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.
Saturday, July 31, 2004
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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