Ah those deadly theatrical terms! Now you may think that I’m making them up, and to the most part I am, but things like ‘Twirly’, ‘Double-Bubble’ can indeed be found in the dictionary of show. So can ‘Show to Show’. Now this term is quite self explanatory, it means that you are in the very lucky situation of finishing one show only to start (or to have already started) rehearsals for the next one. When the term is used it is followed by the jammy fecker’s name. For example;
‘Look at the go of ‘show to show’ Beamish.’
Who me? Oh you’re very kind. Well in fairness this summer it was true. I was on me way to Bath for the last week of rehearsals for Much Ado and once that had opened I was off back to London to rehearse Wind in the Willows. Now if that’s not show to show I don’t know what is! The great thing of course was that I was coming to the end of rehearsals and there wasn’t a sign of the Jitter. Thank Jesus! I wish this show to show would happen all the time, but sure wishes never come true.
Or do they?
Well there was still the first show to open before I even thought about any other shows. The entire cast of Much Ado had relocated themselves to Bath and we lashed into the last few rehearsals. Bath is a lovely place, but because all of the buildings have to be made of sandstone it has to be the yellowest city ever. I had played Bath before in Pirates but that was in Winter and the place seemed a bit dull. This time it was summer, and it was the business. How bad. The digs were grand, although they were a bit pink and I couldn’t stand up in the bedroom. But hey, I’ve stopped the moaning now haven’t I? The first day’s rehearsals went well, we were all in good form and I was relishing me new-found role as dance captain. Power going to me head maybe? Nah not a sign, but I was determined to do it as well as I possibly could. Here was a chance to show that I was more than a two song spear carrier. We finished a bit early and I met up with my man in Bath, Neil Ditt, for a scoop. The Ditt, as he is known, is a fine fellow actor and good buddy, we were about embark on our 3rd year in a row at Regent’s Park. He was up in Bath (where he was born and bred) working in his secret identity as an architect, and he was the bearer of very interesting news;
‘I saw Laura last weekend and she was telling me she’s just landed a job assisting Ed Hall on the big Christmas play at the National.’
Like I said very interesting. The Laura in question was the director of Wind in the Willows so that was a good in and an even better in was Ed Hall, sure didn’t he direct Calico last year. Ho ho ho, could it be the Royal National Theatre for Christmas for Beamish? Well there was two brilliant contacts. I was on the phone to the agent in an act. With her on the case I knew I’d be ok. Now that would be a lovely gig to have after Willows and while it wouldn’t be a show to show situation (it would start rehearsals later) it would still be very very cool indeed. Right, time to put that right at the back of me head and get on with the job in hand. Much Ado ... about lots of things. The dancing was going ok but not as well as I would have liked but I wasn’t too worried as the choreographer was coming up that week to do more work on it. Good stuff, and hopefully now he’d be around until we opened and I’d just be assisting. Oh yeah, like I’d be that lucky. That day, the Thursday of the last week of rehearsals, was nearly a full day devoted to just the dancing and while he was doing new steps with new people (five extras had arrived to join the show) I was going over stuff and earning me £28.50. I also thought it might be wise to learn the second dance. As I wasn’t in it I didn’t know it and in fairness it was now me job to know it. But sure its ok we’ll have a few days with the lord of the dance himself. Emmmm ........ no. At the end of the day’s rehearsals, which had gone well although there was still work to do, he turned to me, wished me good luck and said he’d see me at the party on press night. WHAAAAATTTT!?!?!?! Oh yes, he was leaving and wouldn’t be back until we had already done 5 previews, leaving the state of the dancing in the show squarely on my shoulders.
Oh shit.
£28.50 was suddenly not enough. Thank Christ I had learned the 2nd dance. Now the fear descended on me and I lashed into trying to make sure that everyone at least knew the steps before we got on stage on Monday and everything went to shit in the tech. Jesus boy, I was beginning to think I had bitten off more than I could chew. A sleepless night was had and I was lying in bed the next morning with one-two-three/wait-two-three/girls-boys-together going over and over in me head when the phone went. Hark, ‘tis the agent.
‘I’ve just had an availability check for you,’
Oh yes? What for? (Please be the Ed Hall show at the National)
‘It’s for Ed Hall’s production of...’
Yesssss!!!!
‘....The Winter’s Tale.’
Whoa!! Now that I didn’t expect. Ed had put on Shakespeare’s the Winter’s Tale earlier this year with his all-male Shakespeare ensemble called Propeller. These guys were the business, critically acclaimed, highly regarded and I had seen their production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream in the West End 2 years ago and it was stunning. This production had gotten unreal reviews as well. Its also impossible to even get an audition. When you do a Propeller show you are automatically offered a part in the next production and a lot of them stay, even if they don’t stay there’s still the people who have previously worked with them to consider and all the actors that Ed had worked with over the years. When I didn’t hear anything about the Winter’s Tale when it was first casting I really didn’t think anything of it. That said I’d still give me left Bollock to work with them. Now there was a possibility that I wouldn’t have to castrate meself. This had come completely out of nowhere. The agent went on;
‘They wanted to check you for the 2nd leg of their tour. I told them you were available. And you are....sort of.’
Whatchu talkin’ about ‘Sort of’?
‘They start rehearsals for two weeks on the 22nd of August.’
Ah fuck!!!! Its never fecking easy is it? Why I hear you ask? Well Willows runs until the 27th of August and it wasn’t like I had all day to rehearse before the show, because I had matinees every day, it was a daytime show! If there was only 2 weeks rehearsals there’s no way they would let me just do mornings for the first week. I could see it slip away already and all I had had was an availability check. Now there were a lot of factors to consider. What was the part? If it was to understudy I wouldn’t do it, I was sure of that. It was touring as well, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to be on the road again so soon after being away with Much Ado. I hopped on to the Watermill Newbury’s website (for that’s where the company is based) to see if they had the tour list up and indeed they did.
Oh sweet Jesus.
Apart from some English dates this tour was going to Madrid, Girona, San Francisco, Washington and, wait for it, New York and .... wait even longer for it ..... The Abbey in Dublin!!! I nearly wet meself with excitement. But I HAD to calm down, sure this was just an availibility check, it wasn’t even a date for an audition, it certainly wasn’t an offer. I was still as far away from making my Irish professional debut as I had been for the past 5 years! Well maybe I was a tiny bit closer. But only a tiny bit, and anyway I still had a certain little Shakespeare for Ed Hall’s daddy to concern meself with. Prioritise Beamish, you are after all the dance captain!
The run at the end of the week went well, although Sir Peter had said to me that he felt that the Watch shouldn’t be Irish as he was afraid of confusing the audience, so I had to wheel out me best cockney guv’nah. It was grand and I certainly wasn’t disappointed with the change, sure I was flattered enough in the first place. I was fighting to get time to go over the dances though. They needed rehearsals and it was on my head be it, I was grabbing minutes here and there to go over the steps with the cast whenever I could. The following week at the tech it fell around me a bit and I begged for more time. It didn’t happen. I got half an hour. Oh well, at least I knew the steps. Then the ugly spectre of facial hair loomed again. I went in to a fitting to find that my beard and moustache were a different colour to my hair and made me look like a Hobbit. Also I felt that all of the little comedy looks and expressions I had worked out in rehearsals were as dead as a dodo. This itchy heap of shit they glued to my face was killing me performance. I wasn’t the only one who felt like that let me tell you, but the response from Sir Peter was;
‘Well actors have been using false beards for hundreds of years.’
That’s a fair point to which there is no comeback, but I’m sure actors have been pissed off with false beards for hundreds of years too. Richard Stacey was delighted because he’d grown his own. Mine was cat and I betcha the fucker will fall off some night. Whatever about that the show was in good shape and I was starting to have a bit of fun with the part of the tailor that I was so pissed off with before. Camp it up? I nearly grew a moustache! But through all this there was still that thing in the back of me head about the Winter’s Tale. It had been a week since they called and there was still no news. I hate that, sitting by the fecking phone again. The first previews of Much Ado were going down very very well and we had the Sunday and the Monday off before we came back to do the press night so I headed back to London for the lash. The Monday evening I was on me way back to county Kilburn on the tube and when we came out of the tunnel me phone goes. Its a voice message.
‘Jamie Beamish, it’s Ed Hall, how are you squire?’
I wet meself.
No not literally. In this fateful message he tells me that some of the actors in The Winter’s Tale had left and offers me a part in it, saying that its a nice plot and that I’d also have to sing and play the piano, so it would be a good showcase. I nearly wet meself again. I listened to the message over and over. There it was, no audition needed just a straight offer and a personal phonecall as well. Nice o....
But.
Aw fuck sake, of course there’s a but. Sure he wasn’t aware of me availability in the first week of rehearsals. If he knew I could only do mornings maybe he wouldn’t have offered me a part in the show. Another but was this thing he said about playing the piano. Now I’m not the best of piano players so that put the shits up me as well as everything else. So I’d just gotten this brilliant news and I couldn’t celebrate because it was still up in the air. I decided not to call him back as it was a bit late and I wasn’t sure what to say, but I did call the agent. Its never too late for her. We decide that she’d ring the producer of the tour the following day and I’d ring Ed Hall and we’d both explain the situation that I was still performing at the Park that first week. There was nothing else I could do, they would either be cool with that or say no.
The next day I went to Bath and tried to get in contact with Ed. No answer. Shite. The agent got through to the Watermill and the Producer there seemed to think there’d be no problem but the man from Del Monte still had to say yes. I was sure he’d be reasonable, he’s a top head, but if it was unworkable...well. I was at me wit’s end. I mean this wasn’t just any normal job I was waiting to hear about. This was one of the best companies in England, with one of the best directors who I was dying to work with again, and would bring me home. That was the big thing. You might call me a fool for saying that The Abbey meant more to me than New York, but it did. It would be a huge deal for me to play my national theatre. For five years I’d been trying to get work back home and here it was, just within me reach. But still far away. All this runs inducing stress was of course happening the day before the press night of Much Ado.
And then I finally got through to Ed. He explained all about the gig to me and then I explained my predicament.
‘I’m sure we can work around that.’
Nice one.
‘I’ll just have to discuss it with my producer and then I’ll get back to you.’
Grand I thought, sure the producer has already told my agent that there wouldn’t be a problem. Time to break out the champagne cider methinks. Well I’ll just wait till he calls back to make sure. Yeah wait, and wait, and wait. He never calls back. Now I’m not thinking the worst here because I would still get the news from the agent whether it be good or bad but its still excruciating having to wait. No wonder me nerves are shattered. I could feel it in me water that it was going to happen but you really can’t do anything till you get the definite yes.
The following day there was still no news on The Winter’s Tale, but I had other things on me mind that day. The press night of Much Ado was upon us. The buzz was good among the players, London had just won the olympic bid, and we, like olympians launched into the bard (well it wasn’t really an olympic feat for me as I didn’t have much to do but I wasn’t complaining any more). It went down like a bomb!! And the dances were pretty good too. Nice one. The session was hopping afterwards and we all ended up in ribbons in a hotel bar and we fell home as the birds were singing and the sun was coming up.
The following day there was still no news on The Winter’s Tale, but I had other things on me mind that day. I was woken up after about 3 hours sleep to a text message on me phone; -Hope ur ok have just been watching about the bombs in London on Sky News- Come again? Bombs? What the fuck? Then the phone starts hopping, people asking me am I ok, am I anywhere near the explosions, tell me you’re not in London. I switch on the news to see that the inevitable had happened. London had had a terrorist attack. Three bombs on the underground and one on a bus. Carnage. I watched in horror and disbelief and a a little bit of me was thankful that I was in Bath rather than London. I started texting back; -I’m fine, I’m nowhere near London, I’m doing a show in Bath. Thank God for the drama- A crap little joke, trying to make light of a very serious situation. I was also getting nervous about the fact that I was about to start rehearsals in London. How would it be? Would it be safe? Well feck me to be honest, there were people with a lot more troubles in their life all of a sudden. God help them.
The following day the call came.
‘They’ve officially offered you Winter’s Tale. They’ll work around your availibility.’
Sound. Funny, it wasn’t a jump up in the air moment but just a relief that all the waiting was over, and a bit of a relief that I was going on tour again and getting away from London. Now that was a stupid line of thought but I’m sure I wasn’t the only one thinking it. Then it started sinking in. I had always said that before I was 30 I wanted to have done a show at the Abbey and a show in New York, I was nearly 29 and this one gig was fulfilling both those ambitions. Also it meant that there was another week of Double Bubble coming to me at the end of August and without stopping I had work until the 3rd of December. Straight from Much Ado to Willows and now straight from Willows to Winter’s Tale. Show to show Beamish?
Nah boy.
Show to show to show Beamish.
Oh jammy me.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Thursday, October 13, 2005
31. SING (AND DANCE) FOR YOUR SUPPER
Well we actors are most happy when we’re in work aren’t we?
Not a hope.
Actors will always find something to bitch and moan about. Even if they have the lead part in a smash hit West End play and they’re on a million pound a week and they’re in the number one dressing room, which is more like a flat than a dressing room, and you’re a dead cert for at least an Olivier award and if you decide to extend your contract they’ll give you a percentage of the box office, yes even if all that is the case you would still hear said actor moaning about the fact that he doesn’t have SKY+ on the telly in his dressing room, or forever questioning why they ever invented matinees. I mean the poor fecker that’s doing dodgy TIE has something to moan about alright, people in good work really should be grateful. In other words I should have been grateful that I was in rehearsals for an extremely good job. I mean this was the Peter Hall Company at the Theatre Royal Bath (or have I already mentioned that?) so surely there would be nothing for me to moan about.
Well......
Now don’t get me wrong because rehearsals were going extremely well. This guy Hall knew how to do his Shakespeare but after the first week it did kind of hit me; we had 5 more weeks rehearsals! Now I’ve never rehearsed for more than 5 weeks altogether, 6 seemed like a marathon! We did the entire production of Wind in the Willows last year in 3 weeks. Now why the hell am I moaning about the fact that there’s a nice long rehearsal period, surely that would make things easier, I hear you ceist? Well it does indeed give you more time to get it right, but the first thing to realise is that when you are rehearsing you are on rehearsal wages. These are significantly lower than performance wages and in my case that was just over half of what I was going to be paid once the show is up and running. Its something I’ve never really understood. I always find rehearsals to be the time of the really hard work, so why should you get paid less for more work? Now don’t tell me that’s ‘Just Showbiz’ or I’ll give you a puck in the eye. Seemingly its to do with the fact that the producers aren’t making any money during rehearsals so they pay less. Whatever, we were still on barely sustainable wages for 6 weeks. Also the 6 weeks rehearsals were made all the harder by the fact that I had an extremely small role. Now I thought that would work to my advantage as it meant I wouldn’t be called all day everyday. I’d definitely have a few hours off each day to chill and do stuff and I may even have a day off here and there. Not a sign. Meself and Andrew Mack(lough)lin ended up being called in all the time only to have to wait for two hours before we got to do something. I’m not the fastest reader in the world but I got through 3 novels during rehearsals, which was a record for me. It was common sight to see meself and Andrew sat in chairs with our heads stuck in books that certainly weren’t the script. Then we would get the call to jump up and stand at the back. This is the problem with carrying a spear. They call you in to stand there and carry it. Andrew got through Ulysses for feck sake. Now this wasn’t down to Sir Peter I have to say as he left the scheduling of the day up to other people. It came to a head in the fifth week when I had been called at 9 am (we started at 9am every day. That’s not normal for rehearsals and not easy either. C’mon I didn’t become an actor to work 9 to 5!) to sing for half an hour and then wasn’t called again until 3pm. I mean what do I do for 5 and a half hours for Christ’s sake!?!? Why could I not just come in at 2.30pm do me bit and join everyone else at 3? At least I’d get a sleep in for the first time in weeks.
‘Well I’m not sure about that, I’d have to talk to Mick about it.’ the lord of the schedules replied.
The Mick in question was Mick Sands the composer, and a nicer more approachable man you’ll never meet. Approached he was and there was no problem at all. In I go at 2.30 the next day;
‘Jesus thanks for changing the time for us Mick. I needed the bit of a sleep in.’ Quoth I.
‘Not at all Jamie, I was delighted to have the extra bit of time myself this morning.’ Quoth the man of music. A fuss over nothing so.
Then I went to have a costume fitting to find out that as well as playing Balthasar and Watchman I was now going to be a tailor in a scene where I run on and do nothing more than brush another character’s coat. This was where the wanky actor in me kicked in as I wasn’t hired to ‘play as cast’ and they had just assumed I’d do it. I wasn’t happy and made it known to the assistant director. It got back to Peter that there was a problem and he looked over at me as only he can and said;
‘Is there a problem?’
Whereupon I exploded and replied;
‘Nah, its grand.’
Beamish thou art a pussy.
Then there was the issue of facial hair. Jesus don’t start me on that. There seemed to be a consensus among the design team that we should have lots of facial hair, but said facial hair was not to be our own. Aw crap! That could only mean one thing. False beards and moustaches. There is nothing in the world of wonder that is theatre so bad as false facial hair. It itches, it restricts your face, the glue gives you a rash and at the worst possible time it will inevitably fall off. All of these things did indeed happen but more on that later. I had to wear a false moustache for 8 months on Pirates and I hated every minute it was on me lip. And I believe that inevitably it looks cat. But that’s just my opinion. The fact was we had to wear it. There was no way I could grow my own (which is what I’ve normally done since puberty) because I had to open in Willows the same week Much Ado was closing. I had to grin and bear it (and that was only if I was able to grin once I had glued the bastard to my lip!). The plan was for me to have big sideburns and a moustache for Balthasar and A full beard for the watchman. Aw shite. There was now a cloud of glue, mesh and hair hanging over rehearsals. Jesus. And how that issue would indeed play out.
Stop me now if I’m moaning.
Actually despite everything I’ve just written, I had a deadly time at rehearsals. The above is to show what a fucking stupid attitude I had in rehearsals, I kept going home after work saying I was sorry I accepted the show, the part was too small, blah blah blah. What I then began to realise was that I was having a very specific learning experience. I had to cop on and get on with the job no matter what it was and I also had to make this my own. If I kept up this crap attitude I would also be crap in the show because I was focusing on the negative rather than working hard to find the positive. In the first week of rehearsals I mentioned to Peter Hall that not only was I from Waterford but so was Andrew and Matthew Dunphy (who was to be in a Shaw play Peter was directing in the second part of the season). He remarked:
‘Well you must come from a very talented town.’
Too right we do boy. I couldn’t let that perception down by acting the prick. And things started to happen that made it all better (The facial hair issue was still shit though).
Now the reason I was hired to do this job was primarily because I could sing (well the debate goes on). The thing was that there was no music to sing in the first 3 weeks. Mick Sands was busy opening some productions for the RSC, so I was in rehearsals speaking the lines of the songs I had and generally feeling like the pleb who can’t sing. Every now and then I’d get innocent comments from the other actors asking me was I a singer? or stating that they can’t wait to hear the music. Neither could I buddy, neither could I. Innocent and all as these comments were they were like a boulder on me back because I was feeling the weight of their mounting expectation. And as the weeks without music went on, the pressure grew and grew. What if I got the music and it was too high for me and I opened me mouth and they all hated it? What if I was just crap full stop? It felt like I hadn’t sung for years. Then at the end of the 3rd week I was told I was in at 9am on the Monday and that I was starting working with Mick on the songs. Despite the shits kicking in I became suddenly focused. Right, this was one I was not going to fuck up. I spent a saintly weekend not touching a drop and was in bed at 10 on the sunday up at 6.30 on the Monday to be wide awake for the sing song that morning. I had the guitar with me seeing I was accompanying meself on one of the songs. Mick had the songs and jaysus they were good. He got me range spot on. They were very very different in style, one being a real singalong boisterous number (the famous ‘Hey Nonny Nonny’), the other being a reflective lament in almost plainchant style (I knows me music so hence the big words!). Good stuff. I could show off a bit of versatility so. And the pipes were in good order too so I was pleased. That night I celebrated by going to the press night of Twelfth Night at Regent’s Park and getting shitfaced enough that I wasn’t able to sing the following day, but that was ok the first day was over and that was the main hurdle, enough people had heard me finally sing to know that I could do what it said on the tin. A couple of days later (when the voice came back) we rehearsed the scene that the plainchant song was in and those that heard it were very complimentary about me singing and I finally felt I had something meaningful to bring to the table for this production. Maybe I got too cocky though. They were working out who would be holding candles in the scene and I was told I would have to hold one.
‘Will you be ok to hold the candle if you’re singing?’ quoth Sir Peter.
‘Oh yes, sure we learned that at drama school.’ cheekily quoth I.
The assembled cast members and composer got a good laugh off it but I’ll never forget the look Peter gave me. To this day I don’t know whether it was a good or a bad one. But not to worry Beamish the singer had arrived. Then I got bolloxed again on the Friday night at another Park press night and had to sing ‘Hey Nonny Nonny’ the following morning in a run of act one. I wasn’t at me best but one of the actors complimented my singing of it to which I replied;
‘If you think that’s good, wait until you hear me without the hangover.’
He thought I was being humble. He’d learn.
And then rehearsals were buzzing by, I was starting to enjoy them. This is where you learn your craft, in the room watching others. Whether it was observing the direction of Mr. Hall himself or the skill of our two leads (Janie Dee and Aden Gillett), or the command of the language by the veteran Philip Voss, or the sheer comic brilliance of Sam Kelly, this is the education you never get for 10 grand a term in a drama school ladies and gents. I was singing well, learning me shakespeare but what of that other skill that would make me the triple threat that you need to be in this hungry business. What of the auld dancing?
Wait’ll I tell ya!
I’m doing Shakespeare right? Straight theatre? Classical theatre? Oh yes, but Shakespeare is littered with song and dance so you don’t get away with anything. I think choreographers must dread doing Shakespeare. I mean unless they’re presented with a separate cast of dancers, they walk into a room of actors of wildly varying ages, none of whom are happy to be dancing. Of course the funny thing is that most of these actors have done Shakespeare before and so must have danced in another production. Indeed they did and they hated it just as much then. Dancing is for the twirlys in musical theatre after all! Well twirly thy name is Beamish. After all have I not hoofed my way through various musicals in my time, and was I not at one point a line dancing instructor (the cat’s out of the bag now)? Well anyway I wouldn’t call meself a brilliant dancer. I know brilliant dancers and these guys and dolls are phenomenal, absolutely unreal. I can ‘move well’. Well enough for Shakespeare let me tell ya. So the day the choreographer came in to teach the two dances that were in the show it didn’t bother me at all, indeed I was only in the first dance because I had to play the drums in the second dance. Nice one, saved by the drums, b-dum tish!! Handy dancing followed, the kind of period dance which is more to do with style than any fancy moves. I was picking it up pretty quickly alright, but then I wasn’t the only one, I mean Janie Dee who was playing Beatrice is a diva of a dancer, really brilliant. But as the days progressed I found myself being called on by the other actors to go over the steps with them any time we had a break. The thing that being in musicals had given me was the super power to remember the steps the next day. Muscle memory. I may not have had fancy moves but I had a good memory. I was going to say like Stephen Hawking but that’s going way too far. So they jokingly started referring to me as the dance captain and I kept telling them to cop on. Then one day just before the end of the London rehearsals the assistant director came over to me and asked me;
‘Jamie, have you ever done dance captain on a show before?’
‘Yes.’ I lied.
‘Well we were wondering if you would be dance captain on this show for us?’
‘Ah yeah no hassle’ I replied as if it wasn’t a shock, ‘but you do realise that by equity law there would a dance captaincy fee to be paid.’
I’m no fool. I’m a union man and I know me rights and I was right to say that. She said that was fine and from the following week I was handsomely rewarded the princely sum of an extra 28 bob 50 to do what I was already doing for free. How bad. Actually I nearly bit off more than I could chew but that’s a story for next time. The 5 weeks rehearsals in London had finished, the show was in good shape, I was singing well and I had gotten over the disease of being full of shit and not appreciating what I had (the part of the tailor was coming along nicely thank you very much), and the maddest thing had happened, some mental fella had put me in charge of the dancing for the show. Jesus!! I got some load of jeers from the dancers I knew.
The pressure was on, we had one week’s rehearsals to go.
So off to Bath we went.
And not to wash ourselves.
Not a hope.
Actors will always find something to bitch and moan about. Even if they have the lead part in a smash hit West End play and they’re on a million pound a week and they’re in the number one dressing room, which is more like a flat than a dressing room, and you’re a dead cert for at least an Olivier award and if you decide to extend your contract they’ll give you a percentage of the box office, yes even if all that is the case you would still hear said actor moaning about the fact that he doesn’t have SKY+ on the telly in his dressing room, or forever questioning why they ever invented matinees. I mean the poor fecker that’s doing dodgy TIE has something to moan about alright, people in good work really should be grateful. In other words I should have been grateful that I was in rehearsals for an extremely good job. I mean this was the Peter Hall Company at the Theatre Royal Bath (or have I already mentioned that?) so surely there would be nothing for me to moan about.
Well......
Now don’t get me wrong because rehearsals were going extremely well. This guy Hall knew how to do his Shakespeare but after the first week it did kind of hit me; we had 5 more weeks rehearsals! Now I’ve never rehearsed for more than 5 weeks altogether, 6 seemed like a marathon! We did the entire production of Wind in the Willows last year in 3 weeks. Now why the hell am I moaning about the fact that there’s a nice long rehearsal period, surely that would make things easier, I hear you ceist? Well it does indeed give you more time to get it right, but the first thing to realise is that when you are rehearsing you are on rehearsal wages. These are significantly lower than performance wages and in my case that was just over half of what I was going to be paid once the show is up and running. Its something I’ve never really understood. I always find rehearsals to be the time of the really hard work, so why should you get paid less for more work? Now don’t tell me that’s ‘Just Showbiz’ or I’ll give you a puck in the eye. Seemingly its to do with the fact that the producers aren’t making any money during rehearsals so they pay less. Whatever, we were still on barely sustainable wages for 6 weeks. Also the 6 weeks rehearsals were made all the harder by the fact that I had an extremely small role. Now I thought that would work to my advantage as it meant I wouldn’t be called all day everyday. I’d definitely have a few hours off each day to chill and do stuff and I may even have a day off here and there. Not a sign. Meself and Andrew Mack(lough)lin ended up being called in all the time only to have to wait for two hours before we got to do something. I’m not the fastest reader in the world but I got through 3 novels during rehearsals, which was a record for me. It was common sight to see meself and Andrew sat in chairs with our heads stuck in books that certainly weren’t the script. Then we would get the call to jump up and stand at the back. This is the problem with carrying a spear. They call you in to stand there and carry it. Andrew got through Ulysses for feck sake. Now this wasn’t down to Sir Peter I have to say as he left the scheduling of the day up to other people. It came to a head in the fifth week when I had been called at 9 am (we started at 9am every day. That’s not normal for rehearsals and not easy either. C’mon I didn’t become an actor to work 9 to 5!) to sing for half an hour and then wasn’t called again until 3pm. I mean what do I do for 5 and a half hours for Christ’s sake!?!? Why could I not just come in at 2.30pm do me bit and join everyone else at 3? At least I’d get a sleep in for the first time in weeks.
‘Well I’m not sure about that, I’d have to talk to Mick about it.’ the lord of the schedules replied.
The Mick in question was Mick Sands the composer, and a nicer more approachable man you’ll never meet. Approached he was and there was no problem at all. In I go at 2.30 the next day;
‘Jesus thanks for changing the time for us Mick. I needed the bit of a sleep in.’ Quoth I.
‘Not at all Jamie, I was delighted to have the extra bit of time myself this morning.’ Quoth the man of music. A fuss over nothing so.
Then I went to have a costume fitting to find out that as well as playing Balthasar and Watchman I was now going to be a tailor in a scene where I run on and do nothing more than brush another character’s coat. This was where the wanky actor in me kicked in as I wasn’t hired to ‘play as cast’ and they had just assumed I’d do it. I wasn’t happy and made it known to the assistant director. It got back to Peter that there was a problem and he looked over at me as only he can and said;
‘Is there a problem?’
Whereupon I exploded and replied;
‘Nah, its grand.’
Beamish thou art a pussy.
Then there was the issue of facial hair. Jesus don’t start me on that. There seemed to be a consensus among the design team that we should have lots of facial hair, but said facial hair was not to be our own. Aw crap! That could only mean one thing. False beards and moustaches. There is nothing in the world of wonder that is theatre so bad as false facial hair. It itches, it restricts your face, the glue gives you a rash and at the worst possible time it will inevitably fall off. All of these things did indeed happen but more on that later. I had to wear a false moustache for 8 months on Pirates and I hated every minute it was on me lip. And I believe that inevitably it looks cat. But that’s just my opinion. The fact was we had to wear it. There was no way I could grow my own (which is what I’ve normally done since puberty) because I had to open in Willows the same week Much Ado was closing. I had to grin and bear it (and that was only if I was able to grin once I had glued the bastard to my lip!). The plan was for me to have big sideburns and a moustache for Balthasar and A full beard for the watchman. Aw shite. There was now a cloud of glue, mesh and hair hanging over rehearsals. Jesus. And how that issue would indeed play out.
Stop me now if I’m moaning.
Actually despite everything I’ve just written, I had a deadly time at rehearsals. The above is to show what a fucking stupid attitude I had in rehearsals, I kept going home after work saying I was sorry I accepted the show, the part was too small, blah blah blah. What I then began to realise was that I was having a very specific learning experience. I had to cop on and get on with the job no matter what it was and I also had to make this my own. If I kept up this crap attitude I would also be crap in the show because I was focusing on the negative rather than working hard to find the positive. In the first week of rehearsals I mentioned to Peter Hall that not only was I from Waterford but so was Andrew and Matthew Dunphy (who was to be in a Shaw play Peter was directing in the second part of the season). He remarked:
‘Well you must come from a very talented town.’
Too right we do boy. I couldn’t let that perception down by acting the prick. And things started to happen that made it all better (The facial hair issue was still shit though).
Now the reason I was hired to do this job was primarily because I could sing (well the debate goes on). The thing was that there was no music to sing in the first 3 weeks. Mick Sands was busy opening some productions for the RSC, so I was in rehearsals speaking the lines of the songs I had and generally feeling like the pleb who can’t sing. Every now and then I’d get innocent comments from the other actors asking me was I a singer? or stating that they can’t wait to hear the music. Neither could I buddy, neither could I. Innocent and all as these comments were they were like a boulder on me back because I was feeling the weight of their mounting expectation. And as the weeks without music went on, the pressure grew and grew. What if I got the music and it was too high for me and I opened me mouth and they all hated it? What if I was just crap full stop? It felt like I hadn’t sung for years. Then at the end of the 3rd week I was told I was in at 9am on the Monday and that I was starting working with Mick on the songs. Despite the shits kicking in I became suddenly focused. Right, this was one I was not going to fuck up. I spent a saintly weekend not touching a drop and was in bed at 10 on the sunday up at 6.30 on the Monday to be wide awake for the sing song that morning. I had the guitar with me seeing I was accompanying meself on one of the songs. Mick had the songs and jaysus they were good. He got me range spot on. They were very very different in style, one being a real singalong boisterous number (the famous ‘Hey Nonny Nonny’), the other being a reflective lament in almost plainchant style (I knows me music so hence the big words!). Good stuff. I could show off a bit of versatility so. And the pipes were in good order too so I was pleased. That night I celebrated by going to the press night of Twelfth Night at Regent’s Park and getting shitfaced enough that I wasn’t able to sing the following day, but that was ok the first day was over and that was the main hurdle, enough people had heard me finally sing to know that I could do what it said on the tin. A couple of days later (when the voice came back) we rehearsed the scene that the plainchant song was in and those that heard it were very complimentary about me singing and I finally felt I had something meaningful to bring to the table for this production. Maybe I got too cocky though. They were working out who would be holding candles in the scene and I was told I would have to hold one.
‘Will you be ok to hold the candle if you’re singing?’ quoth Sir Peter.
‘Oh yes, sure we learned that at drama school.’ cheekily quoth I.
The assembled cast members and composer got a good laugh off it but I’ll never forget the look Peter gave me. To this day I don’t know whether it was a good or a bad one. But not to worry Beamish the singer had arrived. Then I got bolloxed again on the Friday night at another Park press night and had to sing ‘Hey Nonny Nonny’ the following morning in a run of act one. I wasn’t at me best but one of the actors complimented my singing of it to which I replied;
‘If you think that’s good, wait until you hear me without the hangover.’
He thought I was being humble. He’d learn.
And then rehearsals were buzzing by, I was starting to enjoy them. This is where you learn your craft, in the room watching others. Whether it was observing the direction of Mr. Hall himself or the skill of our two leads (Janie Dee and Aden Gillett), or the command of the language by the veteran Philip Voss, or the sheer comic brilliance of Sam Kelly, this is the education you never get for 10 grand a term in a drama school ladies and gents. I was singing well, learning me shakespeare but what of that other skill that would make me the triple threat that you need to be in this hungry business. What of the auld dancing?
Wait’ll I tell ya!
I’m doing Shakespeare right? Straight theatre? Classical theatre? Oh yes, but Shakespeare is littered with song and dance so you don’t get away with anything. I think choreographers must dread doing Shakespeare. I mean unless they’re presented with a separate cast of dancers, they walk into a room of actors of wildly varying ages, none of whom are happy to be dancing. Of course the funny thing is that most of these actors have done Shakespeare before and so must have danced in another production. Indeed they did and they hated it just as much then. Dancing is for the twirlys in musical theatre after all! Well twirly thy name is Beamish. After all have I not hoofed my way through various musicals in my time, and was I not at one point a line dancing instructor (the cat’s out of the bag now)? Well anyway I wouldn’t call meself a brilliant dancer. I know brilliant dancers and these guys and dolls are phenomenal, absolutely unreal. I can ‘move well’. Well enough for Shakespeare let me tell ya. So the day the choreographer came in to teach the two dances that were in the show it didn’t bother me at all, indeed I was only in the first dance because I had to play the drums in the second dance. Nice one, saved by the drums, b-dum tish!! Handy dancing followed, the kind of period dance which is more to do with style than any fancy moves. I was picking it up pretty quickly alright, but then I wasn’t the only one, I mean Janie Dee who was playing Beatrice is a diva of a dancer, really brilliant. But as the days progressed I found myself being called on by the other actors to go over the steps with them any time we had a break. The thing that being in musicals had given me was the super power to remember the steps the next day. Muscle memory. I may not have had fancy moves but I had a good memory. I was going to say like Stephen Hawking but that’s going way too far. So they jokingly started referring to me as the dance captain and I kept telling them to cop on. Then one day just before the end of the London rehearsals the assistant director came over to me and asked me;
‘Jamie, have you ever done dance captain on a show before?’
‘Yes.’ I lied.
‘Well we were wondering if you would be dance captain on this show for us?’
‘Ah yeah no hassle’ I replied as if it wasn’t a shock, ‘but you do realise that by equity law there would a dance captaincy fee to be paid.’
I’m no fool. I’m a union man and I know me rights and I was right to say that. She said that was fine and from the following week I was handsomely rewarded the princely sum of an extra 28 bob 50 to do what I was already doing for free. How bad. Actually I nearly bit off more than I could chew but that’s a story for next time. The 5 weeks rehearsals in London had finished, the show was in good shape, I was singing well and I had gotten over the disease of being full of shit and not appreciating what I had (the part of the tailor was coming along nicely thank you very much), and the maddest thing had happened, some mental fella had put me in charge of the dancing for the show. Jesus!! I got some load of jeers from the dancers I knew.
The pressure was on, we had one week’s rehearsals to go.
So off to Bath we went.
And not to wash ourselves.
Friday, September 16, 2005
30. BRUSH UP YOUR SHAKESPEARE
I hate the first day of rehearsals.
No, I love the first day of rehearsals, sure its the start of a new job!
Both statements are true.
The thing about your first day on the new gig is that its a serious mixture of fear and excitement. On the one hand your buzzed to be starting a new job and meeting all these new people for the first time. On the other you’re scared shitless because there’s a room full of people you don’t know;
‘Hi I’m Jamie, I’m playing whatever. How’re you?’
And that’s where the conversation ends because you don’t know the person well enough yet to have that matey witty banter. And worst of all you have to do a read through in a minute and you know everyone in the room will judge you straight away on your reading of a script which you probably haven’t read. Actually that last bit is only true if you’re me, most actors have the cop on to read the fecking play before the first day of rehearsals. Not me though. But then again not every actor has just arrived back from a week and a half long session in the Déise the day before. Priorities my good friends, priorities. So like every other first day of rehearsals I hit the road (to Clapham to start Much Ado About Nothing) with a knot in me stomach. I wasn’t too bad because I actually knew a couple of people in the show. Now that always helps! About a month before we started I read in the online edition of that most famous Waterford rag, the Munster Express, that a young actor from town was doing well in England, aw do they mean me? Not a sign! I guess I don’t qualify for the ‘Young’ bit any more. They were doing a bit on Andrew McLoughlin (Stage name Andrew Macklin). Now I remember Andrew from his days in Waterford Youth Drama cos I wrote the music for a few of the shows he was in. Grand chap, good actor and I knew he had hit the road to train in Bristol and then moved to the London and here in this article it announced that he was about to be in Sir Peter Hall’s production of Much Ado About Nothing. Well feck me so was I. Nice one, good to have another blue on board! Then, while I was still hungover at home, I got a text from Richard Stacey, the lucky fecker who got Beckett in the West End last year. He was in the show too and had seen me name on the contact list. Ah deadly! Top head this guy, I had worked with him on a show two years ago. Y’know the one that no one saw except that guy that recognised me at the call centre. Now apart from being an all round nice guy, he’s a classy actor, so it was well excellent to be working with him again. So that was deadly that I knew a couple of heads on the first day, surely that would make the ordeal easier. Again, not a sign. First days are bad enough on their own.
They’re even worse when there’s a film crew in the room as well.
The South Bank show were doing a special for Peter Hall’s 75th birthday and we had been forewarned that there would be cameras in the room on the first day. But Jesus, it was like these guys were filming a summer blockbuster with all the gear they had in the room. Now I may be exaggerating but I tell ya, it really seemed like the case at the time. The first half hour, which is always the ‘meet and greet’, was now spent ducking the cameras. I do want to do more telly, but this was not the right time! But I got caught. I was over talking about old times with el Stacey when I saw Sir Peter making a beeline for me to say hello. The minute he got to me and shook the hand I had a camera in me face and a boom mic over me head. He was very nice and welcoming and said he hoped I was in good voice. And to that I replied:
‘Oh yes. I’m grand, I’ve been back singing in Ireland for the past week sure.’
I’m some pleb. It was some lie because I wasn’t singing I was drinking and it was just a fucking cat thing to say anyway. Where was me trademark witty retorts? Nowhere to be seen! Of course this may now be broadcast to the nation in November. The funny thing is, as much as I don’t want my spastic mumblings to be seen on TV I would get paid if it was shown. Ah well, no one I know watches the South Bank show anyway, just give me the cash! The cameras then stayed for the day which was excruciating. We sat down to do the read through and they set themselves up around us. It didn’t turn out to be a read through in the end as all the way through Sir Peter would stop us and give notes on the delivery of the text. The worst thing ever happened then. One of the actresses was reading her speech from act one and she was stopped, given notes and asked to do it again, and again, and again. He was adamant about how she should speak the lines. Now this is grand and normal practice but the minute Sir Peter started giving her notes the cameras swooped in. There was one on him, another on her and a mic over her head. Time seemed to slow down while all this was happening and we all started to feel a bit queasy and just thankful it wasn’t us. But fair fucks to her she weathered it and didn’t leave it get to her and really just got on with it every time he stopped her. Brave brave lady. Funny thing is I thought she was delivering it really well in the first place. Shows what I know I guess. When they got to my first bit (all 10 lines of it) I tried it in me best RP but got a bit stuck on the ‘TH’s. Of course this doesn’t exist in the Déise accent, they all become a hard ‘T’ or a ‘D’. So my line, which was;
Note this before my notes
There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting.
when you cross Rice bridge becomes:
Note dis before my notes,
Dere’s not a note of mine dat’s wurt de notin’ ........ boy
So its a sound that me mouth just isn’t used to making and I used to get killed for it in drama school. So Sir Peter suggests that I do it in my own accent. That’s cool so, but I’m a bit annoyed as I’m pretty good at accents but that just made me seem like a pleb. Shite on it anyway.
The following day the cameras were gone thank god, but the read through was still going on. We got to the part of the play with the comedy Watchmen, and I was giving my watchman as well as my Balthazar. I lashed into those lines with real vigour, and in me best Congress Place accent. Afterwards Sir Peter commented that he liked the Irish accent for the Watchman so would I mind doing Balthazar in RP? Good stuff. I was getting a chance to redeem me English accent so. Sound. Actually he really really liked the Irish accent, so much so he asked the rest of the people in that scene to affect an Irish brogue. Now I’m not saying I was influential but I was an influence (although of course there was another blaa in the room, Mr. Macklin). The Irish had invaded the world of Will Shakespeare. Actually accents are nothing new to the bard, sure I did Midsummer Night’s Dream as if I worked in Kervick’s, but still I was pleased that I had made some little mark in the rehearsal room.
Now lads I have to state this for it really is the case; I had a really small bit to do in this show, and that beacame all too apparent when we did the two day read through. I sat there agog at some of the other actors (because there was some serious heads in that room let me tell ya.) but really had fuck all to say for meself. Needless to say I was hankering for more lines.
I got more lines.
This happened in two instances. One good, one bad. As always, good news first. When I got this gig I knew it was small and the main reason for the part of Balthazar was to sing one of Shakespeare’s more well known songs, ‘Hey Nonny Nonny’, sing along if you know it. When I browsed through the script before the audition I found that there was another song in the show. Ah that must be for me then. Well not nessecarily, because the lines before it belong to the Claudio part, and the song is attributed to no one so it looks like it should be Claudio singing it. So we came to that bit in the read through, this was the moment of reckoning. Did I have another song? It would have made the job a bit sweeter if I did. As fate would have it I was sitting beside Claudio at that time. I had highlighted all my lines in the script except for that song because I didn’t want to tempt fate. I glanced across the table to find that he had highlighted his lines AND the song. Ah well, he must know something I don’t. I resigned meself to the fate of only having one song. Not a sign. As we got to that bit, Claudio said his lines and just as he was about to speak the song Sir Peter did proclaim;
‘And now we have a song from that well-known Irish tenor.’
Now the well-known and tenor bit was inaccurate but that fact that he said Irish and was pointing at me left me in little doubt that I was gonna be belting out that comeallye in the show. Nice one, the little bit I was doing all of a sudden had more bits. Then the bad instance happened. As I said, as well as playing Balthazar the singer I was also contracted to play one of the comedy watchmen, and these boys had lines. Grand. There was two Watchmen with lines, ingeniously called Watchman 1 and Watchman 2, and No. 1 had more to say than the other. Of course I was hoping that I’d get the meatier bit, but as it transpired it was given to someone else. No hassle. I had my bit and was happy with me lot (and two songs). But that wasn’t the end of it. After the first read through we sat down to read it again and just before we got to the Watch bit I saw sir Peter having a chat with Watchman 1 and telling him that, in the first scene at least he had to give his lines to one of the older actors. Gutting. Now it had shag all to do with anything he was doing because this guy is a class actor, but Don Pedro Hall wanted a more senior gent doing that bit. And that’s how shitty this business can be, you have feck all to do in a show and you find that they can even take that feck all away from ya. At least he had the lines in the second watch scene. Well no, he didn’t. When we got to that scene Sir Peter pointed at me and told me to say those lines. Aw fuck. But what do you do? Its not like you can tell the director that you think the other fella should do it. I felt like a bastard but it wasn’t my fault. But I still didn’t stand up to Sir Peter. How could I.
The part was shitty but the real reason I was in that room and had waited a brain numbing, call centre working age to do this job was to work with Peter Hall. Let me tell you, you knew you were in the presence of a legend in that room. I sat there (not saying anything because I had fuck all to say) and took it all in. Now I’ve done Shakespeare before, I mean I was feckin nominated for best young classical actor, but in that room I realised I didn’t have a clue. After a couple of days he sat us down and gave us a lecture on how to deliver Shakespearean text and this was from the boy who wrote the book on it (no seriously he did ‘Shakespeare’s Advice to the Players’ by Peter Hall, available at all good bookshops). I realised in that couple of hours that I had really just busked it and got lucky the last time I did a classical play. Now it was all laid bare and it made a lot of sense to me because he described it in musical terms, the rhythm of the verse, how at a line ending you should pause ever so minutely, like taking the foot off the sustain pedal when playing the piano. Lovely. It was an acting lesson I was getting paid for. Sound!
So after all the waiting it had finally begun and within the first week I had gotten more lines, another song, learned how to speak the Shakespeare, and made a whole scene feckin Irish. As they always say;
‘There’s no such thing as small parts, only small players.’
Too right boy.
No, I love the first day of rehearsals, sure its the start of a new job!
Both statements are true.
The thing about your first day on the new gig is that its a serious mixture of fear and excitement. On the one hand your buzzed to be starting a new job and meeting all these new people for the first time. On the other you’re scared shitless because there’s a room full of people you don’t know;
‘Hi I’m Jamie, I’m playing whatever. How’re you?’
And that’s where the conversation ends because you don’t know the person well enough yet to have that matey witty banter. And worst of all you have to do a read through in a minute and you know everyone in the room will judge you straight away on your reading of a script which you probably haven’t read. Actually that last bit is only true if you’re me, most actors have the cop on to read the fecking play before the first day of rehearsals. Not me though. But then again not every actor has just arrived back from a week and a half long session in the Déise the day before. Priorities my good friends, priorities. So like every other first day of rehearsals I hit the road (to Clapham to start Much Ado About Nothing) with a knot in me stomach. I wasn’t too bad because I actually knew a couple of people in the show. Now that always helps! About a month before we started I read in the online edition of that most famous Waterford rag, the Munster Express, that a young actor from town was doing well in England, aw do they mean me? Not a sign! I guess I don’t qualify for the ‘Young’ bit any more. They were doing a bit on Andrew McLoughlin (Stage name Andrew Macklin). Now I remember Andrew from his days in Waterford Youth Drama cos I wrote the music for a few of the shows he was in. Grand chap, good actor and I knew he had hit the road to train in Bristol and then moved to the London and here in this article it announced that he was about to be in Sir Peter Hall’s production of Much Ado About Nothing. Well feck me so was I. Nice one, good to have another blue on board! Then, while I was still hungover at home, I got a text from Richard Stacey, the lucky fecker who got Beckett in the West End last year. He was in the show too and had seen me name on the contact list. Ah deadly! Top head this guy, I had worked with him on a show two years ago. Y’know the one that no one saw except that guy that recognised me at the call centre. Now apart from being an all round nice guy, he’s a classy actor, so it was well excellent to be working with him again. So that was deadly that I knew a couple of heads on the first day, surely that would make the ordeal easier. Again, not a sign. First days are bad enough on their own.
They’re even worse when there’s a film crew in the room as well.
The South Bank show were doing a special for Peter Hall’s 75th birthday and we had been forewarned that there would be cameras in the room on the first day. But Jesus, it was like these guys were filming a summer blockbuster with all the gear they had in the room. Now I may be exaggerating but I tell ya, it really seemed like the case at the time. The first half hour, which is always the ‘meet and greet’, was now spent ducking the cameras. I do want to do more telly, but this was not the right time! But I got caught. I was over talking about old times with el Stacey when I saw Sir Peter making a beeline for me to say hello. The minute he got to me and shook the hand I had a camera in me face and a boom mic over me head. He was very nice and welcoming and said he hoped I was in good voice. And to that I replied:
‘Oh yes. I’m grand, I’ve been back singing in Ireland for the past week sure.’
I’m some pleb. It was some lie because I wasn’t singing I was drinking and it was just a fucking cat thing to say anyway. Where was me trademark witty retorts? Nowhere to be seen! Of course this may now be broadcast to the nation in November. The funny thing is, as much as I don’t want my spastic mumblings to be seen on TV I would get paid if it was shown. Ah well, no one I know watches the South Bank show anyway, just give me the cash! The cameras then stayed for the day which was excruciating. We sat down to do the read through and they set themselves up around us. It didn’t turn out to be a read through in the end as all the way through Sir Peter would stop us and give notes on the delivery of the text. The worst thing ever happened then. One of the actresses was reading her speech from act one and she was stopped, given notes and asked to do it again, and again, and again. He was adamant about how she should speak the lines. Now this is grand and normal practice but the minute Sir Peter started giving her notes the cameras swooped in. There was one on him, another on her and a mic over her head. Time seemed to slow down while all this was happening and we all started to feel a bit queasy and just thankful it wasn’t us. But fair fucks to her she weathered it and didn’t leave it get to her and really just got on with it every time he stopped her. Brave brave lady. Funny thing is I thought she was delivering it really well in the first place. Shows what I know I guess. When they got to my first bit (all 10 lines of it) I tried it in me best RP but got a bit stuck on the ‘TH’s. Of course this doesn’t exist in the Déise accent, they all become a hard ‘T’ or a ‘D’. So my line, which was;
Note this before my notes
There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting.
when you cross Rice bridge becomes:
Note dis before my notes,
Dere’s not a note of mine dat’s wurt de notin’ ........ boy
So its a sound that me mouth just isn’t used to making and I used to get killed for it in drama school. So Sir Peter suggests that I do it in my own accent. That’s cool so, but I’m a bit annoyed as I’m pretty good at accents but that just made me seem like a pleb. Shite on it anyway.
The following day the cameras were gone thank god, but the read through was still going on. We got to the part of the play with the comedy Watchmen, and I was giving my watchman as well as my Balthazar. I lashed into those lines with real vigour, and in me best Congress Place accent. Afterwards Sir Peter commented that he liked the Irish accent for the Watchman so would I mind doing Balthazar in RP? Good stuff. I was getting a chance to redeem me English accent so. Sound. Actually he really really liked the Irish accent, so much so he asked the rest of the people in that scene to affect an Irish brogue. Now I’m not saying I was influential but I was an influence (although of course there was another blaa in the room, Mr. Macklin). The Irish had invaded the world of Will Shakespeare. Actually accents are nothing new to the bard, sure I did Midsummer Night’s Dream as if I worked in Kervick’s, but still I was pleased that I had made some little mark in the rehearsal room.
Now lads I have to state this for it really is the case; I had a really small bit to do in this show, and that beacame all too apparent when we did the two day read through. I sat there agog at some of the other actors (because there was some serious heads in that room let me tell ya.) but really had fuck all to say for meself. Needless to say I was hankering for more lines.
I got more lines.
This happened in two instances. One good, one bad. As always, good news first. When I got this gig I knew it was small and the main reason for the part of Balthazar was to sing one of Shakespeare’s more well known songs, ‘Hey Nonny Nonny’, sing along if you know it. When I browsed through the script before the audition I found that there was another song in the show. Ah that must be for me then. Well not nessecarily, because the lines before it belong to the Claudio part, and the song is attributed to no one so it looks like it should be Claudio singing it. So we came to that bit in the read through, this was the moment of reckoning. Did I have another song? It would have made the job a bit sweeter if I did. As fate would have it I was sitting beside Claudio at that time. I had highlighted all my lines in the script except for that song because I didn’t want to tempt fate. I glanced across the table to find that he had highlighted his lines AND the song. Ah well, he must know something I don’t. I resigned meself to the fate of only having one song. Not a sign. As we got to that bit, Claudio said his lines and just as he was about to speak the song Sir Peter did proclaim;
‘And now we have a song from that well-known Irish tenor.’
Now the well-known and tenor bit was inaccurate but that fact that he said Irish and was pointing at me left me in little doubt that I was gonna be belting out that comeallye in the show. Nice one, the little bit I was doing all of a sudden had more bits. Then the bad instance happened. As I said, as well as playing Balthazar the singer I was also contracted to play one of the comedy watchmen, and these boys had lines. Grand. There was two Watchmen with lines, ingeniously called Watchman 1 and Watchman 2, and No. 1 had more to say than the other. Of course I was hoping that I’d get the meatier bit, but as it transpired it was given to someone else. No hassle. I had my bit and was happy with me lot (and two songs). But that wasn’t the end of it. After the first read through we sat down to read it again and just before we got to the Watch bit I saw sir Peter having a chat with Watchman 1 and telling him that, in the first scene at least he had to give his lines to one of the older actors. Gutting. Now it had shag all to do with anything he was doing because this guy is a class actor, but Don Pedro Hall wanted a more senior gent doing that bit. And that’s how shitty this business can be, you have feck all to do in a show and you find that they can even take that feck all away from ya. At least he had the lines in the second watch scene. Well no, he didn’t. When we got to that scene Sir Peter pointed at me and told me to say those lines. Aw fuck. But what do you do? Its not like you can tell the director that you think the other fella should do it. I felt like a bastard but it wasn’t my fault. But I still didn’t stand up to Sir Peter. How could I.
The part was shitty but the real reason I was in that room and had waited a brain numbing, call centre working age to do this job was to work with Peter Hall. Let me tell you, you knew you were in the presence of a legend in that room. I sat there (not saying anything because I had fuck all to say) and took it all in. Now I’ve done Shakespeare before, I mean I was feckin nominated for best young classical actor, but in that room I realised I didn’t have a clue. After a couple of days he sat us down and gave us a lecture on how to deliver Shakespearean text and this was from the boy who wrote the book on it (no seriously he did ‘Shakespeare’s Advice to the Players’ by Peter Hall, available at all good bookshops). I realised in that couple of hours that I had really just busked it and got lucky the last time I did a classical play. Now it was all laid bare and it made a lot of sense to me because he described it in musical terms, the rhythm of the verse, how at a line ending you should pause ever so minutely, like taking the foot off the sustain pedal when playing the piano. Lovely. It was an acting lesson I was getting paid for. Sound!
So after all the waiting it had finally begun and within the first week I had gotten more lines, another song, learned how to speak the Shakespeare, and made a whole scene feckin Irish. As they always say;
‘There’s no such thing as small parts, only small players.’
Too right boy.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
29. JIMMY THREE JOBS
(crap ones that is)
Here follows a tale of shite jobs that may astound you. Or probably not.
The end was in sight, there was a light at the end of the tunnel and my three months of unemployment were about to become merely a horrible memory for Much Ado was in sight!!!
About feckin time!
God what a wait. Jesus the pain of working in that crappy call centre every day. I was really pulling me hair out with that shit job, you'd have to do at least 45 hours a week to make any kind of decent money. Every Wednesday I'd give in the hours I wanted for the following week, y'know like signing away me life and then you have to call back on the Friday and find out what you actually got. So I'd put in for 45 hours which meant I'd get £292.50 (a far cry from the west end let me tell ya!!) but of course I'd ring on Friday only to be told that I was only working 16 hours the following week!!! £104!!!! Jesus me rent is feckin £117 a week how the hell could I survive? And then they would just ring you and cancel shifts left right and centre. I earned £50 one week. I was at me wits end. Christ I might be homeless by the time Much Ado arrives. I tried everything to get a new job including sending CVs around all the West End theatres to see if I could get some stage crew work (there was no way I was going back to front of house!), but no one called back. But I got lucky towards the end, well as lucky as you can get with crap jobs. I got a call from my most honourable friend Haruka Kuroda to say that they badly needed someone for the day at the office she was working. What kind of office pray tell?
Market research.
No but hang on, this time it wasn't about Aloe Vera scrub, it was about films. Grand. This was one of the companies who organise and run test screenings for the big movie studios along with lots of other audience research activities. I went in that first day and did a bit at the computer for them and then they started ringing with more work and it was money for jam let me tell ya! All I had to do was go to screenings in different parts of London and hand out all the questionnaires at the end of the movie (which of course I got to watch as well) and then I'd have to go to the office and input all the data from the questionnaires the following day (which is known in that business as coding dontchaknow). It wasn't brain surgery but it was light years better than the fucking call centre! Among other things I got to see a new and very crap Sean Bean horror movie and a very rough cut of the new Herbie film in which they hadn't finished all the special effects yet so it was a bit of a mess. I also got to read what the general population thought of these films. And they'd come up with some weird and wonderful answers on the questionnaires. Me favourite went thus:
Q.3: What was your favourite part of 'Herbie: Fully Loaded'?
A: Lindsay Lohan, man she was looking fine.
Q.4: What was your least favourite part of 'Herbie: Fully Loaded'?
A: When Lindsay Lohan was kissing that bloke, because it wasn't me!
Now while that doesn't seem too mad to read, you might think different if I told you the answers were from an 11 year old boy! My they do grow up quick these days. But seriously it was really great to get out of the soul destroying atmosphere of the call centre and the money was good. The coding and the handing out of leaflets were boring but feck it it wasn't for much longer as Much Ado was on the way. Ah sure hold on though what am I thinking? New job coming up? Surely there's something important to do before I start. Of course!! A trip back to Congress Place for a feed of Bulmers, Blaas and craic! It had to be done, when I start rehearsals on the 16th of May I wouldn't be able to go home until at least the 27th of August. Fuck that! I'll be getting withdrawals. So I prayed to the gods of ryanair.com and got meself a cheapo flight to Caaahhhrrrkkk to bring me home for nearly 2 weeks. Lovely, although I had a serious dose of the Déise one weekend when the ruler of Red Kettle Ben Hennessy and the other good singer from Waterford called Jamie, the chap of the Murphys, came over for the weekend. Now it might have been just a serious session as (Brian) Dots and (Keith) Dunph joined us for some scoops but we were sitting in a pub when Jamie announces that he and his lack (Tish who's sitting beside him) had gotten engaged the night before. Then mayhem broke loose and after muchos champagne and singing songs in Laurence Olivier's old dressing room, the night ended with me and Jamie eile trying to open the lock on the fridge in the bar in their hotel, Brian Dots falling asleep on the night bus home and waking in the arse end of South London (or possibly Kent) and Ben Hen wandering around Bexleyheath at 6 in the morning trying to find his sister in law's. Oh classy we. I won't even go into the following evening's jollity but suffice it to say I nearly got the P45 off me lack!! It was cool though because we were all celebrating something; Dots had just got a gig at the Royal National Theatre, Dunph had just been cast in a film, Ben's wife was about to pop a child, Jamie had the fáinne on the finger and I was off to work with Peter Hall. Go on the Déise boys.
So I relaxed with three weeks to go knowing I was going home which meant that the end of the crap job syndrome was coming even sooner.
Or so I thought.
The week before I was to head Irelandwards I was booked for a few days work with the film research crowd. Grand that'll give me a few shekels to party in Waterford with. Nah. It got cancelled. The big boys in LA rang and cancelled the screening so all me work was gone!! Shit. That is not good at all. No work a week before I go home, no large bottles for me then!!! I hopped on the phone to Turns (the crowd that ruined me life with the call centre job on the first place) and they had some work for the following week. Give me it so, I'm desperate. What is it? Research. Ah right more of that. Well not exactly. It was to knock on peoples doors on behalf of Islington council and ask them two questions about their phone line with regards to digital TV.
Ah shite.
All right it wasn't selling door to door or anything too taxing but the doors we had to knock on were in big blocks of council flats. I feared for me life let me tell ya. Feck it just grin and bear it and take the money and run. But fuck me talk about how the other half lives. Now I'm being very unfair in saying that because not all of the residents were knackers, but a lot of them were smelly and obviously out of their box on drugs and still in their pyjamas at 5 in the evening. That said I knocked on the door of some very nice people whose flats looked very nice indeed. They were the flats with the bars on their doors though! I reassured meself that it was ok to do this because no one knows me. Then, on one of the days, I stopped a lady just before she went into her flat and I had already done the questionnaire with her the previous day, but before she went she says to me:
'Were you working at Regent's Park a couple of years ago?'
I'd been recognised. This was a weird thing because I supposed she had seen me in one of the shows at the park, which is cool because I had some nice parts in the Shakespeare's that year, but here I was with a clipboard in me hand playing knockadolly for 8 pound an hour. Not very showbiz (or thinking about the amount of out of work actors its actually VERY showbiz). Well at least it made me look good in front of the other resting actors doing the job with me, so I decided to take it as a good thing that she recognised me and spake thus;
'Yeah that's right, I'm going back there again this summer actually. I'm only doing this inbetween y'know. Did you see Two Gentlemen of Verona or the dream?'
'Oh no I didn't see you in anything, my daughter did her work experience there two years ago and she recognised you that's all.'
Well that brought me down a peg or two. Ha ha. On the last day we don't knock on every door as there's another guy in the same building who's trying to sell phones door to door, so we start getting threatened when we call. Feck that for a laugh! This is exactly the kind of shite job that only actors will do but no one wants to get a slap in the head. So we head off to a cafe and waste a couple of paid hours. And thankfully that's the end of the worst job ever. But that was a funny week as at the start of it the phone went and twas not the agent but the shithead call centre begging me to do some hours that week. Now to hell with them because they had fucked me about so much over the past load of weeks, but I was going back home and the more money I had the more fun it would be so I agreed to do a day for them. And so I went in and did feck all for the day, I really took the piss just sitting there and not calling anyone, it was me last day there ever, I promised meself that. The phone went a second time that week (again not the agent) from the film research company this time asking me would I go to Chester to do exit polls on Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Exit polls are when you hand out questionnaires to audience members before they go in to see a movie which has just opened and you hope they fill them in and you collect them at the end. Easy gig, but chester is oop north of England and the cinema was in a retail park in the middle of nowhere, so I'd have to catch a train on the saturday at 8am get there by 12 meet 4 local plebs who were to help me and stay at the cinema 'til 11.30pm then stay at a hotel, get the train back to London the following morning and sit in the office for the day coding all the answers! Not so easy gig after all. But they were paying me £180 with all food, travel and accomodation paid for ..... I'm your man! While it was a bit like pulling teeth and the 4 plebs were indeed plebs, the hotel was a swish 4-star jobby with a deadly breakfast and at the end of the day the money was grand and much needed.
So I came to the end of a long and arduous 3 months of 'resting', which I might say is a bullshit term. Actors who are out of work are 'unemployed actors'. Simple as. It's the shite time and the search is still on for the perfect inbetween job. I certainly haven't found it yet. It was the longest time I'd been been out of work since the original famine after drama school. Rough time, but that's the business. You end up wishing your life away waiting to start the next gig. Of course for all me giving out the gas thing is in the final week of me prison sentence I actually did 3 different crap jobs. Mad. But it was worth it because the trip home was the business. The same mad craic as usual, with many a morning waking up on a couch in Morley terrace after missing 'The People Beneath the Stairs' and many an evening buckled over laughing at the tall tales of the liar de paoir. Best ever though was visiting the new lap dancing club on the hill of Ballybricken. 'The Thrill on the Hill' has a new meaning thanks to the arrival of Whispers and its eastern European lovelies. The night we went up there the bouncer on the door stopped us and said:
'Now lads before you go in I have to tell ye a few rules.'
Then he pointed at Q.
'Except for you boy, you've heard them enough times already.'
Some unreal, It had only been open about a week and a half and the bouncers knew him already. Good man. Inside it was grand but I just couldn't get it out of me head that I was sitting in a lapdancing club in the Déise! Some buzz. But all good things that have to come to an end indeed do come to an end. As always I hate leaving home, that strange twinge in me stomach as I cross the bridge or pass Ballnaneise. If the work was there I'd stay there. Ah well. This time though it wasn't nearly as bad as the previous couple of times.
I was finally starting rehearsals for Much Ado on the Monday.
It was worth the wait.
Here follows a tale of shite jobs that may astound you. Or probably not.
The end was in sight, there was a light at the end of the tunnel and my three months of unemployment were about to become merely a horrible memory for Much Ado was in sight!!!
About feckin time!
God what a wait. Jesus the pain of working in that crappy call centre every day. I was really pulling me hair out with that shit job, you'd have to do at least 45 hours a week to make any kind of decent money. Every Wednesday I'd give in the hours I wanted for the following week, y'know like signing away me life and then you have to call back on the Friday and find out what you actually got. So I'd put in for 45 hours which meant I'd get £292.50 (a far cry from the west end let me tell ya!!) but of course I'd ring on Friday only to be told that I was only working 16 hours the following week!!! £104!!!! Jesus me rent is feckin £117 a week how the hell could I survive? And then they would just ring you and cancel shifts left right and centre. I earned £50 one week. I was at me wits end. Christ I might be homeless by the time Much Ado arrives. I tried everything to get a new job including sending CVs around all the West End theatres to see if I could get some stage crew work (there was no way I was going back to front of house!), but no one called back. But I got lucky towards the end, well as lucky as you can get with crap jobs. I got a call from my most honourable friend Haruka Kuroda to say that they badly needed someone for the day at the office she was working. What kind of office pray tell?
Market research.
No but hang on, this time it wasn't about Aloe Vera scrub, it was about films. Grand. This was one of the companies who organise and run test screenings for the big movie studios along with lots of other audience research activities. I went in that first day and did a bit at the computer for them and then they started ringing with more work and it was money for jam let me tell ya! All I had to do was go to screenings in different parts of London and hand out all the questionnaires at the end of the movie (which of course I got to watch as well) and then I'd have to go to the office and input all the data from the questionnaires the following day (which is known in that business as coding dontchaknow). It wasn't brain surgery but it was light years better than the fucking call centre! Among other things I got to see a new and very crap Sean Bean horror movie and a very rough cut of the new Herbie film in which they hadn't finished all the special effects yet so it was a bit of a mess. I also got to read what the general population thought of these films. And they'd come up with some weird and wonderful answers on the questionnaires. Me favourite went thus:
Q.3: What was your favourite part of 'Herbie: Fully Loaded'?
A: Lindsay Lohan, man she was looking fine.
Q.4: What was your least favourite part of 'Herbie: Fully Loaded'?
A: When Lindsay Lohan was kissing that bloke, because it wasn't me!
Now while that doesn't seem too mad to read, you might think different if I told you the answers were from an 11 year old boy! My they do grow up quick these days. But seriously it was really great to get out of the soul destroying atmosphere of the call centre and the money was good. The coding and the handing out of leaflets were boring but feck it it wasn't for much longer as Much Ado was on the way. Ah sure hold on though what am I thinking? New job coming up? Surely there's something important to do before I start. Of course!! A trip back to Congress Place for a feed of Bulmers, Blaas and craic! It had to be done, when I start rehearsals on the 16th of May I wouldn't be able to go home until at least the 27th of August. Fuck that! I'll be getting withdrawals. So I prayed to the gods of ryanair.com and got meself a cheapo flight to Caaahhhrrrkkk to bring me home for nearly 2 weeks. Lovely, although I had a serious dose of the Déise one weekend when the ruler of Red Kettle Ben Hennessy and the other good singer from Waterford called Jamie, the chap of the Murphys, came over for the weekend. Now it might have been just a serious session as (Brian) Dots and (Keith) Dunph joined us for some scoops but we were sitting in a pub when Jamie announces that he and his lack (Tish who's sitting beside him) had gotten engaged the night before. Then mayhem broke loose and after muchos champagne and singing songs in Laurence Olivier's old dressing room, the night ended with me and Jamie eile trying to open the lock on the fridge in the bar in their hotel, Brian Dots falling asleep on the night bus home and waking in the arse end of South London (or possibly Kent) and Ben Hen wandering around Bexleyheath at 6 in the morning trying to find his sister in law's. Oh classy we. I won't even go into the following evening's jollity but suffice it to say I nearly got the P45 off me lack!! It was cool though because we were all celebrating something; Dots had just got a gig at the Royal National Theatre, Dunph had just been cast in a film, Ben's wife was about to pop a child, Jamie had the fáinne on the finger and I was off to work with Peter Hall. Go on the Déise boys.
So I relaxed with three weeks to go knowing I was going home which meant that the end of the crap job syndrome was coming even sooner.
Or so I thought.
The week before I was to head Irelandwards I was booked for a few days work with the film research crowd. Grand that'll give me a few shekels to party in Waterford with. Nah. It got cancelled. The big boys in LA rang and cancelled the screening so all me work was gone!! Shit. That is not good at all. No work a week before I go home, no large bottles for me then!!! I hopped on the phone to Turns (the crowd that ruined me life with the call centre job on the first place) and they had some work for the following week. Give me it so, I'm desperate. What is it? Research. Ah right more of that. Well not exactly. It was to knock on peoples doors on behalf of Islington council and ask them two questions about their phone line with regards to digital TV.
Ah shite.
All right it wasn't selling door to door or anything too taxing but the doors we had to knock on were in big blocks of council flats. I feared for me life let me tell ya. Feck it just grin and bear it and take the money and run. But fuck me talk about how the other half lives. Now I'm being very unfair in saying that because not all of the residents were knackers, but a lot of them were smelly and obviously out of their box on drugs and still in their pyjamas at 5 in the evening. That said I knocked on the door of some very nice people whose flats looked very nice indeed. They were the flats with the bars on their doors though! I reassured meself that it was ok to do this because no one knows me. Then, on one of the days, I stopped a lady just before she went into her flat and I had already done the questionnaire with her the previous day, but before she went she says to me:
'Were you working at Regent's Park a couple of years ago?'
I'd been recognised. This was a weird thing because I supposed she had seen me in one of the shows at the park, which is cool because I had some nice parts in the Shakespeare's that year, but here I was with a clipboard in me hand playing knockadolly for 8 pound an hour. Not very showbiz (or thinking about the amount of out of work actors its actually VERY showbiz). Well at least it made me look good in front of the other resting actors doing the job with me, so I decided to take it as a good thing that she recognised me and spake thus;
'Yeah that's right, I'm going back there again this summer actually. I'm only doing this inbetween y'know. Did you see Two Gentlemen of Verona or the dream?'
'Oh no I didn't see you in anything, my daughter did her work experience there two years ago and she recognised you that's all.'
Well that brought me down a peg or two. Ha ha. On the last day we don't knock on every door as there's another guy in the same building who's trying to sell phones door to door, so we start getting threatened when we call. Feck that for a laugh! This is exactly the kind of shite job that only actors will do but no one wants to get a slap in the head. So we head off to a cafe and waste a couple of paid hours. And thankfully that's the end of the worst job ever. But that was a funny week as at the start of it the phone went and twas not the agent but the shithead call centre begging me to do some hours that week. Now to hell with them because they had fucked me about so much over the past load of weeks, but I was going back home and the more money I had the more fun it would be so I agreed to do a day for them. And so I went in and did feck all for the day, I really took the piss just sitting there and not calling anyone, it was me last day there ever, I promised meself that. The phone went a second time that week (again not the agent) from the film research company this time asking me would I go to Chester to do exit polls on Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Exit polls are when you hand out questionnaires to audience members before they go in to see a movie which has just opened and you hope they fill them in and you collect them at the end. Easy gig, but chester is oop north of England and the cinema was in a retail park in the middle of nowhere, so I'd have to catch a train on the saturday at 8am get there by 12 meet 4 local plebs who were to help me and stay at the cinema 'til 11.30pm then stay at a hotel, get the train back to London the following morning and sit in the office for the day coding all the answers! Not so easy gig after all. But they were paying me £180 with all food, travel and accomodation paid for ..... I'm your man! While it was a bit like pulling teeth and the 4 plebs were indeed plebs, the hotel was a swish 4-star jobby with a deadly breakfast and at the end of the day the money was grand and much needed.
So I came to the end of a long and arduous 3 months of 'resting', which I might say is a bullshit term. Actors who are out of work are 'unemployed actors'. Simple as. It's the shite time and the search is still on for the perfect inbetween job. I certainly haven't found it yet. It was the longest time I'd been been out of work since the original famine after drama school. Rough time, but that's the business. You end up wishing your life away waiting to start the next gig. Of course for all me giving out the gas thing is in the final week of me prison sentence I actually did 3 different crap jobs. Mad. But it was worth it because the trip home was the business. The same mad craic as usual, with many a morning waking up on a couch in Morley terrace after missing 'The People Beneath the Stairs' and many an evening buckled over laughing at the tall tales of the liar de paoir. Best ever though was visiting the new lap dancing club on the hill of Ballybricken. 'The Thrill on the Hill' has a new meaning thanks to the arrival of Whispers and its eastern European lovelies. The night we went up there the bouncer on the door stopped us and said:
'Now lads before you go in I have to tell ye a few rules.'
Then he pointed at Q.
'Except for you boy, you've heard them enough times already.'
Some unreal, It had only been open about a week and a half and the bouncers knew him already. Good man. Inside it was grand but I just couldn't get it out of me head that I was sitting in a lapdancing club in the Déise! Some buzz. But all good things that have to come to an end indeed do come to an end. As always I hate leaving home, that strange twinge in me stomach as I cross the bridge or pass Ballnaneise. If the work was there I'd stay there. Ah well. This time though it wasn't nearly as bad as the previous couple of times.
I was finally starting rehearsals for Much Ado on the Monday.
It was worth the wait.
Monday, July 25, 2005
28. WHEN YOUR LIFE FLASHES BEFORE YOU
They say just before you die your life flashes before you.
Who says that? The people who would know that to be true are dead for feck sake! Well I had me life flash before me eyes but it wasn't just before I died (I hope you'll be glad to know), it was during a play reading at the Royal National Theatre Studio. Confused? You will be.
But first a history lesson. Back in 2002 I had just been on tour for 8 months with Pirates and needed to get a flat and what do ya know me and my fine friend Mr. Richard (Dickie) Hardwick fell on our feet and got ourselves a flat in the Waterloo area of the London. Now this was a bit of a coup as Waterloo is well central and especially brilliant if you're a starving actor. It meant feck all money on travel as you mostly walked everywhere and then you could fall home after a mental sesúin in Shutts, also the money we were paying for the rent was peanuts compared to what it should be in that area because the landlord was buying it off the council and subletting it to us. Deadly. Theatre wise the Old Vic was around the corner, the Royal National Theatre is up the road and you're 15 minutes swift walk into the middle of the West End. We were on some winner here. It would have been an even bigger winner if either of us had've had a job in the West End, but alas no. Looking back on those mental Waterloo days there's one thing that always sticks out in me and Richard's minds. The Duke of Sussex. This was the pub to end all pubs, exactly what you expect a London pub to look and be like including, and most especially, the perfect landlord; 'Honest Dave'. Now here was a man you didn't mess with and yet had a heart of gold. The first day we walked into the pub, not knowing anyone, I asked for two pints of cider.
'Would you like a nice, refreshing slice of orange in your cider?' he asked.
What was this man on? Orange in me hallowed cider. Not a sign boy!
'No, listen, you WANT a slice of orange in your cider master.'
At that moment I knew he wasn't a man to be messed with, not because he was rough but merely because he was right, me cider tasted lovely. A new local had been found!! And a few weeks after that we had the session to end all sessions which installed us both as permanent fixtures of this establishment. Honest Dave loved his music and you would find karaoke on in there most nights and every Thursday night he had a live piano player. That fateful Thursday night I came in just before closing to meet Richard and a few of the lads, I had just rolled out of work at the London Eye, I thought I'd just be in time for the last one. No way boy! 11.30 and the doors were shut and we were all looking at each other with the same thought in our heads; LOCK IN! Too right! That old piano player, Cliff Hall, was still tinkling the ivories and suddenly Honest Dave was bringing out tambourines from the back of the pub. Before I could realise what was going on I was up the top of the pub mic in one hand tambourine in the other and hollering Mustang Sally. By 1am I had me guitar in the room being played by me mate Gav and I was on the feckin piano (I must have been well pissed so) and Honest Dave was proclaiming;
'If the police come knockin' you know what to tell 'em lads. We're 'avin' choir practice! You lucky people!'
We certainly were, the beer had been free from the minute we opened our mouths to sing. At one stage we ran out of popular songs that we knew so we started singing our audition songs. 3 in the morning and we were still hopping. Honest Dave didn't care. This man was a bona fide legend.
'Would I lie to you, I mean would I lie to you?'
' 'ere I've got a great tip on on 'orse runnin' tomorrow.'
'Bosh!'
He had his fingers in many pies, he was a mason, he used to be a champion amateur boxer and I could go on and on, because in fairness he did go on and on, he was some man for a story. And he loved his music; Sinatra, Deano all the greats he'd sing at his own karaoke. Richard eventually ended up hosting the karaoke there every weekend (although try as he might he could never get me to do a night on the piano). And so we spent the best part of a year frequently frequenting Honest Dave's and many a mad lock in was had all under the hospitality of a character so rich you could nearly write a play about him.
Funny I should mention that.
Lets fast forward over the adverts to the present day then. I'm working the shitty jobs waiting for Much Ado to kick off and Richard is just back from a 14 month tour of Grease. Now for a period when we were in the Waterloo flat Richard considered giving up acting and becoming a writer and he did a couple of courses and wrote a couple of small bits but nothing really substantial. We always joked about doing a play about all the shit that went on in the Duke of Sussex. I jokingly said he should call it 'Karaoke Kings'. When I said that he had a mad glint in his eye which I just ignored because in fairness he's nuts anyway. Nearly two years later when he's telling me that he's been working on some writing while on tour I similarly put it down to slight mental illness. When he finishes the tour he then says that he's going to give up the acting to be a writer at which point I know he's lost his marbles. Then the phone goes and its not the agent for I have two jobs lined up, but it is Richard;
'Hey, I've just had an interview at the Royal National Theatre Studio and they're giving me a four week placement in one of their writer's spaces. They really liked the idea for Karaoke Kings. They're paying me to go in and write every day.'
The jammy bastard! I'm still on the phones and he's getting paid to do what I do in this diary for free; write about his life. The question now was would Richard actually sit down and write karaoke kings or would he just sit messing on the internet every day? Nope, he wrote. He wrote lots. The mad fecker only finished the play in 4 weeks. I have to say I was deeply impressed. I'm not saying that I had me doubts ..... but I had me doubts. Richard you see is a man of many mad ideas, they roll out of him at an alarming rate, but I have trouble remembering many that he's seen through to completion. But he actually wrote a full two act play!
And it was great.
As he was writing it he was emailing and giving it to me scene by scene and the more I was reading it the more I was enjoying it, of course the mad thing is that I was kind of reading about an era in my life. There was a bit of artistic license and some of the details were changed (he had me working front of house at the National Theatre rather than the London Eye and I was rehearsing a fringe play called 'The Incredible Hunk' which came straight from his warped imagination) but the two main stories, Dave's continuing estrangement with his son and Dickie's battles with the regular karaoke host had more than a passing semblance to the truth. It was mad, while I was reading it I could see it really clearly, it was a terrific reconstruction of how things worked in the Duke of Sussex but as well as that is was just a good feckin story. And he got Dave spot on. All the catchphrases, the storytelling, the fun, but also this underlying sorrow and regret that you know is there. As I read it it was clear that this is a part that any actor of a certain age would give their left bollock to play. The way he envisioned the play was that there would only be three actors; One playing Honest Dave and the other two playing everyone else. This I thought was a great Idea, I mean it worked brilliantly with Stones in his Pockets and most of all it would mean two big show off roles for me and Richard. Oh yes that was our plan for West End domination. Now that might sound like him doing all the work and me reaping all the benefits but please remember that I did give him the title for the play and that's extremely important. As one casting director once told me;
'Do you know why I think Calico failed? Because of its name. Its too vague. I mean who would be interested in seeing a play called Calico? Not many obviously.'
Strange sentiments but there you go. Anyway Richard had written this great play (with a genius title) but what are a load of lines on a page if no one gets to read them. It was lucky so that part of the deal of his placement was a rehearsed reading at the end. The director that was reading the play while he was writing it was of the opinion that, seeing as the possibility was there, they should use different actors for each part for the reading rather than just two. Ah shite, that was a pity but I didn't mind too much as long as I was part of it in some way. And I would be part of it of course, wouldn't I Richard? Wouldn't I? Richard? RICHARD? Not a worry boy, that buachaill is a buddy for a reason and indeed he hired me to come in to read the small but crucial role of Jamie in the play.
I had some little experience in playing such a role.
On the day of the reading I strolled down to the National Theatre Studio which is ironically only a 2 minute walk from Honest Dave's pub and went in to find myself as part of a troupe of actors, most of whom were currently playing at the 'Nash' themselves. These guys and girls were heavyweights and when we sat down to read the play it fucking hopped off the page. I mean I thought it was good when I read it but now, hearing it out loud, it was on a whole new level all of a sudden. It was so weird as well because I really thought Honest Dave was in the room, the actor playing him (Keith Bartlett) got him so spot on it was scary.
'Bosh! You lucky people.'
And the guy playing the rival karaoke host was unreal. James Corden, who you'd know straight away as a 'me man off the telly' got the sad sack, dickheaded nature of (name withheld for fear of legal action) bang on, and there was even a role in the play which I urged Richard to cut or change that suddenly worked for me when I heard it read aloud by the actor in the room.
And I played meself.
Dave: Drink Jamie?
Jamie: Cheers. Cider please Dave.
Now that's a lot harder than you think. You kind of have to stop acting in a way, but then you can't really do that because what's happening is in the action of the play and not real life so there must be a separate quality to it. Fuck it I haven't clue what I did really, it was such a surreal experience to see (or at least hear) this part of me life (with artistic embellishment) acted out by other people. Me life flashing before me eyes in a play. How feckin showbiz! We read over it in the morning (you could see that the actors really liked it) and then whacked into it properly in the afternoon with a small few people from the National watching, and it was the business. I was pissing meself anew at stuff I had read weeks previous. The people that were watching seemed to really enjoy it. And every so often I catch Richard's eye as he's watching and he's over the feckin moon, he can't believe his luck. Jesus I can't believe his luck, by the end he's pounced upon by the director of the studio and the literary manager of the theatre. They're well impressed and they're giving him some pointers as to what he should look at that when writing his second draft. Second draft? Oh yes! They must be interested if they want to see a second draft. This is just unreal for him. And I was well proud of him. His first full play, written in four weeks, given a reading at the Royal National Theatre studio with some really top actors (and me thrown in for luck). How bad is that! Some of us went for a celebratory drink afterwards to the now famous pub in question but alas we didn't bump into the real star of the show: Honest Dave himself, he was off having his daily late afternoon 'siesta'. So as he slept little did he realise that over the road there was a group of actors reading a play about him. I've told Richard about me worries about that. You see he hasn't told Honest Dave anything about Karaoke Kings and I'm not sure how Dave's going to take it when he finds out.
Surely he wouldn't be pissed off if there was a play on in the West End all about him.
No, and I certainly wouldn't be pissed off either.
Who says that? The people who would know that to be true are dead for feck sake! Well I had me life flash before me eyes but it wasn't just before I died (I hope you'll be glad to know), it was during a play reading at the Royal National Theatre Studio. Confused? You will be.
But first a history lesson. Back in 2002 I had just been on tour for 8 months with Pirates and needed to get a flat and what do ya know me and my fine friend Mr. Richard (Dickie) Hardwick fell on our feet and got ourselves a flat in the Waterloo area of the London. Now this was a bit of a coup as Waterloo is well central and especially brilliant if you're a starving actor. It meant feck all money on travel as you mostly walked everywhere and then you could fall home after a mental sesúin in Shutts, also the money we were paying for the rent was peanuts compared to what it should be in that area because the landlord was buying it off the council and subletting it to us. Deadly. Theatre wise the Old Vic was around the corner, the Royal National Theatre is up the road and you're 15 minutes swift walk into the middle of the West End. We were on some winner here. It would have been an even bigger winner if either of us had've had a job in the West End, but alas no. Looking back on those mental Waterloo days there's one thing that always sticks out in me and Richard's minds. The Duke of Sussex. This was the pub to end all pubs, exactly what you expect a London pub to look and be like including, and most especially, the perfect landlord; 'Honest Dave'. Now here was a man you didn't mess with and yet had a heart of gold. The first day we walked into the pub, not knowing anyone, I asked for two pints of cider.
'Would you like a nice, refreshing slice of orange in your cider?' he asked.
What was this man on? Orange in me hallowed cider. Not a sign boy!
'No, listen, you WANT a slice of orange in your cider master.'
At that moment I knew he wasn't a man to be messed with, not because he was rough but merely because he was right, me cider tasted lovely. A new local had been found!! And a few weeks after that we had the session to end all sessions which installed us both as permanent fixtures of this establishment. Honest Dave loved his music and you would find karaoke on in there most nights and every Thursday night he had a live piano player. That fateful Thursday night I came in just before closing to meet Richard and a few of the lads, I had just rolled out of work at the London Eye, I thought I'd just be in time for the last one. No way boy! 11.30 and the doors were shut and we were all looking at each other with the same thought in our heads; LOCK IN! Too right! That old piano player, Cliff Hall, was still tinkling the ivories and suddenly Honest Dave was bringing out tambourines from the back of the pub. Before I could realise what was going on I was up the top of the pub mic in one hand tambourine in the other and hollering Mustang Sally. By 1am I had me guitar in the room being played by me mate Gav and I was on the feckin piano (I must have been well pissed so) and Honest Dave was proclaiming;
'If the police come knockin' you know what to tell 'em lads. We're 'avin' choir practice! You lucky people!'
We certainly were, the beer had been free from the minute we opened our mouths to sing. At one stage we ran out of popular songs that we knew so we started singing our audition songs. 3 in the morning and we were still hopping. Honest Dave didn't care. This man was a bona fide legend.
'Would I lie to you, I mean would I lie to you?'
' 'ere I've got a great tip on on 'orse runnin' tomorrow.'
'Bosh!'
He had his fingers in many pies, he was a mason, he used to be a champion amateur boxer and I could go on and on, because in fairness he did go on and on, he was some man for a story. And he loved his music; Sinatra, Deano all the greats he'd sing at his own karaoke. Richard eventually ended up hosting the karaoke there every weekend (although try as he might he could never get me to do a night on the piano). And so we spent the best part of a year frequently frequenting Honest Dave's and many a mad lock in was had all under the hospitality of a character so rich you could nearly write a play about him.
Funny I should mention that.
Lets fast forward over the adverts to the present day then. I'm working the shitty jobs waiting for Much Ado to kick off and Richard is just back from a 14 month tour of Grease. Now for a period when we were in the Waterloo flat Richard considered giving up acting and becoming a writer and he did a couple of courses and wrote a couple of small bits but nothing really substantial. We always joked about doing a play about all the shit that went on in the Duke of Sussex. I jokingly said he should call it 'Karaoke Kings'. When I said that he had a mad glint in his eye which I just ignored because in fairness he's nuts anyway. Nearly two years later when he's telling me that he's been working on some writing while on tour I similarly put it down to slight mental illness. When he finishes the tour he then says that he's going to give up the acting to be a writer at which point I know he's lost his marbles. Then the phone goes and its not the agent for I have two jobs lined up, but it is Richard;
'Hey, I've just had an interview at the Royal National Theatre Studio and they're giving me a four week placement in one of their writer's spaces. They really liked the idea for Karaoke Kings. They're paying me to go in and write every day.'
The jammy bastard! I'm still on the phones and he's getting paid to do what I do in this diary for free; write about his life. The question now was would Richard actually sit down and write karaoke kings or would he just sit messing on the internet every day? Nope, he wrote. He wrote lots. The mad fecker only finished the play in 4 weeks. I have to say I was deeply impressed. I'm not saying that I had me doubts ..... but I had me doubts. Richard you see is a man of many mad ideas, they roll out of him at an alarming rate, but I have trouble remembering many that he's seen through to completion. But he actually wrote a full two act play!
And it was great.
As he was writing it he was emailing and giving it to me scene by scene and the more I was reading it the more I was enjoying it, of course the mad thing is that I was kind of reading about an era in my life. There was a bit of artistic license and some of the details were changed (he had me working front of house at the National Theatre rather than the London Eye and I was rehearsing a fringe play called 'The Incredible Hunk' which came straight from his warped imagination) but the two main stories, Dave's continuing estrangement with his son and Dickie's battles with the regular karaoke host had more than a passing semblance to the truth. It was mad, while I was reading it I could see it really clearly, it was a terrific reconstruction of how things worked in the Duke of Sussex but as well as that is was just a good feckin story. And he got Dave spot on. All the catchphrases, the storytelling, the fun, but also this underlying sorrow and regret that you know is there. As I read it it was clear that this is a part that any actor of a certain age would give their left bollock to play. The way he envisioned the play was that there would only be three actors; One playing Honest Dave and the other two playing everyone else. This I thought was a great Idea, I mean it worked brilliantly with Stones in his Pockets and most of all it would mean two big show off roles for me and Richard. Oh yes that was our plan for West End domination. Now that might sound like him doing all the work and me reaping all the benefits but please remember that I did give him the title for the play and that's extremely important. As one casting director once told me;
'Do you know why I think Calico failed? Because of its name. Its too vague. I mean who would be interested in seeing a play called Calico? Not many obviously.'
Strange sentiments but there you go. Anyway Richard had written this great play (with a genius title) but what are a load of lines on a page if no one gets to read them. It was lucky so that part of the deal of his placement was a rehearsed reading at the end. The director that was reading the play while he was writing it was of the opinion that, seeing as the possibility was there, they should use different actors for each part for the reading rather than just two. Ah shite, that was a pity but I didn't mind too much as long as I was part of it in some way. And I would be part of it of course, wouldn't I Richard? Wouldn't I? Richard? RICHARD? Not a worry boy, that buachaill is a buddy for a reason and indeed he hired me to come in to read the small but crucial role of Jamie in the play.
I had some little experience in playing such a role.
On the day of the reading I strolled down to the National Theatre Studio which is ironically only a 2 minute walk from Honest Dave's pub and went in to find myself as part of a troupe of actors, most of whom were currently playing at the 'Nash' themselves. These guys and girls were heavyweights and when we sat down to read the play it fucking hopped off the page. I mean I thought it was good when I read it but now, hearing it out loud, it was on a whole new level all of a sudden. It was so weird as well because I really thought Honest Dave was in the room, the actor playing him (Keith Bartlett) got him so spot on it was scary.
'Bosh! You lucky people.'
And the guy playing the rival karaoke host was unreal. James Corden, who you'd know straight away as a 'me man off the telly' got the sad sack, dickheaded nature of (name withheld for fear of legal action) bang on, and there was even a role in the play which I urged Richard to cut or change that suddenly worked for me when I heard it read aloud by the actor in the room.
And I played meself.
Dave: Drink Jamie?
Jamie: Cheers. Cider please Dave.
Now that's a lot harder than you think. You kind of have to stop acting in a way, but then you can't really do that because what's happening is in the action of the play and not real life so there must be a separate quality to it. Fuck it I haven't clue what I did really, it was such a surreal experience to see (or at least hear) this part of me life (with artistic embellishment) acted out by other people. Me life flashing before me eyes in a play. How feckin showbiz! We read over it in the morning (you could see that the actors really liked it) and then whacked into it properly in the afternoon with a small few people from the National watching, and it was the business. I was pissing meself anew at stuff I had read weeks previous. The people that were watching seemed to really enjoy it. And every so often I catch Richard's eye as he's watching and he's over the feckin moon, he can't believe his luck. Jesus I can't believe his luck, by the end he's pounced upon by the director of the studio and the literary manager of the theatre. They're well impressed and they're giving him some pointers as to what he should look at that when writing his second draft. Second draft? Oh yes! They must be interested if they want to see a second draft. This is just unreal for him. And I was well proud of him. His first full play, written in four weeks, given a reading at the Royal National Theatre studio with some really top actors (and me thrown in for luck). How bad is that! Some of us went for a celebratory drink afterwards to the now famous pub in question but alas we didn't bump into the real star of the show: Honest Dave himself, he was off having his daily late afternoon 'siesta'. So as he slept little did he realise that over the road there was a group of actors reading a play about him. I've told Richard about me worries about that. You see he hasn't told Honest Dave anything about Karaoke Kings and I'm not sure how Dave's going to take it when he finds out.
Surely he wouldn't be pissed off if there was a play on in the West End all about him.
No, and I certainly wouldn't be pissed off either.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
27. FAME AT LEAST!
Why be an actor she said? Is it for the fame and fortune?
Ha ha! Excuse me while I keel over creased with knowing laughter. There's not a lot of that around now is there, but you never know. The fortune thing is pretty tricky in the theatre biz (telly's another matter entirely) but fame? Well i'd Prefer someone recognising me on the street, giving me a knowing nod which said well done on the show last night I had lovely seats in the stalls, than being mobbed by a load of geeks because I had just been in the last Xmen movie. To be honest at this stage of me career both fame and fortune seem a fair ways down the road. But three things happened recently that showed I was maybe set to be a legend in me own lunchtime. Either that or my anonymity is even worse than I expected. Sure we'll see;
1 - Don't I know you from somewhere?
The shitty call centre job was still as shitty as it always was. Jesus! It was hell and getting worse week by week. At this stage I was having to work about 48 hours a week to make any kind of liveable money. So that was in at 9 every morning and two days a week I had to work 9am - 9pm. IT WAS SHIT!!! Seriously though I could feel my brain atrophying slowly as I asked another American about the sweeteners they buy for their sweet company. Oh my god! One of the things I had held on to while I was there was the lie that I wasn't an actor, if anyone asked I was a musician. As I said before this was so I didn't have to go through me CV with every fecker in the building or hear about a million sob stories. I'm out of work and I have me own issues to deal with, I don't need to hear anyone else's woes. This lie was working great and I was generally left alone and I could switch on to autopilot and get through the day. I knew one day I'd get found out. I was sitting in the canteen one day eating some well dodgy, but well cheap, sandwich out of Benjys and I got an uneasy feeling, and it wasn't from the sandwich. It was the feeling that someone was watching me. There was. I looked over me shoulder to see this guy staring at me. Shit, what's up with me man? I turn back to me sandwich hoping that if I ignore him he'll go away and phone some old women. He didn't. He kept on staring. The only thing I could think of was that he was looking for his go. Well he certainly wasn't going to get it off of the Cowardly Lion here. I was looking for an exit stage left when he got out of his chair and made his way over to me. Right this is it so. He tapped me on the shoulder, I turned to face him and he said;
'Sorry mate, weren't you in The Fair Maid of the West a couple of years ago?'
That's the cover story blown so.
It wasn't that he was talking loud it was just that it was a small canteen, and you could always hear the shop talk going on. The Fair Maid of the West was a show I did about a year and a half ago and while it was a grand job, no one went to see it. Seriously it literally had the worst houses I've ever played to. Playing to 10 people a night in a 300 seat theatre is not my idea of a good time. We almost cancelled more shows than we played. So in the four weeks of its run a handful of people saw the thing and unlucky for me one of those was our call centre friend here. Shite! So he launches into the exact conversation I was trying to avoid having; how shit it is that we had to work there and how there's no jobs about at the moment and how our agents were ripping us off. Speak for yourself buddy, personally I have a very busy summer ahead. That was that though, I was found out and of course from there on in I had the same conversation with 30 different people. Does wonders for the soul y'know. When I started telling me little white lie at the call centre it was said to me 'what if someone recognises you?'. Of course I laughed at the thought, who the hell would recognise me? Well it happened. It wouldn't be as mad if he had seen me in Calico or Willows maybe but Fair Maid? The show less than no one saw?
Now that's irony.
2 - Me second telly.
On Channel Four recently they had a series called 'H Side Story' which followed the fortunes of the former murderer of pop music; H from Steps. He had swapped ABBA for Andrew Lloyd Webber and was training in musical theatre at the Royal Academy of Music in the London (looking now to become a murderer of show music it seems) and the cameras were following his progress every week. This was essential viewing for every twirly who ever went to drama school. There are things that happen at drama school that are so embarrassing that they should be left behind the closed doors of that dance studio, but in this program it was all laid bare to the world. Every cringy lesson, every poncey tantrum and all following a guy who really cannot do the job. This fella is not good enough full stop! Now you might say that's why he's gone to drama school to learn how to do it. Look, the RAM course is only a year long and this poor fecker would need to do it 5 times over to be half as good as some of the musical theatre people in the West End. Now I might sound a bit bitchy but fuck it I call a spade a spade and he'll be grand anyway because he'll walk out into the business and get a show within a day because of who he is. Mark my words. The people I felt sorry for were his classmates, the tortures of drama school are bad enough without a C4 documentary team in the class as well. Two Irish girls there as well. Good luck to them. All that said though I do have to thank H from Steps for many a Sunday morning pissing meself watching that program. It was always on as the hangover bit of telly and cheered us all up straight away boy. Thanks H you're some man. Now what has this to do with me......... oh yeah! Meself and a couple of the boys were sitting in the auld flat one Sunday creased with laughter and cringe at the antics and so called singing of the man with one letter for a name when I nearly fell off the settee with fright. Let me set the scene; H is about to return to college after the Christmas break and his head of course has called him in to have a chat about what he needs to do in the new term. The camera settles on the two of them in her office and between them is a notice board. And on that notice board is what seems to be a card. And on that card there was a man, no ..... wait ...... not a man ....... A Toad!
It was only fuckin me!!!!!!!
I fell off the settee and leapt at the TV screaming 'That's me! That's me!'. At this stage the lads are looking at me like I had two heads. Well I think they thought I was pointing at H when I said it so no wonder. I very quickly explain. The picture on the card on the wall was a publicity shot of me as Toad that I did for Wind in the Willows last year. How the feck did a picture of me in full green suit and make up jumping in the air end up on a noticeboard in RAM and then on telly in front of millions? It turns out that it was the Christmas card that Regent's Park sent out that year. Which is lovely only for the fact that I didn't get one! they used my visage but never bothered sending me one, well that's gas. Not to worry sure, because of that I appeared on that (bound to be) cult series H Side Story and who knows where else that card was sent to. And although meself and the lads were in convulsions laughing I was well pleased. Me second telly appearance.
On a noticeboard.
Well you've got to start somewhere.
3 - Fame; As Gaeilge.
Doing the leaving Cert. in Ireland is painful enough at the best of times but probably the most painful part has to be the Irish Oral. Rather than being a series of jolly Irish porn films, the Irish oral is, for the non-paddy among ye, 15 minutes of chatting with an examiner in the Irish language. Most of ye will remember the agonizing wait outside the room before you go in and you spend most of the time saying 'Gabh mo leithscéal?' ('excuse me?') to every feckin question this chick from the arse end of Kerry asks. You go in having prepared topics to chat about such as the football or the weather and of course they ask you about the current state of Irish Politics. Em ..... 'Níl fhios agam' ('I don't know' - another favourite). Déise tenor Raymond Collins was very prepared for his Irish oral in 1994, his plan was to go into the room say hello (which he knew) and then proceed to sing the Irish national anthem, the examiner would then be so blown away with his voice she would just give him an A there and then. Lets just say it didn't work out like that (meaning he never got to sing. Maybe if he had, who knows? He's a fine tenor). But I digress. Hopefully I've painted a bleak enough picture to those who don't know of the onerous task that is the Irish oral. You do get a practice go at it though in the pre - leaving exams, and it was into this situation in the Mercy Convent Waterford walked Caroline Stone, lack of that lord of lighting Flex Browne. Now here's a girl who would have no fear of the Irish Oral whatsoever being near fluent in the native tongue that none of us know. This flame haired Cailín sailed through the first bit, stunning the examiner with her quick wit and conversational tone and all as Gaeilge. And then the examiner asked;
'An maith leat scannán?' - 'Do you like movies?'
'Oh Sea.' - 'Oh yes.'
'Agus cé hé an t-aisteoir is fearr leat?' - 'And who's your favourite actor?'
And a blank look came over Caroline. She could not for the life of her think of an actor. Jesus! Who was her favourite actor? Its one of the most simple questions whether in Irish or English. She wracked and wracked her brains. The pressure was mounting and seconds seemed like hours so she just blurted out the name of the first actor that came into her head;
'Is aoibhinn liom Jamie Beamish!' - 'I really like Jamie Beamish!'
Good girl.
She said that the examiner gave her a funny look, obviously thinking who the feck is she talking about? Caroline was well embarrassed telling me but I was delighted. Although strictly speaking she gave the wrong answer seeing as I've never done a film in me life.
Feck it though, you know you've made it if you get mentioned in the auld Irish Oral.
Ha ha! Excuse me while I keel over creased with knowing laughter. There's not a lot of that around now is there, but you never know. The fortune thing is pretty tricky in the theatre biz (telly's another matter entirely) but fame? Well i'd Prefer someone recognising me on the street, giving me a knowing nod which said well done on the show last night I had lovely seats in the stalls, than being mobbed by a load of geeks because I had just been in the last Xmen movie. To be honest at this stage of me career both fame and fortune seem a fair ways down the road. But three things happened recently that showed I was maybe set to be a legend in me own lunchtime. Either that or my anonymity is even worse than I expected. Sure we'll see;
1 - Don't I know you from somewhere?
The shitty call centre job was still as shitty as it always was. Jesus! It was hell and getting worse week by week. At this stage I was having to work about 48 hours a week to make any kind of liveable money. So that was in at 9 every morning and two days a week I had to work 9am - 9pm. IT WAS SHIT!!! Seriously though I could feel my brain atrophying slowly as I asked another American about the sweeteners they buy for their sweet company. Oh my god! One of the things I had held on to while I was there was the lie that I wasn't an actor, if anyone asked I was a musician. As I said before this was so I didn't have to go through me CV with every fecker in the building or hear about a million sob stories. I'm out of work and I have me own issues to deal with, I don't need to hear anyone else's woes. This lie was working great and I was generally left alone and I could switch on to autopilot and get through the day. I knew one day I'd get found out. I was sitting in the canteen one day eating some well dodgy, but well cheap, sandwich out of Benjys and I got an uneasy feeling, and it wasn't from the sandwich. It was the feeling that someone was watching me. There was. I looked over me shoulder to see this guy staring at me. Shit, what's up with me man? I turn back to me sandwich hoping that if I ignore him he'll go away and phone some old women. He didn't. He kept on staring. The only thing I could think of was that he was looking for his go. Well he certainly wasn't going to get it off of the Cowardly Lion here. I was looking for an exit stage left when he got out of his chair and made his way over to me. Right this is it so. He tapped me on the shoulder, I turned to face him and he said;
'Sorry mate, weren't you in The Fair Maid of the West a couple of years ago?'
That's the cover story blown so.
It wasn't that he was talking loud it was just that it was a small canteen, and you could always hear the shop talk going on. The Fair Maid of the West was a show I did about a year and a half ago and while it was a grand job, no one went to see it. Seriously it literally had the worst houses I've ever played to. Playing to 10 people a night in a 300 seat theatre is not my idea of a good time. We almost cancelled more shows than we played. So in the four weeks of its run a handful of people saw the thing and unlucky for me one of those was our call centre friend here. Shite! So he launches into the exact conversation I was trying to avoid having; how shit it is that we had to work there and how there's no jobs about at the moment and how our agents were ripping us off. Speak for yourself buddy, personally I have a very busy summer ahead. That was that though, I was found out and of course from there on in I had the same conversation with 30 different people. Does wonders for the soul y'know. When I started telling me little white lie at the call centre it was said to me 'what if someone recognises you?'. Of course I laughed at the thought, who the hell would recognise me? Well it happened. It wouldn't be as mad if he had seen me in Calico or Willows maybe but Fair Maid? The show less than no one saw?
Now that's irony.
2 - Me second telly.
On Channel Four recently they had a series called 'H Side Story' which followed the fortunes of the former murderer of pop music; H from Steps. He had swapped ABBA for Andrew Lloyd Webber and was training in musical theatre at the Royal Academy of Music in the London (looking now to become a murderer of show music it seems) and the cameras were following his progress every week. This was essential viewing for every twirly who ever went to drama school. There are things that happen at drama school that are so embarrassing that they should be left behind the closed doors of that dance studio, but in this program it was all laid bare to the world. Every cringy lesson, every poncey tantrum and all following a guy who really cannot do the job. This fella is not good enough full stop! Now you might say that's why he's gone to drama school to learn how to do it. Look, the RAM course is only a year long and this poor fecker would need to do it 5 times over to be half as good as some of the musical theatre people in the West End. Now I might sound a bit bitchy but fuck it I call a spade a spade and he'll be grand anyway because he'll walk out into the business and get a show within a day because of who he is. Mark my words. The people I felt sorry for were his classmates, the tortures of drama school are bad enough without a C4 documentary team in the class as well. Two Irish girls there as well. Good luck to them. All that said though I do have to thank H from Steps for many a Sunday morning pissing meself watching that program. It was always on as the hangover bit of telly and cheered us all up straight away boy. Thanks H you're some man. Now what has this to do with me......... oh yeah! Meself and a couple of the boys were sitting in the auld flat one Sunday creased with laughter and cringe at the antics and so called singing of the man with one letter for a name when I nearly fell off the settee with fright. Let me set the scene; H is about to return to college after the Christmas break and his head of course has called him in to have a chat about what he needs to do in the new term. The camera settles on the two of them in her office and between them is a notice board. And on that notice board is what seems to be a card. And on that card there was a man, no ..... wait ...... not a man ....... A Toad!
It was only fuckin me!!!!!!!
I fell off the settee and leapt at the TV screaming 'That's me! That's me!'. At this stage the lads are looking at me like I had two heads. Well I think they thought I was pointing at H when I said it so no wonder. I very quickly explain. The picture on the card on the wall was a publicity shot of me as Toad that I did for Wind in the Willows last year. How the feck did a picture of me in full green suit and make up jumping in the air end up on a noticeboard in RAM and then on telly in front of millions? It turns out that it was the Christmas card that Regent's Park sent out that year. Which is lovely only for the fact that I didn't get one! they used my visage but never bothered sending me one, well that's gas. Not to worry sure, because of that I appeared on that (bound to be) cult series H Side Story and who knows where else that card was sent to. And although meself and the lads were in convulsions laughing I was well pleased. Me second telly appearance.
On a noticeboard.
Well you've got to start somewhere.
3 - Fame; As Gaeilge.
Doing the leaving Cert. in Ireland is painful enough at the best of times but probably the most painful part has to be the Irish Oral. Rather than being a series of jolly Irish porn films, the Irish oral is, for the non-paddy among ye, 15 minutes of chatting with an examiner in the Irish language. Most of ye will remember the agonizing wait outside the room before you go in and you spend most of the time saying 'Gabh mo leithscéal?' ('excuse me?') to every feckin question this chick from the arse end of Kerry asks. You go in having prepared topics to chat about such as the football or the weather and of course they ask you about the current state of Irish Politics. Em ..... 'Níl fhios agam' ('I don't know' - another favourite). Déise tenor Raymond Collins was very prepared for his Irish oral in 1994, his plan was to go into the room say hello (which he knew) and then proceed to sing the Irish national anthem, the examiner would then be so blown away with his voice she would just give him an A there and then. Lets just say it didn't work out like that (meaning he never got to sing. Maybe if he had, who knows? He's a fine tenor). But I digress. Hopefully I've painted a bleak enough picture to those who don't know of the onerous task that is the Irish oral. You do get a practice go at it though in the pre - leaving exams, and it was into this situation in the Mercy Convent Waterford walked Caroline Stone, lack of that lord of lighting Flex Browne. Now here's a girl who would have no fear of the Irish Oral whatsoever being near fluent in the native tongue that none of us know. This flame haired Cailín sailed through the first bit, stunning the examiner with her quick wit and conversational tone and all as Gaeilge. And then the examiner asked;
'An maith leat scannán?' - 'Do you like movies?'
'Oh Sea.' - 'Oh yes.'
'Agus cé hé an t-aisteoir is fearr leat?' - 'And who's your favourite actor?'
And a blank look came over Caroline. She could not for the life of her think of an actor. Jesus! Who was her favourite actor? Its one of the most simple questions whether in Irish or English. She wracked and wracked her brains. The pressure was mounting and seconds seemed like hours so she just blurted out the name of the first actor that came into her head;
'Is aoibhinn liom Jamie Beamish!' - 'I really like Jamie Beamish!'
Good girl.
She said that the examiner gave her a funny look, obviously thinking who the feck is she talking about? Caroline was well embarrassed telling me but I was delighted. Although strictly speaking she gave the wrong answer seeing as I've never done a film in me life.
Feck it though, you know you've made it if you get mentioned in the auld Irish Oral.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
26. DOUBLE BUBBLE TOIL AND TROUBLE
There is nothing better for an actor than to finish one job only to start another one straight away.
Actually that's a lie. There's one thing better.
'Double Bubble'.
What deadly words! Let me explain for all those who don't speak showbiz, 'Double Bubble' refers to when you start rehearsing for a new show before your current one finishes. Thanks to the fact that acting in theatre is mostly a night job and rehearsals are during the day this is very feasible. And while it means you're working 12 hour days quite a lot and you're well knackered it does have its benefits, serious lack of the jitter being one and also the feeling of being a REALLY hard working actor does wonders for the auld confidence. Best of all, however, is the fact that seeing as you're doing two different jobs, you also get two sets of wages. The infamous 'Double Bubble'! Lovely stuff. So while you're bolloxed tired you're earning loads of money and you're so busy you barely have time to spend it so you have a lovely load when the second show opens. It's happened to me twice so far in me career. The first time was when I was at Regent's Park in 2003 and in the last 4 weeks of that season I was rehearsing another play during the day and that opened three days after I finished at the Park. Very tight indeed. That was knackering but the second time was worse; In the last two weeks of the Wizard of Oz in Birmingham I was rehearsing for Calico in the London. Jesus! I had to head back to London after every show, and it wasn't like I had an easy gig in Wizard, I played feckin Cowardly Lion sure! I wasn't complaining though. The 'Double Bubble' was lovely. Mmmmmm 'Double Bubble' eases the (financial) pain.
Now to be honest with that happening twice in one year I thought I had used up me jammy luck for another few years so I wasn't expecting it to happen again any time soon. But suddenly the possibilty reared its beautiful head when the hotline to the agent rang once more;
'They've just called from the Park and they need to know soon whether you're doing Wind in the Willows again or not.'
Wind in the Willows, that vocal chord shattering hit I was in last year, was being revived and they wanted me back to give me Toad again. I knew this was on the cards since last year. I was well delighted that they wanted me back and of course I would oblige them only I already had a job for the summer, I was to be singing for me supper in Much Ado About Nothing for Sir Peter Hall boy. Hang on though, maybe it might work out. If Willows opened after Much Ado closed that would mean that it was just the rehearsals that crossed over and sure that wouldn't be too bad, I'd done Toad before and Much Ado isn't on every night so this was looking very doable indeed. The pound sterling signs were in me eyes at this stage, the lads were getting on to me saying I was greedy but feck that! Too right I'm greedy. This was the longest I'd been out of work in a long time and I was going ever so slightly mad. I was still sore from turning down the Fantasticks and there really seemed to be zero hope of getting anything before Much ado opened and while the hanging around wasn't suicidally bad because I had something coming up I would definitely regain the will to live if I had two shows to look forward to. And 'Double Bubble' too of course. It all just depended on the dates. So I checked em. Much Ado closes on the 6th of August and Willows opens on the.....2nd of August.
Shite.
Not a sign, I knew I couldn't be that lucky. So I told the agent to say no. Now that was a sickener. To have to turn down another job when all I was doing was ringing people about Pledge dusters was gutting. This time though there was nothing I could do about it, it was just bad timing. Sure something else will turn up I told meself. Something turned up alright but it wasn't something else; the hotline was hot once more;
'I rang to tell them no and he asked me what your schedule is. He thinks that you might be able to work around it as Willows is only on during the day.'
The 'he' she was referring to was the erstwhile artistic director of the Open Air Theatre. This, as I've said before, is the man that gave me me first job in the London and had always been hugely supportive of me over the years and fair play to him but this time he was going beyond the call of duty. If it was to work out like he suggested I would finish a show at the Park just before 5pm and have to be in Bath for the half hour call at 6.55. Was it possible? Slightly. The train to Bath takes and hour and a half but of course that's barring any delays or problems. Its mad Jim.....but it might just work!!! This scenario would only happen twice that week on the Wednesday and the Thursday. I must've been off me head to even consider it but sure feck it you only live once. The pound sterling signs were back, there was even a smile on me face at the call centre. The only thing that could scupper it was the Saturday, if I had a matinee in Bath that day I was fucked because the Saturday show of Willows was at 11am. Finish at 1pm and have to be in Bath by 1.55? Only if they got me a helicopter boy and I don't think they wanted me that much! So it all hinged on this one day. Me hopes were up though, could it be 'Double Bubble' time?
There was a matinee that Saturday in Bath.
Ah for fecksake!!!! It all seemed so close and was then swept away by a visit to the Theatre Royal Bath Website. Damn the fecking internet! Me agent told me to hang on until they rang her from bath and confirmed it. I knew that the website wouldn't be wrong but I still waited for the phone to ring. Ring it did....with the bad news I knew was coming. Well if it's not to be, sure its not to be and anyway I couldn't really complain, I had a job coming up. Maybe I was being too greedy. The agent rang to tell me she had done the awful deed of saying a final and definite no to the Park. She was gutted, I was gutted and when I rang the Park the Artistic Director was gutted as well. But sure all the guttedness in the world wouldn't change the Saturday matinee and sure only Jesus can be in two places at once and I don't have so much of a God complex to think I could do that!!
Ah well. Sweet cider always eases the pain and Paddy's day was on us once again, so, along with fellow Déise thesp Keithus Dunphyus, I got nationalistically shit faced and drank all thoughts of Willows out of me mind. I staggered through the door of me flat at half nine the following morning and proceeded to eat the best sausage roll in the world ever. And the phone goes. Tis the agent. Early for her, must be important so. Jesus it is;
'They've just called from the Park. They've sorted it all out. You're going to be able to do Willows!'
Whatchu talkin' about Willis? Did they get a helicopter sorted?
'They're going to put an understudy on for the show you can't do.'
Pinch me now because I must still be drunk.
'One of the actors who was in the show with you last year will cover you.'
Aw legendary!!! This was some unreal. They never have understudies for the Kid's show so I never imagined that it was a possibility, but there it was for the taking. Now you would think that the first thing I said was YES! But of course its never as easy as that. When you sign a contract you really are at the mercy of your employers and if you get work that overlaps you need to get permission because that show is your first priority. More feckin waiting so. The agent got on to the producers at Bath and put forward the situation and asked for permission.
They said no.
Now you might think that after all the twists and turns that had happened so far, I would be at the end of me tether by now. I wasn't worried at all boy. You see when someone says no to my agent she shifts up a gear and proves why I should be paying her more than I do. I didn't blame Bath for saying no, they have to look after their interests and if I missed a show because of travelling to London there would be serious hassle. The agent sorted out their worries about the Wednesday and Thursday of the last week of Much Ado where the timing is stupidly tight;
'I told them your understudy can do them.'
He'll be delighted. Then they had a problem about me going up and down to London while rehearsing for Willows. The argument was that they didn't want the actors leaving Bath all the time. But of course we were only doing 4 shows a week so the agent was well on that one. No argument there so. She's working hard but not a bother to her:
'Well if nothing happens at least they'll know you're in demand.'
That's my girl. For every question they had she had an answer. And through all this I was sitting waiting for the phone to buzz in me pocket, but quietly confident that she'd win the day. In the end they couldn't see any reason not to let me do it. That's it so? I feckin' wish! Despite them not minding, Sir Peter had to be asked, and like the man from Del Monte he had to say yes. Then the wait became agonizing. There was nothing I could do about this and as usual I had to wait over the weekend. I don't know what it is but anytime I'm waiting for an answer on something its always over the weekend. On Saturday and Sunday every possible scenario goes through your head until you finally convince yourself its not going to happen, so if you get a 'Yes' on Monday its a deadly surprise and if its a 'No' ....... well it doesn't matter a shit, you're still like a dog and you're depressed because you were right. It never gets any easier.
On me way to shitty work on Monday and just before I get on the tube I notice that there's a voice message on me mobile. Funny I didn't hear it ring. The Agent has left a message that is short....
'He said yes.'
....and very very sweet.
You never know what's around the corner in this the actor's life for me but as much as that's a curse it can be some blessing as well. I hadn't worked in two months and suddenly I'm up to me tits for the summer. 5 weeks rehearsals for much ado in London then off to Bath for three weeks to open the show and the week after we open I start rehearsals for Willows and lovely lovely 'Double Bubble' for 4 weeks. Not much sleep though. But really what I was most excited about was doing Toad again, the part in Much Ado being so small it'll be deadly to play the lead in something again. Also I really couldn't believe the lengths they went to to have me back in Willows. Like I said above and beyond the call. Fair play that man.
Well its always nice to feel appreciated.
And the money helps too.
Actually that's a lie. There's one thing better.
'Double Bubble'.
What deadly words! Let me explain for all those who don't speak showbiz, 'Double Bubble' refers to when you start rehearsing for a new show before your current one finishes. Thanks to the fact that acting in theatre is mostly a night job and rehearsals are during the day this is very feasible. And while it means you're working 12 hour days quite a lot and you're well knackered it does have its benefits, serious lack of the jitter being one and also the feeling of being a REALLY hard working actor does wonders for the auld confidence. Best of all, however, is the fact that seeing as you're doing two different jobs, you also get two sets of wages. The infamous 'Double Bubble'! Lovely stuff. So while you're bolloxed tired you're earning loads of money and you're so busy you barely have time to spend it so you have a lovely load when the second show opens. It's happened to me twice so far in me career. The first time was when I was at Regent's Park in 2003 and in the last 4 weeks of that season I was rehearsing another play during the day and that opened three days after I finished at the Park. Very tight indeed. That was knackering but the second time was worse; In the last two weeks of the Wizard of Oz in Birmingham I was rehearsing for Calico in the London. Jesus! I had to head back to London after every show, and it wasn't like I had an easy gig in Wizard, I played feckin Cowardly Lion sure! I wasn't complaining though. The 'Double Bubble' was lovely. Mmmmmm 'Double Bubble' eases the (financial) pain.
Now to be honest with that happening twice in one year I thought I had used up me jammy luck for another few years so I wasn't expecting it to happen again any time soon. But suddenly the possibilty reared its beautiful head when the hotline to the agent rang once more;
'They've just called from the Park and they need to know soon whether you're doing Wind in the Willows again or not.'
Wind in the Willows, that vocal chord shattering hit I was in last year, was being revived and they wanted me back to give me Toad again. I knew this was on the cards since last year. I was well delighted that they wanted me back and of course I would oblige them only I already had a job for the summer, I was to be singing for me supper in Much Ado About Nothing for Sir Peter Hall boy. Hang on though, maybe it might work out. If Willows opened after Much Ado closed that would mean that it was just the rehearsals that crossed over and sure that wouldn't be too bad, I'd done Toad before and Much Ado isn't on every night so this was looking very doable indeed. The pound sterling signs were in me eyes at this stage, the lads were getting on to me saying I was greedy but feck that! Too right I'm greedy. This was the longest I'd been out of work in a long time and I was going ever so slightly mad. I was still sore from turning down the Fantasticks and there really seemed to be zero hope of getting anything before Much ado opened and while the hanging around wasn't suicidally bad because I had something coming up I would definitely regain the will to live if I had two shows to look forward to. And 'Double Bubble' too of course. It all just depended on the dates. So I checked em. Much Ado closes on the 6th of August and Willows opens on the.....2nd of August.
Shite.
Not a sign, I knew I couldn't be that lucky. So I told the agent to say no. Now that was a sickener. To have to turn down another job when all I was doing was ringing people about Pledge dusters was gutting. This time though there was nothing I could do about it, it was just bad timing. Sure something else will turn up I told meself. Something turned up alright but it wasn't something else; the hotline was hot once more;
'I rang to tell them no and he asked me what your schedule is. He thinks that you might be able to work around it as Willows is only on during the day.'
The 'he' she was referring to was the erstwhile artistic director of the Open Air Theatre. This, as I've said before, is the man that gave me me first job in the London and had always been hugely supportive of me over the years and fair play to him but this time he was going beyond the call of duty. If it was to work out like he suggested I would finish a show at the Park just before 5pm and have to be in Bath for the half hour call at 6.55. Was it possible? Slightly. The train to Bath takes and hour and a half but of course that's barring any delays or problems. Its mad Jim.....but it might just work!!! This scenario would only happen twice that week on the Wednesday and the Thursday. I must've been off me head to even consider it but sure feck it you only live once. The pound sterling signs were back, there was even a smile on me face at the call centre. The only thing that could scupper it was the Saturday, if I had a matinee in Bath that day I was fucked because the Saturday show of Willows was at 11am. Finish at 1pm and have to be in Bath by 1.55? Only if they got me a helicopter boy and I don't think they wanted me that much! So it all hinged on this one day. Me hopes were up though, could it be 'Double Bubble' time?
There was a matinee that Saturday in Bath.
Ah for fecksake!!!! It all seemed so close and was then swept away by a visit to the Theatre Royal Bath Website. Damn the fecking internet! Me agent told me to hang on until they rang her from bath and confirmed it. I knew that the website wouldn't be wrong but I still waited for the phone to ring. Ring it did....with the bad news I knew was coming. Well if it's not to be, sure its not to be and anyway I couldn't really complain, I had a job coming up. Maybe I was being too greedy. The agent rang to tell me she had done the awful deed of saying a final and definite no to the Park. She was gutted, I was gutted and when I rang the Park the Artistic Director was gutted as well. But sure all the guttedness in the world wouldn't change the Saturday matinee and sure only Jesus can be in two places at once and I don't have so much of a God complex to think I could do that!!
Ah well. Sweet cider always eases the pain and Paddy's day was on us once again, so, along with fellow Déise thesp Keithus Dunphyus, I got nationalistically shit faced and drank all thoughts of Willows out of me mind. I staggered through the door of me flat at half nine the following morning and proceeded to eat the best sausage roll in the world ever. And the phone goes. Tis the agent. Early for her, must be important so. Jesus it is;
'They've just called from the Park. They've sorted it all out. You're going to be able to do Willows!'
Whatchu talkin' about Willis? Did they get a helicopter sorted?
'They're going to put an understudy on for the show you can't do.'
Pinch me now because I must still be drunk.
'One of the actors who was in the show with you last year will cover you.'
Aw legendary!!! This was some unreal. They never have understudies for the Kid's show so I never imagined that it was a possibility, but there it was for the taking. Now you would think that the first thing I said was YES! But of course its never as easy as that. When you sign a contract you really are at the mercy of your employers and if you get work that overlaps you need to get permission because that show is your first priority. More feckin waiting so. The agent got on to the producers at Bath and put forward the situation and asked for permission.
They said no.
Now you might think that after all the twists and turns that had happened so far, I would be at the end of me tether by now. I wasn't worried at all boy. You see when someone says no to my agent she shifts up a gear and proves why I should be paying her more than I do. I didn't blame Bath for saying no, they have to look after their interests and if I missed a show because of travelling to London there would be serious hassle. The agent sorted out their worries about the Wednesday and Thursday of the last week of Much Ado where the timing is stupidly tight;
'I told them your understudy can do them.'
He'll be delighted. Then they had a problem about me going up and down to London while rehearsing for Willows. The argument was that they didn't want the actors leaving Bath all the time. But of course we were only doing 4 shows a week so the agent was well on that one. No argument there so. She's working hard but not a bother to her:
'Well if nothing happens at least they'll know you're in demand.'
That's my girl. For every question they had she had an answer. And through all this I was sitting waiting for the phone to buzz in me pocket, but quietly confident that she'd win the day. In the end they couldn't see any reason not to let me do it. That's it so? I feckin' wish! Despite them not minding, Sir Peter had to be asked, and like the man from Del Monte he had to say yes. Then the wait became agonizing. There was nothing I could do about this and as usual I had to wait over the weekend. I don't know what it is but anytime I'm waiting for an answer on something its always over the weekend. On Saturday and Sunday every possible scenario goes through your head until you finally convince yourself its not going to happen, so if you get a 'Yes' on Monday its a deadly surprise and if its a 'No' ....... well it doesn't matter a shit, you're still like a dog and you're depressed because you were right. It never gets any easier.
On me way to shitty work on Monday and just before I get on the tube I notice that there's a voice message on me mobile. Funny I didn't hear it ring. The Agent has left a message that is short....
'He said yes.'
....and very very sweet.
You never know what's around the corner in this the actor's life for me but as much as that's a curse it can be some blessing as well. I hadn't worked in two months and suddenly I'm up to me tits for the summer. 5 weeks rehearsals for much ado in London then off to Bath for three weeks to open the show and the week after we open I start rehearsals for Willows and lovely lovely 'Double Bubble' for 4 weeks. Not much sleep though. But really what I was most excited about was doing Toad again, the part in Much Ado being so small it'll be deadly to play the lead in something again. Also I really couldn't believe the lengths they went to to have me back in Willows. Like I said above and beyond the call. Fair play that man.
Well its always nice to feel appreciated.
And the money helps too.
Sunday, May 01, 2005
25. BEGGARS CAN BE CHOOSERS.
Moby Dick was over but the Jitter wasn't too bad as I had signed on to do Much Ado in Bath. But that was three months away.
The hunt had begun to find something to fit nicely in between so.
Moby Dick had gone well but hadn't set the world on fire. Which is a pity 'cos I really enjoyed doing it and musically it was the business (well I thought so any way). And of course its a pity because you always hope when you do a workshop like that that it will be a huge success, be snapped up straight away and enjoy a long and very financially rewarding time in the West End - with me still involved of course. But alas no. The two public performances were really good but the right people didn't see it, the people with the money, the people with the power. Who did see it one night was an unwashed stage door Johnny who, before the performance, stopped us all at the stage door to get our autographs and then proceeded to sit in the front row where we could all see him ... and sleep. How he didn't get harpooned I'll never know. 18 stone and well smelly, he should have played Moby Dick. But I digress. Who I was most disappointed for though was the composer, who was a terrific guy and I think getting Moby Dick on has been a bit of a life's ambition. Despite the fact that he unwittingly helped me get the job with Peter Hall, he also gave me a bit of a boost just when I needed it. About a week after I didn't get Seagull's Dance the agent rang to tell me that she had been speaking to the casting director's assistant who was sorry it hadn't worked out but went on to say;
'Well we always knew we were getting an actor with Jamie rather than a singer.'
Aw hang on! I know I had a dodgy throat that day but jesus it wasn't that bad. Now that annoyed me more than somewhat. Feck sake I came over to the London to study musical theatre! I'm a trained singer! Well the confidence took a bit of a knock with that one, which is stupid because I'm old and ugly enough now to know better than to leave what people say get to me. But it did piss me off. Then the following week I had to go into rehearsals early to go through my solo stuff in Moby Dick. Believe me when I tell ya this was good music to sing and hard and very high, so I made sure the voice was well awake going in that morning. I started belting through me numbers and the pipes are in good order, or at least I think so, after that comment I got I'm not sure if I trust me own opinion any more. Not to worry though because I wasn't the only one thinking it;
'Boy that's a great sound you're making. You've had training haven't you? Say could we give him more to sing?' quoth the composer.
'Sure I'm grand with what I have. It's terrific stuff.' Humbly quoth I.
And a big smile spread across me face. Nice one. 'Waterford's answer to Boyzone' was back (I'll explain that comment another time!). Those kind words pulled me right out of me downer and I was on a high for the rest of the day. So if I wanted it to succeed for anyone it was definitely him. Well maybe it will happen, Mr. Peaslee is no man to give up and he even got us in a couple of weeks afterwards to record sections from it so that he could send it to people that weren't able to see the showcase. Top man. I hope I get to go whaling again soon.
That's well and good but I was now out of a job of course. Or at least inbetween jobs. Surely there was something that would fit between february and May?
There was.
Actors are like vultures, they circle around and will pounce on any piece of information about an audition at the first opportunity. I'm no different boy.
'Easy for you to say lovey, you've had an audition. Why can't I have an audition?' said the wise Withnail.
Anyway, I was on the phone to me girlfriend Karen and she was telling me that her friend had an audition for a musical called The Fantasticks at Harrogate theatre. Then the light bulb went on over me head. Harrogate? Sure didn't I audition for them last year on the day of three auditions, and while I didn't get the job I think they liked me. A quick scan on that mad thing called the internet and the performance dates are before me. It finishes two weeks before I start rehearsals for Much Ado. Now that would be very nice indeed. Two months work and then two weeks off (probably head back for a Déise top-up) and then kick into Much Ado. While I didn't know the show I had heard loads about it and I had liked the director when I met her before. As long as the part was nice this could be a good gig. I had to get an audition first of course. I hopped on the phone to the agent and she was perplexed that she hadn't heard about the auditions. Turns out there was a mistake when the casting breakdowns were sent out to agents. No problem though as they would defintely squeeze me in on the Friday. Sound. I'm reading for the part of 'The Boy'. I hop onto the phone again, this time to Dickie Hardwick (who's mother's from cheekpoint so good breeding) he was in The Fantasticks at drama school so he knew the score, literally. I ask him about 'The Boy'.
'Yeah, great part. Not sure you're exactly right for it but you'd sing the shit out of it!'
I like his style. So the usual audition morning ritual is observed that Friday and I'm feeling in good form. The audition is at The Drill Hall which was where we rehearsed Moby Dick funnily enough and even funnier because I get there to find its in the very same room, must be an omen. Probably not though. Well lets see shall we.
In I go and I'm off to a grand start. The panel sitting in front of me are all the same heads from me last audition for Harrogate and I know the piano player too as he's a chap that's worked a fair bit at Regent's Park. Nice one. They ask me if I mind reading first. No hassle as I've just been having a look over 'The Boy's' lines out in the hall. But they don't ask me to read that, they ask me to read a different part;
'Sorry to spring this on you but would you mind reading the part of 'The Actor' for us? I know you haven't looked at it so if you want to take some time to look over it please do.'
And I decide to do something very very risky.
'I'll tell you what, why don't I just bash through it now and then after you can tell me how you want me to do it.'
It came out of my mouth before I had time to think about it to be honest. Now I'm a good enough sight reader but this was completely off the wall as I hadn't seen a word of this dialogue before. This was real shit or bust stuff. If the reading was good it would be well impressive, but if I make a dogs dinner of it I could kiss the job goodbye. Fuck it sure, you only live once. I launch into it and it goes brilliantly. The dialogue is brilliantly written so that makes it easier and within 10 lines I'm sucking diesel and the panel are laughing and I corpse meself at one stage and its just sheer intense concentration for 3 minutes and at the end the director says with a smile on her face;
'Yeah that's pretty much it alright, there's no need to hear that again.'
The gamble had worked and I think they were impressed. They then get me to read some of 'The Boy' and that goes well, but to be honest I want the other part now! That's the role for me boy! You steal the entire show with parts like that, and although its normally played by someone much older they wouldn't have asked me to read it if they weren't interested. Then that lovely director endears herself even more to me by saying;
'I don't really need to hear you sing but would you mind doing a song anyway? I just like to hear you sing.'
Aw yes boy. I had put the days of doubt well behind me at this stage. And I give them that perennial favourite 'If Ever I Would Leave You' from Camelot, and the voce doesn't make a liar of her. Some sweet crooning.....thank god! And I literally skip out of the audition on some high. Now as you know I'd tell ye if an audition went shit, but this went really well. I felt like all I had to do was chill out and wait for the phone to ring the next week.
It didn't.
No news from them the whole week and Karen's friend had gotten a 'no' so I knew they were ringing people either way. Shite, what's the craic? It happens though. It wouldn't be the first time that I've done a great audition and not gotten the job. I bet it'll be - you were too young for 'The Actor' and too old for 'The Boy' - kind of thing. Ah well. Not to worry too much though as the good auld agent was on the case and had gotten me an audition for Foyle's War for the end of the week. A telly! Grand, so is it maybe some Irish rogue who runs afoul of Detective Foyle? Nope. The script comes through the door and it turns out that the part I'm for is an upper class English scientist. Riiight. That's a tricky one. Not the accent of course, me RP's grand but this is telly and they tend to go for the genuine article if they can get it. Unless you're a name of course. But I ain't one a them yet. Its cool though because preparing for it takes me mind off The Fantasticks. The audition itself goes grand. The casting director is a lovely lady that I've met on a couple of occasions and the director and the producer are very pleasant. I read fine but there's an auld niggle in the back of me head saying 'I'm not sure I'm right for this' and I was thinking that they thought so too. Well when doubts like that creep in you'll never get the job. And indeed I didn't. I was getting off the tube on me way to work at the call centre (I was back there because unfortunately auditions don't pay the bills.) and the agent rings with sad tidings.
'Its not going to work out with Foyle's War.'
Well I kind of expected that. Ah well, another one bites the dust, as the song so rightly says. I wasn't too down though, because I had just gotten a lovely €20 return flight to Cork so I was heading back home for a week and sure that's enough to cheer anyone up. Did I need cheering up? Well two nice gigs that would have fitted in perfectly before Much Ado were gone. Foyle's War was definitely not going to happen and I had given up hope for The Fantasticks. Silly me! I'm sitting at me shitty job when the phone goes again, and strangely its the agent again;
'They've just called from Harrogate and they want to offer you The Fantasticks.'
Go on ya good thing!
'But'
Shite.
'they haven't offered you either of the parts you read for. They want to offer you 'Mortimer' instead.'
Oh. Who's he?
'I don't know what the part is like but they said that you were too young for 'The Actor' and they went with someone else for 'The Boy' but the director still wants you in the show.'
Well that's pretty nice of her. I tell the agent not to give them an answer until I do some research. Said research is another phonecall to Mr. Hardwick. I ask him what the part is like;
'Small.'
And he goes on to describe the part and me excitement over getting the job falls away. I don't think it's a part I want to do. When accepting a job, and especially one outside of London you have to weigh up a few things. With this gig I wouldn't have had time to sub let me room so I'd still be paying rent in London, Harrogate's a fair spin to London so I'd be spending a small fortune traveling up and down at weekends and it started rehearsals the following week so I'd have to cut me trip to Waterford short. On regional rep wages I would probably end up spending more than I'd be earning and all for a part that doesn't excite me. If it had been one of the parts I had read for then I would have done it no problem, jumped at them, but at this stage there has to be a reason for doing a job and not just take everything that comes along.
And so I say no.
Now that's a weird sensation. The only time I've turned down jobs before is because I've had another offer, I've never turned one down and had nothing else on. I want to work obviously and I would certainly like to work with this director but I just didn't feel the part was worth going to Harrogate for. And that was that. The agent was slightly pleased because she wanted me to be available in case any more telly auditions came up (they didn't) and I went home for the usual week long sessúin with the nagging question at the back of me mind;
In two months time, when I'm still sitting in the call centre taking complaints about NTL, will I regret me decision to say no?
Probably.
The hunt had begun to find something to fit nicely in between so.
Moby Dick had gone well but hadn't set the world on fire. Which is a pity 'cos I really enjoyed doing it and musically it was the business (well I thought so any way). And of course its a pity because you always hope when you do a workshop like that that it will be a huge success, be snapped up straight away and enjoy a long and very financially rewarding time in the West End - with me still involved of course. But alas no. The two public performances were really good but the right people didn't see it, the people with the money, the people with the power. Who did see it one night was an unwashed stage door Johnny who, before the performance, stopped us all at the stage door to get our autographs and then proceeded to sit in the front row where we could all see him ... and sleep. How he didn't get harpooned I'll never know. 18 stone and well smelly, he should have played Moby Dick. But I digress. Who I was most disappointed for though was the composer, who was a terrific guy and I think getting Moby Dick on has been a bit of a life's ambition. Despite the fact that he unwittingly helped me get the job with Peter Hall, he also gave me a bit of a boost just when I needed it. About a week after I didn't get Seagull's Dance the agent rang to tell me that she had been speaking to the casting director's assistant who was sorry it hadn't worked out but went on to say;
'Well we always knew we were getting an actor with Jamie rather than a singer.'
Aw hang on! I know I had a dodgy throat that day but jesus it wasn't that bad. Now that annoyed me more than somewhat. Feck sake I came over to the London to study musical theatre! I'm a trained singer! Well the confidence took a bit of a knock with that one, which is stupid because I'm old and ugly enough now to know better than to leave what people say get to me. But it did piss me off. Then the following week I had to go into rehearsals early to go through my solo stuff in Moby Dick. Believe me when I tell ya this was good music to sing and hard and very high, so I made sure the voice was well awake going in that morning. I started belting through me numbers and the pipes are in good order, or at least I think so, after that comment I got I'm not sure if I trust me own opinion any more. Not to worry though because I wasn't the only one thinking it;
'Boy that's a great sound you're making. You've had training haven't you? Say could we give him more to sing?' quoth the composer.
'Sure I'm grand with what I have. It's terrific stuff.' Humbly quoth I.
And a big smile spread across me face. Nice one. 'Waterford's answer to Boyzone' was back (I'll explain that comment another time!). Those kind words pulled me right out of me downer and I was on a high for the rest of the day. So if I wanted it to succeed for anyone it was definitely him. Well maybe it will happen, Mr. Peaslee is no man to give up and he even got us in a couple of weeks afterwards to record sections from it so that he could send it to people that weren't able to see the showcase. Top man. I hope I get to go whaling again soon.
That's well and good but I was now out of a job of course. Or at least inbetween jobs. Surely there was something that would fit between february and May?
There was.
Actors are like vultures, they circle around and will pounce on any piece of information about an audition at the first opportunity. I'm no different boy.
'Easy for you to say lovey, you've had an audition. Why can't I have an audition?' said the wise Withnail.
Anyway, I was on the phone to me girlfriend Karen and she was telling me that her friend had an audition for a musical called The Fantasticks at Harrogate theatre. Then the light bulb went on over me head. Harrogate? Sure didn't I audition for them last year on the day of three auditions, and while I didn't get the job I think they liked me. A quick scan on that mad thing called the internet and the performance dates are before me. It finishes two weeks before I start rehearsals for Much Ado. Now that would be very nice indeed. Two months work and then two weeks off (probably head back for a Déise top-up) and then kick into Much Ado. While I didn't know the show I had heard loads about it and I had liked the director when I met her before. As long as the part was nice this could be a good gig. I had to get an audition first of course. I hopped on the phone to the agent and she was perplexed that she hadn't heard about the auditions. Turns out there was a mistake when the casting breakdowns were sent out to agents. No problem though as they would defintely squeeze me in on the Friday. Sound. I'm reading for the part of 'The Boy'. I hop onto the phone again, this time to Dickie Hardwick (who's mother's from cheekpoint so good breeding) he was in The Fantasticks at drama school so he knew the score, literally. I ask him about 'The Boy'.
'Yeah, great part. Not sure you're exactly right for it but you'd sing the shit out of it!'
I like his style. So the usual audition morning ritual is observed that Friday and I'm feeling in good form. The audition is at The Drill Hall which was where we rehearsed Moby Dick funnily enough and even funnier because I get there to find its in the very same room, must be an omen. Probably not though. Well lets see shall we.
In I go and I'm off to a grand start. The panel sitting in front of me are all the same heads from me last audition for Harrogate and I know the piano player too as he's a chap that's worked a fair bit at Regent's Park. Nice one. They ask me if I mind reading first. No hassle as I've just been having a look over 'The Boy's' lines out in the hall. But they don't ask me to read that, they ask me to read a different part;
'Sorry to spring this on you but would you mind reading the part of 'The Actor' for us? I know you haven't looked at it so if you want to take some time to look over it please do.'
And I decide to do something very very risky.
'I'll tell you what, why don't I just bash through it now and then after you can tell me how you want me to do it.'
It came out of my mouth before I had time to think about it to be honest. Now I'm a good enough sight reader but this was completely off the wall as I hadn't seen a word of this dialogue before. This was real shit or bust stuff. If the reading was good it would be well impressive, but if I make a dogs dinner of it I could kiss the job goodbye. Fuck it sure, you only live once. I launch into it and it goes brilliantly. The dialogue is brilliantly written so that makes it easier and within 10 lines I'm sucking diesel and the panel are laughing and I corpse meself at one stage and its just sheer intense concentration for 3 minutes and at the end the director says with a smile on her face;
'Yeah that's pretty much it alright, there's no need to hear that again.'
The gamble had worked and I think they were impressed. They then get me to read some of 'The Boy' and that goes well, but to be honest I want the other part now! That's the role for me boy! You steal the entire show with parts like that, and although its normally played by someone much older they wouldn't have asked me to read it if they weren't interested. Then that lovely director endears herself even more to me by saying;
'I don't really need to hear you sing but would you mind doing a song anyway? I just like to hear you sing.'
Aw yes boy. I had put the days of doubt well behind me at this stage. And I give them that perennial favourite 'If Ever I Would Leave You' from Camelot, and the voce doesn't make a liar of her. Some sweet crooning.....thank god! And I literally skip out of the audition on some high. Now as you know I'd tell ye if an audition went shit, but this went really well. I felt like all I had to do was chill out and wait for the phone to ring the next week.
It didn't.
No news from them the whole week and Karen's friend had gotten a 'no' so I knew they were ringing people either way. Shite, what's the craic? It happens though. It wouldn't be the first time that I've done a great audition and not gotten the job. I bet it'll be - you were too young for 'The Actor' and too old for 'The Boy' - kind of thing. Ah well. Not to worry too much though as the good auld agent was on the case and had gotten me an audition for Foyle's War for the end of the week. A telly! Grand, so is it maybe some Irish rogue who runs afoul of Detective Foyle? Nope. The script comes through the door and it turns out that the part I'm for is an upper class English scientist. Riiight. That's a tricky one. Not the accent of course, me RP's grand but this is telly and they tend to go for the genuine article if they can get it. Unless you're a name of course. But I ain't one a them yet. Its cool though because preparing for it takes me mind off The Fantasticks. The audition itself goes grand. The casting director is a lovely lady that I've met on a couple of occasions and the director and the producer are very pleasant. I read fine but there's an auld niggle in the back of me head saying 'I'm not sure I'm right for this' and I was thinking that they thought so too. Well when doubts like that creep in you'll never get the job. And indeed I didn't. I was getting off the tube on me way to work at the call centre (I was back there because unfortunately auditions don't pay the bills.) and the agent rings with sad tidings.
'Its not going to work out with Foyle's War.'
Well I kind of expected that. Ah well, another one bites the dust, as the song so rightly says. I wasn't too down though, because I had just gotten a lovely €20 return flight to Cork so I was heading back home for a week and sure that's enough to cheer anyone up. Did I need cheering up? Well two nice gigs that would have fitted in perfectly before Much Ado were gone. Foyle's War was definitely not going to happen and I had given up hope for The Fantasticks. Silly me! I'm sitting at me shitty job when the phone goes again, and strangely its the agent again;
'They've just called from Harrogate and they want to offer you The Fantasticks.'
Go on ya good thing!
'But'
Shite.
'they haven't offered you either of the parts you read for. They want to offer you 'Mortimer' instead.'
Oh. Who's he?
'I don't know what the part is like but they said that you were too young for 'The Actor' and they went with someone else for 'The Boy' but the director still wants you in the show.'
Well that's pretty nice of her. I tell the agent not to give them an answer until I do some research. Said research is another phonecall to Mr. Hardwick. I ask him what the part is like;
'Small.'
And he goes on to describe the part and me excitement over getting the job falls away. I don't think it's a part I want to do. When accepting a job, and especially one outside of London you have to weigh up a few things. With this gig I wouldn't have had time to sub let me room so I'd still be paying rent in London, Harrogate's a fair spin to London so I'd be spending a small fortune traveling up and down at weekends and it started rehearsals the following week so I'd have to cut me trip to Waterford short. On regional rep wages I would probably end up spending more than I'd be earning and all for a part that doesn't excite me. If it had been one of the parts I had read for then I would have done it no problem, jumped at them, but at this stage there has to be a reason for doing a job and not just take everything that comes along.
And so I say no.
Now that's a weird sensation. The only time I've turned down jobs before is because I've had another offer, I've never turned one down and had nothing else on. I want to work obviously and I would certainly like to work with this director but I just didn't feel the part was worth going to Harrogate for. And that was that. The agent was slightly pleased because she wanted me to be available in case any more telly auditions came up (they didn't) and I went home for the usual week long sessúin with the nagging question at the back of me mind;
In two months time, when I'm still sitting in the call centre taking complaints about NTL, will I regret me decision to say no?
Probably.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)