in so he was trying a little something 'off menu' for their benefit. But the hiatus continued until, just as I had decided to crawl for it (perhaps tonight was the night I'd get away), there was an earth shattering gunshot. As anyone would, I looked round from my prone position to see who had copped it only to find out that it was in fact me.
My colleague was looking at me from behind the barrel of a gun normally reserved for act II with a wild look in his eye that somehow contained panic, apology and pleading. Quick as a pig I dutifully flung myself the remaining inch to the floor and prayed for the blackout.

The post mortem (held in the bar) revealed that the rigged knife had been misplaced and in the ensuing backstage ruckus a quick choice was made between strangulation with a hand towel or death by blank firer. Either way it was too late to warn me. I think in the scheme of things I got off lightly: It may have been unexpected but at least I was seen off with a credible weapon.

Friends of mine have been less fortunate...

As the climax to a sexy, energetic and bloody montage that opened a production of Romeo and Juliet set in 20's mafia America, a couple walk into bar and take a seat, a beat later a table is overturned and from underneath it up pop three goons with tommy guns who open fire on the couple. The couple riddled with bullets, fall backwards toppling tables, chairs, glasses and all. It's a savage ending to a tightly choreographed, hectic opening that sets the tone for the next two hours. Backstage of course it's like a high speed dance- actors making quick changes and multiple entrances, all pushed along by a pulsating soundtrack (on which all gunshots are also prerecorded).
The show is a success, running smoothly and out on tour when a tiny inexplicable oversight causes chaos. It's not until the goons crawl into place do they realise that the tommy guns aren't set, but the couple are already entering the bar and there's only time for a quick whispered "What do you mean there's no guns?" as the soundtrack drives the action unstoppably forward, and then its all muscle memory and hope as they stand upending the table, and possibly in an attempt to show the couple they have no guns or possibly because elementary dance training never really leaves you, waggle their open palms at their chums. Their victims who presumably for want of something better to do, or possibly just in a bid to get off the stage, or perhaps because there is still the sound of guns firing go down as usual like they've been filled with bullets even though they've only really been subjected to an amateur musical theatre big finish.

Quite what the audience made of this avant garde if somewhat jazzy take on a mob hit is uncertain. Though no-one in the company was confident enough to offer the ubiquitous cure-all "I'm sure they didn't notice loves"

So I'm a fan of anything that will help make sure the gun/suicide note/briefcase of money is where it is supposed to be, and that most definitely includes the marked up prop table. Not only does it appeal to my anal everything-in-it's-place sensibilities but it is also deeply reassuring. It says to the actor "You are in safe hands" it says "On my watch things will be where you expect them to be" and most importantly it says "Tonight there will be no death by jazz hands".

"Where the hell have you been?"

2010-09-25T00:12:00.000+01:00

Life in London is sometimes not conducive to writing. Life in rep is often barely conducive to breathing.
That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it like Kate Winslet to the broken buoyant wreckage of the Titanic.

Working in rep has again been both a privilege and a feat of endurance. Wonderful friendships have been born, grown fat and settled into a lively athletic health that I'm certain will survive the rigours of time. I've nervously awaited, cheered, belittled, bemoaned, lambasted, over-analysed, over-rated, tolerated and celebrated any number of reviews and opinions of our precious work. I've been both the victim of almost debilitating nerves and also guilty of almost shameful apathy. I've drunk gallons of wind-down pints and wind-up coffees. Microwaved every ready meal Sainsburys has to offer. Grown moustaches, shaved moustaches, glued on moustaches, lost moustaches, cursed, damned and loved moustaches. Learnt lines at five in the morning because there just isn't enough hours in the day, worked like never before, spoken in 9 accents, murdered 3 people, fallen in love, fallen off stage, undressed in front of 500 people nightly, played the part of my career (so far), cried, sweat and bled, and all on equity minimum. I would very happily do it all again tomorrow.
Ok, maybe the day after tomorrow.

Now then... where did i leave my life?

Short shrift

2009-07-23T13:03:00.000+01:00

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”

The Emperor's New Clothes

2009-07-19T00:20:00.000+01:00

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.

We're Not in Kansas Anymore

2009-07-03T11:19:00.000+01:00

"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.

There's no business like a bit of business

2009-07-01T15:52:00.000+01:00

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.

Snakes and Ladders ...and more Snakes

2009-06-24T10:48:00.000+01:00

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.

Room Without A View

2009-06-11T11:11:00.000+01:00

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.

Panel beating

2009-06-08T16:17:00.002+01:00

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.