York!
City of big churches, big walls, big Viking centres, the reason that Yorkies are called Yorkies and about to be my home for seven weeks. It better be good so.
Wait'll I tell ya!
I had left Waterford a few days after the festival and eventually hit the high road to York (hangover still intact) to start rehearsals for 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane' (Actually I had slipped in a sly four days in Lisbon.....but that's my business). Now for ‘high road’ read ‘train’ and in fairness the train from the London to York is on the best line in the UK. So it only takes 2 hours from Kings Cross which is seriously good going when you consider that Manchester is closer and takes 3 and a half hours to get to. But, then again, as well as all the above, York is the birthplace of the great british railway that I've come to know so well in my time living here so I suppose it should be good. I betcha it’s even better when you have a seat. Jesus it was packed! And so my adventure to York began with me sitting for two hours on a fold down seat in between carriages on a train that was so packed to bursting I‘m sure it could be constituted as a war crime and not only that but I was sitting just outside the toilet as well so I got a blast of everyone’s business now and then. What glamour! And at what a price!! 70 quid!! Jesus! Not to worry though as that fare will be included in my first weeks wages because by equity law if you live more than 25km from the theatre they need to give you a single train fare there for the start of the gig. Not too bad so. Just as long as I‘m not jumping up and down to the London all the time. Now that would really break the bank. But sure why would I be doing that. Oh yeah.......Auditions. Shite. Well maybe I won’t get any. But that would be shite also as I wouldn't have any job to go on to after ‘Beauty Queen’. Ah crap I can feel the auld Jitter kicking in already. Never mind that now though I had a job to be doing.
The first day was like most first days with what we call the ‘meet and greet’; wherein you meet and greet (as it said on the can) everyone involved with the show and lots more from the Theatre. Meeting the rest of the cast is a quick one this time though as there's only 4 in the play and the others seem like good heads and that’s grand with me. Then there's the read through. And if I thought that the script was good when I read it first it really hit home when we read it out loud. This thing is the business. Absolutely hilarious. So much so I can’t finish a couple of lines because I‘m laughing so much meself. The set is shown and it’s brilliant. I‘m starting to get very excited about this. And its great, after a summer of prancing around in a kids play to be able to swear on stage again. Its very liberating. ’Feck!’ Woohoo! ’Bitch!’ go on! We’re all chatting throughout the day getting to know each other and of course the topic of conversation inevitably gets around to digs and the horror stories begin. None of them are happy with their digs; one of the lads says he can‘t walk around barefoot because the floor is so dirty. Now I’m not one to be happy at other people's misfortunes but I suddenly stop begrudging the £105 a week I’m paying for my digs, cause they aren't bad at all. I had arrived the previous night into a very pleasant studio flat with twin beds, kitchen and a brand new bathroom and they change the sheets for you every week. Well thank Jesus for that! Comfort while on tour is paramount and if I had to pay a little extra for it well fair enough, I’d just have to make sure I minded me money and not go overboard with drinking while I was in York. ’Yeah Right‘ I hear you shout at me, but I’m afraid that was indeed the case for the first few weeks. Now this may have been more out of necessity than any form of suddenly acquired sense and sensibility for as well as bringing Martin McDonagh’s first play to life I was also still writing the music for the Lord of the Flies back home.......oh and for the first two weeks I was bricking it about a little thing called ‘The Way We Were’ back in the fair Déise land. You see.....
I was about tread the boards of the Theatre Royal in Waterford for the first time in 5 years.
And I was more shit-scared than.......
No, wait, we've been there before methinks. Anyway you would’ve been proud of me (or not depending on the state of your own liver) as for the most part I went straight back to my flat after rehearsals each day. I even went so far as to stay in York my first weekend there and I didn't go out at all. Not a bit. I stayed indoors working on the three shows currently swimming around my brain and by the time Sunday night came around I was only hanging for a few scoops. There wasn’t a sinner willing to join me!! Janey mac! So I ended up going down the road and doing something I've never done in my life. I sat at the bar on my own and had a couple of pints while reading a Séan O’Casey play. Now that's either you’re idea of complete and utter sophistication or complete and utter sadness. I have a feeling the barmaid who served me thought it to be the latter and I tended to agree with her. But that‘s ok, I could do with some sobriety in my life after the madness of the festival and also I was saving my money big time which could only be a good thing and I could probably end up saving a few quid on this job as long as I don’t have to hop down to London. Of course I spoke too soon. The phone goes, ah sure ‘tis the agent;
’You have an audition for a new West End musical called ‘The Far Pavilions’ next Wednesday in London.‘
Ok delighted to have an audition but like a dog I have to shell out a load of bucks to get to London. That said though it could be worth it, a big new West End musical and I was up for a good part in it seemingly. Grand so I’ll give it a shot. I just have to get time off rehearsals. I work it out that I can go back down to the London Tuesday evening and be back in York for rehearsals at 2.30 on Wednesday, a rush I know but I don't think that our director, sound and all as he is, will give me the whole day off. He agrees to the half day so I’m sorted and the timing works fine. I get up nice and early to warm up the voice (I can‘t stand singing in the morning. I’m well shite until around 2pm) and in I trot to a big hall in Kensington. The panel at the audition consists of the casting director (who I know as she's cast me before at Regent’s Park, so that's a good thing), the Lyricist (don’t know him), and the Musical Director. Now this guy I had met before. Years ago, and I do mean years ago; it was 1998, I was still at music college and I went to an open audition in Dublin for Phantom of the Opera and they recalled me to London and this guy was at my recall that day. Problem was I got pissed the night before (nothing changes) and I made an absolute dogs dinner of the audition. Luckily though he seemed not to remember that so that's cool. And the audition goes very well indeed, I sing my own song of choice and then the musical director says to me;
’Well Jamie you mostly have an acting CV but you're obviously very musical.’ quoth he.
‘Well actually I studied music before acting, I have a degree in music.’ proudly boasteth I.
My reply however does not go down like a lead balloon as my previous audition boasts have. This guy is actually impressed. Its mad but now that I have a bit of straight acting on the auld CV I‘m suddenly more in demand for musicals and yet when I only had musicals on the CV I had some struggle to even get an audition. Jesus! Go figure. Anyway I walk out of the audition with a bit of music to learn and happy in the knowledge that I had to go back again in a few weeks to meet the director. They were also being very accommodating as they said they’d see me once ‘Beauty Queen’ had opened so I didn't have to get more time off of rehearsals. How bad. This could work out well and be worth the train fare.
Yeah right.
Firstly they didn't wait until 'Beauty Queen' had opened, they called me in the week before! So I had to go with my begging cap to the director and try and get another morning off. Now I'm taking the piss here a bit, the last week of rehearsals where everything goes a little crazy and mad and its imperative that everyone's there all the time, and here's auld auditionman looking for time off! I'll never get it methinks. Well methinks wrong as it turns out. It was a testament to how well rehearsals were going at that stage that the director not only gave me the morning off but he gave the whole cast the day off! Jesus! He must have been very happy with us. Too right though because we were having a deadly craic in rehearsals and, certainly from my point of view, really good work was being done. There was very little pressure and I felt I was really on a roll with the character of Ray (to be honest I based him on a mix of various characters I know in the Déise. But you would have had to've seen the show to know who they were cause I'm not spilling me acting beans!). As long as I could stop corpsing (losing it and laughing - very unprofessional) in the 'cat's wee' scene I might be alright in this little drama that we're putting on. So I had secured the Monday off for all and that weekend I set about the onerous task of finishing and recording all the music for the 'Lord of the Flies'. Yes that was still going on. I love writing music. I love it even more when there's a nice big cheque at the end when you're finished but I had already been paid for this one so that was hard going. But after hours of work I finished all the mixing and the recording and I put the minidisc and three cds into a jiffy bag ready to go and for some reason I don't send them straight away like I should've. I end up bringing the package with me to London. Now in hindsight that's a bit silly because that little pack contained the entire score and sound design for 'Lord of the Flies'. If anything happened it I'd be in deep shit. Hang on where was I? Ah yes the recall.
Well I headed back to the London on the Sunday night and got up nice and early on Monday morning to start warming up the voce. Its in good nick. Sound, because the song they gave me to sing for them is quite high so I'll need me vocal faculties about me. In I go for me 10 O'Clock appointment with the musical supervisor just to make sure I know the song properly and so he can give me any help I need with it. I sing it once through and he says;
'That's great! Come back to sing for the director at 11.15 and could you sing it in your Irish accent as well please.'
No hassle in the castle boy. Fast forward the ads and I head back into the room this time the director's there and she's nice but its the usual musical theatre audition thing. No small talk just get on with it, and I of course oblige. With style! I sing the shit out of it and all the way through it the casting director is whispering to the director and pointing things out on my CV. Good Girl. Thank you very much! I finish and I stand there waiting for her to ask me some questions about my previous credits perhaps or to give me another recall mayhap.
'Thank you, that's all we need to hear today.' she says.
Ok. To be honest that sentence is normally the kiss of death and means that's the end of any hope for that gig, but i remain optimistic. You never know. I head into town to get the train back to York but get accidently waylaid into a pub on Leicester Square by the whole man Brian Doherty. And I get a bit pissed but despite that I get the music for Lord of the Flies into the post. Thank God. And I fall onto the train back to York without getting a ticket, in case they don't check. Of course they do and I have to fork out £75 for a single...Jesus!!! I mean this is daylight train robbery. Back to York so and into the last week of rehearsals and Its hopping. I've got me lines learned (well after a fashion) and we get to the point on the Thursday where we find that that's it! We need an audience! Time to go to the theatre so and by the Friday we're in that chapel of high entertainment. And I'm feeling grand, show's going well, we open next week so if any auditions happen, it'll be easy to sort it out cos I'll just be working nights, and I don't have to worry about Lord of the Flies any more I can concentrate on.....then the phone goes and its not my agent. It's Lord of the Flies director Ben Hennessey.
'Well Jamie, were we supposed to get some music this week?'
What? Me heart sinks. I posted all the music on Monday they should have gotten it on Wednesday! Oh Jesus don't tell me its lost in the fucking post!! I'm even questioning whether I did actually post it on the monday. I was a bit pissed but not so much so that I would post it in a bin rather than a post box! They, like meself, open the following week. This is seriously not good at all. So despite being up to me eyes with the tech rehearsals for 'Beauty Queen' I end up having to redo all the all the tracks for "Flies' as well. Aaaaagh! I spend the weekend doing it all over again because I'm going to have to Fed Ex it on Monday so it gets to Waterford the next day. This is serious stress exactly when I don't feckin' want it! I get up too late on Monday morning to go to the Post Office so I head straight to the theatre, throw on the costume and hit the stage. I do me best but its not great, me minds elsewhere to be honest. I head back to me dressing room on the break baytin meself up over the crap acting and I notice there's a voice message on me phone. Its the secretary at Red Kettle....a package arrived that morning containing 3 CDs and a minidisc!! It got there!! You beauty!! And speaking of beauties, I return to the stage to rehearse me next scene and I'm on fire! We open tomorrow night, but fuck that, I'm ready to do it now boy! But tomorrow wasn't a long time coming and we hit the boards with our dark slice of Connemara life, and the audience lap it up and by press night we're sucking Diesel!! Its the business, the crowd are wetting themselves;
'She did seem nice enough to me, there, now. Big brown eyes she had. And I do like brown eyes me I do. Oh Aye. Like the lass used to be on Bosco. Or I think the lass used to be on Bosco had brown eyes......
(Pause just long enough for the gag)
...We did have a black and white telly at that time.'
Not a dry seat in the house. I had them in the palm of me feckin' hand. Oh yeah I could get used to this. That night then we get royally drunk because we deserve it! And we go to what is possibly the only nightspot in York (and certainly the only one I was brought to); The Willow. If I said to you a chinese restaurant with a dancefloor and 80's music mixing with the smell of Kung Po beef you may look at me like I was the Liar De Paor but I tell no lie, such a place exists. Shockingly bad but it somehow ended up being the only place we went to for the rest of my time in York. Jesus! To be honest I had to fill meself up with a load of pints before I went there just so as to ease the pain. The following day though the reviews came in and I generally don't read reviews unless someone tells me there's a good mention for me. Reading a bad review before a show can be catastrophic so I don't do it. The reviews were brilliant. Big time! And I was blown away with what a couple of them said about me. These were the best reviews I had ever gotten. Ever. While the reviews for Willows were brilliant for me they slated the show itself. This time the whole show was praised, which is deadly enough to begin with but then some of them singled out me in particular. Now don't worry I can still fit through a door and I'm certainly not going to start quoting reviews here and bore the crap out of ye but this kind of shit really matters in this business. The minute I sent copies to my agent she had them in the post to casting directors all over the shop. Jesus they even did a feature on me in the Yorkshire post. Now I know I've made it! Oop North anyway. So the buzz was good even if sometimes the craic wasn't as mad as I'm sometimes used to. But that's ok too. Try and save the sponds cause I'm going to be out of work soon.
Oh shit.
Forgot about that! And here comes the bastarding jitter again. But not to worry, super agent to the rescue;
'You have a meeting with the casting director of BBC comedy.' - How bad.
'You have an audition for the RSC.' - Nice one.
'You have a meeting in Manchester for a telly job.' - I do have the best agent around, its official.
So I spend a shitload of bucks to once more head back to the london for the BBC and RSC meetings, but hey it'll be worth it if I end up getting a part in Ricky Gervais' new sitcom sure. The BBC meeting goes well. I head over to broadcasting house (knowing where to go this time) and I spend a grand 20 minutes with a very nice lady who casts all of BBC's comedy output. I was keeping meself in check, because I didn't want to try too hard to be funny in front of her. I think I did ok. She spoke briefly about a couple of things but nothing definite and I left not knowing whether she liked me at all. I hate meetings. But ye know that already.
The RSC audition is far more my kind of audition; meet the director exchange pleasantries and small talk, have a chat about the character(Dromio) then read from the script (Comedy of Errors). Then read the script in an accent other than my own. Y'know the typical thing. And it goes really well. The directors seems impressed so that's cool and I'm leaving the building and I bump into a good buddy of mine jolly Jonjo O'Neil (the actor not the Jockey);
'How're ya Jonjo? What're you doin' here?' qouth mise.
'I've an audition for the RSC. For Dromio in the Comedy of Errors.' quoth.....him.
Ah shit. Jonjo's had a charmed career since leaving drama school that's pretty much the envy of us all who know him. Telly, film, straight plays, musicals, commercials he's done it all. And he's just been working with the RSC for the past few months. Add to that he's a handsome charming bastard from Belfast and I could slowly see the job slip away. That's the way things are and you have to be realistic about it, at some stage you go up for jobs against a mate and there's no way you can be bitter about it and go 'Oh well I can't talk to him we're up for the same role'. That's Bullshit. Sure Jonjo and his Girlfriend ended up coming to York to see 'Beauty Queen'. Fair fucks to him to him for that. Deadly session that night as well. But you never know I might still get it.
The meeting in Manchester is another matter altogether. I get an early train to Manchester from York and I proceed to get so lost its stupid. I cannot find this place where the meeting is and I'm running around getting sweaty and that's never a good thing going into a meeting. I finally find the fecking place and i go into an office where there's a load of people sitting waiting. What's the story here? I ask them what time they're supposed to have their meeting and they all say 12. Hang on that's my time......aw shit this isn't a meeting at all its a fecking casting and what's worse its an improv casting. Crap! Improvisation, unless its really good, makes me puke. This is a doozy. Me and this chick are brought into the casting room and told that the scenario we had to play out was that we were having a party and we were swingers but the other guests wouldn't know that. Then the other people are brought in from the office to be the guests and we just improvise for the camera. And its the usual shite everyone trying not to be embarrassed but obviously they are and then everyone is trying to say more than the other person and I'm as guilty of that as everyone else. Its like watching a train wreck. You see I don't mind improvisation per se but this wasn't whose line is it anyway. I hate meetings. Especially when they turn into improvisations.
And then it was the last week of 'Beauty Queen' and the phone started going. I didn't get any of the shows I went for.
- Far Pavilions: 'The Musical Director really liked you but the director didn't think you had the right type of voice' - Bollox.
- BBC: 'She said you were nice but there's nothing there for you at the moment.' - Crap.
- RSC: 'They liked you but its not going to work out this time' - Feck it (Jonjo got in the end).
- Manchester: 'They said you were ok but they don't want you.' - Couldn't give a shit about that one.
And so in the cacophony of 'they liked you.. but...' I was left with nothing to go on to. And then the final nail was driven in. My ever vigilant agent calls me at 10 O'Clock one night;
'I got an email from Lord of the Rings. They were looking for your home address. The director wants to send you a letter.'
Why does he want to send me a letter? This can only be bad. It is. She rings back the following day.
'The letter will just say that they've decided to cast the hobbits shorter than you so that means they won't be considering you for one of them.'
And fair enough that's pretty much what the letter says when it arrives. Its a nice complementary letter and it also says that I'll be considered for a taller role if something suits. Sure we'll see. Who knows. And there it was, the end of the gig and nothing for the forseeable. Not good. Its been a while since I've done that many auditions and not gotten any of them. I hope it isn't a sign of things to come. And although all of that bad news is a bit of a dampener on me time in York I enjoyed every minute of doing Beauty Queen every night. Its a top theatre as well. The director makes a few noises towards about doing something together in 2005 and I'd jump at it. But they really need to do something about the digs situation and the nightlife!! At the end of it all we said our goodbyes as you do and I got a lift back to the London off the Stalwart Tessa Worsley (72 and a theatrical fireball still) and Paul Meston (Top actor, played me brother) so I save a bit on the bloody train fare. Although the car journey ended up taking 8 hours. There was a mini marathon in London. Jesus!
And it was over. All I had left was the memories and a lovely overdraft thanks to all the train journeys I had to make for jobs i didn't get. Oh and the reviews of course. And although I said before, I would never bore ye by quoting my reviews, I will tell you this one. A couple had approached us in the bar after the show one night to say how much they enjoyed it and they asked me was I really Irish.
'Since I was born' I quip back, making sure that my déise brogue was clearly in evidence.
'Oh yes we thought so.' They replied, 'Its just that there was two elderly Irish ladies behind us who were complaining during the show that your accent couldn't be real, it was too strong.'
The auld bitches!
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
17. THE WAY I ALWAYS AM!
I was about tread the boards of the Theatre Royal in Waterford for the first time in 5 years.
And I was more shit-scared than I've ever been in me life!
Now at this stage in me career I've played over 40 different theatres in England. I've performed in front of 1200 people a night and even shown me belly off in the West End so why the hell would returning to me home town to sing a few songs in a 600 seat classic proscenium arch theatre put the fear of God in me? Because Déise audiences can be the harshest critics in the world. Nicholas De Jongh - scourge of the West End - has nothing on them. Seriously. And I guess I felt I had something to prove. I left Waterford a talented amatuer and now I was returning to ballybroadway a "PROFESSIONAL". I'd better be worth the money so. Jesus. And of course I was doing it in style! 3 rehearsals for the variety spectacular to be called 'The Way We Were' and then off to England for 3 weeks to start rehearsals for a play and then return the morning of the first performance and have a couple of hours to put it all together. AM I FECKING NUTS?! And one of the numbers I was doing was a dance number! AM I REALLY FECKIN NUTS!?!?! Oh yes indeedy!
I had left Waterford a few days after the festival and eventually hit the high road to York (hangover still intact) and started rehearsals for 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane'
but more on that later.............
Fasting forward to over two weeks later and after numerous nights of prancing around my flat trying to learn the dance routine (in a space that was very very small. A lot like the Theatre Royal then) and singing various standards in the shower, I'm being driven from Dublin airport and the fear is kicking in. This was to be a full on weekend big time. I had rehearsals from 11 o'clock the next morning to try and get me shit together for the concert. Then of course I had the dreaded deed itself. The following morning (Sunday) I had a full day's rehearsals planned for 'The Lord of the Flies', yes that was still going on and I was still writing music for it, in between learning me killer moves boy! Then we had the second night of 'The Way We Were'. Thankfully I had sorted out an NA for the monday. NA, for those who don't speak showbiz, stands for non-availability and can be sorted out prior to the contract being signed. Its like a day off of school. So I had given myself the day after all the madness to recover and gently make my way back to York, or so I thought!!! Not a sign. I had bugged the Rex of Red Kettle Theatre Co. Mr. Ben Hennessy to give me an audition for their next production; Ira Levine's 'Deathtrap'. A deadly thriller which was going to have me man who played the lead out of '2001: A Space Odyssey' in it. Oh I'd like a bit of that thank you very much. And my pestering bears fruit. But the audition was to be on the Monday! Jesus! 11 O'clock in the morning!! Christ!!! Well I'll have to mind meself then. No going mad after the last night of the show. Of course that's what happened. Of course. Aaaanyway. Up at cock crow on the day of the show and I'm in Johnny Crowe's getting a lovely €10 haircut and by 11 O'Clock I'm standing on that stage.
And it all comes flooding back.
Its just all so familiar. All the years performing there. All the shows. All the craic. I know that place like the back of my hand, probably better. The scene of some of my best performances, amateur or professional, and of course some of my worst (I live in fear of a copy of the video of me in 'Jesus Christ Superstar' ever reaching London. I have had threats.) I would say that me walking onto that stage was like the scene in 'Sunset Boulevard' where Norma Desmond steps onto a film set for the 1st time in years, but that would be a bit gay. Needless to say I suddenly felt a huge buzz about being there. And I started whacking into the songs and me voice, five years older and (hopefully) better, starts bouncing off the walls. Yes boy. This is what its all about. This is what Waterford's about. Music, drama, variety. This blue bastion is easily the cultural capital of rip off Ireland and the Theatre Royal is its Áras an Uachtarán. Steeped in history, and a few ghosts for good measure, that building is a place of power in the town. I really felt like I was at home. Rehearsal goes well and the voice seems to be in good form (thank god there was no Munster finals on recently) the dancing is ok and I'll get away with it, but I also have to recite 2 shakespeare sonnets and I've busted me brain trying to learn them in the past few days and I think I'm ok on them. Then I go on to rehearse it and on before me are two of the funniest gowlers on the Waterford stage, local treasure Davy Sutton and the eponymous Q. They've just finished singing 'Brush up your Shakespeare' which segues nicely into my bit, but I come on stage and they're still there I launch into me first lines;
'Who will believe my verse in time to come, if....' and that's as far as I get before the two boys launch into a tirade of abuse....
'The fuck's he on about?'
'What a load a shit!'
'Shakespeare me bollox boy!'
There was no malice in it just pure gowling and it sent everyone at the rehearsal into convulsions of laughing. Including me. And that as they say was the end of that and the words were well gone on me and I spent an agonizing few seconds (hours) trying to get it back together, but no, I had to reach into me pocket and pull out the words. Now that was embarrassing. I think Michael Grant was regretting the cost of the flights now. I did the rest of it sheet in hand and so afraid was I now of forgetting them again I ended up using the words that night for the actual performance.
Ah yes. The performance.
It would probably make better reading (or funnier at least) if I were now to recount a litany of cock ups, forgotten lyrics, wrong songs and all the things that make up a good old backstage farce, but alas it went really well. Alright some of it had a rough quality to it because of the lack of rehearsal but it was all heart. The minute the curtain went up the audience was singing along with every number and that was enough to put anyone at ease. Except for me that is. I was bricking it. So much so that one of the toilets in the Theatre will be off limits for a couple of years. I put on my tux, brylcreem the hair and head for the stage. Gershwin's 'But Not For Me' is my first of the evening. I'm standing in the wings and the usual panic of forgetting all the words just before singing happens, but I've learned to just go with that, the words are still there. I'm chatting to Linda Gough, another 'Pro' brought back for the first time in ages (although she's proper famous because she was on Fair City.), and I'm delighted to hear that she has an equal case of the runs. So I casually walk on the stage, no spontaneous burst of applause. I'm going to have to earn that. And earn it I do. With blood sweat and fears. The dance number 'Putting on the Ritz' goes down a storm and 'Ol' Man River' closes the first act to whoops. Bring it on! I open the second act with a duet with the well talented Kate Hayley and the Shakespeare sonnets go grand. Well they should do cos I've got the words in me hand for feck sake. My last number is 'Night and Day' with another Jamie, Murphy that is who's inexplicably blonde for the occasion and before doing the song I have some witty banter with him and I crack possibly the worst joke ever;
'Can I have an A flat please Wayne?' (Note sounds) 'Janey that's very flat!'
The audience love it! The old ones are the best ones. And that's it the punishing ordeal is over only to be repeated the following night. Unbelievably the rehearsal for 'Lord of the Flies' is called off because, unbelievably, Waterford United had made it to the finals of the soccer league and the match was that evening. Well there was no way a rehearsal was gonna happen. Although a meeting did. But that's not so bad. And then the second night of 'The Way We Were' goes just as well as the first if not better. But how did I fare with the Déise audience. Had I come back from the London only to be found out to have feet of clay? Well there was one thing said to me that meant the most. I was in the Munster after the second night and I was chatting to Archie, one of the Collins theatrical dynasty, and he says to me like this;
'Don't take this the wrong way but I honestly had forgotten how good you were.'
That's good enough for me boy. And with the smile on me face that gave me I proceeded to celebrate like I didn't have an audition at 11 O'Clock the following morning. I mean I know it was stupid but what was I meant to do? Just head home straight after the show like a good little actor. Me bollox. Even as I wandered home at 4.30 from a grand auld Strawberry hill bash I still didn't think anything of it. No, only when I fell into a room above a pub in Dublin with one eye closed cos I had less than 2 hours sleep and no voice and a head on me to match only then did I feel the pangs of regret. Sure you would watching a great gig going down the drain. I notice that there has been a certain rearranging of the furniture and that can mean only one thing: we're going to move it. Crap! They're the auditions where its not just a case of sitting down and have a read (which I would have barely been able for that morning). No, in this you have to get up and play the scene as if you were onstage. Of course I don't know the scene well enough to be off the book and so the script in my hand was a huge pain in the hole. It got worse when we got to the bit where i was supposed to be handcuffed! Say no more. I had just made a triumphant return to the Waterford stage but 'Deathtrap' wasn't going to be my second. I mean when am I going to cop on for Christ sake?!?! Will I ever learn or is that just the way I always am and the way I always will be? That said it wasn't absolutely terrible and when I was told I didn't get it (surprise, surprise) I was told that the director and actor reading opposite me were very impressed but they were going for someone a bit older. I'm not sure if I believe that but it was nice to hear that I didn't make a total prick of myself. Not to worry though, sure I was working. Back to York so. But I was still on a big buzz from being back on stage in Waterford. I can't leave it too long before I do it again. I reach York and I'm already missing home. It never gets any easier. I got a card off Michael Grant to say thanks, and even better than the compliment from Archie were his words on the card;
'You're a true blue.'
How bad.
And I was more shit-scared than I've ever been in me life!
Now at this stage in me career I've played over 40 different theatres in England. I've performed in front of 1200 people a night and even shown me belly off in the West End so why the hell would returning to me home town to sing a few songs in a 600 seat classic proscenium arch theatre put the fear of God in me? Because Déise audiences can be the harshest critics in the world. Nicholas De Jongh - scourge of the West End - has nothing on them. Seriously. And I guess I felt I had something to prove. I left Waterford a talented amatuer and now I was returning to ballybroadway a "PROFESSIONAL". I'd better be worth the money so. Jesus. And of course I was doing it in style! 3 rehearsals for the variety spectacular to be called 'The Way We Were' and then off to England for 3 weeks to start rehearsals for a play and then return the morning of the first performance and have a couple of hours to put it all together. AM I FECKING NUTS?! And one of the numbers I was doing was a dance number! AM I REALLY FECKIN NUTS!?!?! Oh yes indeedy!
I had left Waterford a few days after the festival and eventually hit the high road to York (hangover still intact) and started rehearsals for 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane'
but more on that later.............
Fasting forward to over two weeks later and after numerous nights of prancing around my flat trying to learn the dance routine (in a space that was very very small. A lot like the Theatre Royal then) and singing various standards in the shower, I'm being driven from Dublin airport and the fear is kicking in. This was to be a full on weekend big time. I had rehearsals from 11 o'clock the next morning to try and get me shit together for the concert. Then of course I had the dreaded deed itself. The following morning (Sunday) I had a full day's rehearsals planned for 'The Lord of the Flies', yes that was still going on and I was still writing music for it, in between learning me killer moves boy! Then we had the second night of 'The Way We Were'. Thankfully I had sorted out an NA for the monday. NA, for those who don't speak showbiz, stands for non-availability and can be sorted out prior to the contract being signed. Its like a day off of school. So I had given myself the day after all the madness to recover and gently make my way back to York, or so I thought!!! Not a sign. I had bugged the Rex of Red Kettle Theatre Co. Mr. Ben Hennessy to give me an audition for their next production; Ira Levine's 'Deathtrap'. A deadly thriller which was going to have me man who played the lead out of '2001: A Space Odyssey' in it. Oh I'd like a bit of that thank you very much. And my pestering bears fruit. But the audition was to be on the Monday! Jesus! 11 O'clock in the morning!! Christ!!! Well I'll have to mind meself then. No going mad after the last night of the show. Of course that's what happened. Of course. Aaaanyway. Up at cock crow on the day of the show and I'm in Johnny Crowe's getting a lovely €10 haircut and by 11 O'Clock I'm standing on that stage.
And it all comes flooding back.
Its just all so familiar. All the years performing there. All the shows. All the craic. I know that place like the back of my hand, probably better. The scene of some of my best performances, amateur or professional, and of course some of my worst (I live in fear of a copy of the video of me in 'Jesus Christ Superstar' ever reaching London. I have had threats.) I would say that me walking onto that stage was like the scene in 'Sunset Boulevard' where Norma Desmond steps onto a film set for the 1st time in years, but that would be a bit gay. Needless to say I suddenly felt a huge buzz about being there. And I started whacking into the songs and me voice, five years older and (hopefully) better, starts bouncing off the walls. Yes boy. This is what its all about. This is what Waterford's about. Music, drama, variety. This blue bastion is easily the cultural capital of rip off Ireland and the Theatre Royal is its Áras an Uachtarán. Steeped in history, and a few ghosts for good measure, that building is a place of power in the town. I really felt like I was at home. Rehearsal goes well and the voice seems to be in good form (thank god there was no Munster finals on recently) the dancing is ok and I'll get away with it, but I also have to recite 2 shakespeare sonnets and I've busted me brain trying to learn them in the past few days and I think I'm ok on them. Then I go on to rehearse it and on before me are two of the funniest gowlers on the Waterford stage, local treasure Davy Sutton and the eponymous Q. They've just finished singing 'Brush up your Shakespeare' which segues nicely into my bit, but I come on stage and they're still there I launch into me first lines;
'Who will believe my verse in time to come, if....' and that's as far as I get before the two boys launch into a tirade of abuse....
'The fuck's he on about?'
'What a load a shit!'
'Shakespeare me bollox boy!'
There was no malice in it just pure gowling and it sent everyone at the rehearsal into convulsions of laughing. Including me. And that as they say was the end of that and the words were well gone on me and I spent an agonizing few seconds (hours) trying to get it back together, but no, I had to reach into me pocket and pull out the words. Now that was embarrassing. I think Michael Grant was regretting the cost of the flights now. I did the rest of it sheet in hand and so afraid was I now of forgetting them again I ended up using the words that night for the actual performance.
Ah yes. The performance.
It would probably make better reading (or funnier at least) if I were now to recount a litany of cock ups, forgotten lyrics, wrong songs and all the things that make up a good old backstage farce, but alas it went really well. Alright some of it had a rough quality to it because of the lack of rehearsal but it was all heart. The minute the curtain went up the audience was singing along with every number and that was enough to put anyone at ease. Except for me that is. I was bricking it. So much so that one of the toilets in the Theatre will be off limits for a couple of years. I put on my tux, brylcreem the hair and head for the stage. Gershwin's 'But Not For Me' is my first of the evening. I'm standing in the wings and the usual panic of forgetting all the words just before singing happens, but I've learned to just go with that, the words are still there. I'm chatting to Linda Gough, another 'Pro' brought back for the first time in ages (although she's proper famous because she was on Fair City.), and I'm delighted to hear that she has an equal case of the runs. So I casually walk on the stage, no spontaneous burst of applause. I'm going to have to earn that. And earn it I do. With blood sweat and fears. The dance number 'Putting on the Ritz' goes down a storm and 'Ol' Man River' closes the first act to whoops. Bring it on! I open the second act with a duet with the well talented Kate Hayley and the Shakespeare sonnets go grand. Well they should do cos I've got the words in me hand for feck sake. My last number is 'Night and Day' with another Jamie, Murphy that is who's inexplicably blonde for the occasion and before doing the song I have some witty banter with him and I crack possibly the worst joke ever;
'Can I have an A flat please Wayne?' (Note sounds) 'Janey that's very flat!'
The audience love it! The old ones are the best ones. And that's it the punishing ordeal is over only to be repeated the following night. Unbelievably the rehearsal for 'Lord of the Flies' is called off because, unbelievably, Waterford United had made it to the finals of the soccer league and the match was that evening. Well there was no way a rehearsal was gonna happen. Although a meeting did. But that's not so bad. And then the second night of 'The Way We Were' goes just as well as the first if not better. But how did I fare with the Déise audience. Had I come back from the London only to be found out to have feet of clay? Well there was one thing said to me that meant the most. I was in the Munster after the second night and I was chatting to Archie, one of the Collins theatrical dynasty, and he says to me like this;
'Don't take this the wrong way but I honestly had forgotten how good you were.'
That's good enough for me boy. And with the smile on me face that gave me I proceeded to celebrate like I didn't have an audition at 11 O'Clock the following morning. I mean I know it was stupid but what was I meant to do? Just head home straight after the show like a good little actor. Me bollox. Even as I wandered home at 4.30 from a grand auld Strawberry hill bash I still didn't think anything of it. No, only when I fell into a room above a pub in Dublin with one eye closed cos I had less than 2 hours sleep and no voice and a head on me to match only then did I feel the pangs of regret. Sure you would watching a great gig going down the drain. I notice that there has been a certain rearranging of the furniture and that can mean only one thing: we're going to move it. Crap! They're the auditions where its not just a case of sitting down and have a read (which I would have barely been able for that morning). No, in this you have to get up and play the scene as if you were onstage. Of course I don't know the scene well enough to be off the book and so the script in my hand was a huge pain in the hole. It got worse when we got to the bit where i was supposed to be handcuffed! Say no more. I had just made a triumphant return to the Waterford stage but 'Deathtrap' wasn't going to be my second. I mean when am I going to cop on for Christ sake?!?! Will I ever learn or is that just the way I always am and the way I always will be? That said it wasn't absolutely terrible and when I was told I didn't get it (surprise, surprise) I was told that the director and actor reading opposite me were very impressed but they were going for someone a bit older. I'm not sure if I believe that but it was nice to hear that I didn't make a total prick of myself. Not to worry though, sure I was working. Back to York so. But I was still on a big buzz from being back on stage in Waterford. I can't leave it too long before I do it again. I reach York and I'm already missing home. It never gets any easier. I got a card off Michael Grant to say thanks, and even better than the compliment from Archie were his words on the card;
'You're a true blue.'
How bad.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
16. LORD OF THE FESTIVAL
Every year for the past 46 years, from all over the world they come. Like the theatrical rogues and vagabonds of that bygone age they pack their sets and their actors in the back of a lorry and descend upon the sapphire of the South East, the fair Déise land. And all in the hope of walking away, after two weeks of FEROCIOUS competition, with the coveted trophy (and perhaps a few other titles for good measure) and the chance to be remembered forever on the hallowed walls of the Munster Bar.
Alright, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic.
But the Waterford International Festival of Light Opera (WIFLO to those in the know), which is between 10 - 14 nights of musicals presented by amateur, semi-professional and sometimes semi-amateur societies, can always be counted on for a few laughs, even more beers and a lot of drama. Especially this year. There was a Waterford society in competition. And Waterford societies take the festival very, very seriously. Big time. In the history of the festival a Waterford show has never won the coveted title; The International trophy. A few have come 2nd alright. So what could this society (the newly formed Flaggy Lane Theatre Co.) do that other societies before them couldn't? Well, they could do 'The Hot Mikado' for a start, that jazzed up version of the G&S favourite, a real crowd pleaser and former festival winner. Then they could hire probably the best Musical Director in Ireland who would bring with him some of the best musicians in the country. And they could bring back to the Waterford stage, to play the lead, that huge personality (if small frame) Mr. Richie Hayes. Check on all counts. These guys were armed for bear and not talking any showbiz prisoners in their quest for that trophy. The gloves were off and loyalties were discarded because this was war. It's a very interesting thing to watch. And watch it I did.
I had returned to My City of Music and was knee deep in working on the music for Lord of the Flies. To be honest I was finding it a bit difficult sitting at me computer trying to get the inspiration to write. It had been a year since I wrote a note of music and it felt like it. I was musically unfit so to speak. But what'll help that? Beer of course. My first week back, while it didn't consist of a session every night, did include me birthday, me sister's engagement party, waking up on Mick Q's couch after drinking gin and watching Borat......twice, and a last night party for the Hot Mikado which went straight through to the next day. No sleep Beamish here had to go to the bus station straight from the party and pick up the affable Richard Hardwick (Who was on tour in Cork with 'Grease'.) for more drinking.
I was back home so.
But for there to be a last night party there, of course, had to be a first night. And I was there. As is customary you do a run of the show before it goes into the Festival and 'The Hot Mikado' were doing it right by putting it in front of a crowd merely two weeks before it. Clever. And it was good. Very good. Not perfect but it was better than a lot of first nights I've seen (and been in) in the good old Theatre Royal. Like I said, all good stuff, with Richie Hayes having the audience in stitches, the great Gary Power looking like Colonel Sanders and Ray Collins proving that he's still probably the best singer in Waterford and wasted there to boot. But towards the end of act one the biggest wig I'd ever seen came onstage and with it the lovely Vicky Graham playing Katisha. Always reliable, I knew I was in safe hands with Vicky on stage. . . and then she opened her mouth to sing. Holy shit! The hairs on the back of me neck were giving her a standing ovation and it wasn't even the interval. I had never heard her sing like that. Jazzy, ballsy, absolutely brilliantly. And that was the clincher for me. They now had a show to be reckoned with. Vicky's singing was that extra bit of class they needed. They might just do it.
So the festival kicked off in its own inimitable style. Before I proceed though I have to tell you that I was a festival geek when I last lived in the Sunny South East. For the last two weeks in September I would try and see every show that was on. No matter how shit it was, I was there. And I always got a ticket. One night I even started singing outside the Theatre Royal when the chances of getting a seat for a local production of 'Chess' seemed extremely low. I got a ticket at 5 to 8. Thank god for peoples pity. I was such a regular fixture in the Gods in that theatre that in my later festivals I was asked by the legendary Jimmy Finn to help him out tearing tickets, for which my reward would be to sit on the stairs and watch the show.
'Don' shay no'hin te Larry fannin'!'
It was a job I was well proud of and I did it to the best of me ability but I could never surpass the master.
'Tchicketss Pleeaszze!!!!!'
It only ever sounded right when Jimmy said it. Four foot nothin and you never got past him. The God's are angry Mr. Finn.
I'm starting to sound like fecking Frank McCourt here! So the Festival meant a lot to me. It still does. This was my first Festival since 2000, but this year was different as the official purpose I was home was for Lord of the Flies, so of course that was taking up my time and attention and that meant my festival going was down to a bare minimum. The shows that is. Not the festival club! The place (the Tower hotel generally) you scheme over to after the Munster to drink and sometimes sing the night away and then fall home in the small hours and hope to christ you don't have work in the morning. Ahhh the festival club. Eases the pain. So (apart from the afters) I gave myself 3 shows I wanted to see; 'The Hot Mikado' (what? again? Oh yes for a local show in the Festival must be given all the support possible), Honk (A dublin show which had won AIMS, the Irish musical society oscar) and Little Night Music (which was being performed by the shit hot Trent Opera Co. who were 2 time winners already). These were the three hot tickets but would they be the top three at the end of the day?
The Hot Mikado was shit-hot on the night! I arrived to the Theatre a bit before to pick up my tickets and I bumped into the world and his wife there; that traveling balladeer Mr. David Flynn (as opposed to the wealthy builder); the funky fish himself and friend of Matthew Kelly, Mr. Fintan Kavanagh; the nemesis of elderly gentlemen on the terraces at a hurling match Mr. Kevin Kehoe and the list of criminals goes on. The lights went down and you could cut the buzz with a knife, the Gentlemen of Japan, a bit of nerves, a couple of dropped hats but nothing to worry about. This was hopping! Richie Hayes had the Royal in the palm of his hand, the singing was brilliant and Vicky Graham was even better than the first time I saw her! Jesus! The audience are clapping and lapping up every word and by the time the second act kicks in they've really hit their stride. Nice one! The adjudicator comes on at the end to give his customary crit. How the hell is he going to criticize that? He doesn't. He praises it big time. But there's something about the way he's doing it. He's being very cool about it. He's not going apeshit for it like I thought he would. And I don't know what he really thought. The lads however are in brilliant spirit and the buzz in the munster after is mighty and its even better in the Festival Club. So good in fact that the hotel manager announced that for an hour there would be a free bar. 4 lovely red bull and Vodka's and I'm all over the shop! And how bad. So bad in fact that I'm a member of a select posse still left in the hotel foyer when a member of security, being an asshole and trying to get us all out, is a bit insulting with one of the lads and a certain person who won't be named called Seamus goes ape and they threaten to call the cops. Some threat.
'Call the fuckin cops so!' quoth a man you should not mess with. We left somewhat less than quietly.
The following morning I had inadvertently agreed to lunch with two different parties. the first being the butcher of the Déise broadway, Munster Express theatre critic mr. Liam Murphy and the second being Mr. David Hayes (if carlsberg did musical directors they would look something like him.). The first bit of grub was fine but I was seriously wilting by the time i got to the second. David's a mate but the chat swings to business and I drop it in that I'm free this xmas. Well it turns out that Tony Finnegan (Good head and the best actor/director in Bettystown) is doing a production of the Wizard of Oz at the National Concert hall and David himself is involved in a panto up there as well. Lovely stuff! Distinct possibilities! I mean I've already given my Lion to great acclaim at Birmingham rep last Christmas. I bump into the aforementioned Mr. Finnegan for a few beers in the festival club the following night and in short order he tells me that he's doing 'The Wizard of Oz' to which I am overcome with surprise;
'Really!? Aw that's a deadly show boy! Sure I played the Lion in it at Birmingham Rep last year!' hintingly quoth I.
'That's funny! Cos I'm playing the Lion in our production!' Devastatingly quoth he.
Ah shit! That's the end of that then. But wait, what about Mr. Hayes' panto? Well I get an audition the following week, off I trot to Dublin, in I go, give it socks, they seem REALLY interested and .......... I never hear from them again. Y'know I don't think I'm ever going to be on stage in Ireland again. Of course I spoke too soon. The phone goes. It isn't the agent funnily enough, its Michael Grant, former king of Tops of the Town asking me if I'd be interested in performing in a variety evening, 'The Way We Were', that he's producing for the Waterford Arts Festival. There's no money for it but they'll sort my expenses. I say yes. Then I start crapping me pants. I Haven't been on the stage of the Theatre Royal in 5 years. I'd have 2 rehearsals before I head off to York and wouldn't see a soul until the morning of the first show. Is this feasible? Am I going to end up looking like a knob on a less than triumphant return to the Déise stage. Well, we'll see.
'We don't give a crap about you, what of the festival?' I here you cry. Well there had been nothing to cool down the Hot Mikado's chances but Honk was on its way and a serious contender. I go to see the show with Sinéad Kiely, the best soprano Waterford city never had (she's from Dungarvan you see) and we settle back in the Gods to check out this musical tale of the ugly duckling. We were like the two boys out of the muppets as we sat there and critiqued all the way through the show. It was good though, but for my money not Hot Mikado good. Then the adjudicator came on. He went mad for it. So much so that when he started to describe one particular sequence he got choked up and shed a little tear. And as I sat there aghast at all the gushiness, I could see the lad's chances slipping away. Not one to mince his words Flex Browne beside me proclaimed:
'That's it. They're fucked so.'
I was inclined to agree. That said though I was in the festival years ago and the adjudicator was so emotional at the end of our show, she came on and was unable to give an adjudication, she was so overcome. I turned to Ray Collins and said: 'We've won it boy!' ...........We came 6th. But the buzz now was that Honk had taken the lead. Dirty Dubs. And the feeling in the Munster and festival club that night was a bit subdued. We still got battered though (Lord of the Flies was going great - when I could see it through the drunken haze or when the music didn't hurt me head). Lots of people now had Honk 1st and Hot Mikado 2nd. But I wasn't sure about that. I still thought the could win it and in the following days there was no shows to change that opinion. Until the third heavy hitter arrived. 'A Little Night Music'. Sondheim's wonderful celebration of love in waltz time. Was this the show to beat them all. I don't know. I didn't get to see it. As bad luck would have it one of my favourite actors (the brilliant Donal O' Kelly) was doing a one man show about James Joyce in Garter Lane theatre. Well there was no way I was missing that. Sure didn't I play Joyce's son Giorgio in Calico? And brilliant it certainly was. Now that's the kind of actor I want to be when I grow up! Brilliant! And so, it seems, was 'Night Music'. Pure class in what had been a slightly lacklustre program. The buzz in the Munster was that these were now the boys to beat. Of course I had missed it! That was the Friday and the results were the Sunday.
Sunday! The last day of the Festival when all and sundry descend on the Munster and drink and sing through the afternoon and head off home in the evening for a bite to eat and a shower and come back in to hear the results and drink and sing some more. Except that is for the true, hardcore Festival goers who don't go home but instead stay in the Munster straight through to the results with the only respite being a chip and a batter sausage over the road. That'll be just me and Raymond Collins then. While there was a lot of drinking there wasn't as much singing as usual. There wasn't a piano or a piano player to be found that day so they rang me. And while I gladly gave them the use of my keyboard I refused to play the thing point blank. I couldn't think of anything worse. It wasn't too bad mind. After a short time of singing unaccompanied some guys started playing guitar and one guy could play the keyboard after a fashion but informed Ray that he doesn't do intros. Oh happy day. I gave reputation-destroying renditions of 'Oh What a Beautiful Morning' and 'Patricia the Stripper' and I wasn't even drunk. 1 pint of water for every two pints of beer, for it was to be a long night boy! So the sing song was alright in the end but you could feel the nervous energy already and when the lads from the Hot Mikado arrived back to the pub all spruced up it got worse. A lot worse! You could feel the Jitter going around the room as if Waterford was a point behind in the closing minutes of a munster final. They believe that 'Night Music' was going to win but there was this little glint of hope within them, hanging on. Maybe, just maybe they might have it. It could still happen. By 9 O'clock you couldn't move in the Munster it was jammers from top to bottom. I was hanging on to sobriety by the skin of my teeth and running a little book on the results as I've always done. On the radio the last night concert was being broadcast but there wasn't a sinner listening. They only cared about the sound of one man's voice. Brows were beaded with sweat, who would go home with the crystal?
10 O'Clock. Adjudicator onstage and he wastes no time. Straight into the individual awards. There's grown men shaking beside me. First award. Adjudicator's award. To ... Richie Hayes for the Hot Mikado! And the crowd goes feckin wild!!!! The place erupts. How bad. One down many more to go. The next few are spread between Honk and Night Music but then best Choreographer? HOT MIKADO! The crowd nearly do themselves damage!!!! Good stuff. Next one, Best Comedienne.....Vicky Graham for HOT MIKADO! At this stage I would have to equate the reaction to the reaction when Paul Flynn scored his goal in the Munster final this year! Delighted for her. Thankfully there was no casualties. i could then see a glint in the lads eyes, hope was suddenly building. But then the next slew of awards all go to other shows and mostly Honk or Night music. Not good. That said I remember a festival where the winner had only gotten one........hang on! Third place! HOT MIKADO!!!
AW YES B...................NO!
shite
Some of the crowd went fairly wild. But only fairly. There was an air of disappointment in the room and a few tears were shed (I'm not saying who). Of course there was. The last time I was home for a festival a Waterford show lost as well. I was starting to be a bit of a Jonah. I kept that thought to myself. Honk came 2nd and Night Music won but the Gentlemen of Japan were long past caring. A few pints and large bottles in the festival club will sort that out. Like I said before, Ahhh the festival club. Eases the pain. it certainly did and some night it was too, so much so that on my way to a party at five o'clock that morning I hit the drink threshold and jumped out of the cab when it passed near me house. Remember I'd been at it non stop since 3 that afternoon. I slipped off into drunken dreams about a Waterford show winning the festival. For that's what it still was. A dream. Another Festival and no International Trophy to proudly display in the Munster.
To quote a lyric from the winning show.
Well maybe next year.
Alright, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic.
But the Waterford International Festival of Light Opera (WIFLO to those in the know), which is between 10 - 14 nights of musicals presented by amateur, semi-professional and sometimes semi-amateur societies, can always be counted on for a few laughs, even more beers and a lot of drama. Especially this year. There was a Waterford society in competition. And Waterford societies take the festival very, very seriously. Big time. In the history of the festival a Waterford show has never won the coveted title; The International trophy. A few have come 2nd alright. So what could this society (the newly formed Flaggy Lane Theatre Co.) do that other societies before them couldn't? Well, they could do 'The Hot Mikado' for a start, that jazzed up version of the G&S favourite, a real crowd pleaser and former festival winner. Then they could hire probably the best Musical Director in Ireland who would bring with him some of the best musicians in the country. And they could bring back to the Waterford stage, to play the lead, that huge personality (if small frame) Mr. Richie Hayes. Check on all counts. These guys were armed for bear and not talking any showbiz prisoners in their quest for that trophy. The gloves were off and loyalties were discarded because this was war. It's a very interesting thing to watch. And watch it I did.
I had returned to My City of Music and was knee deep in working on the music for Lord of the Flies. To be honest I was finding it a bit difficult sitting at me computer trying to get the inspiration to write. It had been a year since I wrote a note of music and it felt like it. I was musically unfit so to speak. But what'll help that? Beer of course. My first week back, while it didn't consist of a session every night, did include me birthday, me sister's engagement party, waking up on Mick Q's couch after drinking gin and watching Borat......twice, and a last night party for the Hot Mikado which went straight through to the next day. No sleep Beamish here had to go to the bus station straight from the party and pick up the affable Richard Hardwick (Who was on tour in Cork with 'Grease'.) for more drinking.
I was back home so.
But for there to be a last night party there, of course, had to be a first night. And I was there. As is customary you do a run of the show before it goes into the Festival and 'The Hot Mikado' were doing it right by putting it in front of a crowd merely two weeks before it. Clever. And it was good. Very good. Not perfect but it was better than a lot of first nights I've seen (and been in) in the good old Theatre Royal. Like I said, all good stuff, with Richie Hayes having the audience in stitches, the great Gary Power looking like Colonel Sanders and Ray Collins proving that he's still probably the best singer in Waterford and wasted there to boot. But towards the end of act one the biggest wig I'd ever seen came onstage and with it the lovely Vicky Graham playing Katisha. Always reliable, I knew I was in safe hands with Vicky on stage. . . and then she opened her mouth to sing. Holy shit! The hairs on the back of me neck were giving her a standing ovation and it wasn't even the interval. I had never heard her sing like that. Jazzy, ballsy, absolutely brilliantly. And that was the clincher for me. They now had a show to be reckoned with. Vicky's singing was that extra bit of class they needed. They might just do it.
So the festival kicked off in its own inimitable style. Before I proceed though I have to tell you that I was a festival geek when I last lived in the Sunny South East. For the last two weeks in September I would try and see every show that was on. No matter how shit it was, I was there. And I always got a ticket. One night I even started singing outside the Theatre Royal when the chances of getting a seat for a local production of 'Chess' seemed extremely low. I got a ticket at 5 to 8. Thank god for peoples pity. I was such a regular fixture in the Gods in that theatre that in my later festivals I was asked by the legendary Jimmy Finn to help him out tearing tickets, for which my reward would be to sit on the stairs and watch the show.
'Don' shay no'hin te Larry fannin'!'
It was a job I was well proud of and I did it to the best of me ability but I could never surpass the master.
'Tchicketss Pleeaszze!!!!!'
It only ever sounded right when Jimmy said it. Four foot nothin and you never got past him. The God's are angry Mr. Finn.
I'm starting to sound like fecking Frank McCourt here! So the Festival meant a lot to me. It still does. This was my first Festival since 2000, but this year was different as the official purpose I was home was for Lord of the Flies, so of course that was taking up my time and attention and that meant my festival going was down to a bare minimum. The shows that is. Not the festival club! The place (the Tower hotel generally) you scheme over to after the Munster to drink and sometimes sing the night away and then fall home in the small hours and hope to christ you don't have work in the morning. Ahhh the festival club. Eases the pain. So (apart from the afters) I gave myself 3 shows I wanted to see; 'The Hot Mikado' (what? again? Oh yes for a local show in the Festival must be given all the support possible), Honk (A dublin show which had won AIMS, the Irish musical society oscar) and Little Night Music (which was being performed by the shit hot Trent Opera Co. who were 2 time winners already). These were the three hot tickets but would they be the top three at the end of the day?
The Hot Mikado was shit-hot on the night! I arrived to the Theatre a bit before to pick up my tickets and I bumped into the world and his wife there; that traveling balladeer Mr. David Flynn (as opposed to the wealthy builder); the funky fish himself and friend of Matthew Kelly, Mr. Fintan Kavanagh; the nemesis of elderly gentlemen on the terraces at a hurling match Mr. Kevin Kehoe and the list of criminals goes on. The lights went down and you could cut the buzz with a knife, the Gentlemen of Japan, a bit of nerves, a couple of dropped hats but nothing to worry about. This was hopping! Richie Hayes had the Royal in the palm of his hand, the singing was brilliant and Vicky Graham was even better than the first time I saw her! Jesus! The audience are clapping and lapping up every word and by the time the second act kicks in they've really hit their stride. Nice one! The adjudicator comes on at the end to give his customary crit. How the hell is he going to criticize that? He doesn't. He praises it big time. But there's something about the way he's doing it. He's being very cool about it. He's not going apeshit for it like I thought he would. And I don't know what he really thought. The lads however are in brilliant spirit and the buzz in the munster after is mighty and its even better in the Festival Club. So good in fact that the hotel manager announced that for an hour there would be a free bar. 4 lovely red bull and Vodka's and I'm all over the shop! And how bad. So bad in fact that I'm a member of a select posse still left in the hotel foyer when a member of security, being an asshole and trying to get us all out, is a bit insulting with one of the lads and a certain person who won't be named called Seamus goes ape and they threaten to call the cops. Some threat.
'Call the fuckin cops so!' quoth a man you should not mess with. We left somewhat less than quietly.
The following morning I had inadvertently agreed to lunch with two different parties. the first being the butcher of the Déise broadway, Munster Express theatre critic mr. Liam Murphy and the second being Mr. David Hayes (if carlsberg did musical directors they would look something like him.). The first bit of grub was fine but I was seriously wilting by the time i got to the second. David's a mate but the chat swings to business and I drop it in that I'm free this xmas. Well it turns out that Tony Finnegan (Good head and the best actor/director in Bettystown) is doing a production of the Wizard of Oz at the National Concert hall and David himself is involved in a panto up there as well. Lovely stuff! Distinct possibilities! I mean I've already given my Lion to great acclaim at Birmingham rep last Christmas. I bump into the aforementioned Mr. Finnegan for a few beers in the festival club the following night and in short order he tells me that he's doing 'The Wizard of Oz' to which I am overcome with surprise;
'Really!? Aw that's a deadly show boy! Sure I played the Lion in it at Birmingham Rep last year!' hintingly quoth I.
'That's funny! Cos I'm playing the Lion in our production!' Devastatingly quoth he.
Ah shit! That's the end of that then. But wait, what about Mr. Hayes' panto? Well I get an audition the following week, off I trot to Dublin, in I go, give it socks, they seem REALLY interested and .......... I never hear from them again. Y'know I don't think I'm ever going to be on stage in Ireland again. Of course I spoke too soon. The phone goes. It isn't the agent funnily enough, its Michael Grant, former king of Tops of the Town asking me if I'd be interested in performing in a variety evening, 'The Way We Were', that he's producing for the Waterford Arts Festival. There's no money for it but they'll sort my expenses. I say yes. Then I start crapping me pants. I Haven't been on the stage of the Theatre Royal in 5 years. I'd have 2 rehearsals before I head off to York and wouldn't see a soul until the morning of the first show. Is this feasible? Am I going to end up looking like a knob on a less than triumphant return to the Déise stage. Well, we'll see.
'We don't give a crap about you, what of the festival?' I here you cry. Well there had been nothing to cool down the Hot Mikado's chances but Honk was on its way and a serious contender. I go to see the show with Sinéad Kiely, the best soprano Waterford city never had (she's from Dungarvan you see) and we settle back in the Gods to check out this musical tale of the ugly duckling. We were like the two boys out of the muppets as we sat there and critiqued all the way through the show. It was good though, but for my money not Hot Mikado good. Then the adjudicator came on. He went mad for it. So much so that when he started to describe one particular sequence he got choked up and shed a little tear. And as I sat there aghast at all the gushiness, I could see the lad's chances slipping away. Not one to mince his words Flex Browne beside me proclaimed:
'That's it. They're fucked so.'
I was inclined to agree. That said though I was in the festival years ago and the adjudicator was so emotional at the end of our show, she came on and was unable to give an adjudication, she was so overcome. I turned to Ray Collins and said: 'We've won it boy!' ...........We came 6th. But the buzz now was that Honk had taken the lead. Dirty Dubs. And the feeling in the Munster and festival club that night was a bit subdued. We still got battered though (Lord of the Flies was going great - when I could see it through the drunken haze or when the music didn't hurt me head). Lots of people now had Honk 1st and Hot Mikado 2nd. But I wasn't sure about that. I still thought the could win it and in the following days there was no shows to change that opinion. Until the third heavy hitter arrived. 'A Little Night Music'. Sondheim's wonderful celebration of love in waltz time. Was this the show to beat them all. I don't know. I didn't get to see it. As bad luck would have it one of my favourite actors (the brilliant Donal O' Kelly) was doing a one man show about James Joyce in Garter Lane theatre. Well there was no way I was missing that. Sure didn't I play Joyce's son Giorgio in Calico? And brilliant it certainly was. Now that's the kind of actor I want to be when I grow up! Brilliant! And so, it seems, was 'Night Music'. Pure class in what had been a slightly lacklustre program. The buzz in the Munster was that these were now the boys to beat. Of course I had missed it! That was the Friday and the results were the Sunday.
Sunday! The last day of the Festival when all and sundry descend on the Munster and drink and sing through the afternoon and head off home in the evening for a bite to eat and a shower and come back in to hear the results and drink and sing some more. Except that is for the true, hardcore Festival goers who don't go home but instead stay in the Munster straight through to the results with the only respite being a chip and a batter sausage over the road. That'll be just me and Raymond Collins then. While there was a lot of drinking there wasn't as much singing as usual. There wasn't a piano or a piano player to be found that day so they rang me. And while I gladly gave them the use of my keyboard I refused to play the thing point blank. I couldn't think of anything worse. It wasn't too bad mind. After a short time of singing unaccompanied some guys started playing guitar and one guy could play the keyboard after a fashion but informed Ray that he doesn't do intros. Oh happy day. I gave reputation-destroying renditions of 'Oh What a Beautiful Morning' and 'Patricia the Stripper' and I wasn't even drunk. 1 pint of water for every two pints of beer, for it was to be a long night boy! So the sing song was alright in the end but you could feel the nervous energy already and when the lads from the Hot Mikado arrived back to the pub all spruced up it got worse. A lot worse! You could feel the Jitter going around the room as if Waterford was a point behind in the closing minutes of a munster final. They believe that 'Night Music' was going to win but there was this little glint of hope within them, hanging on. Maybe, just maybe they might have it. It could still happen. By 9 O'clock you couldn't move in the Munster it was jammers from top to bottom. I was hanging on to sobriety by the skin of my teeth and running a little book on the results as I've always done. On the radio the last night concert was being broadcast but there wasn't a sinner listening. They only cared about the sound of one man's voice. Brows were beaded with sweat, who would go home with the crystal?
10 O'Clock. Adjudicator onstage and he wastes no time. Straight into the individual awards. There's grown men shaking beside me. First award. Adjudicator's award. To ... Richie Hayes for the Hot Mikado! And the crowd goes feckin wild!!!! The place erupts. How bad. One down many more to go. The next few are spread between Honk and Night Music but then best Choreographer? HOT MIKADO! The crowd nearly do themselves damage!!!! Good stuff. Next one, Best Comedienne.....Vicky Graham for HOT MIKADO! At this stage I would have to equate the reaction to the reaction when Paul Flynn scored his goal in the Munster final this year! Delighted for her. Thankfully there was no casualties. i could then see a glint in the lads eyes, hope was suddenly building. But then the next slew of awards all go to other shows and mostly Honk or Night music. Not good. That said I remember a festival where the winner had only gotten one........hang on! Third place! HOT MIKADO!!!
AW YES B...................NO!
shite
Some of the crowd went fairly wild. But only fairly. There was an air of disappointment in the room and a few tears were shed (I'm not saying who). Of course there was. The last time I was home for a festival a Waterford show lost as well. I was starting to be a bit of a Jonah. I kept that thought to myself. Honk came 2nd and Night Music won but the Gentlemen of Japan were long past caring. A few pints and large bottles in the festival club will sort that out. Like I said before, Ahhh the festival club. Eases the pain. it certainly did and some night it was too, so much so that on my way to a party at five o'clock that morning I hit the drink threshold and jumped out of the cab when it passed near me house. Remember I'd been at it non stop since 3 that afternoon. I slipped off into drunken dreams about a Waterford show winning the festival. For that's what it still was. A dream. Another Festival and no International Trophy to proudly display in the Munster.
To quote a lyric from the winning show.
Well maybe next year.
Monday, September 27, 2004
It's The Truth I Tell's Ya!
To prove that I'm not just telling shaggy dog stories. Here's a pic;
"Don't forget your champagne" Quoth Sir Michael.
"That's why I'm here boy" Quoth I. You can't bring me anywhere.
But ye know that by now.
normal service will resume shortly.
"Don't forget your champagne" Quoth Sir Michael.
"That's why I'm here boy" Quoth I. You can't bring me anywhere.
But ye know that by now.
normal service will resume shortly.
Sunday, September 05, 2004
15. DIGS HELL
Touring.
I know a thing or two about touring let me tell ya. As I've said before my first job was an 8 month tour around the UK. 8 months boy. I could have had a baby in that time. The best part of touring? That's easy. The craic, getting to check out lots of different towns and cities, getting to perform in loadsa different venues, and did I mention the craic? The worst part of touring? Even easier;
Digs.
When you tour to anywhere in England you have to sort out your own 'digs'. No hotels for the jobbing actors my good man. Whether its a tour wherein you are in a different venue each week or you are in situ for a couple of months you're sent a 'Digs list' to trawl through to try and find a place that's going to be home for you for the time you are in that place. And they vary in quality wildly! Big time! digs Lists are full of listings like this;
- Spacious double room with exquisite view available in nice, relaxed household. Use of all facilities. Tv and Kettle in room. Only 10 mins from theatre. Visitors by arrangement. No children but friendly dog and cat in house. £50 pw Phone Betty on 01983 93093
What that generally means is a tiny room with a double bed squashed into it so there's feck all room for anything especially the ancient black and white telly thats sitting on a dusty chest of drawers at the end of the bed. The household is anything but relaxed as poor auld Betty is only recently widowed or divorced and you're her only contact with the outside world since her Jack went and sure the kids never visit or so you're told every day. Facilities you can use are the bathroom and the kitchen but the living room is her private place and so's the kitchen when she's in there. She'll probably wait up for you at night to see how your day went and god help you if you fall in late at night off your face drunk. The bloody dog and cat have free reign of the house including your room so your stuff is destroyed in hairs and friendly they most certainly are not. Visitors are not welcome and that's the arrangement so you better be single! The £50 price tag is 5 years old at this stage and it's actually £80. And that 10 minutes to the theatre is by fecking taxi! The view is indeed exquisite, mind you, but who gives a shit.
That's not an exaggeration by any means. I could tell you horror stories about digs. One landlady I had was a crazy auld chick called Miss Pink (I kid you not.) who sat in the sitting room all day smoking what must have been dope and changing the television channel with a snooker cue and called me an alcoholic when I told her my reason for leaving was that the buses didn't run late enough to her part of Bristol and it was too far to walk. Another woman I stayed with was heavily pregnant by a previous lodging actor who had run off (on tour again no doubt). Subsequently she had a pathological dislike of actors. I told her I was a musician. I could go on and on to be honest and not just with my own tales of woe. Every actor and stage manager in the land has there own litany. Now that's not to say there's no nice digs in England. There are. I've stayed in a few and they were fine and dandy for the week I was there. But that's just it, It was only for a week. Well not even that, more often than not it was 5 nights and back to the London for a Seisúin in Shuttleworths (the seediest actors club in London but we thought it great at the time!). So staying in digs digs wasn't too bad. But I was about to work in York for 7 weeks and lovely old lady digs would just not do. No way boy!
All the drama about which job I was going to do had happened in the last week of Willows and it couldn't have come at a better time. I was now able to sort out exactly what was happening over the next few months and the plan was thus; get over the hangover after the last show of Willows (twas a doozy indeed! The show finished at 1pm and the drinking stopped at 2am. How bad. But it would get worse than that.), then chill in the London for two weeks to sort out the fecking digs for York, go to the big end of season party at Regent's Park (always a lethal night!) then head back to the fair Waterford my home for nearly 5 weeks (what a treat!) and then of course head to York to begin my deadly new job and move into my digs. Ah yes. The digs. Well the first thing I did when I accepted 'Beauty Queen' was ring the theatre and get them to send me a digs list straight away. Normally the list will come with a copy of your contract and script but there was no way I was waiting a few weeks for that to be sorted out all the good stuff would be gone. The digs list arrived a couple of days later.
All the good stuff was gone.
Most actors don't like to talk about money but I don't give a crap (because I'm in it for the art. Ha ha!) I was on £350 for 'Beauty Queen' and on top of that you get £105 which is supposed to be for your rent and your food and general living expenses. It's not that much money when you take into account that you have to put money away for tax and pay your agent etc. etc. So you have to be frugal about the digs you chose. The minute I get the List i go straight to the self catering accommodation ie. flats. For an extra bit of money I don't mind paying a bit more for my own place. But how expensive could it be? It's York for feck sake! Well the cheapest on the list was £80 for a single bedsit!! Jesus!! And it got worse. I ring the £80 guy and not a sign, its already gone. Shit. There's a crowd doing them for £90 a week but they're full as well, me man says he'll ring me back in a couple of days though because something may well come up. He never rang back. Just like a casting director. There's one advertised and it says to ring for rates as they vary out of season. Sounds promising. The woman on the other end of the line tells me that there's no way she could leave the flat go for anything less than £200 a week! Are you off your chump lady!!?! Do you know how much we get for living in York? No? Well I'll tell ya! She doesn't budge on the price.
'So you'd prefer to leave the flat go idle than to bring the price down to help this poor starving actor out?'
'Yes' .................. the phone went straight down at that stage. That stupid bitch. I mean, what the fuck is she doing on the digs list? What actor can afford that kinda money. The kind of actor that isn't working in York! Things were not going well at all and it was looking like I may have to move to the front of the list and start looking at the old lady digs because there was nothing else aaaaagh! I rang the last place on the self catering page, this guy who owned a hotel had flats as well and he said that they were from £120 a week but was willing to do deals out of season (heard that one before). I get to talk to a receptionist at the hotel and she tells me that one of the actors there at the moment was paying £140 and there was little chance of the owner going below that. Fuck that. But I ask to speak to the owner and he says that the best he can do is £120, I give him the sob story though and he says he'll think about and give me a ring back in a couple of days. I'm grasping at straws now. I really can't afford any of these places so I should start brushing up on my old widow conversation. I mean I still had a flat in London to be paying for didn't I?
Well no as it turned out.
I live in a deadly flat in county Kilburn in the London and the guy I share with (Gary O'Sullivan who's a mate from drama school) also owns the place so that's pretty chilled. He's off on tour himself in September and has let out his room to an Aussie chick and he suggests I do the same. Genius! Sure I'm going to be away from September to the very end of November, a good three months. So on to this thing called the internet I go and post my own ad for digs. Ah the irony. I get loads of emails about it and the first guy that contacts me comes over the following evening. He's an affable Aussie chap who's working in IT in the city and has just bust up with his girlfriend and needs a place until he can move into the flat he just bought which will take about 3 months. Perfect boy! He gets the flat, I see no one else. Nice one! Well that's a huge weight off of me wallet. But York digs? What's the story boy? I get a message on me phone from the receptionist which says I can have a studio flat for £110. Possible now that I've no rent to pay in London. But its a fiver over me subsistence and now it's a matter of principle. I ring the owner the next day and he seems to have forgotten the quote he gave;
'How much do they give you for expenses again?' asketh he.
'Just £105 pounds kind sir.' Replieth my poor mouth.
'Ok, I'll sort you out a studio for that then.'
Sold! Its not Ideal and its certainly not cheap but feck it! I'm sorted and I'm happy. So happy that I'm not too pissed off when the agent phones (you knew she had to didn't you.);
'I've just got a phone call from Working Title and they're interested in you for this new romantic comedy they're doing. But it's filming in October and November.'
Not a hope girl. That's exactly when I'm doing 'Beauty Queen'. Ah well. At this stage I'm thinking that I'm never going to be on screen other than me 3 lines on Judge John Deed. I have a great face for radio though. (I just hope Kiera Knightley wasn't in this one as well, I couldn't handle that.) At least I can now enjoy me last few days in London. And enjoy it indeed I do. The Regent's Park party is a beauty. Tons of free beer, I win an award (It's only a piss take award for best one liner.... 'Aha!'....the word was only in the script once but i used it throughout the show to cover time while I tried to remember my lines. The ginger Gielgud Mr. Keith Dunphy won an award for lifetime achievement beating the leading lady's 9 month old baby. Like I said. Piss take!) I'm off me face in a big way. I try to open a bottle off a wall at one stage and the neck just breaks off, I still drank it though. I was just careful of the broken glass against me lips.We all end up drinking on the bandstand in the park until 7 in the morning. Ahhh knacker drinking in the park. It brought me back to my youth in the Déise. And soon there was something else that would bring me back to the Déise.
The 1 O'clock flight from Luton that Saturday.
Thank god for Aer Arann!
Bring on the blaas and Bulmers!
And the Festival!
I know a thing or two about touring let me tell ya. As I've said before my first job was an 8 month tour around the UK. 8 months boy. I could have had a baby in that time. The best part of touring? That's easy. The craic, getting to check out lots of different towns and cities, getting to perform in loadsa different venues, and did I mention the craic? The worst part of touring? Even easier;
Digs.
When you tour to anywhere in England you have to sort out your own 'digs'. No hotels for the jobbing actors my good man. Whether its a tour wherein you are in a different venue each week or you are in situ for a couple of months you're sent a 'Digs list' to trawl through to try and find a place that's going to be home for you for the time you are in that place. And they vary in quality wildly! Big time! digs Lists are full of listings like this;
- Spacious double room with exquisite view available in nice, relaxed household. Use of all facilities. Tv and Kettle in room. Only 10 mins from theatre. Visitors by arrangement. No children but friendly dog and cat in house. £50 pw Phone Betty on 01983 93093
What that generally means is a tiny room with a double bed squashed into it so there's feck all room for anything especially the ancient black and white telly thats sitting on a dusty chest of drawers at the end of the bed. The household is anything but relaxed as poor auld Betty is only recently widowed or divorced and you're her only contact with the outside world since her Jack went and sure the kids never visit or so you're told every day. Facilities you can use are the bathroom and the kitchen but the living room is her private place and so's the kitchen when she's in there. She'll probably wait up for you at night to see how your day went and god help you if you fall in late at night off your face drunk. The bloody dog and cat have free reign of the house including your room so your stuff is destroyed in hairs and friendly they most certainly are not. Visitors are not welcome and that's the arrangement so you better be single! The £50 price tag is 5 years old at this stage and it's actually £80. And that 10 minutes to the theatre is by fecking taxi! The view is indeed exquisite, mind you, but who gives a shit.
That's not an exaggeration by any means. I could tell you horror stories about digs. One landlady I had was a crazy auld chick called Miss Pink (I kid you not.) who sat in the sitting room all day smoking what must have been dope and changing the television channel with a snooker cue and called me an alcoholic when I told her my reason for leaving was that the buses didn't run late enough to her part of Bristol and it was too far to walk. Another woman I stayed with was heavily pregnant by a previous lodging actor who had run off (on tour again no doubt). Subsequently she had a pathological dislike of actors. I told her I was a musician. I could go on and on to be honest and not just with my own tales of woe. Every actor and stage manager in the land has there own litany. Now that's not to say there's no nice digs in England. There are. I've stayed in a few and they were fine and dandy for the week I was there. But that's just it, It was only for a week. Well not even that, more often than not it was 5 nights and back to the London for a Seisúin in Shuttleworths (the seediest actors club in London but we thought it great at the time!). So staying in digs digs wasn't too bad. But I was about to work in York for 7 weeks and lovely old lady digs would just not do. No way boy!
All the drama about which job I was going to do had happened in the last week of Willows and it couldn't have come at a better time. I was now able to sort out exactly what was happening over the next few months and the plan was thus; get over the hangover after the last show of Willows (twas a doozy indeed! The show finished at 1pm and the drinking stopped at 2am. How bad. But it would get worse than that.), then chill in the London for two weeks to sort out the fecking digs for York, go to the big end of season party at Regent's Park (always a lethal night!) then head back to the fair Waterford my home for nearly 5 weeks (what a treat!) and then of course head to York to begin my deadly new job and move into my digs. Ah yes. The digs. Well the first thing I did when I accepted 'Beauty Queen' was ring the theatre and get them to send me a digs list straight away. Normally the list will come with a copy of your contract and script but there was no way I was waiting a few weeks for that to be sorted out all the good stuff would be gone. The digs list arrived a couple of days later.
All the good stuff was gone.
Most actors don't like to talk about money but I don't give a crap (because I'm in it for the art. Ha ha!) I was on £350 for 'Beauty Queen' and on top of that you get £105 which is supposed to be for your rent and your food and general living expenses. It's not that much money when you take into account that you have to put money away for tax and pay your agent etc. etc. So you have to be frugal about the digs you chose. The minute I get the List i go straight to the self catering accommodation ie. flats. For an extra bit of money I don't mind paying a bit more for my own place. But how expensive could it be? It's York for feck sake! Well the cheapest on the list was £80 for a single bedsit!! Jesus!! And it got worse. I ring the £80 guy and not a sign, its already gone. Shit. There's a crowd doing them for £90 a week but they're full as well, me man says he'll ring me back in a couple of days though because something may well come up. He never rang back. Just like a casting director. There's one advertised and it says to ring for rates as they vary out of season. Sounds promising. The woman on the other end of the line tells me that there's no way she could leave the flat go for anything less than £200 a week! Are you off your chump lady!!?! Do you know how much we get for living in York? No? Well I'll tell ya! She doesn't budge on the price.
'So you'd prefer to leave the flat go idle than to bring the price down to help this poor starving actor out?'
'Yes' .................. the phone went straight down at that stage. That stupid bitch. I mean, what the fuck is she doing on the digs list? What actor can afford that kinda money. The kind of actor that isn't working in York! Things were not going well at all and it was looking like I may have to move to the front of the list and start looking at the old lady digs because there was nothing else aaaaagh! I rang the last place on the self catering page, this guy who owned a hotel had flats as well and he said that they were from £120 a week but was willing to do deals out of season (heard that one before). I get to talk to a receptionist at the hotel and she tells me that one of the actors there at the moment was paying £140 and there was little chance of the owner going below that. Fuck that. But I ask to speak to the owner and he says that the best he can do is £120, I give him the sob story though and he says he'll think about and give me a ring back in a couple of days. I'm grasping at straws now. I really can't afford any of these places so I should start brushing up on my old widow conversation. I mean I still had a flat in London to be paying for didn't I?
Well no as it turned out.
I live in a deadly flat in county Kilburn in the London and the guy I share with (Gary O'Sullivan who's a mate from drama school) also owns the place so that's pretty chilled. He's off on tour himself in September and has let out his room to an Aussie chick and he suggests I do the same. Genius! Sure I'm going to be away from September to the very end of November, a good three months. So on to this thing called the internet I go and post my own ad for digs. Ah the irony. I get loads of emails about it and the first guy that contacts me comes over the following evening. He's an affable Aussie chap who's working in IT in the city and has just bust up with his girlfriend and needs a place until he can move into the flat he just bought which will take about 3 months. Perfect boy! He gets the flat, I see no one else. Nice one! Well that's a huge weight off of me wallet. But York digs? What's the story boy? I get a message on me phone from the receptionist which says I can have a studio flat for £110. Possible now that I've no rent to pay in London. But its a fiver over me subsistence and now it's a matter of principle. I ring the owner the next day and he seems to have forgotten the quote he gave;
'How much do they give you for expenses again?' asketh he.
'Just £105 pounds kind sir.' Replieth my poor mouth.
'Ok, I'll sort you out a studio for that then.'
Sold! Its not Ideal and its certainly not cheap but feck it! I'm sorted and I'm happy. So happy that I'm not too pissed off when the agent phones (you knew she had to didn't you.);
'I've just got a phone call from Working Title and they're interested in you for this new romantic comedy they're doing. But it's filming in October and November.'
Not a hope girl. That's exactly when I'm doing 'Beauty Queen'. Ah well. At this stage I'm thinking that I'm never going to be on screen other than me 3 lines on Judge John Deed. I have a great face for radio though. (I just hope Kiera Knightley wasn't in this one as well, I couldn't handle that.) At least I can now enjoy me last few days in London. And enjoy it indeed I do. The Regent's Park party is a beauty. Tons of free beer, I win an award (It's only a piss take award for best one liner.... 'Aha!'....the word was only in the script once but i used it throughout the show to cover time while I tried to remember my lines. The ginger Gielgud Mr. Keith Dunphy won an award for lifetime achievement beating the leading lady's 9 month old baby. Like I said. Piss take!) I'm off me face in a big way. I try to open a bottle off a wall at one stage and the neck just breaks off, I still drank it though. I was just careful of the broken glass against me lips.We all end up drinking on the bandstand in the park until 7 in the morning. Ahhh knacker drinking in the park. It brought me back to my youth in the Déise. And soon there was something else that would bring me back to the Déise.
The 1 O'clock flight from Luton that Saturday.
Thank god for Aer Arann!
Bring on the blaas and Bulmers!
And the Festival!
Friday, August 20, 2004
14. WAITING FOR THE PHONE TO RING
Waiting for the phone to ring. That really happens y'know. Sitting by the fecking thing waiting.... no, WILLING for it to ring and of course it never does. Just hanging on for that answer. Have I got it? Have I got the bloody job?!?!? The agony of not knowing. 2 recalls and another audition are all well and good but at the end of the day you have to get the job, and I was determined to get one.
I got more than one.
I'm greedy boy. That said, there was a lot of sitting by the phone waiting for it to ring. But before that there was the auditions and at least they weren't all on the one day. Thank Jesus! The 'Beckett' recall was first. A bit of a mixed bag to be honest. If you will remember my first audition was peachy, the casting director really liked me, obviously enough as here I was back again and to meet the director this time. I make me way to the Theatre Royal Haymarket in the glittering west end where this play is to be performed and on my way in I bump into the very affable and very deadly actor Richard Stacey with whom I had the pleasure of working with last year in a little show which about 10 people saw, although I did get to meet Darius after one performance whoop de fucking doo! But I digress. Anyway in I go to show them what I'm made of. The director is seated at the table on the stage along with the casting director. I recognise him. Apart from being a well known director he was also at the Ian Charleson Awards dinner. Sweet. Maybe I can mention my nomination to jog his memory. Hmmm. The opening chit chat goes well with the usual question of 'Tell me about yourself'. I do so in great detail even though, as you all know, I am not one to talk about myself. Yeah right. But I'm working hard not to leave him know that I'd do anything (non-homosexual) to get this part. Directors can smell desperation and that's a big no no. Nobody employs desperate actors. No mention of the Charleson though. Then he gets me to read. Now the first time I had read this piece was for the casting director who very much liked me reading it in my own accent, always a help, so this time round I launch into it in my best brogue knowing that its a popular choice of tongue. I finish and I sit back and wait for the compliments.
'Can you do it in another accent?' quoth the director.
Oh. Right. Fair enough so. RP it is. This throws me a bit as I was expecting the Déise twang to be sufficient, but obviously not. The second reading is fine though and he seems pleased which is grand. Nice, and I think that's it. It'll be the goodbye now and off to wait for the phone to ring. But he asks me one last question.
'So of your work what would be the best thing you've done?'
Nice one! Time to play the trump card. I proceed to tell him about the Shakespeares at Regent's Park.
'What did you play in them?' he asks.
'Flute and Sir Thurio.'
'Ah, two great parts.'
He's impressed, I'm liking this big time and I launch into how it was my first time doing Shakespeare on stage and what an experience it had been and to top it all off I delivered the coup de grace;
'And then I was nominated for the Ian Charleson award for them.'
I sat back and waited for realisation to dawn on him that he had seen me at it and we would have a jolly laugh and I would leave making a big time impression on him and just wait for the offer.
'Yes, well, its not that hard to teach someone how to perform Shakespeare. Its not the great mystery that some would have us believe.'
He seems well unimpressed at me mentioning it. Me heart sinks. He says that they'll be in touch when they make their decision in a couple of days.I have a really bad feeling I blew it. Shit! It was the one I wanted big time as well. On the way out the casting director is extremely complimentary saying I gave a terrific reading, so that fills me with some hope, but I don't know. I head off for coffee and a chat with the aforementioned Mr. Stacey and we bitch for an hour before I have to go and do a show of Willows. It'll be fine though. Its just the director not giving anything away is all. I'm still in with a shout. And sure I'll know soon enough. The following day the phone went. It wasn't the agent. It was a text from Richard Stacey saying that he had been offered 'Beckett'.
Crap.
Immediately I jumped to every conclusion going. That's it so, the offers are out and there's no triumphant return to the West End for me buddy. I ring the agent to inform her. Its her answering machine. Good sign, it means there might be another message offering me "Beckett'
Nope.
No messages only mine. The agent's like a bitch and immediately tries to ring the casting director but not a sign. She's out for the day. AAAAGGH! The fecking agony! I just want to know once and for all. My recall for the 'Country Wife' the next day had taken on a new importance. 'Beckett' was looking dodgy, I hadn't a clue how 'Beauty Queen' would go a few days later and I needed to know what was happening as I had agreed to write the music for 'Lord of the Flies'. If I got 'Beckett' or 'Country Wife' I would have to fly home the day Willows finished, but if I got 'Beauty Queen' I could hang fire for a couple of weeks and sort out moving to York. Of course if I got none of them then I could go home at my leisure, but I didn't want to think about that option. No way boy. I had to get one of these.
The recall for 'Country Wife' goes well though. Thank Christ! They're still talking to me about how the character should be Irish. Great. They get me to do some more reading and the chat is good but this time I don't big meself up to the point of annoyance. Whatever they need to know is on me CV and anything else they'll ask me. No more volunteering info. It doesn't pay. Big time. 'The Country Wife' would be a grand job, the director seems like a good head I'm unsure about the script but it's still being worked, and also Watford (where it's on of course) is close enough for me to still live in me flat in London. So how bad. Problem is I just finished reading 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane' and it's the business. A brilliant play and a deadly deadly part. I'd like a bit of that. Oh yes indeedy! Although the character is described as being 20 but maybe i could just about squeeze it. Then the phone goes. Oh Jesus its the agent! What news?
'I just spoke with the Casting director for 'Beckett' and she said that a decision hasn't made about the role you're up for. She'll know more by the middle of next week."
Aw man. Just when I thought there wouldn't be a sign of me getting 'Beckett' I'm back in the running but now it really is the waiting game as it'll be a yes or no. Simple as that. So imagine my heart racing every time there's a buzz in my pocket or I hear that familiar ringtone. This situation is only made worse by the fact that i have one of the most common phones in England. Everyone has the bloody same one as me and everyone uses the same ringtone! So I'm out in a shop and i hear someone else's go and I still have a minor coronary. Me nerves were shattered. The day after the 'Country Wife' recall I hear that all too common ringtone. It is mine. It is mine agent. Could it be.......
'They've offered you 'Country Wife'
How bad.
'I told them you're still waiting for an answer on another job so you couldn't accept it straight away. They weren't happy. We have until Tuesday to tell them.'
It was Friday, me 'Beauty Queen' audition was Monday, so I'd need to know about everything by Tuesday or else I would have to turn down 'Country Wife'. There was no way I could risk losing a West End job, so I might possibly have to risk losing everything. I may still end up with no job. That was a real possibility.
'Don't worry I'll get them to give us more time.'
That's why I pay her the money I do. And she sorts it out no hassle, we now have till the following Friday. Right though. Time to chill over the weekend and do some work on 'Beauty Queen'. I spend that Sunday looking at it, and more and more its beginning to dawn on me just how good this play is. As well as that the part is far better that the one in 'Country Wife' and even the part in 'Beckett'. The thing about 'Beckett' though is that it's in the West End boy. That's where we all want to be. But I'm really starting to want 'Beauty Queen' as well. But only Jesus can be in two places at once so that's not going to happen.
Me audition's at 10.30am and I'm in good spirits about it. I head into the waiting area and there's a guy already there looking at a photocopied script which has been provided. I look all swish as I pull my own copy of the script out of me bag. I look like an actor who know's his stuff and the other guy looks like he's about 20 years old. Shite. Now I'm starting to feel old. Fuck it though, I'm here now. I walk in to meet the director of the play and the Artistic Director of the Theatre and they're grand chaps and again the chat is good and I'm being very modest indeed. It's a trick I've learned. The reading is good and they get me to do it a few times with some direction and all seems pretty cool and we sit down again for a closing chat and the director says;
'I must say you have the pushiest agent I've ever come across. She kept ringing me and ringing me about seeing you.'
Sounds like my girl alright. Although I'm not sure if he thinks it's a bad thing.
'But she's doing her job very well because she got me to see you and I'm very glad I did.'
Now that's what I like to hear! But then he hits me with a shocker;
'So it'll be about 2 weeks before we can leave you know.'
Whaaaaaaaaaaatttt!?!?!?!? Jesus I have to give me answer to the other crowd by fecking Friday. Of course I don't say that. But wait there's more;
'We have a lot of people to consider as we've just seen people in Dublin as well.'
Well that's the end of that then. Not a hope. It'll definitely go to some young fella from Dublin who's just finished Trinity. Not a question about it. It's always the way. No need for me to worry about waiting for 2 weeks for an answer, I know the answer already. No. 2 days later the agent rings;
'They've offered you 'Beauty Queen''
You beauty! Well I got that answer wrong. Thank Jesus. 2 weeks me arse. But me nerves are still shattered with waiting for 'Beckett'. What's the story.
'Still no news and the director of 'Beauty Queen' is not too pleased that we can't accept it straight away. I rang him quite a lot to make sure he saw you.'
I know, he told me. So excruciating wait continues. All the while I'm just hoping that I don't end up with nothing. Later that day the phone goes and this is it I now it. This phone call will determine whether I'm doing 'Beauty Queen' or 'Beckett' ('Country Wife' had exited the frame at this stage).
'Its a no for 'Beckett'' says the agent. She's not a bit happy. I'm relieved to be honest.
I knew deep down that it wasn't going to happen. A valuable lesson learned really. My return to the West End would have to wait. If, of course, it would ever come at all. But let's be honest 2 out of 3 aint bad as the song goes. The 'Country Wife' crowd aren't best pleased but these things happen. 'Beauty Queen' it is so and its hardly a consolation prize. Excellent play, excellent part. And also I get to go home for the best part of 5 weeks to write some music. The best of all possible situations that didn't include a play with me man out of 'Twin Town'. My agent tells me there's a possibility of getting seen for a play in the West End with Holly Hunter but I'd have to turn down 'Beauty Queen' and run the real risk of not working for 4 or 5 months. Feck that. I had the play and was doing it. 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane'. I remember the buzz about it when it was first on with Anna Manahan in it. I never thought one day I'd get to do it.
She did it in New York. I'm doing it in Old York.
Start spreading the news boy.
I got more than one.
I'm greedy boy. That said, there was a lot of sitting by the phone waiting for it to ring. But before that there was the auditions and at least they weren't all on the one day. Thank Jesus! The 'Beckett' recall was first. A bit of a mixed bag to be honest. If you will remember my first audition was peachy, the casting director really liked me, obviously enough as here I was back again and to meet the director this time. I make me way to the Theatre Royal Haymarket in the glittering west end where this play is to be performed and on my way in I bump into the very affable and very deadly actor Richard Stacey with whom I had the pleasure of working with last year in a little show which about 10 people saw, although I did get to meet Darius after one performance whoop de fucking doo! But I digress. Anyway in I go to show them what I'm made of. The director is seated at the table on the stage along with the casting director. I recognise him. Apart from being a well known director he was also at the Ian Charleson Awards dinner. Sweet. Maybe I can mention my nomination to jog his memory. Hmmm. The opening chit chat goes well with the usual question of 'Tell me about yourself'. I do so in great detail even though, as you all know, I am not one to talk about myself. Yeah right. But I'm working hard not to leave him know that I'd do anything (non-homosexual) to get this part. Directors can smell desperation and that's a big no no. Nobody employs desperate actors. No mention of the Charleson though. Then he gets me to read. Now the first time I had read this piece was for the casting director who very much liked me reading it in my own accent, always a help, so this time round I launch into it in my best brogue knowing that its a popular choice of tongue. I finish and I sit back and wait for the compliments.
'Can you do it in another accent?' quoth the director.
Oh. Right. Fair enough so. RP it is. This throws me a bit as I was expecting the Déise twang to be sufficient, but obviously not. The second reading is fine though and he seems pleased which is grand. Nice, and I think that's it. It'll be the goodbye now and off to wait for the phone to ring. But he asks me one last question.
'So of your work what would be the best thing you've done?'
Nice one! Time to play the trump card. I proceed to tell him about the Shakespeares at Regent's Park.
'What did you play in them?' he asks.
'Flute and Sir Thurio.'
'Ah, two great parts.'
He's impressed, I'm liking this big time and I launch into how it was my first time doing Shakespeare on stage and what an experience it had been and to top it all off I delivered the coup de grace;
'And then I was nominated for the Ian Charleson award for them.'
I sat back and waited for realisation to dawn on him that he had seen me at it and we would have a jolly laugh and I would leave making a big time impression on him and just wait for the offer.
'Yes, well, its not that hard to teach someone how to perform Shakespeare. Its not the great mystery that some would have us believe.'
He seems well unimpressed at me mentioning it. Me heart sinks. He says that they'll be in touch when they make their decision in a couple of days.I have a really bad feeling I blew it. Shit! It was the one I wanted big time as well. On the way out the casting director is extremely complimentary saying I gave a terrific reading, so that fills me with some hope, but I don't know. I head off for coffee and a chat with the aforementioned Mr. Stacey and we bitch for an hour before I have to go and do a show of Willows. It'll be fine though. Its just the director not giving anything away is all. I'm still in with a shout. And sure I'll know soon enough. The following day the phone went. It wasn't the agent. It was a text from Richard Stacey saying that he had been offered 'Beckett'.
Crap.
Immediately I jumped to every conclusion going. That's it so, the offers are out and there's no triumphant return to the West End for me buddy. I ring the agent to inform her. Its her answering machine. Good sign, it means there might be another message offering me "Beckett'
Nope.
No messages only mine. The agent's like a bitch and immediately tries to ring the casting director but not a sign. She's out for the day. AAAAGGH! The fecking agony! I just want to know once and for all. My recall for the 'Country Wife' the next day had taken on a new importance. 'Beckett' was looking dodgy, I hadn't a clue how 'Beauty Queen' would go a few days later and I needed to know what was happening as I had agreed to write the music for 'Lord of the Flies'. If I got 'Beckett' or 'Country Wife' I would have to fly home the day Willows finished, but if I got 'Beauty Queen' I could hang fire for a couple of weeks and sort out moving to York. Of course if I got none of them then I could go home at my leisure, but I didn't want to think about that option. No way boy. I had to get one of these.
The recall for 'Country Wife' goes well though. Thank Christ! They're still talking to me about how the character should be Irish. Great. They get me to do some more reading and the chat is good but this time I don't big meself up to the point of annoyance. Whatever they need to know is on me CV and anything else they'll ask me. No more volunteering info. It doesn't pay. Big time. 'The Country Wife' would be a grand job, the director seems like a good head I'm unsure about the script but it's still being worked, and also Watford (where it's on of course) is close enough for me to still live in me flat in London. So how bad. Problem is I just finished reading 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane' and it's the business. A brilliant play and a deadly deadly part. I'd like a bit of that. Oh yes indeedy! Although the character is described as being 20 but maybe i could just about squeeze it. Then the phone goes. Oh Jesus its the agent! What news?
'I just spoke with the Casting director for 'Beckett' and she said that a decision hasn't made about the role you're up for. She'll know more by the middle of next week."
Aw man. Just when I thought there wouldn't be a sign of me getting 'Beckett' I'm back in the running but now it really is the waiting game as it'll be a yes or no. Simple as that. So imagine my heart racing every time there's a buzz in my pocket or I hear that familiar ringtone. This situation is only made worse by the fact that i have one of the most common phones in England. Everyone has the bloody same one as me and everyone uses the same ringtone! So I'm out in a shop and i hear someone else's go and I still have a minor coronary. Me nerves were shattered. The day after the 'Country Wife' recall I hear that all too common ringtone. It is mine. It is mine agent. Could it be.......
'They've offered you 'Country Wife'
How bad.
'I told them you're still waiting for an answer on another job so you couldn't accept it straight away. They weren't happy. We have until Tuesday to tell them.'
It was Friday, me 'Beauty Queen' audition was Monday, so I'd need to know about everything by Tuesday or else I would have to turn down 'Country Wife'. There was no way I could risk losing a West End job, so I might possibly have to risk losing everything. I may still end up with no job. That was a real possibility.
'Don't worry I'll get them to give us more time.'
That's why I pay her the money I do. And she sorts it out no hassle, we now have till the following Friday. Right though. Time to chill over the weekend and do some work on 'Beauty Queen'. I spend that Sunday looking at it, and more and more its beginning to dawn on me just how good this play is. As well as that the part is far better that the one in 'Country Wife' and even the part in 'Beckett'. The thing about 'Beckett' though is that it's in the West End boy. That's where we all want to be. But I'm really starting to want 'Beauty Queen' as well. But only Jesus can be in two places at once so that's not going to happen.
Me audition's at 10.30am and I'm in good spirits about it. I head into the waiting area and there's a guy already there looking at a photocopied script which has been provided. I look all swish as I pull my own copy of the script out of me bag. I look like an actor who know's his stuff and the other guy looks like he's about 20 years old. Shite. Now I'm starting to feel old. Fuck it though, I'm here now. I walk in to meet the director of the play and the Artistic Director of the Theatre and they're grand chaps and again the chat is good and I'm being very modest indeed. It's a trick I've learned. The reading is good and they get me to do it a few times with some direction and all seems pretty cool and we sit down again for a closing chat and the director says;
'I must say you have the pushiest agent I've ever come across. She kept ringing me and ringing me about seeing you.'
Sounds like my girl alright. Although I'm not sure if he thinks it's a bad thing.
'But she's doing her job very well because she got me to see you and I'm very glad I did.'
Now that's what I like to hear! But then he hits me with a shocker;
'So it'll be about 2 weeks before we can leave you know.'
Whaaaaaaaaaaatttt!?!?!?!? Jesus I have to give me answer to the other crowd by fecking Friday. Of course I don't say that. But wait there's more;
'We have a lot of people to consider as we've just seen people in Dublin as well.'
Well that's the end of that then. Not a hope. It'll definitely go to some young fella from Dublin who's just finished Trinity. Not a question about it. It's always the way. No need for me to worry about waiting for 2 weeks for an answer, I know the answer already. No. 2 days later the agent rings;
'They've offered you 'Beauty Queen''
You beauty! Well I got that answer wrong. Thank Jesus. 2 weeks me arse. But me nerves are still shattered with waiting for 'Beckett'. What's the story.
'Still no news and the director of 'Beauty Queen' is not too pleased that we can't accept it straight away. I rang him quite a lot to make sure he saw you.'
I know, he told me. So excruciating wait continues. All the while I'm just hoping that I don't end up with nothing. Later that day the phone goes and this is it I now it. This phone call will determine whether I'm doing 'Beauty Queen' or 'Beckett' ('Country Wife' had exited the frame at this stage).
'Its a no for 'Beckett'' says the agent. She's not a bit happy. I'm relieved to be honest.
I knew deep down that it wasn't going to happen. A valuable lesson learned really. My return to the West End would have to wait. If, of course, it would ever come at all. But let's be honest 2 out of 3 aint bad as the song goes. The 'Country Wife' crowd aren't best pleased but these things happen. 'Beauty Queen' it is so and its hardly a consolation prize. Excellent play, excellent part. And also I get to go home for the best part of 5 weeks to write some music. The best of all possible situations that didn't include a play with me man out of 'Twin Town'. My agent tells me there's a possibility of getting seen for a play in the West End with Holly Hunter but I'd have to turn down 'Beauty Queen' and run the real risk of not working for 4 or 5 months. Feck that. I had the play and was doing it. 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane'. I remember the buzz about it when it was first on with Anna Manahan in it. I never thought one day I'd get to do it.
She did it in New York. I'm doing it in Old York.
Start spreading the news boy.
Saturday, July 31, 2004
13. THINGS HAPPEN IN THREES
My day of the three auditions was fast approaching. The Jitter was gone but now I had the shits.
Three Auditions on the one day? What the feck was going on? Of course I was delighted but if you multiply the nerves I get when going to one audition by three then you get a seriously sick stomach. Add to this the fact the on this faithful day of intestine tangling audition action I also had a sound check and complete run through of Wind in the Willows. The audition for 'The Country Wife' was at 10.30am, 'Beckett' was at 1.30pm and 'Putting it together was at 5.45pm. Aaaaaagh! Of course the singing audition would be the last one of the day when I'm utterly vocally knackered (things had only slightly improved voce-wise in rehearsals). I was not the most confident of bunnies let me tell ya. But this is the business I'm in so I have to take it in me stride. There can come a point in your career as a thesp where you are so well known that you no longer have to audition. You just have meetings. I'm very far off that to be quite honest. More's the fucking pity! So the script for 'Country Wife' arrives, I go out and by the script for Beckett (the one I'd really like to get) and for the Sondheim audition I start scabbing music off of friends because all of my songs are in storage in a house in Bedford (don't ask) and I sit down and do some serious swotting. I'm gonna get one of these. I can feel it in me water and I want it to be Beckett. Big time.
-Interlude 1: During all of this I go and see the new Conor McPherson Play at The Royal Court donchaknow. Brilliant play, stunning acting and to top off a top evening in the bookshop afterwards I espy a sweet little bargain. All the scripts for the plays the Royal Court have produced over the years are available for a paltry 2 quid a pop. How bad. And staring down at me from the shelf is Martin McDonagh's first play 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane'. This pretty famous piece is well regarded in the history of the Déise as it originally starred one of the original Blaa actors Anna Manahan and won the West End of Waterford diva a Tony award for her troubles. Despite all that though I have never seen the bloody thing or even read it and I've been told enugh times that there is a part I could play in it so I should really have a gander. At £7.99 in your high street bookstore its a bit of a stretch at the mo (I'm out of a job soon sure, and I can't eat old scripts for dinner) but 2 pound? Sold! And off I trotted happy at me nights entertainment and frugal purchase.
End of Interlude-
And then it was before me. That day. It went something like this;
7am: I'm up and feeling groovy. I didn't go out the night before so I'm fresh as a feckin' daisy and ready for anything. Come on boy! here we go! Shower shave and a bit of breakfast and all's well with the world. Quick look at the script for the first audition. Grand not a problem. Pack me bag with the requisite change of clothes for the run and a bit of smelly, throw on the glad rags and I'm out the door, making me way to the West End, where I arrive at;
10.30am: 'Country Wife' audition. Walk in to meet the casting director whom I've met previously and the director who is a very nice chap that proceeds to tell me that they've been discussing the script and they think that the character I'm reading for should actually be Irish. Go 'way! Well that's handy. Away go all my thoughts of playing this med student as some stoned Londoner and out I come with me best blaa and it works a treat! Nice One. And throughout the audition the banter is good and I don't say anything crap and stupid like I normally do. Great start to the day.
11.30am: Sound check at Regent's Park. Out of me glad rags and onto the stage with a pin mike to sing all of me songs and the auld voce aint too bad. This is a great warm up. But the big problem is the run through. That'll knacker me big time. I'm thinking I'm gonna have to hold back a bit during that one. Oh yes indeedy. it wont be the big mad performance of Toad that has had me losing me voice for ages. Oh no I've got an audition buddy. All goes cool at the sound check then and its a quick spray of smelley, into my gladrags and off to -
1.30pm: 'Beckett' audition. This is the one I'm most anxious about. I've had a read of the script and I'm checking over bits on the tube down to the very swish flat in Mayfair where it's all about to happen. Of course the script i have is an old translation (sure it's a French play originally) and Mr. Dougray Scott aint gonna do any shitty old script but is having a brand new translation done especially. Grand so. I get there a bit early which is cool as I'm handed the new script to have a look over. Good stuff. I don't mind sight reading at all but the look over beforehand is very desirable. I go into meet the casting director who is very pleasant and encouraging, I read a bit and we chat for AGES. We just chat about loadsa stuff and I'm thinking 'this is grand, she's interested in what I'm saying. In my opinion.' and it seems to go on forever. This is a very good sign. Bit more reading and she says how she liked my reading and that she'll be in touch and as I'm leaving she says that most golden of phrases;
'And well done on Calico. I loved your performance.'
I literally skipped out the door. Nice one! Now that went really well. No, I mean REALLY well. So well I had lost all sense of time while I was in there, so i look at my watch. Aw shit! It's
2.05pm: I'm sprinting up towards Bond street station at this stage because I had promised the director of Willows I'd be back for them to start the run at 2 sharp. Not a sign. The thing is though that i don't come on stage for nearly twenty minutes at the start of the show so maybe they'll start without me in the hope that I'll have arrived by the time they get to my first bit.
2.20pm: They'd started without me! I run into the rehearsal room literally just as I'm supposed to make my entrance in the show. Great timing on their part I must say but I'm bolloxed from all the rushing and I don't even get a chance to change clothes. Not to worry though, I'll take this run pretty handy, don't want to over exert myself with another audition to come today, now do I? Me bollox. As I gently saunter rather than whack into my first few lines I notice a figure sitting among the gathering that's watching the run. Ah no! It's only the erstwhile artistic director of the Open Air Theatre. A sound man if ever I met him, and indeed it was him that gave me my first job in the London. He also very famously played Toad in the West End for 11 Christmases on the trot. I was bricking it about auditions but now I'm shitting meself about him watching me play his part for the first time...and he's taking notes!! That's his job as AD of course but that makes me worse. So the thoughts of doing a low energy run is out the window boy. Big time. I whack into it with style after that and it goes really well but by the end I'm feckin' knackered. The last thing I need now is another audition......
5.45pm: Another audition. I peg it down to Clapham from the park hoping the auld smelly is doing its job overtime as I haven't had a chance to have a shower after the run and I am rank with sweat. Jesus! One of the other lads out of Willows is with me as he has an audition for the same part. Of course there is no tension between us. We're professionals. We don't let tawdry things like work get in the way of friendship. That said if he gets the part over me I'll be like a dog! I'm downing water like a good thing and the nerves are really kicking in. Much more so than for the last two auditions. You see there's no lines to read here. This is the one I have to sing at and nothing fills me with more dread. I don't know why singing auditions give me nightmares, I mean I came to the London to study musical theatre, surely I'd be alright with singing an auld song? Nope. It gives me the fear. What makes it worse of course is the way my voice has been for the past few weeks. Shite in other words. Also I feel really unprepared, its my first time singing at an audition in months and I had no music so i had to just pick out what I knew from me flatmate's music. It amounted to 3 songs. 2 of which were grand and easy but one of them is a bitch big time and I'm really not sure me voice will be up for it after the day I've had. Hopefully they wont ask me for that one.
Some hope.
In I go and there's a bit of chat, they tell me that the show isn't happening until christmas which seems ages and ages away and they ask me that old faithful..
'So what are you going to sing for us today?'
'Well I've brought 'Good Thing Going'
'Oh' says the musical director. Now I'm worried. 'What else have you brought? May I have a look at your music?'
No....... But of course I let him. Just as long as he doesn't pick 'Giants in the Sky' that's the bitch.
'Why don't we have "Giants in the Sky' instead?'
Crap.
But I needn't have worried. It went great. I don't know where the voice came out of but all the high notes were there and the panel were impressed enough to ask me to sing the first song I suggested as well. Sweet! That went well too and they said thank you and I walked out and nearly collapsed. What a day. Now it was over there was only one thing to do......go to the opening night of a musical at Regent's Park and get shitfaced. And so I did.
-Interlude 2: I'm having a quiet auld drink with that Larry Olivier of Lisduggan Mr. Brian 'Dots' Doherty when he stakes me to some very valuable advice. He had heard from a very reliable source that York Theatre Royal are planning to put on Beauty Queen of Leenane in November. Sure that's gas didn't i just buy the script for that the other day. Maybe its a sign. I tell me agent about and forget about it. Gas.
End of interlude-
So the waiting by the phone began. It wasn't too long thankfully and calls came from both 'Country Wife' and 'Beckett' (yes!) saying I had recalls the following week. Cool. No joy with the Sondheim show but you can't win them all and they said they liked me so that's not too bad. but now the work to get 'Beckett' began in earnest. I really wanted to get this gig as it was big time West End stuff which doing 'Calico' had made me hungry for. Cool. Also both jobs started 3 weeks after Willows finishes so that would mean I could fly back to the land of the Déise and write the music for 'The Lord of the Flies'. It couldn't get better. Now all I needed was to get the job. Like I said, if only life was that simple. The phone holler's, the agent proclaims;
'You have an audition for 'Beauty Queen of Leenane'.
I told you it was a sign. I'm glad I bought that fecking script.So I had started with 3 auditions and had ended up with 2 recalls and another audition.
Things do happen in threes but all I wanted was one.
Which one would it be?
PS. Just a quick note to say that throughout all of this Wind in the Willows had opened and was going down a storm. nearly 1,200 people a show, good weather, I got some of the best reviews of me career (With the exception of the Gaurdian which didn't mention me at all in the review but proceeded to print a huge photo of me beside it. Adding insult to injury really!) and the voice had been holding out grand. Of course i had been taking it easy and only went out at the weekend, but lets not talk of such an uneventful time. I was in a hit! I was sharing a dressing room with Russ Abbott! How bad. just in case you wanted to know.
Three Auditions on the one day? What the feck was going on? Of course I was delighted but if you multiply the nerves I get when going to one audition by three then you get a seriously sick stomach. Add to this the fact the on this faithful day of intestine tangling audition action I also had a sound check and complete run through of Wind in the Willows. The audition for 'The Country Wife' was at 10.30am, 'Beckett' was at 1.30pm and 'Putting it together was at 5.45pm. Aaaaaagh! Of course the singing audition would be the last one of the day when I'm utterly vocally knackered (things had only slightly improved voce-wise in rehearsals). I was not the most confident of bunnies let me tell ya. But this is the business I'm in so I have to take it in me stride. There can come a point in your career as a thesp where you are so well known that you no longer have to audition. You just have meetings. I'm very far off that to be quite honest. More's the fucking pity! So the script for 'Country Wife' arrives, I go out and by the script for Beckett (the one I'd really like to get) and for the Sondheim audition I start scabbing music off of friends because all of my songs are in storage in a house in Bedford (don't ask) and I sit down and do some serious swotting. I'm gonna get one of these. I can feel it in me water and I want it to be Beckett. Big time.
-Interlude 1: During all of this I go and see the new Conor McPherson Play at The Royal Court donchaknow. Brilliant play, stunning acting and to top off a top evening in the bookshop afterwards I espy a sweet little bargain. All the scripts for the plays the Royal Court have produced over the years are available for a paltry 2 quid a pop. How bad. And staring down at me from the shelf is Martin McDonagh's first play 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane'. This pretty famous piece is well regarded in the history of the Déise as it originally starred one of the original Blaa actors Anna Manahan and won the West End of Waterford diva a Tony award for her troubles. Despite all that though I have never seen the bloody thing or even read it and I've been told enugh times that there is a part I could play in it so I should really have a gander. At £7.99 in your high street bookstore its a bit of a stretch at the mo (I'm out of a job soon sure, and I can't eat old scripts for dinner) but 2 pound? Sold! And off I trotted happy at me nights entertainment and frugal purchase.
End of Interlude-
And then it was before me. That day. It went something like this;
7am: I'm up and feeling groovy. I didn't go out the night before so I'm fresh as a feckin' daisy and ready for anything. Come on boy! here we go! Shower shave and a bit of breakfast and all's well with the world. Quick look at the script for the first audition. Grand not a problem. Pack me bag with the requisite change of clothes for the run and a bit of smelly, throw on the glad rags and I'm out the door, making me way to the West End, where I arrive at;
10.30am: 'Country Wife' audition. Walk in to meet the casting director whom I've met previously and the director who is a very nice chap that proceeds to tell me that they've been discussing the script and they think that the character I'm reading for should actually be Irish. Go 'way! Well that's handy. Away go all my thoughts of playing this med student as some stoned Londoner and out I come with me best blaa and it works a treat! Nice One. And throughout the audition the banter is good and I don't say anything crap and stupid like I normally do. Great start to the day.
11.30am: Sound check at Regent's Park. Out of me glad rags and onto the stage with a pin mike to sing all of me songs and the auld voce aint too bad. This is a great warm up. But the big problem is the run through. That'll knacker me big time. I'm thinking I'm gonna have to hold back a bit during that one. Oh yes indeedy. it wont be the big mad performance of Toad that has had me losing me voice for ages. Oh no I've got an audition buddy. All goes cool at the sound check then and its a quick spray of smelley, into my gladrags and off to -
1.30pm: 'Beckett' audition. This is the one I'm most anxious about. I've had a read of the script and I'm checking over bits on the tube down to the very swish flat in Mayfair where it's all about to happen. Of course the script i have is an old translation (sure it's a French play originally) and Mr. Dougray Scott aint gonna do any shitty old script but is having a brand new translation done especially. Grand so. I get there a bit early which is cool as I'm handed the new script to have a look over. Good stuff. I don't mind sight reading at all but the look over beforehand is very desirable. I go into meet the casting director who is very pleasant and encouraging, I read a bit and we chat for AGES. We just chat about loadsa stuff and I'm thinking 'this is grand, she's interested in what I'm saying. In my opinion.' and it seems to go on forever. This is a very good sign. Bit more reading and she says how she liked my reading and that she'll be in touch and as I'm leaving she says that most golden of phrases;
'And well done on Calico. I loved your performance.'
I literally skipped out the door. Nice one! Now that went really well. No, I mean REALLY well. So well I had lost all sense of time while I was in there, so i look at my watch. Aw shit! It's
2.05pm: I'm sprinting up towards Bond street station at this stage because I had promised the director of Willows I'd be back for them to start the run at 2 sharp. Not a sign. The thing is though that i don't come on stage for nearly twenty minutes at the start of the show so maybe they'll start without me in the hope that I'll have arrived by the time they get to my first bit.
2.20pm: They'd started without me! I run into the rehearsal room literally just as I'm supposed to make my entrance in the show. Great timing on their part I must say but I'm bolloxed from all the rushing and I don't even get a chance to change clothes. Not to worry though, I'll take this run pretty handy, don't want to over exert myself with another audition to come today, now do I? Me bollox. As I gently saunter rather than whack into my first few lines I notice a figure sitting among the gathering that's watching the run. Ah no! It's only the erstwhile artistic director of the Open Air Theatre. A sound man if ever I met him, and indeed it was him that gave me my first job in the London. He also very famously played Toad in the West End for 11 Christmases on the trot. I was bricking it about auditions but now I'm shitting meself about him watching me play his part for the first time...and he's taking notes!! That's his job as AD of course but that makes me worse. So the thoughts of doing a low energy run is out the window boy. Big time. I whack into it with style after that and it goes really well but by the end I'm feckin' knackered. The last thing I need now is another audition......
5.45pm: Another audition. I peg it down to Clapham from the park hoping the auld smelly is doing its job overtime as I haven't had a chance to have a shower after the run and I am rank with sweat. Jesus! One of the other lads out of Willows is with me as he has an audition for the same part. Of course there is no tension between us. We're professionals. We don't let tawdry things like work get in the way of friendship. That said if he gets the part over me I'll be like a dog! I'm downing water like a good thing and the nerves are really kicking in. Much more so than for the last two auditions. You see there's no lines to read here. This is the one I have to sing at and nothing fills me with more dread. I don't know why singing auditions give me nightmares, I mean I came to the London to study musical theatre, surely I'd be alright with singing an auld song? Nope. It gives me the fear. What makes it worse of course is the way my voice has been for the past few weeks. Shite in other words. Also I feel really unprepared, its my first time singing at an audition in months and I had no music so i had to just pick out what I knew from me flatmate's music. It amounted to 3 songs. 2 of which were grand and easy but one of them is a bitch big time and I'm really not sure me voice will be up for it after the day I've had. Hopefully they wont ask me for that one.
Some hope.
In I go and there's a bit of chat, they tell me that the show isn't happening until christmas which seems ages and ages away and they ask me that old faithful..
'So what are you going to sing for us today?'
'Well I've brought 'Good Thing Going'
'Oh' says the musical director. Now I'm worried. 'What else have you brought? May I have a look at your music?'
No....... But of course I let him. Just as long as he doesn't pick 'Giants in the Sky' that's the bitch.
'Why don't we have "Giants in the Sky' instead?'
Crap.
But I needn't have worried. It went great. I don't know where the voice came out of but all the high notes were there and the panel were impressed enough to ask me to sing the first song I suggested as well. Sweet! That went well too and they said thank you and I walked out and nearly collapsed. What a day. Now it was over there was only one thing to do......go to the opening night of a musical at Regent's Park and get shitfaced. And so I did.
-Interlude 2: I'm having a quiet auld drink with that Larry Olivier of Lisduggan Mr. Brian 'Dots' Doherty when he stakes me to some very valuable advice. He had heard from a very reliable source that York Theatre Royal are planning to put on Beauty Queen of Leenane in November. Sure that's gas didn't i just buy the script for that the other day. Maybe its a sign. I tell me agent about and forget about it. Gas.
End of interlude-
So the waiting by the phone began. It wasn't too long thankfully and calls came from both 'Country Wife' and 'Beckett' (yes!) saying I had recalls the following week. Cool. No joy with the Sondheim show but you can't win them all and they said they liked me so that's not too bad. but now the work to get 'Beckett' began in earnest. I really wanted to get this gig as it was big time West End stuff which doing 'Calico' had made me hungry for. Cool. Also both jobs started 3 weeks after Willows finishes so that would mean I could fly back to the land of the Déise and write the music for 'The Lord of the Flies'. It couldn't get better. Now all I needed was to get the job. Like I said, if only life was that simple. The phone holler's, the agent proclaims;
'You have an audition for 'Beauty Queen of Leenane'.
I told you it was a sign. I'm glad I bought that fecking script.So I had started with 3 auditions and had ended up with 2 recalls and another audition.
Things do happen in threes but all I wanted was one.
Which one would it be?
PS. Just a quick note to say that throughout all of this Wind in the Willows had opened and was going down a storm. nearly 1,200 people a show, good weather, I got some of the best reviews of me career (With the exception of the Gaurdian which didn't mention me at all in the review but proceeded to print a huge photo of me beside it. Adding insult to injury really!) and the voice had been holding out grand. Of course i had been taking it easy and only went out at the weekend, but lets not talk of such an uneventful time. I was in a hit! I was sharing a dressing room with Russ Abbott! How bad. just in case you wanted to know.
Monday, July 19, 2004
12. THE JITTER
It was two weeks into rehearsals for Wind in the Willows and I was getting 'The Jitter'.
Quoth Oxford's English;
jit·ter (jtr)
intr.v. jit·tered, jit·ter·ing, jit·ters
1. To be nervous or uneasy; fidget.
2. To make small quick jumpy movements
Or in my case;
de jit·ter (d) (jtr)
intr.v. de jit·ters, eg "I've got the Jitter boy"
1. To be nervous or uneasy or anxious about the outcome of a hurling match in which Waterford is participating.
2. To be nervous or uneasy or anxious about whether you'll have another job to go on to after your current contract finishes.
I had a severe case of the number 2's. Now normally this wouldn't come so early on in a job but it had hit me square in the face that Willows was only a 7 week contract and with 5 weeks to go I had no job to go to and no auditions in sight. Ah no! The awful shadow of not having anything to go on to was looming over me and quickly getting bigger and bigger. This wasn't like after Calico, where i could afford to sit on me arse and just wait for an acting job to come along. It's because I did that after Calico that I spent all me savings and now Willows was really just paying off debts and leaving me survive. Hi ho the glamorous life then. As well as that my voice was a constant worry and kept giving up on me in rehearsals. I had visions of being given my P45 from the job if things didn't get better. I was sure that my vocal problems were just because we kept doing scenes and songs over and over again in rehearsals and once we got up and running and just had one show a day it would all be fine. It was still a worry though. So was my lack of auditions. You do the math.
Lack of auditions = Lack of new acting job to go onto when current contract finishes
Lack of new acting job to go onto = Having to get a NORMAL JOB!!!!!!!
Spoken with hatred disgust and fear throughout the profession the words 'normal job' make my stomach churn. 'How dare you' I hear you cry 'How dare you think that you poncey actors are somehow above normal jobs!' I hear you accuse. Well let me explain to clear my name. When an actor says he has to get a 'normal job' he doesn't mean just any normal job. He means he has to get the singularly worst, most boring most sole-destroyingly crap job you can possibly think of. I feel an example coming on. The summer of 2002 wasn't a great one for me so I got a job selling Audio Guides at The London Eye. Now picture me in a bright orange jacket, a cap and a very insincere smile on my face as I traipse up and down a queue of hundreds of tourists, all of whom think I look like a prick, trying to sell these bloody audio guides which no one had any interest in buying. They were right. I did look like a prick. And people acted like pricks to me and I would see people I knew there and they felt sorry for me because I looked like (and was being treated like) a prick for 6 fecking pound an hour which was paid monthly!!!! Aaaaaagh! Worst. Job. Ever! But why do it? Because it was one of the few places that would employ actors and was cool about people taking time off for auditions. You see actors need jobs which are flexible around their acting career and only the worst jobs are like that. Believe me. When you get someone cold-calling you asking you whether you want to subscribe to a great new magazine, chances are its an out of work actor doing his 'normal' job. That fella who stands on the street trying to get you to stop and have a chat about giving money to a charity? He's been to RADA. What's the most common question asked of a drama school graduate? 'Can I have fries with that, please?'......actually that's not quite accurate......the 'please' would be wishful thinking. The last time i had to get a 'normal job' was for 3 weeks in February 2003. So you see why i had The Jitter. I'd been spoiled up to this point to be honest. 90% of actors are out of work at any one time so obviously a lot of actors have to put up with 'normal jobs' so who the hell am I to be whining? Talk about being ungrateful. One of the guys in Willows, a terrific actor called Simon McCoy who was playing Ratty, hadn't worked in two years up to that point and didn't even have an agent. What right had I to be complaining that i had no aud........but wait! What's that buzz in me back pocket? Please god let it be! It is! And thus my agent spoke the golden words;
'You have an audition for a new version of 'The Country Wife' for Watford Palace Theatre on Friday next. I've had them put you on at 10 am so you can make rehearsals.'
Result! Now the Jitter is dying down a bit. I have an audition. On the ball! Of course this is cause to celebrate. And celebrate I did. Remember what I said before about it being a sober summer. Me Bollox boy! Earlier that evening I met up with the cast of Calico for a little reunion and had a nice civilised drink with them until the ladies of the company left and I got shitfaced with the remaining lads. Sweet action! When enough was enough for all others I was still bullin' for more and so off I trotted into the centre of The London only to fall into that most (un)classy of venues; Break for the Border. This is a dodgy club underneath the London Palladium off of Oxford Street and on a Wednesday night its cheap beer and free in if you're in a show in London. Which I am Mr. Bouncer, thank you very much! Loadsa cheap booze later and I'm well out of me box on the night bus home and miraculously I don't fall asleep. One dirty chip in pitta later and I'm a happy bunny tucked up in me bed. The following morning I'm paying for it big time as I fall into rehearsals, still a bit drunk to be honest, for a fecking fight call of all things. We choreograph the big fight at the end of the play and its the single most painful few hours of rehearsals I've ever had. I mean who in they're right mind would hand me a sword in the first place much less after a serious feed of beer and 4 hours sleep. It was even more obvious from this little incident that it would be impossible to do the show with any sort of hangover. SO COP THE FUCK ON JAMIE! I was definitely not going to go on a session the night before me audition anyway. Oh I'm sorry did I say audition? I meant audition's'. You see on the (far more sober) following day the phone goes. Hark, 'tis the agent;
'You have another audition.'
Another audition? oh happy day.
'This one is for a new production of the play 'Beckett' in the West End starring Dougray Scott. The casting director didn't want to see you but when I said you were in Calico she changed her mind immediately, she said she saw it and really liked you in it'
Very nice! Another season in the West End would be lovely thank you very much and with the baddie out of Mission Impossible 2 to boot! How bad! So when is it fair agent of mine?
'Its on the same day as your 'Country Wife' audition but I've got it for around lunchtime so you won't miss rehearsals.'
I pay that lady with good reason! Woohoo! Two auditions on the one day! I can't remember the last time that happened. I'm slowly but surely waving goodbye to the Jitter methinks. Hang on though about half an hour later there's a buzz in me pocket dear Liza. What, the agent once more?
'You have another audition, this one's for a production of Stephen Sondheim's 'Putting it Together' at Harrogate.'
Sweet! Not as flashy as a West End gig but who can turn their nose up at Sondheim? This is the business! One minute I have no auditions, the next i have three. The Jitter's getting its P45. And when does this fabulous Third audition occur?
'You're not going to believe this but it's on the same day as your other two auditions.'
I don't believe it!
'I've got them to put you on at the end of the day, so you wont miss rehearsals.'
At this stage I'm in too much shock to be listening. Three auditions in one day. Now that has never happened me before. Ever. So after a serious case of the Jitter I had got my wish. In spades boy! Jesus! I went to the director and explained my situation and in fairness she was extremely accommodating, especially seeing as it was the week before we opened. Directors can be funny about releasing actors from rehearsals for auditions but this lovely lady was well cool. Grand sorted so. Goodbye Jitter? Well no not really. I had auditions but that didn't mean I had the jobs. Not by a long shot. So there was still a possibility that I would have to get a crappy 'normal job'. But in the middle of all this a memory came to me. A distant drunken memory of a conversation with the braveheart of Irish theatre, Ben Hennessy, one night in the Munster on my last jaunt to the land of the Déise. In the memory I see him telling me that Red Kettle Theatre Co. are planning to stage 'The Lord of the Flies' in the Autumn. Then I see myself asking him if he fancied me doing some music for it. Then I hear the word 'Yes'! A quick phone call later and its sorted! I'm writing the music for 'The Lord of the Flies' which I can start any time once I finish Willows. Legendary! That was it so, the Jitter was gone. Not a sign of needing to get a 'normal job'. I was sorted with a grand aul music gig which would get me through until I got another acting job. Which couldn't be too far off sure.
Sure didn't I have three auditions coming up?
If only life was that simple.
Quoth Oxford's English;
jit·ter (jtr)
intr.v. jit·tered, jit·ter·ing, jit·ters
1. To be nervous or uneasy; fidget.
2. To make small quick jumpy movements
Or in my case;
de jit·ter (d) (jtr)
intr.v. de jit·ters, eg "I've got the Jitter boy"
1. To be nervous or uneasy or anxious about the outcome of a hurling match in which Waterford is participating.
2. To be nervous or uneasy or anxious about whether you'll have another job to go on to after your current contract finishes.
I had a severe case of the number 2's. Now normally this wouldn't come so early on in a job but it had hit me square in the face that Willows was only a 7 week contract and with 5 weeks to go I had no job to go to and no auditions in sight. Ah no! The awful shadow of not having anything to go on to was looming over me and quickly getting bigger and bigger. This wasn't like after Calico, where i could afford to sit on me arse and just wait for an acting job to come along. It's because I did that after Calico that I spent all me savings and now Willows was really just paying off debts and leaving me survive. Hi ho the glamorous life then. As well as that my voice was a constant worry and kept giving up on me in rehearsals. I had visions of being given my P45 from the job if things didn't get better. I was sure that my vocal problems were just because we kept doing scenes and songs over and over again in rehearsals and once we got up and running and just had one show a day it would all be fine. It was still a worry though. So was my lack of auditions. You do the math.
Lack of auditions = Lack of new acting job to go onto when current contract finishes
Lack of new acting job to go onto = Having to get a NORMAL JOB!!!!!!!
Spoken with hatred disgust and fear throughout the profession the words 'normal job' make my stomach churn. 'How dare you' I hear you cry 'How dare you think that you poncey actors are somehow above normal jobs!' I hear you accuse. Well let me explain to clear my name. When an actor says he has to get a 'normal job' he doesn't mean just any normal job. He means he has to get the singularly worst, most boring most sole-destroyingly crap job you can possibly think of. I feel an example coming on. The summer of 2002 wasn't a great one for me so I got a job selling Audio Guides at The London Eye. Now picture me in a bright orange jacket, a cap and a very insincere smile on my face as I traipse up and down a queue of hundreds of tourists, all of whom think I look like a prick, trying to sell these bloody audio guides which no one had any interest in buying. They were right. I did look like a prick. And people acted like pricks to me and I would see people I knew there and they felt sorry for me because I looked like (and was being treated like) a prick for 6 fecking pound an hour which was paid monthly!!!! Aaaaaagh! Worst. Job. Ever! But why do it? Because it was one of the few places that would employ actors and was cool about people taking time off for auditions. You see actors need jobs which are flexible around their acting career and only the worst jobs are like that. Believe me. When you get someone cold-calling you asking you whether you want to subscribe to a great new magazine, chances are its an out of work actor doing his 'normal' job. That fella who stands on the street trying to get you to stop and have a chat about giving money to a charity? He's been to RADA. What's the most common question asked of a drama school graduate? 'Can I have fries with that, please?'......actually that's not quite accurate......the 'please' would be wishful thinking. The last time i had to get a 'normal job' was for 3 weeks in February 2003. So you see why i had The Jitter. I'd been spoiled up to this point to be honest. 90% of actors are out of work at any one time so obviously a lot of actors have to put up with 'normal jobs' so who the hell am I to be whining? Talk about being ungrateful. One of the guys in Willows, a terrific actor called Simon McCoy who was playing Ratty, hadn't worked in two years up to that point and didn't even have an agent. What right had I to be complaining that i had no aud........but wait! What's that buzz in me back pocket? Please god let it be! It is! And thus my agent spoke the golden words;
'You have an audition for a new version of 'The Country Wife' for Watford Palace Theatre on Friday next. I've had them put you on at 10 am so you can make rehearsals.'
Result! Now the Jitter is dying down a bit. I have an audition. On the ball! Of course this is cause to celebrate. And celebrate I did. Remember what I said before about it being a sober summer. Me Bollox boy! Earlier that evening I met up with the cast of Calico for a little reunion and had a nice civilised drink with them until the ladies of the company left and I got shitfaced with the remaining lads. Sweet action! When enough was enough for all others I was still bullin' for more and so off I trotted into the centre of The London only to fall into that most (un)classy of venues; Break for the Border. This is a dodgy club underneath the London Palladium off of Oxford Street and on a Wednesday night its cheap beer and free in if you're in a show in London. Which I am Mr. Bouncer, thank you very much! Loadsa cheap booze later and I'm well out of me box on the night bus home and miraculously I don't fall asleep. One dirty chip in pitta later and I'm a happy bunny tucked up in me bed. The following morning I'm paying for it big time as I fall into rehearsals, still a bit drunk to be honest, for a fecking fight call of all things. We choreograph the big fight at the end of the play and its the single most painful few hours of rehearsals I've ever had. I mean who in they're right mind would hand me a sword in the first place much less after a serious feed of beer and 4 hours sleep. It was even more obvious from this little incident that it would be impossible to do the show with any sort of hangover. SO COP THE FUCK ON JAMIE! I was definitely not going to go on a session the night before me audition anyway. Oh I'm sorry did I say audition? I meant audition's'. You see on the (far more sober) following day the phone goes. Hark, 'tis the agent;
'You have another audition.'
Another audition? oh happy day.
'This one is for a new production of the play 'Beckett' in the West End starring Dougray Scott. The casting director didn't want to see you but when I said you were in Calico she changed her mind immediately, she said she saw it and really liked you in it'
Very nice! Another season in the West End would be lovely thank you very much and with the baddie out of Mission Impossible 2 to boot! How bad! So when is it fair agent of mine?
'Its on the same day as your 'Country Wife' audition but I've got it for around lunchtime so you won't miss rehearsals.'
I pay that lady with good reason! Woohoo! Two auditions on the one day! I can't remember the last time that happened. I'm slowly but surely waving goodbye to the Jitter methinks. Hang on though about half an hour later there's a buzz in me pocket dear Liza. What, the agent once more?
'You have another audition, this one's for a production of Stephen Sondheim's 'Putting it Together' at Harrogate.'
Sweet! Not as flashy as a West End gig but who can turn their nose up at Sondheim? This is the business! One minute I have no auditions, the next i have three. The Jitter's getting its P45. And when does this fabulous Third audition occur?
'You're not going to believe this but it's on the same day as your other two auditions.'
I don't believe it!
'I've got them to put you on at the end of the day, so you wont miss rehearsals.'
At this stage I'm in too much shock to be listening. Three auditions in one day. Now that has never happened me before. Ever. So after a serious case of the Jitter I had got my wish. In spades boy! Jesus! I went to the director and explained my situation and in fairness she was extremely accommodating, especially seeing as it was the week before we opened. Directors can be funny about releasing actors from rehearsals for auditions but this lovely lady was well cool. Grand sorted so. Goodbye Jitter? Well no not really. I had auditions but that didn't mean I had the jobs. Not by a long shot. So there was still a possibility that I would have to get a crappy 'normal job'. But in the middle of all this a memory came to me. A distant drunken memory of a conversation with the braveheart of Irish theatre, Ben Hennessy, one night in the Munster on my last jaunt to the land of the Déise. In the memory I see him telling me that Red Kettle Theatre Co. are planning to stage 'The Lord of the Flies' in the Autumn. Then I see myself asking him if he fancied me doing some music for it. Then I hear the word 'Yes'! A quick phone call later and its sorted! I'm writing the music for 'The Lord of the Flies' which I can start any time once I finish Willows. Legendary! That was it so, the Jitter was gone. Not a sign of needing to get a 'normal job'. I was sorted with a grand aul music gig which would get me through until I got another acting job. Which couldn't be too far off sure.
Sure didn't I have three auditions coming up?
If only life was that simple.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
11. SILENCE IS GOLDEN
So the week before I start a new job I lose my voice.
Winning the Munster Hurling Final is to blame of course.
Generally speaking an actors most valued attribute is his voice. I'm pretty sure a deep-seated love of talking is what leads some people to become actors (that and a serious masochistic streak I would say are essential to be honest.) and actors talk.........a lot. Why is it that we always want more lines than we have? Why is it that we love the sound of our own voices? And why do we always talk about ourselves. Jesus I don't know, but its certainly the case. If you can't read the lines you won't get the job. If you can't be heard in the back row of the Gods you wont get the job and if you can't charm the casting panel with your practised wit and polished brogue you're well fecked buddy, so just walk away there and then and save yourself the bother. A good clear articulate voice is essential she said in the back room of the Guildford School of Acting. 'But what about the morning after a deadly mad session the night before?' I hear you cry! 'The voice is never too shit hot after one those! Are you saying you have to sacrifice that?'
Fuck no!
In my case my voice is generally back to the land of the living after a seisúin mór just in time for the evening show at 7.30. I try to be a little less mad the night before a matinee and of course it all depends on the role and its hangoverability (more on that later). While I was in previews for Calico a number of us gatecrashed the Olivier Awards as i mentioned previously. It was a night spent drinking copious amounts of wine and ending up in that wonderful lady (and Olivier nominee) Tracie Bennett's room drinking vodka until 5 in the morning. I had rehearsals the next morning at 11. I was still full of vodka. I sobered up for the show of course and the voice was fine when it came to delivering the lines but the small bit of singing I had did not go so well and the director remarked the next morning that he could hear the half four vodka in my voice. I made a mental note never to tell a director where I had been the night before again. As for auditions, well I have to admit to going to an morning audition last year having not been to bed at and still a bit tipsy from an evenings merriment. I got the job. Sound. But its still not that advisable. If I'm singing for the Audition I'll be a good boy, if its for a play I'm a bit more lax. But I feel after nearly 4 years at this game i know how to handle the voce pretty well.
Famous last words.
I was back in the land of the Déise of course and we won the hurling. In style. Now I confess to know very little about the mighty Gaelic sport of hurling. But I have to say I go a bit mad when I watch it. Especially when I'm standing on the terraces in Semple Stadium in Thurles watching one of the most nail biting Munster finals in Waterford's history. The sheer excruciating tension of which was only broken when, as all eyes were fixed on the pitch with so much concentration that you would hear a pin drop, that great man of words Ultan Hayden uttered the immortal line;
'Come on lads....... dig deep, aim high!'
You had to be there.
But it was drama of the highest order and no doubt with the fighting Déise battling the Cork rebels despite one of our star players, John Mullane, being sent off for pucking a Cork langer in the head with his hurley. I was in the school choir with the aforementioned Mr. Mullane (He was a 1st year when i was a 6th year) and we used to give him an awful time about messing. Needless to say that wouldn't happen nowadays that he's a big mad hurler and I'm a poncey actor. I live in hope that he has put those choir days to the far recesses of his mind. Another valued attribute to an actor is his face, and while mine won't launch any ships or toilet products, the butt of a hurley in it would indeed lessen my chances at auditions. But I digress. To say that the Waterford fans present in Thurles that day turned at times into screaming lunatics would not be an overstatement. We went mental. As every ball went over the bar, as each goal went in, as the ref gave away each free I could feel the larynx being ripped out of me as I roared, and I mean ROARED, along with the crowd. No big stage shouts as we were trained to do at drama school, no supporting from my diaphragm, all that shite went out the window. Gutteral, primal sounds were roared at the men in blue and white who to us were no longer sportsmen, but warriors of old! Like the fecking Fianna they were!!! And we as their supporters sang powerful chants to give the Déise soldiers fire in their bellies. An age old chant from the mists of time which went;
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap clap)
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap clap)
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap...........jesus noddy keep in fecking time will ya!!!!!!)
It is not in our make up as Déise men to sing that song nicely, so this was further damage to the vocal chords. The final straw however came when Paul Flynn Stepped up to take a free late in the second half. Cork were slightly ahead and all eyes were on him and everyone thought he would send it over the bar for an easy point. Me Bollocks!!!!! GOAL! He drove it into the back of the Cork net like Setanta killing the hound of Chullain! YOU FUCKING LEGEND!!!! Mayhem on the terraces as the Déise crowd erupted! We're all screaming! Kevin Kehoe has nearly crippled an elderly gentleman in front of him and I feel me voice go. That's it then. No voce. It's officially gone dear and i can feel me glands closing in to try and repair the damage. Even when they blow the final whistle and we've beaten those Cork bastards by a point and Paul 'Flex' Browne is in floods of tears and I'm leaping up and down but the sound coming from my mouth is far from healthy. 'Of course you went straight home after the match to rest up the chords?' I hear you expect. Don't ya know me by now boy. We drove back to town and it was straight into the fair Downes' for a refreshing large bottle, then home for the shower and back into town to the musical mecca known as the Munster Bar to watch the game all over again on the big screen! GO ON PAUL FLYNN! Ouch! Now the voice is beginning to hurt. More beer will sort that of course. Of course not. It got to the stage where I had to leave that last chance saloon known as Muldoons early. Jesus there must've something up with me. There was. Me voice was completely fucked at that stage. Thank God I had a week to recover for the Willows aren't windy until the following monday. I'm shitting a few bricks but it should be grand, sure I've got a full seven days to recover. The phone goes. Tis the agent;
'They've rung me from Lord of the Rings and they want to do a new recording of the script, so you'll need to be back here for Friday the 2nd. Good news.'
Good news of course, it means they were happy enough with me at the workshops that they want me to go back and do some more work. This is only a good thing and hopefully will mean I'm a little bit closer to being in the full production. Middle-Earth here I come! Again! And its just a reading of the script so that's handy. Hang on, reading? Oh sure that's brilliant!! I have zero fecking voice for christ's sake! If I was shitting bricks about the first day of rehearsals of Willows now I'm building walls and possibly small McInerny houses. I can't turn up there with no voice. So the rest of the week is spent taking it easy. Well............except for the night after the final when I get blind drunk again. I've got a problem I tell ya! Lack of fecking cop on! Help! I'm woken from my drunken stupor the next morning by the agent and she is the bringer of bad tidings indeed;
'They rang from Working Title.'
AH! The Pride and Prejudice people. Yes yes go on...
'The director has narrowed it down to a couple of people for the part you read for and you're one of them,'
Legend!
'So they rang to check your availability...'
Yes! This is good!
'....for a week from the 19th of July.'
Shite! This is not good!
My agent already knows that that's the last week of rehearsals for Wind in the Willows and that's when a big discussion starts about whether I should back out of Willows which I say is impossible as we start rehearsals in 6 days. When you sign a contract you do the work. That's the way I see it. So that's that for my film debut. I've since found out that my scenes would have been with Kiera Knightley. Ah shit! That put me in a bad mood for a week.
'What's wrong with your voice?' quoth the agent.
'Waterford won the munster final.' hoarsely quoth I. She didn't get it.
Neither did I. The film that is. But hey ho. Onward to Middle Earth then. So after a few days of rest, relaxation and getting the voce back up to scratch I'm back in the London in a studio about to read the latest script of Lord of the Rings the musical. Now I'm not allowed tell you anything about it as this time they made me sign away my second born child if I should divulge anything. I would like kids at some stage. I can tell you that before the recording started I had a good auld chat with the producer of the show of the decade, who's a grand chap from Limerick. So I go into great detail about waterford's victory in the Munster championship and he's very entertained by my spirited retelling, but by the end of it I can feel the voice going again. Oh shite. So its still not recovered from Paul Flynn's goal. Bollocks. By the end of the day of elfing and hobbiting (which I cannot speak about) it was well knackered. No beer for me at the weekend then! Crap. But I'm a pro and a good boy I am. I Don't go out and I keep the chat to a minimum so as to make sure I'm alright for rehearsals. And I am in the end. Thank Jesus.
And so come monday morning I make the journey into Regent's Park. Its a place I know very well at this stage and whereas normally first days, meeting strangers who you are now about to work with for the next while, can be a bit nerve wracking, I'm well at home here. I'm feeling cool about the voice as well. It feels good and strong. There's nothing worse than turning up for a read through on the first day with no voice, as all the rest of the cast look at you wondering 'How the hell did he get this job?'. I know. It happened me last year and it wasn't pleasant. The Waterford Air Guitar Championships were to blame. But I digress and that's a story for another time. This read through, however, goes very well indeed and there's a good feeling in the room and the writer even compliments me on my reading. This could be a good show. In the afternoon we do some singing and some sweet sounds come out of me if I do say so myself. Nice. After a day like that I'm on a good buzz about doing the show, I feel I can do this well and its going to be a good auld craic.
By the end of the following day the voice is gone again.
Shite. As I mentioned before the beer intake during a show depends on the hangoverability of the role your playing. ie; How easy the show is to do with a bad hangover. Generally this effects the antics of the night before a matinee. On willows we only have matinees. Add to this the fact that - I'll be jumping around the stage for the best part of two hours in the open air singing and dancing in a big green suit and delivering my lines in a high pitched posh English accent which is so vocally demanding for me that I'm hoarse after just two days rehearsals - and a very bleak picture begins to be painted.
It was shaping up to be a very sober summer.
Winning the Munster Hurling Final is to blame of course.
Generally speaking an actors most valued attribute is his voice. I'm pretty sure a deep-seated love of talking is what leads some people to become actors (that and a serious masochistic streak I would say are essential to be honest.) and actors talk.........a lot. Why is it that we always want more lines than we have? Why is it that we love the sound of our own voices? And why do we always talk about ourselves. Jesus I don't know, but its certainly the case. If you can't read the lines you won't get the job. If you can't be heard in the back row of the Gods you wont get the job and if you can't charm the casting panel with your practised wit and polished brogue you're well fecked buddy, so just walk away there and then and save yourself the bother. A good clear articulate voice is essential she said in the back room of the Guildford School of Acting. 'But what about the morning after a deadly mad session the night before?' I hear you cry! 'The voice is never too shit hot after one those! Are you saying you have to sacrifice that?'
Fuck no!
In my case my voice is generally back to the land of the living after a seisúin mór just in time for the evening show at 7.30. I try to be a little less mad the night before a matinee and of course it all depends on the role and its hangoverability (more on that later). While I was in previews for Calico a number of us gatecrashed the Olivier Awards as i mentioned previously. It was a night spent drinking copious amounts of wine and ending up in that wonderful lady (and Olivier nominee) Tracie Bennett's room drinking vodka until 5 in the morning. I had rehearsals the next morning at 11. I was still full of vodka. I sobered up for the show of course and the voice was fine when it came to delivering the lines but the small bit of singing I had did not go so well and the director remarked the next morning that he could hear the half four vodka in my voice. I made a mental note never to tell a director where I had been the night before again. As for auditions, well I have to admit to going to an morning audition last year having not been to bed at and still a bit tipsy from an evenings merriment. I got the job. Sound. But its still not that advisable. If I'm singing for the Audition I'll be a good boy, if its for a play I'm a bit more lax. But I feel after nearly 4 years at this game i know how to handle the voce pretty well.
Famous last words.
I was back in the land of the Déise of course and we won the hurling. In style. Now I confess to know very little about the mighty Gaelic sport of hurling. But I have to say I go a bit mad when I watch it. Especially when I'm standing on the terraces in Semple Stadium in Thurles watching one of the most nail biting Munster finals in Waterford's history. The sheer excruciating tension of which was only broken when, as all eyes were fixed on the pitch with so much concentration that you would hear a pin drop, that great man of words Ultan Hayden uttered the immortal line;
'Come on lads....... dig deep, aim high!'
You had to be there.
But it was drama of the highest order and no doubt with the fighting Déise battling the Cork rebels despite one of our star players, John Mullane, being sent off for pucking a Cork langer in the head with his hurley. I was in the school choir with the aforementioned Mr. Mullane (He was a 1st year when i was a 6th year) and we used to give him an awful time about messing. Needless to say that wouldn't happen nowadays that he's a big mad hurler and I'm a poncey actor. I live in hope that he has put those choir days to the far recesses of his mind. Another valued attribute to an actor is his face, and while mine won't launch any ships or toilet products, the butt of a hurley in it would indeed lessen my chances at auditions. But I digress. To say that the Waterford fans present in Thurles that day turned at times into screaming lunatics would not be an overstatement. We went mental. As every ball went over the bar, as each goal went in, as the ref gave away each free I could feel the larynx being ripped out of me as I roared, and I mean ROARED, along with the crowd. No big stage shouts as we were trained to do at drama school, no supporting from my diaphragm, all that shite went out the window. Gutteral, primal sounds were roared at the men in blue and white who to us were no longer sportsmen, but warriors of old! Like the fecking Fianna they were!!! And we as their supporters sang powerful chants to give the Déise soldiers fire in their bellies. An age old chant from the mists of time which went;
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap clap)
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap clap)
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap...........jesus noddy keep in fecking time will ya!!!!!!)
It is not in our make up as Déise men to sing that song nicely, so this was further damage to the vocal chords. The final straw however came when Paul Flynn Stepped up to take a free late in the second half. Cork were slightly ahead and all eyes were on him and everyone thought he would send it over the bar for an easy point. Me Bollocks!!!!! GOAL! He drove it into the back of the Cork net like Setanta killing the hound of Chullain! YOU FUCKING LEGEND!!!! Mayhem on the terraces as the Déise crowd erupted! We're all screaming! Kevin Kehoe has nearly crippled an elderly gentleman in front of him and I feel me voice go. That's it then. No voce. It's officially gone dear and i can feel me glands closing in to try and repair the damage. Even when they blow the final whistle and we've beaten those Cork bastards by a point and Paul 'Flex' Browne is in floods of tears and I'm leaping up and down but the sound coming from my mouth is far from healthy. 'Of course you went straight home after the match to rest up the chords?' I hear you expect. Don't ya know me by now boy. We drove back to town and it was straight into the fair Downes' for a refreshing large bottle, then home for the shower and back into town to the musical mecca known as the Munster Bar to watch the game all over again on the big screen! GO ON PAUL FLYNN! Ouch! Now the voice is beginning to hurt. More beer will sort that of course. Of course not. It got to the stage where I had to leave that last chance saloon known as Muldoons early. Jesus there must've something up with me. There was. Me voice was completely fucked at that stage. Thank God I had a week to recover for the Willows aren't windy until the following monday. I'm shitting a few bricks but it should be grand, sure I've got a full seven days to recover. The phone goes. Tis the agent;
'They've rung me from Lord of the Rings and they want to do a new recording of the script, so you'll need to be back here for Friday the 2nd. Good news.'
Good news of course, it means they were happy enough with me at the workshops that they want me to go back and do some more work. This is only a good thing and hopefully will mean I'm a little bit closer to being in the full production. Middle-Earth here I come! Again! And its just a reading of the script so that's handy. Hang on, reading? Oh sure that's brilliant!! I have zero fecking voice for christ's sake! If I was shitting bricks about the first day of rehearsals of Willows now I'm building walls and possibly small McInerny houses. I can't turn up there with no voice. So the rest of the week is spent taking it easy. Well............except for the night after the final when I get blind drunk again. I've got a problem I tell ya! Lack of fecking cop on! Help! I'm woken from my drunken stupor the next morning by the agent and she is the bringer of bad tidings indeed;
'They rang from Working Title.'
AH! The Pride and Prejudice people. Yes yes go on...
'The director has narrowed it down to a couple of people for the part you read for and you're one of them,'
Legend!
'So they rang to check your availability...'
Yes! This is good!
'....for a week from the 19th of July.'
Shite! This is not good!
My agent already knows that that's the last week of rehearsals for Wind in the Willows and that's when a big discussion starts about whether I should back out of Willows which I say is impossible as we start rehearsals in 6 days. When you sign a contract you do the work. That's the way I see it. So that's that for my film debut. I've since found out that my scenes would have been with Kiera Knightley. Ah shit! That put me in a bad mood for a week.
'What's wrong with your voice?' quoth the agent.
'Waterford won the munster final.' hoarsely quoth I. She didn't get it.
Neither did I. The film that is. But hey ho. Onward to Middle Earth then. So after a few days of rest, relaxation and getting the voce back up to scratch I'm back in the London in a studio about to read the latest script of Lord of the Rings the musical. Now I'm not allowed tell you anything about it as this time they made me sign away my second born child if I should divulge anything. I would like kids at some stage. I can tell you that before the recording started I had a good auld chat with the producer of the show of the decade, who's a grand chap from Limerick. So I go into great detail about waterford's victory in the Munster championship and he's very entertained by my spirited retelling, but by the end of it I can feel the voice going again. Oh shite. So its still not recovered from Paul Flynn's goal. Bollocks. By the end of the day of elfing and hobbiting (which I cannot speak about) it was well knackered. No beer for me at the weekend then! Crap. But I'm a pro and a good boy I am. I Don't go out and I keep the chat to a minimum so as to make sure I'm alright for rehearsals. And I am in the end. Thank Jesus.
And so come monday morning I make the journey into Regent's Park. Its a place I know very well at this stage and whereas normally first days, meeting strangers who you are now about to work with for the next while, can be a bit nerve wracking, I'm well at home here. I'm feeling cool about the voice as well. It feels good and strong. There's nothing worse than turning up for a read through on the first day with no voice, as all the rest of the cast look at you wondering 'How the hell did he get this job?'. I know. It happened me last year and it wasn't pleasant. The Waterford Air Guitar Championships were to blame. But I digress and that's a story for another time. This read through, however, goes very well indeed and there's a good feeling in the room and the writer even compliments me on my reading. This could be a good show. In the afternoon we do some singing and some sweet sounds come out of me if I do say so myself. Nice. After a day like that I'm on a good buzz about doing the show, I feel I can do this well and its going to be a good auld craic.
By the end of the following day the voice is gone again.
Shite. As I mentioned before the beer intake during a show depends on the hangoverability of the role your playing. ie; How easy the show is to do with a bad hangover. Generally this effects the antics of the night before a matinee. On willows we only have matinees. Add to this the fact that - I'll be jumping around the stage for the best part of two hours in the open air singing and dancing in a big green suit and delivering my lines in a high pitched posh English accent which is so vocally demanding for me that I'm hoarse after just two days rehearsals - and a very bleak picture begins to be painted.
It was shaping up to be a very sober summer.
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