The Work/Life Balance OR How to Eat Without Selling Out

"Ah, poor so & so," goes the familiar refrain. "Always wanted to be an 'artist', always got the lead roles at school but since we left university he's really been struggling. He can never afford to come out with us and is always couch hopping, can't pay rent. Oh no, I don't envy him at all". 

I heard some variation on this recently and, let's be honest, this isn't an alien situation for many of us. The divide between my 'artist' friends and my 'real job' friends is growing ever wider as each post-Uni year passes. For me it's been two years since we graduated and the latter are now already starting to amass savings, eye up mortgages and nestle in on the lower but sturdy rungs of the career ladder. They are generally starting to create fairly structured lives for themselves that include regular socialising, holidays, partners etc. On the other hand, the rest of us seem to be flitting around attempting to create some semblance of a personally chosen and shaped existence. 

Life for creatives (and, as different creative disciplines spawn a variation of routines and demands, I'm going to focus on actors here) can be quite difficult to impose any sort of order on. Acting roles come in dribs and drabs, sometimes they'll contract you for a few months at a time and sometimes for just a few hours. Opportunities can be few and far between for long periods of time and then, like the proverbial buses, they'll come one after the other in quick succession. This means that actors need to be ready and willing to take up said opportunities at any moment. Keeping in mind that there is already a dearth of work available for the sturdy, dependable employee it's even harder for actors to find jobs flexible enough to provide regular income alongside such an unpredictable routine. Yes, actors may need to 'suck it up' and wave bye bye to the concept of a 'comfortable' lifestyle but not being able to afford rent and a tin of beans is when things start to get a bit debilitating. 

For example, simply to cover my (extremely reasonable) rent, travel card and basic food bills I need to earn a few hundred pounds a month. This is before we factor in that I, like many others, own a car, pets and often need to pay for clothes, make up, prescriptions, postage stamps etc. And in order to give myself every opportunity to make my way in an oversubscribed profession I need to be able to be available at a moments notice, work on profit share, go on tour and find work soon after a contract ends. Easy peazy, lemon squeezy. 

At university I did a course called Working in the Profession where we were encouraged to try to find 'actor-friendly' jobs. These include the stereotypical waitressing and telesales gigs but, to be honest, drop out of these jobs one too many times and you'll still find yourself in a bit of a pickle. I think some people really do get lucky and there are jobs where employers will be understanding enough to try to work around you if they can. In my experience however the tougher the job market gets the less an employer needs to be concerned about working around your schedule because, frankly, there's always someone ready to take your place. 

I thought I had the perfect job. I was pretty smug. I work as a tutor, it's well paid enough that I didn't have to do a great deal of other work, I have some degree of flexibility and it's only a couple of hours a day. I thought this meant that I would be in the uniquely beneficial position of having the majority of the working day entirely free for writing, doing admin, auditioning and the like. I was obviously aware that an early evening job would potentially affect any theatre auditions I might get but I figured I'd deal with that when it came to it and that, since no theatre work was immediately on the horizon, in the meantime I'd be earning an okay amount of money. But no job is really that flexible. I realised pretty quickly that I wasn't really going to be able to get odd nights or weeks off very easily and that taking a few weeks off to do a single (potentially unpaid) theatre job would mean I'd probably be out of a job. Telling myself I was still in a pretty fortunate position, I've stayed in this job for over a year now. I haven't at any point stopped working on creative projects but I've certainly shied away from auditions that would demand any sort of commitment to theatre runs or shooting schedules that would interfere with my hours. Soooo...yeah. I've avoided pretty much any performance work for over a year. I only just realised this. I've done other things with that time of course. I've written and produced a play, run a comedy club, taught classes at an arts organisation and I've been sensible with regards to being able to pay the bills. But I wonder if I've been a little too cautious and focused on only the immediate Work concern and left my personal equation rather unbalanced by putting the Life I want at risk. 

The other day a friend asked me if I'd heard of a particular theatre company. 

"Oh yes," I replied. "They're pretty well known". 

"Yeah, I thought so," she said. "The guy who runs it went to school with my brother. Apparently he was struggling for years, doing the 'artist' thing and they all felt rather sorry for him. Suddenly everything seems to have changed all at once and now he's doing really well." 

It's nice to hear a happy ending to the story and it makes you realise it doesn't have to all go to plan from the very start. But it seems you do have to put yourself on the line before that can change. So, if I believe in those sort of things, perhaps that was my sign. 

'Hedda Gabler' at The Old Vic

I've always been a voracious theatre goer. Recently I realised I'd been lagging a bit. This is partly due to my brain's ever growing, infuriating habit of attempting to analyse every single second of a performance from the points of view of an actress, a writer, a director, a producer but rarely, unfortunately, a theatregoer. It's a good activity to learn to watch something critically but it's also very disarming when you really just want to sit back and be entertained by the incredible actors on stage in front of you. Whereas I didn't mind spending my available cash on theatre tickets when I was enjoying the productions I suppose I've become a little less inclined to shell out £10, £20, £30 and upwards for something that I'm not going to be entirely present at. Comedy shows I have continued to frequent, partly for work purposes, partly because they're more affordable and mostly because I'm better at losing myself in the often quickfire presentation of language and well constructed jokes. I'm still experiencing art, still being entertained and still learning from others. Theatre tends to demand a little more patience and it's that I'm lacking at the moment. 

But I've missed theatre. Oh how I've missed it! It's not only my passion but it's also part of the fabric of both my childhood and my entrance into adult independence. It's always been what my family do by way of entertainment or celebration, and it's always been what I spend the greatest proportion of my paycheck and my available time doing. Tonight, as part of the Stage One New Producer's course that I'm starting, I had tickets to see Hedda Gabler at The Old Vic. So it was the perfect time to head back into the auditorium. 

This isn't a review by the way so I apologise if you've read this far and you're expecting me to launch into a critical spiel. Like I said, tonight was more about watching the play as a theatregoer. I'm very interested in what theatre is for in today's modern world. I wanted to be able to assure myself that there is a point to wanting to spend my life in theatre for something other than amusing myself and my own passions. So yes of course I have all kinds of things to say regarding the performances and the set and the direction but I don't want to mull over all that right now. I just want to think over what the essence of the piece was and what it did for me. Sometimes I feel that film can tell dramatic stories in a way that is more affordable, accessible and convenient for people nowadays than theatre can. I know that musicals and comedy still can't be replicated on screen to the same effect but plays, which depend far less on the 'live' element, are a different matter. It's my biggest concern about the theatre but tonight it remained unfounded. 

I can't imagine watching Hedda Gabler on screen. I can't imagine feeling as transfixed, as involved in a character's life and immediate future than when I'm sitting directly in front of them. It's that feeling of being physically close to the actor but so far from the world they're inhabiting. It's being able to see their tears, their sweat, being aware that not only the world they've constructed but even their actual presence on the stage can all be broken in one fell swoop if, for example, they stumble on a line, a piece of furniture or any number of things. If I wasn't convinced by now, the unexpected, beautifully executed suicide of Hedda resulting in the sudden, dramatic spattering onto the glass screen in front of the audience, did so. For that second I was 100% in the theatre quite simply being affected by someone else's dramatic choice turned into reality. So I conclude: having characters on a live stage being watched by a broad variety of audience members all at the same time is society's most wonderful, effective and communal way of telling stories and sharing ideas. 

I imagine that different translations and productions of Hedda Gabler would shed light better on some aspects of the play than others but in this instance I didn't feel particularly enlightened about womens' rights and position in society, despite it being a fairly major issue in the show. However I felt a lot more educated on what it meant to be human and, more specifically, what it meant to be a human struggling with life. The script felt modern, the dress code and societal structure old fashioned, but the main feel of the show was timeless. All the things I learnt about the characters were, I felt, totally relevant to my life and my world.  George Tesman and Thea Elvsted reminded me of the sort of people who, though mocked or found dull, are loving, stable characters. I've met so many different characters in life and I'm always transfixed by this sort of person. They are, due perhaps to their sturdy morals, routined existences or simplistic thinking, often found unexciting individuals and excluded from various social circles and activities. However they are also so often the kind of person one really appreciates later in life as such qualities become more important in others. George Tesman particularly epitomised this in this production because he was simultaneously an awkward, easily mocked buffoon and a centered, capable presence in the centre of much chaos. While he bored Hedda she was very clear that it was him that was keeping her anchored to life. This trade off of qualities is neither the perfect scenario nor a particularly nice way to look at life but it is realistic. In society people lean on those who are stronger, flaky people marry sturdy partners who keep them grounded, centered older women become agony aunts. 

And this is exactly where Hedda and Loevborg come in. Both are drawn to the other's exciting but unstable and destructive personality. While they both find the stability and security they crave with George and Thea, they are so clearly entirely reliant on these individuals to keep them functioning. Hedda Gabler is such a fascinating character because she's so flawed. While it's easy to discount her insistent pleas that she wants to be happy due to her manipulative nature, it has to be admitted that it's not quite as easy at that. Her marriage to Tesman is a major indication of her attempt to set her life straight and find happiness and, while she's a terrible flirt, at no point during the play is she actually unfaithful to him despite her boredom. But it's this flirtation with danger, with keeping the fiction of herself as a free spirit going, that leads her along the precipice to return to Loevborg and, ultimately, her own destruction. Perhaps I'm discounting the importance of the position of women in society at the time of the play, perhaps without all these restrictions hemming her in Hedda would have been fine but I came away from the play feeling that she, like Loevborg, was just that kind of person. The kind for whom life is just harder than it seems to be for other people, the kind who would rather create a world of drama and difficulty with themselves as the main character than to roll up their sleeves and join the real world as an equal. None of these characters are perfect, they all have their pros and cons and they're all delightfully, and sadly in some cases, very human. Whether these characters strike a chord with the way someone is feeling themselves or whether it reminds them of an individual they know this play isn't demanding anything, it isn't telling us what to do, it is just chronicling life and its people. But it's good to know that, under the guise of a fascinating story and a good night out, theatre really is saying something important. 

Poem - Grandma

Today I went to a wonderful masterclass called From Page to Performance run at IdeasTap Hub by Zena Edwards. It was especially for writers who create work that they want to perform themselves on stage and about creating that unique voice, finding out what you want to say and how best to say it. I am most inspired by writers who create realistic, human character based pieces like Alan Bennett and Alecky Blythe but I'm aware that I'm still at a point that I'm constantly influenced and distracted by all different styles and forms of writing. While this is quite clearly a huge roadblock for me in moving forward as an artist I felt that I could at least take advantage of the positive aspects of my thirst to adopt the feel of the writers I most admire. So, while my focus is really writing plays that are either verbatim or at least quite realistic, I thought that since I was about to do a masterclass with a poet I'd try my hand at a form of writing that thrills me to the core whenever I hear someone really nail the sounds, beat, narrative and character that defines the perfect performance poetry for me. So last night that's what I did. 

I learnt that I'm not a natural poet. I'm not musical enough to hear the sounds, to understand the ways that words go together in the way that poets can. I don't see the world in symbols or metaphors and, too often, I dump subtext in favour of plain expression. But all these things affect the quality of my usual work too. They hamper my ability to create theatre that suggests and entices rather than tells and demands. So I reckon I should keep having a go. Because even if I don't end up as the next great poet perhaps it'll be the best writing exercise I ever did. 

I don't share enough of my writing either here or on stage. I'm not yet confident enough. But it's the only way to pave the way forward so, without further ado, here is last night's attempt.

Grandma

My Grandmother is a woman you don't fuck with
If it seems common as muck to start an ode to a well-respected older person
By cursing
Then please forgive me
But you will see that she
Is hard to encapsulate
In mapped out daily thought or conversation
And, as so often is the case
When all trace
Of carefully constructed thought through language
Escapes me
Due to an over effusive dose of emotion
I revert to words that I know emerge at such times
To mean something that is otherwise
Indescribable

If youc an live to eighty-six years old
And still see off colds

That have full-grown men licked
You must have tricks
About how to live this life
Whether that's as someone's wife
Or child or mother
Or lover
And we, young women as we are,
Should clamour round, from near and far
To hear
Your stories loud and clear
To take our lessons
And count our blessings
That here in front of us
Is proof 
That regardless of life's crazy ways
If we can find the truth 
That we are living for
That we are driven by
And stick to it
With both sass and charm 
Then there is a chance
That we will come through unharmed
And continue on in this merry dance
Until someday we too hear some young person say 
'Well, isn't she amazing!?'

Broadening My London Horizons: Polari - My first night at a Gay Literary Salon

It's so often said that it's almost boring to repeat it. But I will. 

'London is full of wonderful cultural activities and events to see or do no matter what your tastes or budget.'

It's true. I imagine it would be impossible to exhaust your options of things you could experience. When tourists come to London this is one of the first things that hits them.  But for those of us who live here, and particularly for those of us who have grown up here, we see London less as a cultural hub and more as our, albeit large, hometown. We become accustomed to certain people, certain areas and certain forms of entertainment and get locked into our own little worlds and routines. For me that means working, spending time in North West and Central London mostly and watching theatre and comedy. Those are the things I do. I could write you lists of what's on in the West End, fringe theatres and comedy clubs that go on for pages, but I wouldn't know where to start if you asked me where to see a new band play a gig or where you could watch some sort of sporting match. I just wouldn't have a clue despite the fact that people make near pilgrimages to this very city to do those very activities. Actually it can be quite overwhelming to try to start all over again with a new form of entertainment and learn where best to go, when and how. 

However, once in a while, a new friendship or a work event or an ambitious first date will introduce us to something we wouldn't have dreamt of doing (if we knew it even existed). And we might be intrigued, bored, enticed, thrilled, who know's what, by this new experience. Whether we end up adding a new cultural love to our roster or not, at least a brand new bit of London will now be within our reach. Which is why this Monday was so interesting for me. 

Over the past year I've met all kinds of people related to the different artistic activities I've taken part in and through them I have experienced aspects of London, and life in general, that are brand new to me. Through looking for companies to advertise in my programme for my Edinburgh show Rachael's Cafe (about a pre-op transgender lady living on the Bible Belt in the USA) in 2011 I met Alex Drummond who advertised her book Queering the Tranny. Alex, in turn, introduced me to Andie Davidson who runs Bramley Press which published the book and I met up with her when she came to see the show in Brighton. This Monday Andie invited me to watch her read from her book of poetry RealIsations at Polari, the gay literary salon at the Royal Festival Hall on London's Southbank. I must admit I doubt that this is an event I would ever have booked to see without such an invitation. Not that I wouldn't expect to enjoy it but I just never really came across it and, if I had done, I might've felt that it wasn't necessarily directed at me as an audience member. While this is of course entirely in my head I know it's the way that a great number of people would naturally feel about not only this event but also others that are clearly directed at and serve a particular sector of society that we don't feel we belong to. 

But the whole point of this blog is that this is the wonderful thing about experiencing London through the eyes of others, who are not necessarily Londoners. Polari was like an exciting little world I'd just discovered, like an intimate gathering of literary geniuses and fans ensconced in a friendly little room but right in the centre of London! Up and comers like Andie were on a mixed bill with steadfast names in the business such as Jake Arnott and Stella Duffy. There was poetry, historical fiction, occult novels,  a reading from a book with steamy sex scenes that was accompanied by a live reenactment (to some degree), episodes from a serialisation in The Gay Times which started out life as a screen play and then a novel before its move into the newspaper...It was like story time for grown ups, like live audio books, theatre and comedy all mixed with a pop-up bar and bookshop. I can't imagine it's for everyone, I won't deny I was blushing at a few choice moments, but if you like any combination of poetry, novels, storytelling and theatre I'd wholeheartedly recommend Polari. There was something incredibly nice and honest about people simply reading and an audience listening with no soundtrack or flashing lights or set. It was up to the quality of the writing and the delivery of it to shine through and it did so so very brightly. 

A Film Actor's 'Right' to Protection

The other night I was watching television and caught sight of a friend playing a substantial role in a fairly major movie. I called him the next morning to congratulate him and, thanking me, he said that he'd been thrilled to work with the stars in the film and had loved the process but absolutely hated how it had been edited. He thought the film had the potential to be so much better than it ended up being. This got me thinking about the lack of control an actor has when appearing in a film over anything but the performance he puts in on set on the day of filming. The reason I've always aspired to work as a performer in the theatre rather than on screen is because, for me, it's an actor's medium. Once the work on the script, direction etc. is complete and opening night rocks up it's the actor's world. Obviously you're playing by certain guidelines but the show is in your hands, you're in control of what the audience sees and what might be created in the moment. With a film the actor's performance can potentially be dramatically altered by the editing process or even last minute changes to the script - think Thandi Newton's complaint when the director of Crash significantly rewrote a scene in the movie after they'd already filmed what would be her reaction to the events of that scene. In her opinion the acting choices she had made based on the original script were no longer as relevant or effective and reflected badly on her as an actress. 

So what rights - bar the initial contract signing and script approval - do actors have? Once we commit ourselves to a project are we agreeing to lend ourselves, our faces, our skills, to become instruments for the filmmaker's vision? It's all very well saying we only choose to get involved with projects we believe in but that's not always an option when looking for work and it's also not always possible to be entirely sure of where a director or producer is ultimately going to go with a project. Keeping in mind that we are all now much more aware - thanks to reality TV- quite how spectacularly editing can change our perceptions of people and events, should we not all be a tiny bit more concerned how our performances can be twisted and turned into something entirely different? Most of us are far too focused on the desperate struggle to actually get cast in a film to spend time thinking about what might happen afterwards. This might be okay with harmless comedies, over the top action films or sentimentally sweet films where, if anything goes off piste the worst that's likely to happen is that we get a bit of flack from reviewers or are underwhelmed with the showreel material we get from it. But what about when a role holds us up as poster people for a political stance or religious belief that we don't represent? Then it becomes a bit more serious than mere questionable acting choices. 

I pick these out as possibilities because they're particularly relevant at the moment after last month when actress Cindy Lee Garcia went to court to sue the filmmaker Nakoula Basseley Nakoula claiming she was 'duped' into appearing in her infamous movie Innocence of Muslims, which led to worldwide riots and deaths, and had not been 'aware of its anti-Muslim content'. Her request for a 14 minute trailer of the film to be removed from YouTube as it had 'violated her privacy and endangered her life' was rejected by the Los Angeles superior court judge Louis Lanvin who agreed with Google lawyer Timothy Alger's statement that 'the rights of an actor do not protect that person from how a film is perceived'. 

Now, not having seen the film, her contractual agreement or truly knowing for certain what the endangerment to her life is, it is impossible to comment on this legal decision. However, taking Judge Lanvin's assertion as a stand-alone comment, I ask my own. 'Is this right?' After author Salman Rushdie was issued with a fatwa for writing a book he was offered protection based on how it was perceived. Why wouldn't actors be offered the same rights based on how work they are involved with is perceived? After all they're the ones who will be instantly recognisable to those offended. This is obviously a unique case and it would be silly to blow it out of all proportion since most of the time an actor's concern is that their scene has been unfairly cut or weirdly edited. Unfortunate but the way of the world. However this did all make me stop and think about when it might get a bit more serious. If an actor does choose to get involved with a ground-breaking - whether that be politically, religiously or other - movie or television project and, in doing so, takes an even greater risk than the directors and producers of said project will be doing, shouldn't they then be entitled to protection in the case of a public reaction to it which may result in endangerment to life, death threats and the like? If not then perhaps we should all be committing ourselves only to sweetly flippant projects or all be making our own work. 

When Words Win: Notes from Rehearsal

Lucy: You're saying the line wrong. That's not how it's written. 
Graham: That's 'cos you've written it wrong. I'm saying it right.
Lucy: No I haven't! I can assure you it's right. 
Graham: It's wrong! People don't speak like that. 
Lucy: Graham. It's a transcript. 

...and that's why I love verbatim theatre. Quash the actor!

Getting Your Show Put On Ain't Always Easy - So This Is Nice!

As anyone who has met me, seen my facebook wall or follows me on twitter will know, I have written a play. A while ago now actually, a year ago, but I'm still going on about it. Sorry about that. It's a hazard of knowing someone trying to make their way in a profession like the theatre I'm afraid, we never really switch off, we yak on and on about what we're up to all the time in the hopes that we might wear you down to the point that you agree to actually come and see our shows. And from there we hope that you might actually like watching our shows and will, in turn, begin the yakety yakking to your friends. That, I think, is the basis of creating an audience for your work. Or it's something like that. 

Anyway, the play started as a bunch of interviews and slowly -very slowly, about two years slowly- became a 50 minute one-man play with no clear plan regarding what to do with it once I'd written it. Then an opening came up at the Edinburgh Fringe last year and, after a seven week whirlwind of rewriting, casting, rehearsals, set building etc., it debuted at the Fringe for a month. And it did pretty well. Obviously not everyone saw it, and not everyone who saw it liked it but it did well enough for us to have the newspapers say it, I and the actor all had promise and to build up a little gang of people interested to see us develop it and who sent us emails, tweets and facebook messages to prove it. We got invited to do the show in Dublin this year, so we did that. Then we popped on over to the Brighton Fringe which was a tremendous highlight of the adventure so far. 

But then I sort of stopped. I wasn't really sure what to do next. That's pretty unimpressive seeing as how I have an MA in Creative Producing for Theatre, but maybe that sort of mindset doesn't fly when you're looking at your own work. When you've done a show for a year and it hasn't made proper money or been offered a run at a real life theatre is it time to put it to sleep and pick up a new show? Or is that quitters' talk? Have I just completed all the preparation and workshopping of a play and am now at the appropriate point to give it a leg up to something bigger? How do you know if something's good enough? 

While I was mulling over these sort of chipper thoughts I got a reply to an email I sent a while ago, when I was mailing organisations that I thought might fancy seeing the show or publicising it to their followers, and the email invited us to put on a one-off performance of the play in London as a fundraiser for their organisation. Excitingly, the show would be at London's Central School of Speech & Drama and they would take care of all the theatre hire, tech costs and FOH shennanigans in return for the play and a brief Q&A afterwards. 

If you haven't tried to tout a play around theatres and to attract audiences, fighting the likely rejections, whilst maintaining your belief that it's a good piece of entertainment that is worthy of your potential audiences' time and money then you won't perhaps understand the little thrill you get when someone approaches you and says, "Hey, that sounds great. Do you want to come and do a show for us?" But for someone not quite sure where to go next it was a beautifully timed opportunity and a sign that the show quite possibly has quite a bit of life in it. 

So, as I climb back into my producery promotery shoes I'd like to invite you to come and see Rachael's Cafe at Central School of Speech and Drama Embassy Theatre at 7pm (Bar open from 6pm) on Wednesday 26th September 2012 as a fundraiser for arts based charity Gendered Intelligence. Another happy turn-up for the books is that tickets are selling well so please do snap yours up now: http://www.wegottickets.com/event/184947

Unpaid Work: How did such an oxymoron become the norm?

The topic of unpaid and profit share work in the theatre is a widely discussed issue and a contentious one at that. We might all go into this profession starry eyed and willing to live on beans on toast for the next ten years, but realistically most people cannot afford to work for free long term. Those who can? I suppose if you have a substantial nest egg, generous parents and/or an incredibly flexible job then you may well be prepared to work for nix. However, as Rupert Goold pointed out recently in a talk for Sky Arts, unpaid internships and work tend to attract a long line of privileged individuals which in no way offers a variety of experiences and approaches to our Arts scene. Now as companies such as Cheek by Jowl and the Old Vic are forced to suspend their unpaid internship positions are we any closer to achieving some potential of financial stability in this profession?

Recently I was asked if I'd like to co-produce an Edinburgh 2012 show. I was told the existing company would need no financial input from me, just lots of hard work both during the festival and for the two weeks rehearsal process. I liked the play and was impressed by the company's good reviews for some exciting sounding past shows.

Enquiring a little further into what my actual duties would be it occurred to me that they were looking for not only a co-producer but also a PR and marketing assistant. But this is Fringe theatre and I'm used to the need for people to fill multiple roles within a theatre company. Discussing payment naturally led to the Profit Share scenario. Whilst this offers money on the basis that the company make any, generally an Edinburgh show rarely ends up in profit. Although not ideal it's a situation we're all familiar with and, for the most part, understand the need to accept while we're making our way in the profession. However, to be part of the profit share payment list, I would have to also stage manage the show for two shows a day for the entire month. Sigh. Ok. It was still ultimately a cheaper and more involved way to experience the Edinburgh Fringe. 

Finally, just as I was ready to sign my summer away I was asked to prepay the cost of accommodation and travel on the understanding it would be paid back if they made their money back which was apparently very likely. I replied and said that I would fulfil all the above criteria but, keeping in mind I had been told that no financial input was needed from me, I wanted confirmation that I would definitely receive my full accommodation and travel payment back. This couldn't be done, my belief in their confidence wavered and so I politely declined to get involved.

This interaction really worried me. Once upon a time people developed skills that they could be paid for. Nowadays we seem to be paying for the opportunity to work. As a producer one could argue that if I did my job and secured a transfer for the show I could potentially eventually make my money back. But what about the actors? It turns out they are all working on exactly the same deal. What if the show transfers and they're replaced? Their financial input and unpaid performance in the show will have facilitated this company's success rather than their own. I know for a fact that one actor cast in the show had to turn it down as they couldn't afford to front the cash needed. The role was recast. So it's not the best actor playing the role now, it's the richest one. Is this the way we want to see theatre going?  Or is this nothing more than a glorified amateur dramatics outing? I might work on a profit share basis when I produce my own work but I can assure you that I would never expect my actors to pay for their own accommodation or transport costs. If I can't raise that cash, then the show doesn't go ahead. That's a producer's job. Isn't it? 

Short Story - My Boy James

As I pull up to my mother's house to drop her off after our shopping trip my little red Golf slams to a shuddering halt that lets me know it is, once again, not planning on restarting anytime soon. 

"Fuck!" 

Unladylike a word this may be but, if it's any consolation to my staunchly middle class parent, I do say it with the crisp enunciation she drummed into me.

"Sarah!" It's no consolation it turns out. "I don't know what's happened but, as you're not bleeding or unconscious, I can't imagine it deserved that response," she returns as she climbs gingerly out of the car.

Every day is fairly exhausting but today, Friday, has been particularly taxing. The normal stress of my single working mother life has been complicated by this breakdown which immediately throws my carefully regimented day into chaos. 

"For heaven's sakes," my Mother throws at me. "What a Drama Queen. You're wasted in Human Resources Sarah, you ought to have been on the stage." It's a pretty cheap shot seeing as my childhood dream to flee to London and be an Actress on the West End stage was somewhat scuppered by the arrival of my son James and the subsequent departure of his father, Tim. But then again that was a while ago now, and she's pretty old, so perhaps she's forgotten. Or assumed I've got over it. Which I suppose I have. I'm mostly just getting annoyed with her because I'm already riled up over the car and worried about James. 

"Take my car. I'll wait here for the AA man. And relax," she orders me. I jump into her car and drive off. I already have the keys, it's mostly only me who uses it anyway - when mine's conking out like now. She doesn't want to admit it but she can't really drive very easily any more - a combination of watery eyes and arthritic knees. Let's face it, she's old. But that's one more thing I'm not willing to think about. So long as she's chirpy and getting around, albeit with my help, I don't see why we should dwell on it. It's life right?

My worries race away as soon as I see James' face and I smile as his hands, sticky from PVA glue, grasp at my face as he greets me with the kind of wild abandon expected from kidnapped journalists being reunited with their families after a decade's separation rather than a two hour break while I went to Sainsbury's and he hung out making art. I don't care. You tell me what feeling could possibly be sweeter than knowing you have the total adoration of your child and I will almost certainly instantly dismiss whatever you come up with. I'd happily give birth all over again, without painkillers, just to experience this wonder in my life. It's a bit of a cop out to say that I suppose since, no doubt, my baby bearing days are over, but I do mean it. I'm trying to say goodbye to his teachers, trying to organise times for tomorrow, checking everything was okay today and all the while he is trying to get my attention: clinging, grabbing, kissing, giggling, "Mum, MUM, MUM-MING!" me. 

"James!" I bark sharply. Perhaps a little too sharply because his beautiful -mucky, but beautiful- face crumples. Luckily, years of practise have prepared my automatic response. A kiss on the cheek, a reassuringly firm stroke on the back and a plastic bottle of the appealingly bright coloured Fruit Shoot drink emerging quickly from the Sainsbury's bag and finding it's way into his grasp. Everything's fine. As he sucks on the bottle I finish my conversation and then we make our way back to the car. "This is Granny's car," he tells me, surprised. 

"Yup," I confirm. "My car broke down." 

His eyes widen and the arm holding the juice bottle drops to the side. He studies me seriously. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt?" 

"No, no," I reassure him quickly. "Everything was fine. It didn't crash."

"No crash?" he demands to be told again.

"No crash." 

"Okay." Calmed, and assured that I'm in one piece, he gets into the front passenger seat and wiggles around to get himself comfortable in the unfamiliar chair. I click his seatbelt in and take the opportunity to straighten the collar of his polo shirt. I set off back to my mother's house, hoping against hope the AA man has arrived. James has recovered from the shock of my supposed near destruction and is bursting to tell me about his day, literally dribbling with excitement, as he and his Fruit Shoot war for control of his mouth. "Mum?"

"Yes?"

"It was good today."

"Was it? Good." 

"It was Art."

"Yup." 

"I made you a pot."

"A pot?"

"Yes! It's in my bag. It is brown and it is little. Do you like it?" 

I laugh. He's silent. I realise he thinks I'm laughing at him. "I haven't seen it yet silly! But I'm sure I'll love it." 

"I wrote Mum on it in red paint. And a strawberry - I drew it. You like strawberries." I smile. James' memory is still pretty much linked to whatever happened the day before. Hence why last night's strawberries are currently taking centre stage in his rendition of the most loved aspects of my life. I used to feel queasy listening to people listing how great their kid's foibles were but now I realise I'm probably the biggest culprit of them all. James can tell me he sat on a Ladybird and the sky is made out of poo and I still gaze at him like he's Einstein.

We arrive at my Mother's house and I'm relieved to see the AA man is there. Once I meet him I'm less thrilled. He turns out to be an impatient, patronising, ever so slightly misogynistic soul - "Looks like those tyres are wearing a bit thin. Not got a hubby to sort out all this sort of stuff for you Love? Imagine it's a bit of a dirty job for a bird like you to handle?" - and I'm grateful Mum is entertaining James inside so he doesn't witness me trying to beat down my ever-rising hackles.

Finally we're on the way home, James having sloppily administered several loving kisses onto Mum's face while she giggled like a schoolgirl, and soon we're sitting down to a dinner of "SAUSAGES!" His roar is deafening. I think it's fair to say that he's delighted with the sausages. I smile but my mind is elsewhere. It's getting late, I still have to sort out a lot of paperwork, James has a hospital appointment due that I need to chase up and...

..."It's my birthday tomorrow," he informs me. Ah, his birthday. The one date he never forgets. He knows the date, the day, the hour, the minute he was born and he loves the fact that for one day everything can be about him, a celebration of him, without having to censor himself or his wants. James' birthdays are always an Event. Yes, with a capital E. 

"That's correct," I confirm. 

"And I'm having a party." 

"Yes. Tomorrow afternoon. William is coming."

"And Daniel. And Gemma."

"Yes."

"And we can have cake?"

"Yup. Pirate themed remember?"

"Yes! And I have an eyepatch!"

Pirates of the Carribbean didn't come out too long ago. It's the current fad. He and his friends all fancy themselves the next Captain Jack. The birthday party confirmed and dinner finished we attempt the washing up but James' attempts to help ends abruptly with two broken glasses, a smashed plate and an extraordinarily loud screaming fit. The explanation that, thanks to the delay caused by the car breaking down, we don't have time for tonight's movie, goes down equally well. By the time we've struggled through a bath, pyjamas and an episode of Scooby Doo we're both exhausted and, not for the first time, I catch myself thinking about getting some help. I could even get someone to stay with him one night a week while I go out, I catch myself thinking. Mum's not really up to it anymore but maybe...James laughs at Scooby and Shaggy and I stop myself guiltily. I don't need to go out. What for? To find a man? I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror across the room and laugh bitterly at myself. Who'd want me now? I feel a tightness on my shoulders and I realise I laughed out loud. Or perhaps snorted would be a better word. James is hugging me to him with his right arm and staring at me quizzically. I smile brightly and give him a little hug. Reassured he turns back to the TV. 

When I tuck him in to bed he holds me to him and solemnly reminds me not to forget it's his birthday tomorrow. I promise and walk to the door. Finger on the switch I turn to blow him a kiss before I click the light off and he's gazing at me with his big, soft brown eyes and a huge smile. "I love you Mum". 

"I love you too son." Tears pricking my eyes I spin round, turn off the light and go back downstairs where I sit, revelling in the quiet, at my desk. Slowly I pull out all the paperwork and bend over the various forms and lists. Somewhere in the next two hours I pull out the final preparation sheet for the party. Clearly James has found it already. He's printed in large, unsteady letters along the top, 'DEAR MUM. DON'T FORGET MY BIRTHDAY!!! LOVE JAMES'. Yeah Sarah, I tell myself. Don't forget. Tomorrow it's your son's birthday! I'll throw him the pirate party of his dreams. He deserves it. It's a big one. Tomorrow my son will be thirty. 

Chatback Comedy Club's Upcoming Season

This is the new flyer for my comedy club (co-owned with Mr. Sam Gardner) Chatback Comedy Club.  It's currently based in Canterbury and specialises in bringing the award-wining & up-and-coming acts from the London Circuit over to Kent. We're pretty proud of it. If you get a chance to come see our shows then please do, we've had some lovely reviews. If not go and see any of the same hilarious talented comics wherever you might find them. 

Iain M. Banks: Novels Vs. Film

Iain M. Bank's explanation as to why he doesn't mind if his books don't make it to film: 

"I have a bigger special effects budget. Mine is infinite, Mr Lucas, I think you'll find."

Perfection!

Short Story - 'Surprise'

I’ve always arranged surprise parties. I never understand people who don’t enjoy them. I love the fact it means you care enough about someone to want to express your love and pride for them. I get a thrill from crossing my fingers that everyone’s gonna keep the secret, I take the challenge of making sure that each individual contribution to the food, drinks, decoration or entertainment melds together seemlessly very seriously and I adore the moment it hits the party recipient that all these people who mean the world to them are right there in the room without having to have lifted a finger to get them there. My party organising was the bane of Martin’s life. Nice, sweet, sturdy Martin who lived life with his face in a book and his hand clasped around his daily organiser. I think he was just as shocked as his family and friends were that he’d fallen in love with the kookiest, most excitable girl at university.  But, like in every aspect of our lives, he knew how to humour me, to play along and, always, to be my rock. The prep for this party was squashed in between treatments, panics and painful paperwork. Yet it was perfect in every way. 

The cake was chosen because it was a replica of our wedding cake. The deep chocolate sponge I loved made up the base of the cake and the top was the light vanilla sponge that Martin, the purist that he was, always found superior to any of today’s fancy flavours. Squashed in between them was the heavy fruit cake that we both hated but, since it’s the traditional choice for a wedding cake, superstitiously agreed we should include. You know. Just to be sure. 

Martin’s surprise party was a bittersweet affair. A heady mix of love and loss and an oddly cordial acceptance of failure. I suppose there’s no other way to put it really. It was a goodbye. The chance for everyone who knew and loved Martin - I was never surprised by how many people that described - to see him, touch him, kiss him and breathe in the very essence of him one last time. And for him to do the same. 

The music was a strange little band that had been playing in the dingy pub where we had our first date at university. I doubt any of the guests at the party enjoyed the music. In fact I’m not sure either of us ever had either. We’d talked through their set, lost ourselves in our first kiss and then snuck out, away from the racket, to smoke. Later I’d bought their album at a student union gig for Martin’s Valentine’s Day gift. A jokey one really, but he’d put it on, lowered the lights and kissed me. Recreated that first night. Then he looked at me and said, “Gemma, I love you”. For the first time. Suddenly that music meant something, regardless of how terrible it sounded. 

If it seems weird to you that a party was the way this was done, well, I don’t blame you. I think most people believe that when you’re dying, it’s the time for you to be closed off from the rest of the world to be with your family. It’s supposed to be a time of shock, of pain, of grief, of heartache. All very serious. But when your husband has been dying, right in front of your eyes, for years and years? When your wife has become your carer - doing all the things for you that you one day expected her to do for your children? When you’ve spent so many horrendous years swinging between joy, hope and misery, spending most of it in a limbo land where you have absolutely no control so you’re stuck just watching the years pass and, along with them, steadily losing ground on all the plans you once made so carefully and lovingly together? Well, you’re done with being serious. You’ve earned a party. I think our friends and family just wanted to see us together one last time, relaxing into each other like we used to. 

The weeks leading up to the party was the sickest I’d seen Martin. I’d stopped getting shocked at his bald head, his steroid bloated frame and his slurring voice. I was so busy looking after him, in what must have become a rather over-efficient matronly type of way ,that I’d blocked out the difference between what I wanted my husband to look like and the awful reality. But now even I was noticing the difference. His breathing was more and more laboured, his nose bleeds frequent and, though he didn’t say anything, I could see his eyes glaze over each time he was racked with pain. For the first time he started asking me to leave the room while he talked to his family on the phone. I thought he didn’t feel I was strong enough to handle too many goodbyes. 

On the day of the party I picked Martin up from the hospital and was driving towards his parents’ house when he suddenly said, “Turn left”.

“What?” I asked. 

“Turn left here.”

A little chill ran through me. “That’s not the way to your Mum’s house Martin.” 

“Thank you Einstein.” I stared at him and he weakly forced a throaty little chuckle. 

“I’m not quite off my rocker yet darling. Turn left. Please.” 

“We’ll be late for dinner at your parents”, I murmured. But I was already turning left. I never could say no to him. 

“They’ll understand”. 

I drove down the road until I came to the town hall. I slowed down as I caught sight of fifty, sixty, maybe more people filling the car park until we finally came to a standstill at the entrance. I turned to my left and looked at Martin. He was gazing back at me with the broadest grin I’d seen on him for months and his whole face with glowing with pleasure. 

Everyone and everything was there. My parents, his parents, our nieces and nephews, best friends, the cake, the terrible music. Each guest received copies of the book we were reading in the English class we met in and, rather embarrassingly, a copy of the first poem I wrote for Martin. We ate an eccentric looking buffet that was a gastronomic history of our relationship eating habits stretching from university stir fries to my ‘grown-up’ Nigella-esque meal attempts via plenty of chinese takeaways, emergency pizzas and broke beans on toast. We sat and told stories. About Martin, about our parents, about us...everyone had an anecdote. Kids scrambled to press kisses on Martin’s cheeks and a sombre-faced ten year old nephew reassured me he’d look after me after Uncle Martin had gone to hang out with God. Grown men laughed while brusquely wiping away tears and women clucked and cleaned busily, stopping only to lay a gentle hand on one of us or to press champagne into our hands. Later that evening we all sat close, huddled under blankets, and used the hall’s projector to watch home movies, laughing at the sight of a five year old Martin running through his garden stark naked. At midnight he squeezed my hand lightly and, smiling, whispered, “Surprise darling”. 

Live Entertainment - Do we deserve to make a living?

This is going to be a familiar and yawn-worthy moan to some ears but I'd like to take a quick look at the state of the live entertainment circuit. With today's shaky job market twinned with ever rising living costs, it is pretty essential to find a way to make a creative career pay, and to do so with some sense of stability. This, however, is quite a big ask. While it's always been fairly difficult to make ends meet with any sort of consistency when working as a writer, performer or producer in live comedy, theatre or music, it has certainly got more difficult with today's corporations and commercial organisations staking their claim at major venues, events and festivals. Recently bemoaned by Stewart Lee in his article in The Guardian about the 'slow death of the Edinburgh Fringe', this 'takeover' means that much of the original fervour of discovering and enjoying a multitude of fresh and unique fringe-style live events has been replaced by audiences preferring to spend their hard-earned cash on a show they 'just have to see' because of the highly rated venue, star name, television link or major league sponsor. Artists and acts are being fast-tracked into the media spotlight meaning that a) some struggle to produce consistently interesting and innovative work but it's produced and seen regardless and b) we start to lose our regard for those who have gradually built up a career developing skills and proving talent along the way. This dearth of opportunity between poverty stricken artist and commercial sell-out reflects Lee's concerns for what was once, and really should be again, the middle ground. The place where artists and producers should be welcomed and rewarded for hard work, innovative thinking and fresh talent. 

The reason why this doesn't happen is very simple. We can't afford it to. Whether you're the writer, performer, director or producer of live entertainment it can, without major sponsorship or funding, be very difficult to make a living. Even the prospect of attempting to hold down a full time 'real' job in order to offset the costs is rarely possible. Either you fail to dedicate enough time to the creative project, thus producing something of substandard quality, or you end up working a full time job in order to fund a wannabe job. You're still not making a living through either set up. Although there is many a 'wannabe' in this industry, once people have had a number of creative successes and have shown commitment, don't they deserve to draw a wage from doing so? Is this not the way to encourage variety and exciting work? 

I certainly believe and wish this to be the case and so do plenty of others. With all sorts of people from audience members to the artists and producers themselves voicing concern and with outlets such as YouTube and Vimeo allowing people to get their independent projects out to large audiences I have every confidence that entertainment will start to join the entrepreneurial bent that the rest of society, setting up mini businesses making clothes, cupcakes and boutique gifts, is doing with great success. Which is why it's important for artists to step up their professionalism and commitment. 

I recently met a promoter working on the live comedy circuit who is very vocal about the difficulties of making ends meet. In his opinion he is being shafted by both the 'big boys' of television and related media who are hijacking the concept of what comedy and live comedy gigs should be and the 'small fry' of open mic nights/free gigs that are apparently poaching audience members at the other end of the spectrum. He strongly believes that someone working full-time and extremely hard on showcasing talented, up-and-coming and award-winning comedians should not have his livelihood compromised by people looking to make a quick buck or essentially patenting 'what comedy should be'. He believes that no one should put in all that hard work and have to swallow the reality of always being penniless. His advice to budding comedians and promoters is that you deserve to make money, you shouldn't be working hard to deliver entertainment and not be able to pay for the things you need in life. His arguments are fairly solid and I got swept up in his 'power to the people' diatribe. I found myself thinking 'Yeah, why should someone who has spent years building up a club, booking all kinds of comics from unknowns to stars and has an obvious passion and dedication to the form have to constantly struggle against corporations and fly-by-nights?'. 

Then I went to one of his gigs. 

Now I'm not saying that all work that is well funded or advertised is of better quality. But there is one important thing to keep in mind. Due to the number of people who have a say in a final product at that level it is more unlikely that something unprofessional or entirely without merit will be produced. Yes it might be slow, boring, unexciting etc. but those shelling our their cash will at least know they are likely to be able to see and hear the acts, get in and out in an appropriate time span and see the comedian's listed. While I don't advocate setting up a comedy quality control committee I certainly feel that if we're going to rail against the system we need to prove that we can step up to the mark and deliver entertainment and experiences that people will feel justified in paying for. 

Initially I was shocked by the cost of his gig. I appreciate that it's hard to price a gig somewhere below what the arenas and/or comedy store is charging but above the free/cheap gigs run by venues that know they can make the money back on the bar. Having said that I can't condone charging audiences £8 to sit through 10-15 very new, inexperienced acts before finally getting to see the headline do 20-40 minutes somewhere around 11pm. Many of these acts will be getting paid either nothing or next-to-nothing and therefore, with the exception of the headline act, the money is going straight back into the promoter's pocket. Scrolling through upcoming listings to find one featuring solid, circuit comedians I found that these tickets were being priced at around the same level at those for London's famous Comedy Store where a show will be slicker, have even more experienced comics and a central London venue. This show was anything but slick. Positioned in a room above a pub there was external noise, uncomfortable seating, messy lighting, a broken microphone stand and interruptions from the promoter's team. The show started 30 minutes late and overran greatly. Out of the seven listed comedians we saw three. The rest either didn't show or had to leave due to the late start. I'd come specifically to see one of the no shows but no one was offered any sort of refund or opportunity to leave. Instead the time was filled, unnecessarily, with the opportunity for unbooked comics in the room to perform a few minutes of material. 

While the comedians that did turn up and go on included a couple of fantastic acts, overall the night shone an entirely new light on my perception of his arguments regarding earning potential. It sucks not to be able to make a living at something you love and commit yourself to but I don't see any dignity in managing to scrape a living by raising prices, short changing audiences, providing a lacklustre experience, failing to provide an atmosphere in which comics can do their best work and ultimately backtracking on promised line ups after an audience has paid their money. 

Stewart Lee is right, we are at risk of killing the spontaneity, creativity and great minds within our profession if we don't go against the grain and support live, unsponsored, uncommercial performance - be that musical, comedic, theatrical or other. But that mustn't make us think that doing so means we are automatically entitled to the respect and support of audiences. Just because we call ourselves uncommercial doesn't mean we don't need to deliver a professional experience. Artists and their producers still provide a service. We are there to education, entertain, excite and inspire no matter how we go about doing that. By all means point out the flaws in the system, but make sure you are doing everything you can to prove you're worthy of just as great a level of success. Yes we deserve to make a living. But we still have to earn it. 

Getting an Acting Agent

How!? How exactly does one do this getting an agent thing? And by that I mean one of the good ones. 

Oh I've had agents. I've had one who was okay and got me auditions for things like Crimewatch and a particularly good medical role playing job for the GMC but ultimately wasn't very get-up-and-go and never came to see me in anything I was in. A couple of years later I had another agent who, frankly, was one of the growing group of what I call Cowboy Agents. These are people who sign up to every casting call website going and call themselves agents for submitting other people's CVs and Spotlights to these online cattle calls and unpaid jobs. They have no contacts in the industry and few to no skills in contract negotiation or entertainment law. Yet wannabe actors and newbie graduates go flocking to them and lock themselves down into pointless year long contracts because they feel that any agent is better than none. Frankly, an agent who fails to chase up contracts, forgets to respond to a major casting director with whom you set up a meeting and calls regularly to ask "Did you say you could sing again? Oh sorry I thought you said you couldn't, that's why I turned down a well-paid job for you earlier", is not only a hindrance but also a great liability. 

Having said that, I totally understand why people are hedging their bets and going with these guys when it seems impossible to otherwise find a footing even right at the very bottom of the ladder in this profession. Like the other billion actors out there I've been curled up around the computer for days with a copy of Contacts at my side, painstakingly contacting one agency after another and selling myself hard. I'm not a Drama School actress (though this does not mean I'm untrained - I'll leave this for another blog) and I don't have a CV boasting an extraordinary body of work with big name companies but I have done a respectable amount of work in theatre and film both paid and unpaid over a significant number of years playing major and minor roles and have received some really good reviews. I have also worked in a variety of other positions in the business including running a live comedy company, directing two fringe plays and interning in the casting department at the Donmar Warehouse. I've written a play which has toured and had fantastic reviews. I have a MDrama & Theatre Studies degree. I have clearly made every effort to stay within the profession and be involved in the creation, presentation and production of theatre and film. I'm not sure how else I can show my commitment to the industry, my get-up-and-go mentality or my clear need to work as an actor. Yet not one agent has shown an iota of interest in meeting me. 

I know I'm not the only one in this position and it doesn't affect my opinion of my talent. None of these agents have seen me perform or read my reviews so their opinions are based on something other than my potential abilities. Plus some of the most incredible actors I know are unrepresented. And you can work without an agent, of course you can. But you have to be terribly organised and disciplined and many actors aren't or don't have the time to be. Plus, an agent's connections really help in getting seen for those important auditions. Many of the casting directors I have spoken to are very open about the fact that they tend to mostly audition from a list of actors pitched to them from the major agencies. 

So how do you get one of these magical Fairy Godmotherly types? From the responses I've had what I have worked out is that you should either: 

a) Stand-out in a end of year major Drama School production

b) Have a kick-ass showreel 

c) Be in a current show that they are able and willing to come and see and be good in it

a) has worked for many many people and is a major reason for going to Drama School (in addition to the training of course). Doing so is not, however, an option for everyone nor is it the be all and end all to being a great actor. Also, a great number of those who do pay thousands and do three years of training do not end up with agents out of it. 

b) is getting more and more common for a way of attracting both agents and casting directors. Most of us have done innumerable short and student films to bulk up our showreels but, of course, not everyone has been as lucky as others in the quality of the productions they have ended up in. Without the agent to help you attract the professional TV and film makers it is not always easy to create a solid showreel. The thing that actors are now doing more regularly is paying £500 to shut themselves into a studio with a script and a cameraman and creating a showreel. 

c) is something I personally find quite hard to master. Firstly the type of theatre productions one tends to end up getting involved with without an agent to guide the way are often profit share, fringe shows and personally I get very nervous inviting agents to come and see something when I have no idea how it might turn out. This is true with any show of course but a little more risky on the fringe circuit. However if you wait for the show to develop before inviting people it's often too late. Putting on a showstopping vehicle starring yourself is not always the great marketing tool that people think it might be since casting directors and agents tend to like to choose shows where they'll get the opportunity to view numerous potential clients at once. 

Yup, despite the fact it's the first step in getting yourself seen for most serious and properly paid opportunities, getting an agent is a real tricky business. 

A Day with Danny DeVito

For those of you young creative 'uns out there: If you haven't heard of Theatre Royal Haymarket's Masterclasses then listen up. These are free (for under 30's and there's a membership scheme for those over that age) talks, Q&A's and other forms of discussion each hosted by a different professional, experienced and often well-known actor, director or playwright. Sometimes other creative disciplines are profiled - one memorable experience at Masterclass was having the multimedia theatre company Forkbeard Fantasy show us examples of their work and explain how they created it. Sometimes 

the class is an opportunity to ask questions about an actor's career, other times a few lucky audience members become participants and get the chance to work on a song or monologue with a prolific mentor. Often sessions become a chance for participants simply to ask the questions they never thought they'd get to ask to someone they never thought they'd get to meet. I've been to lots of these classes sporadically over the last few years with hosts including Patricia Hodge, Bill Nighy, Clarke Peters, Patrick Stuart, Sienna Miller & Sheridan Smith. Yesterday I was lucky enough to nab one of the extremely quickly disappearing tickets to see Thea Sharrock and Danny DeVito in conversation. It was such good fun I thought I'd share a little of it here with you: 

When Thea Sharrock and Danny DeVito entered the stage together they looked such a mismatched couple. Tall and slender, Sharrock strolled quickly across the stage and folded herself gracefully into her chair. DeVito, on the other hand, short and rotund and wearing crocs, padded comically to his chair, his crazy upstanding hair and wisecracks immediately eliciting amusement from the audience. It went from good to better as they both let the audience know they were fine with photos and would take questions at any point since, as Sharrock pointed out, while she was meant to be holding a conversation with him about his career, in reality DeVito would tell the stories he wanted to regardless of the questions she actually asked. 

The relationship between the two was really playful and it seemed they'd obviously enjoyed the process of working together. It was a big surprise to hear that the current production of The Sunshine Boys in the West End is the first time DeVito has been on the stage in 30 years! They discussed the differences in the rehearsal process for theatre and film, and despite DeVito berating Sharrock "You make it sound like we just mess around on the set of It's Always Funny in Philadelphia. We do have writers you know!" he admitted that TV was an opportunity to use the script as a launchpad for further development through improvisation rather than having the discipline of being true to every word, pause and punctuation mark in the script as one does in a theatre setting. 

On how the team on Sunshine Boys worked together, DeVito had nothing but praise for Thea Sharrock and his co-star Richard Griffiths. He  said he thought that peoples' preconceptions of him might be that of an asshole Hollywood diva and noticed that the producer, Sonia Friedman, was very much walking on eggshells around him during the first week of rehearsal. He laughed as he told the story of how he broke the ice when, after noticing her creeping around outside the rehearsal room, he suddenly started throwing furniture around the rehearsal room and screaming and swearing until he was certain she had just imagined all her money and reputation flying straight out of the window. Grinning he said, "We let her in on the secret though didn't we?". "Yeah," replied Sharrock. "After we wiped away her tears". 

At times DeVito seems really a normal guy (kicking his shoes off, scratching his legs "What!? It's hot up here!" and blowing raspberries at the audiences) and at other times it hits you what a massive Hollywood legend he is as stories about David Mamet, Jack Nicholson, Woody Allen, Tim Burton and more abound. DeVito is a real storyteller, a joker and, clearly, an entertainer. We heard how, during a screening of Hoffa at 20th Century Fox, DeVito held a garbage can for a desperate Jack Nicholson to pee into while they both continued watching the film. His first telephone conversation with Woody Allen is rehashed as "Hey Danny. Nice to speak to you...blah blah blah...Really enjoy your work....blah blah blah...Big fan...blah blah blah" and he explains about how he had to do a heart attack/falling down the stairs scene where Woody Allen entered and had one line. "I had to fall down those stairs nine times" said DeVito. "Finally Woody managed to get his line right". On his first conversation with Sharrock: "I got a message telling me he was waiting for my call," she said. "So I called. And what was the very first thing you ever said to me?" "I said," remembers DeVito. "I said 'Look I gotta bone to pick with you! You never offered me the role of the kid in Equus!" "Our first conversation," said Sharrock dryly. 

DeVito has a story about everyone. As an audience member asks a question about Woody Allen, DeVito quickly pipes up with "Now here's an interesting story bout Woody Allen" and goes off in another conversational direction and Sharrock, vindicated, quips "Welcome to my world". Some actors get a bit panicky about holding a Masterclass, DeVito seemed right at home. 

While the whole session was entertaining, it wasn't all fun and games. Obviously a hard worker, DeVito had a lot of useful advice to share. He talked about developing a character and how it isn't always necessary to share everything you're thinking about or creating with the rest of the cast and/or the director. He said that on One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest he looked into Martini's backstory. He knew that, in the past, Martini had been a gunner in the war and had nearly drowned. He used this in his development of the character, having Martini constantly sit on his feet in response to still being aware of  the memory of the water on them. He said that no one needed to know why he was doing that but it helped him to find that character, it's physicalities and emotions. He also spent the day in a psychiatric day room, not interacting but just observing, and trying to see where Martini's mental state would fit in. He complimented Sharrock on her feedback, commenting on how important it was for the director to have a clear point of view of the piece and its characters. 

His main aim, he says, is always being 'in the now', always being focused on the current project or opportunity rather than worrying about "Well, what will I be doing in five years". He didn't go into the profession with a set game plan other than knowing that, ultimately, he wanted to be involved in movies in LA. His past body of work might be impressive but also includes Theatre in Education, short films and summer stock. Taking opportunities where and when they come is essential. He said, "Stay right in the moment. Keep your eyes open and keep working". 

http://www.masterclass.org.uk/

Real life conversations on the tube.

Tube Journey in London: 

(Mum and I sat reading trashy magazines. Man sat next to me.)

Man: Is that your Mum or your Aunt?
Me: My Mum.
Man: Ok.
(Pause)
Me: Why.
Man: Just curious.
(He returns to his activity of staring into the nether.)

(Fifteen minutes pass.)

Man: You seem to be engrossed in that trashy magazine.
Me: I am.
Man: Do you enjoy reading them?
Me: Yes. I do. It's an easy read.
Man: Does Mum enjoy reading them?
Mum: Yes, I do.
Man: I wouldn't know about them. I read Shakespeare and stuff like that.
Me: Good for you.
Man: Do you actually read books
Me: Yes. I read books.
Man: Just checking.

(Train stops. He gets off.) 

Man: Have a lovely evening you two.


...


Same tube journey. Moments later. A large, smiley lady opposite us strikes up a conversation. 

Lady: Ooh I've been riding this tube line for...oh about 40 years. 
Mum: Don't you think you better get off then?

Lazy Creative - A true story of procrastination triumphing over artistic creativity

I've written an awful lot of light frothy blog posts on here about people I've met, things I've seen and issues that wind me up. What I've done a surprisingly small amount of - seeing as how this is supposed to be my blog about attempting to be creative and work professionally in the Arts & Entertainment industry - is chronicle the real ins and outs of what it's like to be right on the bottom rung of this ladder. 

I think one of the reasons that this is so, is entirely down to the fact that I can be uncompromisingly lazy even in the face of trying to make strides in one of the toughest and most insecure industries in the world. Guilty and repentant as this may make me, I don't feel alone in this regard. 

Lazy Creative is a paradox that is a pretty efficient way to describe a large number of people working in this industry. While it rarely springs to mind when we're confronted with the in-demand, agency represented actors, directors etc. who we see dashing from audition to show to meetings to heaven's knows what, it's a more commonly associated term with the sporadically working artists, those self-employed freelancers searching for a break, for their big idea and recognition. While there are those who truly do sink into sheer laziness (daytime TV, all day lie ins) and those who will maintain a determined work ethic (gym, writing/acting classes, networking events) regardless of their professional success, I believe there is a more general middle ground of artists who, like me, have great bursts of energy and creativity followed by a moony, mundane period of existence where the urge to create is tempered by the lack of focus and direction normally created by a surefire publication date, TV role, upcoming major audition or world arena tour. 

So while I absolutely understand that the fact that sometimes I can go days just staring at a computer screen idly expecting inspiration to strike, that rejections from agents or producers can send me into a tailspin of reruns of Gossip Girl and giant bars of chocolate and that the thought of finishing scripts just to have them sitting unpublished and unperformed in front of me can make me give up and pop out to see a real show at the theatre is a reality that hundreds of you out there are facing, I can't help but be embarrassed and ashamed of it. Hence the lack of blogs about the more negative sides of the business. 

In my opinion it is much easier to produce something - a show, a play, an event - than to create something new. It's not that the work load is lighter at all, it's simply that the relationship between problem, solution and deadline is more tangible than the more abstract issues between creating and adapting a piece of art for public consumption. For me, while irritating, the first step needed to take to deal with a problem obtaining the rights for something is more clear cut than where to begin rewriting a script to add an extra 40 minutes onto it when it seemed the perfect length to begin with. It's not that I can't do both jobs, or even that I might not do the latter better, it's simply that first step, that entry point is so much more fineckity and slow-moving that frankly, it's clear why most of us procrastinate like all hell to avoid having to start. 

But this year I have started to fight against the haze that can descend when the monotony of days staring at computer screens, self-promoting and near-begging are broken only by the need to make money or reassess one's life plan and instead I have set myself the task of imposing a much more tangible game plan onto this airy fairy profession I refuse to separate from. So from now on I promise that my blog will stop shying away from being a slightly more personal account of what an exciting and ridiculous life I've set out on. 

The Gay Stage: The Great LGBT Lingo Limbo

This is my most recent article on The Gay Stage's website. It's about how our choice of vocabulary can have both creative and destructive effects on LGBT identity and its ability to create a dialogue or relationship with mainstream society. I hope you find it an interesting read.

http://www.thegaystage.co.uk/politics/saying-the-right-thing-is-hard-can-censorship-really-reduce-transphobia