"Don't forget your champagne" Quoth Sir Michael.
"That's why I'm here boy" Quoth I. You can't bring me anywhere.
But ye know that by now.
normal service will resume shortly.
Monday, September 27, 2004
It's The Truth I Tell's Ya!
To prove that I'm not just telling shaggy dog stories. Here's a pic;
"Don't forget your champagne" Quoth Sir Michael.
"That's why I'm here boy" Quoth I. You can't bring me anywhere.
But ye know that by now.
normal service will resume shortly.
"Don't forget your champagne" Quoth Sir Michael.
"That's why I'm here boy" Quoth I. You can't bring me anywhere.
But ye know that by now.
normal service will resume shortly.
Sunday, September 05, 2004
15. DIGS HELL
Touring.
I know a thing or two about touring let me tell ya. As I've said before my first job was an 8 month tour around the UK. 8 months boy. I could have had a baby in that time. The best part of touring? That's easy. The craic, getting to check out lots of different towns and cities, getting to perform in loadsa different venues, and did I mention the craic? The worst part of touring? Even easier;
Digs.
When you tour to anywhere in England you have to sort out your own 'digs'. No hotels for the jobbing actors my good man. Whether its a tour wherein you are in a different venue each week or you are in situ for a couple of months you're sent a 'Digs list' to trawl through to try and find a place that's going to be home for you for the time you are in that place. And they vary in quality wildly! Big time! digs Lists are full of listings like this;
- Spacious double room with exquisite view available in nice, relaxed household. Use of all facilities. Tv and Kettle in room. Only 10 mins from theatre. Visitors by arrangement. No children but friendly dog and cat in house. £50 pw Phone Betty on 01983 93093
What that generally means is a tiny room with a double bed squashed into it so there's feck all room for anything especially the ancient black and white telly thats sitting on a dusty chest of drawers at the end of the bed. The household is anything but relaxed as poor auld Betty is only recently widowed or divorced and you're her only contact with the outside world since her Jack went and sure the kids never visit or so you're told every day. Facilities you can use are the bathroom and the kitchen but the living room is her private place and so's the kitchen when she's in there. She'll probably wait up for you at night to see how your day went and god help you if you fall in late at night off your face drunk. The bloody dog and cat have free reign of the house including your room so your stuff is destroyed in hairs and friendly they most certainly are not. Visitors are not welcome and that's the arrangement so you better be single! The £50 price tag is 5 years old at this stage and it's actually £80. And that 10 minutes to the theatre is by fecking taxi! The view is indeed exquisite, mind you, but who gives a shit.
That's not an exaggeration by any means. I could tell you horror stories about digs. One landlady I had was a crazy auld chick called Miss Pink (I kid you not.) who sat in the sitting room all day smoking what must have been dope and changing the television channel with a snooker cue and called me an alcoholic when I told her my reason for leaving was that the buses didn't run late enough to her part of Bristol and it was too far to walk. Another woman I stayed with was heavily pregnant by a previous lodging actor who had run off (on tour again no doubt). Subsequently she had a pathological dislike of actors. I told her I was a musician. I could go on and on to be honest and not just with my own tales of woe. Every actor and stage manager in the land has there own litany. Now that's not to say there's no nice digs in England. There are. I've stayed in a few and they were fine and dandy for the week I was there. But that's just it, It was only for a week. Well not even that, more often than not it was 5 nights and back to the London for a Seisúin in Shuttleworths (the seediest actors club in London but we thought it great at the time!). So staying in digs digs wasn't too bad. But I was about to work in York for 7 weeks and lovely old lady digs would just not do. No way boy!
All the drama about which job I was going to do had happened in the last week of Willows and it couldn't have come at a better time. I was now able to sort out exactly what was happening over the next few months and the plan was thus; get over the hangover after the last show of Willows (twas a doozy indeed! The show finished at 1pm and the drinking stopped at 2am. How bad. But it would get worse than that.), then chill in the London for two weeks to sort out the fecking digs for York, go to the big end of season party at Regent's Park (always a lethal night!) then head back to the fair Waterford my home for nearly 5 weeks (what a treat!) and then of course head to York to begin my deadly new job and move into my digs. Ah yes. The digs. Well the first thing I did when I accepted 'Beauty Queen' was ring the theatre and get them to send me a digs list straight away. Normally the list will come with a copy of your contract and script but there was no way I was waiting a few weeks for that to be sorted out all the good stuff would be gone. The digs list arrived a couple of days later.
All the good stuff was gone.
Most actors don't like to talk about money but I don't give a crap (because I'm in it for the art. Ha ha!) I was on £350 for 'Beauty Queen' and on top of that you get £105 which is supposed to be for your rent and your food and general living expenses. It's not that much money when you take into account that you have to put money away for tax and pay your agent etc. etc. So you have to be frugal about the digs you chose. The minute I get the List i go straight to the self catering accommodation ie. flats. For an extra bit of money I don't mind paying a bit more for my own place. But how expensive could it be? It's York for feck sake! Well the cheapest on the list was £80 for a single bedsit!! Jesus!! And it got worse. I ring the £80 guy and not a sign, its already gone. Shit. There's a crowd doing them for £90 a week but they're full as well, me man says he'll ring me back in a couple of days though because something may well come up. He never rang back. Just like a casting director. There's one advertised and it says to ring for rates as they vary out of season. Sounds promising. The woman on the other end of the line tells me that there's no way she could leave the flat go for anything less than £200 a week! Are you off your chump lady!!?! Do you know how much we get for living in York? No? Well I'll tell ya! She doesn't budge on the price.
'So you'd prefer to leave the flat go idle than to bring the price down to help this poor starving actor out?'
'Yes' .................. the phone went straight down at that stage. That stupid bitch. I mean, what the fuck is she doing on the digs list? What actor can afford that kinda money. The kind of actor that isn't working in York! Things were not going well at all and it was looking like I may have to move to the front of the list and start looking at the old lady digs because there was nothing else aaaaagh! I rang the last place on the self catering page, this guy who owned a hotel had flats as well and he said that they were from £120 a week but was willing to do deals out of season (heard that one before). I get to talk to a receptionist at the hotel and she tells me that one of the actors there at the moment was paying £140 and there was little chance of the owner going below that. Fuck that. But I ask to speak to the owner and he says that the best he can do is £120, I give him the sob story though and he says he'll think about and give me a ring back in a couple of days. I'm grasping at straws now. I really can't afford any of these places so I should start brushing up on my old widow conversation. I mean I still had a flat in London to be paying for didn't I?
Well no as it turned out.
I live in a deadly flat in county Kilburn in the London and the guy I share with (Gary O'Sullivan who's a mate from drama school) also owns the place so that's pretty chilled. He's off on tour himself in September and has let out his room to an Aussie chick and he suggests I do the same. Genius! Sure I'm going to be away from September to the very end of November, a good three months. So on to this thing called the internet I go and post my own ad for digs. Ah the irony. I get loads of emails about it and the first guy that contacts me comes over the following evening. He's an affable Aussie chap who's working in IT in the city and has just bust up with his girlfriend and needs a place until he can move into the flat he just bought which will take about 3 months. Perfect boy! He gets the flat, I see no one else. Nice one! Well that's a huge weight off of me wallet. But York digs? What's the story boy? I get a message on me phone from the receptionist which says I can have a studio flat for £110. Possible now that I've no rent to pay in London. But its a fiver over me subsistence and now it's a matter of principle. I ring the owner the next day and he seems to have forgotten the quote he gave;
'How much do they give you for expenses again?' asketh he.
'Just £105 pounds kind sir.' Replieth my poor mouth.
'Ok, I'll sort you out a studio for that then.'
Sold! Its not Ideal and its certainly not cheap but feck it! I'm sorted and I'm happy. So happy that I'm not too pissed off when the agent phones (you knew she had to didn't you.);
'I've just got a phone call from Working Title and they're interested in you for this new romantic comedy they're doing. But it's filming in October and November.'
Not a hope girl. That's exactly when I'm doing 'Beauty Queen'. Ah well. At this stage I'm thinking that I'm never going to be on screen other than me 3 lines on Judge John Deed. I have a great face for radio though. (I just hope Kiera Knightley wasn't in this one as well, I couldn't handle that.) At least I can now enjoy me last few days in London. And enjoy it indeed I do. The Regent's Park party is a beauty. Tons of free beer, I win an award (It's only a piss take award for best one liner.... 'Aha!'....the word was only in the script once but i used it throughout the show to cover time while I tried to remember my lines. The ginger Gielgud Mr. Keith Dunphy won an award for lifetime achievement beating the leading lady's 9 month old baby. Like I said. Piss take!) I'm off me face in a big way. I try to open a bottle off a wall at one stage and the neck just breaks off, I still drank it though. I was just careful of the broken glass against me lips.We all end up drinking on the bandstand in the park until 7 in the morning. Ahhh knacker drinking in the park. It brought me back to my youth in the Déise. And soon there was something else that would bring me back to the Déise.
The 1 O'clock flight from Luton that Saturday.
Thank god for Aer Arann!
Bring on the blaas and Bulmers!
And the Festival!
I know a thing or two about touring let me tell ya. As I've said before my first job was an 8 month tour around the UK. 8 months boy. I could have had a baby in that time. The best part of touring? That's easy. The craic, getting to check out lots of different towns and cities, getting to perform in loadsa different venues, and did I mention the craic? The worst part of touring? Even easier;
Digs.
When you tour to anywhere in England you have to sort out your own 'digs'. No hotels for the jobbing actors my good man. Whether its a tour wherein you are in a different venue each week or you are in situ for a couple of months you're sent a 'Digs list' to trawl through to try and find a place that's going to be home for you for the time you are in that place. And they vary in quality wildly! Big time! digs Lists are full of listings like this;
- Spacious double room with exquisite view available in nice, relaxed household. Use of all facilities. Tv and Kettle in room. Only 10 mins from theatre. Visitors by arrangement. No children but friendly dog and cat in house. £50 pw Phone Betty on 01983 93093
What that generally means is a tiny room with a double bed squashed into it so there's feck all room for anything especially the ancient black and white telly thats sitting on a dusty chest of drawers at the end of the bed. The household is anything but relaxed as poor auld Betty is only recently widowed or divorced and you're her only contact with the outside world since her Jack went and sure the kids never visit or so you're told every day. Facilities you can use are the bathroom and the kitchen but the living room is her private place and so's the kitchen when she's in there. She'll probably wait up for you at night to see how your day went and god help you if you fall in late at night off your face drunk. The bloody dog and cat have free reign of the house including your room so your stuff is destroyed in hairs and friendly they most certainly are not. Visitors are not welcome and that's the arrangement so you better be single! The £50 price tag is 5 years old at this stage and it's actually £80. And that 10 minutes to the theatre is by fecking taxi! The view is indeed exquisite, mind you, but who gives a shit.
That's not an exaggeration by any means. I could tell you horror stories about digs. One landlady I had was a crazy auld chick called Miss Pink (I kid you not.) who sat in the sitting room all day smoking what must have been dope and changing the television channel with a snooker cue and called me an alcoholic when I told her my reason for leaving was that the buses didn't run late enough to her part of Bristol and it was too far to walk. Another woman I stayed with was heavily pregnant by a previous lodging actor who had run off (on tour again no doubt). Subsequently she had a pathological dislike of actors. I told her I was a musician. I could go on and on to be honest and not just with my own tales of woe. Every actor and stage manager in the land has there own litany. Now that's not to say there's no nice digs in England. There are. I've stayed in a few and they were fine and dandy for the week I was there. But that's just it, It was only for a week. Well not even that, more often than not it was 5 nights and back to the London for a Seisúin in Shuttleworths (the seediest actors club in London but we thought it great at the time!). So staying in digs digs wasn't too bad. But I was about to work in York for 7 weeks and lovely old lady digs would just not do. No way boy!
All the drama about which job I was going to do had happened in the last week of Willows and it couldn't have come at a better time. I was now able to sort out exactly what was happening over the next few months and the plan was thus; get over the hangover after the last show of Willows (twas a doozy indeed! The show finished at 1pm and the drinking stopped at 2am. How bad. But it would get worse than that.), then chill in the London for two weeks to sort out the fecking digs for York, go to the big end of season party at Regent's Park (always a lethal night!) then head back to the fair Waterford my home for nearly 5 weeks (what a treat!) and then of course head to York to begin my deadly new job and move into my digs. Ah yes. The digs. Well the first thing I did when I accepted 'Beauty Queen' was ring the theatre and get them to send me a digs list straight away. Normally the list will come with a copy of your contract and script but there was no way I was waiting a few weeks for that to be sorted out all the good stuff would be gone. The digs list arrived a couple of days later.
All the good stuff was gone.
Most actors don't like to talk about money but I don't give a crap (because I'm in it for the art. Ha ha!) I was on £350 for 'Beauty Queen' and on top of that you get £105 which is supposed to be for your rent and your food and general living expenses. It's not that much money when you take into account that you have to put money away for tax and pay your agent etc. etc. So you have to be frugal about the digs you chose. The minute I get the List i go straight to the self catering accommodation ie. flats. For an extra bit of money I don't mind paying a bit more for my own place. But how expensive could it be? It's York for feck sake! Well the cheapest on the list was £80 for a single bedsit!! Jesus!! And it got worse. I ring the £80 guy and not a sign, its already gone. Shit. There's a crowd doing them for £90 a week but they're full as well, me man says he'll ring me back in a couple of days though because something may well come up. He never rang back. Just like a casting director. There's one advertised and it says to ring for rates as they vary out of season. Sounds promising. The woman on the other end of the line tells me that there's no way she could leave the flat go for anything less than £200 a week! Are you off your chump lady!!?! Do you know how much we get for living in York? No? Well I'll tell ya! She doesn't budge on the price.
'So you'd prefer to leave the flat go idle than to bring the price down to help this poor starving actor out?'
'Yes' .................. the phone went straight down at that stage. That stupid bitch. I mean, what the fuck is she doing on the digs list? What actor can afford that kinda money. The kind of actor that isn't working in York! Things were not going well at all and it was looking like I may have to move to the front of the list and start looking at the old lady digs because there was nothing else aaaaagh! I rang the last place on the self catering page, this guy who owned a hotel had flats as well and he said that they were from £120 a week but was willing to do deals out of season (heard that one before). I get to talk to a receptionist at the hotel and she tells me that one of the actors there at the moment was paying £140 and there was little chance of the owner going below that. Fuck that. But I ask to speak to the owner and he says that the best he can do is £120, I give him the sob story though and he says he'll think about and give me a ring back in a couple of days. I'm grasping at straws now. I really can't afford any of these places so I should start brushing up on my old widow conversation. I mean I still had a flat in London to be paying for didn't I?
Well no as it turned out.
I live in a deadly flat in county Kilburn in the London and the guy I share with (Gary O'Sullivan who's a mate from drama school) also owns the place so that's pretty chilled. He's off on tour himself in September and has let out his room to an Aussie chick and he suggests I do the same. Genius! Sure I'm going to be away from September to the very end of November, a good three months. So on to this thing called the internet I go and post my own ad for digs. Ah the irony. I get loads of emails about it and the first guy that contacts me comes over the following evening. He's an affable Aussie chap who's working in IT in the city and has just bust up with his girlfriend and needs a place until he can move into the flat he just bought which will take about 3 months. Perfect boy! He gets the flat, I see no one else. Nice one! Well that's a huge weight off of me wallet. But York digs? What's the story boy? I get a message on me phone from the receptionist which says I can have a studio flat for £110. Possible now that I've no rent to pay in London. But its a fiver over me subsistence and now it's a matter of principle. I ring the owner the next day and he seems to have forgotten the quote he gave;
'How much do they give you for expenses again?' asketh he.
'Just £105 pounds kind sir.' Replieth my poor mouth.
'Ok, I'll sort you out a studio for that then.'
Sold! Its not Ideal and its certainly not cheap but feck it! I'm sorted and I'm happy. So happy that I'm not too pissed off when the agent phones (you knew she had to didn't you.);
'I've just got a phone call from Working Title and they're interested in you for this new romantic comedy they're doing. But it's filming in October and November.'
Not a hope girl. That's exactly when I'm doing 'Beauty Queen'. Ah well. At this stage I'm thinking that I'm never going to be on screen other than me 3 lines on Judge John Deed. I have a great face for radio though. (I just hope Kiera Knightley wasn't in this one as well, I couldn't handle that.) At least I can now enjoy me last few days in London. And enjoy it indeed I do. The Regent's Park party is a beauty. Tons of free beer, I win an award (It's only a piss take award for best one liner.... 'Aha!'....the word was only in the script once but i used it throughout the show to cover time while I tried to remember my lines. The ginger Gielgud Mr. Keith Dunphy won an award for lifetime achievement beating the leading lady's 9 month old baby. Like I said. Piss take!) I'm off me face in a big way. I try to open a bottle off a wall at one stage and the neck just breaks off, I still drank it though. I was just careful of the broken glass against me lips.We all end up drinking on the bandstand in the park until 7 in the morning. Ahhh knacker drinking in the park. It brought me back to my youth in the Déise. And soon there was something else that would bring me back to the Déise.
The 1 O'clock flight from Luton that Saturday.
Thank god for Aer Arann!
Bring on the blaas and Bulmers!
And the Festival!
Friday, August 20, 2004
14. WAITING FOR THE PHONE TO RING
Waiting for the phone to ring. That really happens y'know. Sitting by the fecking thing waiting.... no, WILLING for it to ring and of course it never does. Just hanging on for that answer. Have I got it? Have I got the bloody job?!?!? The agony of not knowing. 2 recalls and another audition are all well and good but at the end of the day you have to get the job, and I was determined to get one.
I got more than one.
I'm greedy boy. That said, there was a lot of sitting by the phone waiting for it to ring. But before that there was the auditions and at least they weren't all on the one day. Thank Jesus! The 'Beckett' recall was first. A bit of a mixed bag to be honest. If you will remember my first audition was peachy, the casting director really liked me, obviously enough as here I was back again and to meet the director this time. I make me way to the Theatre Royal Haymarket in the glittering west end where this play is to be performed and on my way in I bump into the very affable and very deadly actor Richard Stacey with whom I had the pleasure of working with last year in a little show which about 10 people saw, although I did get to meet Darius after one performance whoop de fucking doo! But I digress. Anyway in I go to show them what I'm made of. The director is seated at the table on the stage along with the casting director. I recognise him. Apart from being a well known director he was also at the Ian Charleson Awards dinner. Sweet. Maybe I can mention my nomination to jog his memory. Hmmm. The opening chit chat goes well with the usual question of 'Tell me about yourself'. I do so in great detail even though, as you all know, I am not one to talk about myself. Yeah right. But I'm working hard not to leave him know that I'd do anything (non-homosexual) to get this part. Directors can smell desperation and that's a big no no. Nobody employs desperate actors. No mention of the Charleson though. Then he gets me to read. Now the first time I had read this piece was for the casting director who very much liked me reading it in my own accent, always a help, so this time round I launch into it in my best brogue knowing that its a popular choice of tongue. I finish and I sit back and wait for the compliments.
'Can you do it in another accent?' quoth the director.
Oh. Right. Fair enough so. RP it is. This throws me a bit as I was expecting the Déise twang to be sufficient, but obviously not. The second reading is fine though and he seems pleased which is grand. Nice, and I think that's it. It'll be the goodbye now and off to wait for the phone to ring. But he asks me one last question.
'So of your work what would be the best thing you've done?'
Nice one! Time to play the trump card. I proceed to tell him about the Shakespeares at Regent's Park.
'What did you play in them?' he asks.
'Flute and Sir Thurio.'
'Ah, two great parts.'
He's impressed, I'm liking this big time and I launch into how it was my first time doing Shakespeare on stage and what an experience it had been and to top it all off I delivered the coup de grace;
'And then I was nominated for the Ian Charleson award for them.'
I sat back and waited for realisation to dawn on him that he had seen me at it and we would have a jolly laugh and I would leave making a big time impression on him and just wait for the offer.
'Yes, well, its not that hard to teach someone how to perform Shakespeare. Its not the great mystery that some would have us believe.'
He seems well unimpressed at me mentioning it. Me heart sinks. He says that they'll be in touch when they make their decision in a couple of days.I have a really bad feeling I blew it. Shit! It was the one I wanted big time as well. On the way out the casting director is extremely complimentary saying I gave a terrific reading, so that fills me with some hope, but I don't know. I head off for coffee and a chat with the aforementioned Mr. Stacey and we bitch for an hour before I have to go and do a show of Willows. It'll be fine though. Its just the director not giving anything away is all. I'm still in with a shout. And sure I'll know soon enough. The following day the phone went. It wasn't the agent. It was a text from Richard Stacey saying that he had been offered 'Beckett'.
Crap.
Immediately I jumped to every conclusion going. That's it so, the offers are out and there's no triumphant return to the West End for me buddy. I ring the agent to inform her. Its her answering machine. Good sign, it means there might be another message offering me "Beckett'
Nope.
No messages only mine. The agent's like a bitch and immediately tries to ring the casting director but not a sign. She's out for the day. AAAAGGH! The fecking agony! I just want to know once and for all. My recall for the 'Country Wife' the next day had taken on a new importance. 'Beckett' was looking dodgy, I hadn't a clue how 'Beauty Queen' would go a few days later and I needed to know what was happening as I had agreed to write the music for 'Lord of the Flies'. If I got 'Beckett' or 'Country Wife' I would have to fly home the day Willows finished, but if I got 'Beauty Queen' I could hang fire for a couple of weeks and sort out moving to York. Of course if I got none of them then I could go home at my leisure, but I didn't want to think about that option. No way boy. I had to get one of these.
The recall for 'Country Wife' goes well though. Thank Christ! They're still talking to me about how the character should be Irish. Great. They get me to do some more reading and the chat is good but this time I don't big meself up to the point of annoyance. Whatever they need to know is on me CV and anything else they'll ask me. No more volunteering info. It doesn't pay. Big time. 'The Country Wife' would be a grand job, the director seems like a good head I'm unsure about the script but it's still being worked, and also Watford (where it's on of course) is close enough for me to still live in me flat in London. So how bad. Problem is I just finished reading 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane' and it's the business. A brilliant play and a deadly deadly part. I'd like a bit of that. Oh yes indeedy! Although the character is described as being 20 but maybe i could just about squeeze it. Then the phone goes. Oh Jesus its the agent! What news?
'I just spoke with the Casting director for 'Beckett' and she said that a decision hasn't made about the role you're up for. She'll know more by the middle of next week."
Aw man. Just when I thought there wouldn't be a sign of me getting 'Beckett' I'm back in the running but now it really is the waiting game as it'll be a yes or no. Simple as that. So imagine my heart racing every time there's a buzz in my pocket or I hear that familiar ringtone. This situation is only made worse by the fact that i have one of the most common phones in England. Everyone has the bloody same one as me and everyone uses the same ringtone! So I'm out in a shop and i hear someone else's go and I still have a minor coronary. Me nerves were shattered. The day after the 'Country Wife' recall I hear that all too common ringtone. It is mine. It is mine agent. Could it be.......
'They've offered you 'Country Wife'
How bad.
'I told them you're still waiting for an answer on another job so you couldn't accept it straight away. They weren't happy. We have until Tuesday to tell them.'
It was Friday, me 'Beauty Queen' audition was Monday, so I'd need to know about everything by Tuesday or else I would have to turn down 'Country Wife'. There was no way I could risk losing a West End job, so I might possibly have to risk losing everything. I may still end up with no job. That was a real possibility.
'Don't worry I'll get them to give us more time.'
That's why I pay her the money I do. And she sorts it out no hassle, we now have till the following Friday. Right though. Time to chill over the weekend and do some work on 'Beauty Queen'. I spend that Sunday looking at it, and more and more its beginning to dawn on me just how good this play is. As well as that the part is far better that the one in 'Country Wife' and even the part in 'Beckett'. The thing about 'Beckett' though is that it's in the West End boy. That's where we all want to be. But I'm really starting to want 'Beauty Queen' as well. But only Jesus can be in two places at once so that's not going to happen.
Me audition's at 10.30am and I'm in good spirits about it. I head into the waiting area and there's a guy already there looking at a photocopied script which has been provided. I look all swish as I pull my own copy of the script out of me bag. I look like an actor who know's his stuff and the other guy looks like he's about 20 years old. Shite. Now I'm starting to feel old. Fuck it though, I'm here now. I walk in to meet the director of the play and the Artistic Director of the Theatre and they're grand chaps and again the chat is good and I'm being very modest indeed. It's a trick I've learned. The reading is good and they get me to do it a few times with some direction and all seems pretty cool and we sit down again for a closing chat and the director says;
'I must say you have the pushiest agent I've ever come across. She kept ringing me and ringing me about seeing you.'
Sounds like my girl alright. Although I'm not sure if he thinks it's a bad thing.
'But she's doing her job very well because she got me to see you and I'm very glad I did.'
Now that's what I like to hear! But then he hits me with a shocker;
'So it'll be about 2 weeks before we can leave you know.'
Whaaaaaaaaaaatttt!?!?!?!? Jesus I have to give me answer to the other crowd by fecking Friday. Of course I don't say that. But wait there's more;
'We have a lot of people to consider as we've just seen people in Dublin as well.'
Well that's the end of that then. Not a hope. It'll definitely go to some young fella from Dublin who's just finished Trinity. Not a question about it. It's always the way. No need for me to worry about waiting for 2 weeks for an answer, I know the answer already. No. 2 days later the agent rings;
'They've offered you 'Beauty Queen''
You beauty! Well I got that answer wrong. Thank Jesus. 2 weeks me arse. But me nerves are still shattered with waiting for 'Beckett'. What's the story.
'Still no news and the director of 'Beauty Queen' is not too pleased that we can't accept it straight away. I rang him quite a lot to make sure he saw you.'
I know, he told me. So excruciating wait continues. All the while I'm just hoping that I don't end up with nothing. Later that day the phone goes and this is it I now it. This phone call will determine whether I'm doing 'Beauty Queen' or 'Beckett' ('Country Wife' had exited the frame at this stage).
'Its a no for 'Beckett'' says the agent. She's not a bit happy. I'm relieved to be honest.
I knew deep down that it wasn't going to happen. A valuable lesson learned really. My return to the West End would have to wait. If, of course, it would ever come at all. But let's be honest 2 out of 3 aint bad as the song goes. The 'Country Wife' crowd aren't best pleased but these things happen. 'Beauty Queen' it is so and its hardly a consolation prize. Excellent play, excellent part. And also I get to go home for the best part of 5 weeks to write some music. The best of all possible situations that didn't include a play with me man out of 'Twin Town'. My agent tells me there's a possibility of getting seen for a play in the West End with Holly Hunter but I'd have to turn down 'Beauty Queen' and run the real risk of not working for 4 or 5 months. Feck that. I had the play and was doing it. 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane'. I remember the buzz about it when it was first on with Anna Manahan in it. I never thought one day I'd get to do it.
She did it in New York. I'm doing it in Old York.
Start spreading the news boy.
I got more than one.
I'm greedy boy. That said, there was a lot of sitting by the phone waiting for it to ring. But before that there was the auditions and at least they weren't all on the one day. Thank Jesus! The 'Beckett' recall was first. A bit of a mixed bag to be honest. If you will remember my first audition was peachy, the casting director really liked me, obviously enough as here I was back again and to meet the director this time. I make me way to the Theatre Royal Haymarket in the glittering west end where this play is to be performed and on my way in I bump into the very affable and very deadly actor Richard Stacey with whom I had the pleasure of working with last year in a little show which about 10 people saw, although I did get to meet Darius after one performance whoop de fucking doo! But I digress. Anyway in I go to show them what I'm made of. The director is seated at the table on the stage along with the casting director. I recognise him. Apart from being a well known director he was also at the Ian Charleson Awards dinner. Sweet. Maybe I can mention my nomination to jog his memory. Hmmm. The opening chit chat goes well with the usual question of 'Tell me about yourself'. I do so in great detail even though, as you all know, I am not one to talk about myself. Yeah right. But I'm working hard not to leave him know that I'd do anything (non-homosexual) to get this part. Directors can smell desperation and that's a big no no. Nobody employs desperate actors. No mention of the Charleson though. Then he gets me to read. Now the first time I had read this piece was for the casting director who very much liked me reading it in my own accent, always a help, so this time round I launch into it in my best brogue knowing that its a popular choice of tongue. I finish and I sit back and wait for the compliments.
'Can you do it in another accent?' quoth the director.
Oh. Right. Fair enough so. RP it is. This throws me a bit as I was expecting the Déise twang to be sufficient, but obviously not. The second reading is fine though and he seems pleased which is grand. Nice, and I think that's it. It'll be the goodbye now and off to wait for the phone to ring. But he asks me one last question.
'So of your work what would be the best thing you've done?'
Nice one! Time to play the trump card. I proceed to tell him about the Shakespeares at Regent's Park.
'What did you play in them?' he asks.
'Flute and Sir Thurio.'
'Ah, two great parts.'
He's impressed, I'm liking this big time and I launch into how it was my first time doing Shakespeare on stage and what an experience it had been and to top it all off I delivered the coup de grace;
'And then I was nominated for the Ian Charleson award for them.'
I sat back and waited for realisation to dawn on him that he had seen me at it and we would have a jolly laugh and I would leave making a big time impression on him and just wait for the offer.
'Yes, well, its not that hard to teach someone how to perform Shakespeare. Its not the great mystery that some would have us believe.'
He seems well unimpressed at me mentioning it. Me heart sinks. He says that they'll be in touch when they make their decision in a couple of days.I have a really bad feeling I blew it. Shit! It was the one I wanted big time as well. On the way out the casting director is extremely complimentary saying I gave a terrific reading, so that fills me with some hope, but I don't know. I head off for coffee and a chat with the aforementioned Mr. Stacey and we bitch for an hour before I have to go and do a show of Willows. It'll be fine though. Its just the director not giving anything away is all. I'm still in with a shout. And sure I'll know soon enough. The following day the phone went. It wasn't the agent. It was a text from Richard Stacey saying that he had been offered 'Beckett'.
Crap.
Immediately I jumped to every conclusion going. That's it so, the offers are out and there's no triumphant return to the West End for me buddy. I ring the agent to inform her. Its her answering machine. Good sign, it means there might be another message offering me "Beckett'
Nope.
No messages only mine. The agent's like a bitch and immediately tries to ring the casting director but not a sign. She's out for the day. AAAAGGH! The fecking agony! I just want to know once and for all. My recall for the 'Country Wife' the next day had taken on a new importance. 'Beckett' was looking dodgy, I hadn't a clue how 'Beauty Queen' would go a few days later and I needed to know what was happening as I had agreed to write the music for 'Lord of the Flies'. If I got 'Beckett' or 'Country Wife' I would have to fly home the day Willows finished, but if I got 'Beauty Queen' I could hang fire for a couple of weeks and sort out moving to York. Of course if I got none of them then I could go home at my leisure, but I didn't want to think about that option. No way boy. I had to get one of these.
The recall for 'Country Wife' goes well though. Thank Christ! They're still talking to me about how the character should be Irish. Great. They get me to do some more reading and the chat is good but this time I don't big meself up to the point of annoyance. Whatever they need to know is on me CV and anything else they'll ask me. No more volunteering info. It doesn't pay. Big time. 'The Country Wife' would be a grand job, the director seems like a good head I'm unsure about the script but it's still being worked, and also Watford (where it's on of course) is close enough for me to still live in me flat in London. So how bad. Problem is I just finished reading 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane' and it's the business. A brilliant play and a deadly deadly part. I'd like a bit of that. Oh yes indeedy! Although the character is described as being 20 but maybe i could just about squeeze it. Then the phone goes. Oh Jesus its the agent! What news?
'I just spoke with the Casting director for 'Beckett' and she said that a decision hasn't made about the role you're up for. She'll know more by the middle of next week."
Aw man. Just when I thought there wouldn't be a sign of me getting 'Beckett' I'm back in the running but now it really is the waiting game as it'll be a yes or no. Simple as that. So imagine my heart racing every time there's a buzz in my pocket or I hear that familiar ringtone. This situation is only made worse by the fact that i have one of the most common phones in England. Everyone has the bloody same one as me and everyone uses the same ringtone! So I'm out in a shop and i hear someone else's go and I still have a minor coronary. Me nerves were shattered. The day after the 'Country Wife' recall I hear that all too common ringtone. It is mine. It is mine agent. Could it be.......
'They've offered you 'Country Wife'
How bad.
'I told them you're still waiting for an answer on another job so you couldn't accept it straight away. They weren't happy. We have until Tuesday to tell them.'
It was Friday, me 'Beauty Queen' audition was Monday, so I'd need to know about everything by Tuesday or else I would have to turn down 'Country Wife'. There was no way I could risk losing a West End job, so I might possibly have to risk losing everything. I may still end up with no job. That was a real possibility.
'Don't worry I'll get them to give us more time.'
That's why I pay her the money I do. And she sorts it out no hassle, we now have till the following Friday. Right though. Time to chill over the weekend and do some work on 'Beauty Queen'. I spend that Sunday looking at it, and more and more its beginning to dawn on me just how good this play is. As well as that the part is far better that the one in 'Country Wife' and even the part in 'Beckett'. The thing about 'Beckett' though is that it's in the West End boy. That's where we all want to be. But I'm really starting to want 'Beauty Queen' as well. But only Jesus can be in two places at once so that's not going to happen.
Me audition's at 10.30am and I'm in good spirits about it. I head into the waiting area and there's a guy already there looking at a photocopied script which has been provided. I look all swish as I pull my own copy of the script out of me bag. I look like an actor who know's his stuff and the other guy looks like he's about 20 years old. Shite. Now I'm starting to feel old. Fuck it though, I'm here now. I walk in to meet the director of the play and the Artistic Director of the Theatre and they're grand chaps and again the chat is good and I'm being very modest indeed. It's a trick I've learned. The reading is good and they get me to do it a few times with some direction and all seems pretty cool and we sit down again for a closing chat and the director says;
'I must say you have the pushiest agent I've ever come across. She kept ringing me and ringing me about seeing you.'
Sounds like my girl alright. Although I'm not sure if he thinks it's a bad thing.
'But she's doing her job very well because she got me to see you and I'm very glad I did.'
Now that's what I like to hear! But then he hits me with a shocker;
'So it'll be about 2 weeks before we can leave you know.'
Whaaaaaaaaaaatttt!?!?!?!? Jesus I have to give me answer to the other crowd by fecking Friday. Of course I don't say that. But wait there's more;
'We have a lot of people to consider as we've just seen people in Dublin as well.'
Well that's the end of that then. Not a hope. It'll definitely go to some young fella from Dublin who's just finished Trinity. Not a question about it. It's always the way. No need for me to worry about waiting for 2 weeks for an answer, I know the answer already. No. 2 days later the agent rings;
'They've offered you 'Beauty Queen''
You beauty! Well I got that answer wrong. Thank Jesus. 2 weeks me arse. But me nerves are still shattered with waiting for 'Beckett'. What's the story.
'Still no news and the director of 'Beauty Queen' is not too pleased that we can't accept it straight away. I rang him quite a lot to make sure he saw you.'
I know, he told me. So excruciating wait continues. All the while I'm just hoping that I don't end up with nothing. Later that day the phone goes and this is it I now it. This phone call will determine whether I'm doing 'Beauty Queen' or 'Beckett' ('Country Wife' had exited the frame at this stage).
'Its a no for 'Beckett'' says the agent. She's not a bit happy. I'm relieved to be honest.
I knew deep down that it wasn't going to happen. A valuable lesson learned really. My return to the West End would have to wait. If, of course, it would ever come at all. But let's be honest 2 out of 3 aint bad as the song goes. The 'Country Wife' crowd aren't best pleased but these things happen. 'Beauty Queen' it is so and its hardly a consolation prize. Excellent play, excellent part. And also I get to go home for the best part of 5 weeks to write some music. The best of all possible situations that didn't include a play with me man out of 'Twin Town'. My agent tells me there's a possibility of getting seen for a play in the West End with Holly Hunter but I'd have to turn down 'Beauty Queen' and run the real risk of not working for 4 or 5 months. Feck that. I had the play and was doing it. 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane'. I remember the buzz about it when it was first on with Anna Manahan in it. I never thought one day I'd get to do it.
She did it in New York. I'm doing it in Old York.
Start spreading the news boy.
Saturday, July 31, 2004
13. THINGS HAPPEN IN THREES
My day of the three auditions was fast approaching. The Jitter was gone but now I had the shits.
Three Auditions on the one day? What the feck was going on? Of course I was delighted but if you multiply the nerves I get when going to one audition by three then you get a seriously sick stomach. Add to this the fact the on this faithful day of intestine tangling audition action I also had a sound check and complete run through of Wind in the Willows. The audition for 'The Country Wife' was at 10.30am, 'Beckett' was at 1.30pm and 'Putting it together was at 5.45pm. Aaaaaagh! Of course the singing audition would be the last one of the day when I'm utterly vocally knackered (things had only slightly improved voce-wise in rehearsals). I was not the most confident of bunnies let me tell ya. But this is the business I'm in so I have to take it in me stride. There can come a point in your career as a thesp where you are so well known that you no longer have to audition. You just have meetings. I'm very far off that to be quite honest. More's the fucking pity! So the script for 'Country Wife' arrives, I go out and by the script for Beckett (the one I'd really like to get) and for the Sondheim audition I start scabbing music off of friends because all of my songs are in storage in a house in Bedford (don't ask) and I sit down and do some serious swotting. I'm gonna get one of these. I can feel it in me water and I want it to be Beckett. Big time.
-Interlude 1: During all of this I go and see the new Conor McPherson Play at The Royal Court donchaknow. Brilliant play, stunning acting and to top off a top evening in the bookshop afterwards I espy a sweet little bargain. All the scripts for the plays the Royal Court have produced over the years are available for a paltry 2 quid a pop. How bad. And staring down at me from the shelf is Martin McDonagh's first play 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane'. This pretty famous piece is well regarded in the history of the Déise as it originally starred one of the original Blaa actors Anna Manahan and won the West End of Waterford diva a Tony award for her troubles. Despite all that though I have never seen the bloody thing or even read it and I've been told enugh times that there is a part I could play in it so I should really have a gander. At £7.99 in your high street bookstore its a bit of a stretch at the mo (I'm out of a job soon sure, and I can't eat old scripts for dinner) but 2 pound? Sold! And off I trotted happy at me nights entertainment and frugal purchase.
End of Interlude-
And then it was before me. That day. It went something like this;
7am: I'm up and feeling groovy. I didn't go out the night before so I'm fresh as a feckin' daisy and ready for anything. Come on boy! here we go! Shower shave and a bit of breakfast and all's well with the world. Quick look at the script for the first audition. Grand not a problem. Pack me bag with the requisite change of clothes for the run and a bit of smelly, throw on the glad rags and I'm out the door, making me way to the West End, where I arrive at;
10.30am: 'Country Wife' audition. Walk in to meet the casting director whom I've met previously and the director who is a very nice chap that proceeds to tell me that they've been discussing the script and they think that the character I'm reading for should actually be Irish. Go 'way! Well that's handy. Away go all my thoughts of playing this med student as some stoned Londoner and out I come with me best blaa and it works a treat! Nice One. And throughout the audition the banter is good and I don't say anything crap and stupid like I normally do. Great start to the day.
11.30am: Sound check at Regent's Park. Out of me glad rags and onto the stage with a pin mike to sing all of me songs and the auld voce aint too bad. This is a great warm up. But the big problem is the run through. That'll knacker me big time. I'm thinking I'm gonna have to hold back a bit during that one. Oh yes indeedy. it wont be the big mad performance of Toad that has had me losing me voice for ages. Oh no I've got an audition buddy. All goes cool at the sound check then and its a quick spray of smelley, into my gladrags and off to -
1.30pm: 'Beckett' audition. This is the one I'm most anxious about. I've had a read of the script and I'm checking over bits on the tube down to the very swish flat in Mayfair where it's all about to happen. Of course the script i have is an old translation (sure it's a French play originally) and Mr. Dougray Scott aint gonna do any shitty old script but is having a brand new translation done especially. Grand so. I get there a bit early which is cool as I'm handed the new script to have a look over. Good stuff. I don't mind sight reading at all but the look over beforehand is very desirable. I go into meet the casting director who is very pleasant and encouraging, I read a bit and we chat for AGES. We just chat about loadsa stuff and I'm thinking 'this is grand, she's interested in what I'm saying. In my opinion.' and it seems to go on forever. This is a very good sign. Bit more reading and she says how she liked my reading and that she'll be in touch and as I'm leaving she says that most golden of phrases;
'And well done on Calico. I loved your performance.'
I literally skipped out the door. Nice one! Now that went really well. No, I mean REALLY well. So well I had lost all sense of time while I was in there, so i look at my watch. Aw shit! It's
2.05pm: I'm sprinting up towards Bond street station at this stage because I had promised the director of Willows I'd be back for them to start the run at 2 sharp. Not a sign. The thing is though that i don't come on stage for nearly twenty minutes at the start of the show so maybe they'll start without me in the hope that I'll have arrived by the time they get to my first bit.
2.20pm: They'd started without me! I run into the rehearsal room literally just as I'm supposed to make my entrance in the show. Great timing on their part I must say but I'm bolloxed from all the rushing and I don't even get a chance to change clothes. Not to worry though, I'll take this run pretty handy, don't want to over exert myself with another audition to come today, now do I? Me bollox. As I gently saunter rather than whack into my first few lines I notice a figure sitting among the gathering that's watching the run. Ah no! It's only the erstwhile artistic director of the Open Air Theatre. A sound man if ever I met him, and indeed it was him that gave me my first job in the London. He also very famously played Toad in the West End for 11 Christmases on the trot. I was bricking it about auditions but now I'm shitting meself about him watching me play his part for the first time...and he's taking notes!! That's his job as AD of course but that makes me worse. So the thoughts of doing a low energy run is out the window boy. Big time. I whack into it with style after that and it goes really well but by the end I'm feckin' knackered. The last thing I need now is another audition......
5.45pm: Another audition. I peg it down to Clapham from the park hoping the auld smelly is doing its job overtime as I haven't had a chance to have a shower after the run and I am rank with sweat. Jesus! One of the other lads out of Willows is with me as he has an audition for the same part. Of course there is no tension between us. We're professionals. We don't let tawdry things like work get in the way of friendship. That said if he gets the part over me I'll be like a dog! I'm downing water like a good thing and the nerves are really kicking in. Much more so than for the last two auditions. You see there's no lines to read here. This is the one I have to sing at and nothing fills me with more dread. I don't know why singing auditions give me nightmares, I mean I came to the London to study musical theatre, surely I'd be alright with singing an auld song? Nope. It gives me the fear. What makes it worse of course is the way my voice has been for the past few weeks. Shite in other words. Also I feel really unprepared, its my first time singing at an audition in months and I had no music so i had to just pick out what I knew from me flatmate's music. It amounted to 3 songs. 2 of which were grand and easy but one of them is a bitch big time and I'm really not sure me voice will be up for it after the day I've had. Hopefully they wont ask me for that one.
Some hope.
In I go and there's a bit of chat, they tell me that the show isn't happening until christmas which seems ages and ages away and they ask me that old faithful..
'So what are you going to sing for us today?'
'Well I've brought 'Good Thing Going'
'Oh' says the musical director. Now I'm worried. 'What else have you brought? May I have a look at your music?'
No....... But of course I let him. Just as long as he doesn't pick 'Giants in the Sky' that's the bitch.
'Why don't we have "Giants in the Sky' instead?'
Crap.
But I needn't have worried. It went great. I don't know where the voice came out of but all the high notes were there and the panel were impressed enough to ask me to sing the first song I suggested as well. Sweet! That went well too and they said thank you and I walked out and nearly collapsed. What a day. Now it was over there was only one thing to do......go to the opening night of a musical at Regent's Park and get shitfaced. And so I did.
-Interlude 2: I'm having a quiet auld drink with that Larry Olivier of Lisduggan Mr. Brian 'Dots' Doherty when he stakes me to some very valuable advice. He had heard from a very reliable source that York Theatre Royal are planning to put on Beauty Queen of Leenane in November. Sure that's gas didn't i just buy the script for that the other day. Maybe its a sign. I tell me agent about and forget about it. Gas.
End of interlude-
So the waiting by the phone began. It wasn't too long thankfully and calls came from both 'Country Wife' and 'Beckett' (yes!) saying I had recalls the following week. Cool. No joy with the Sondheim show but you can't win them all and they said they liked me so that's not too bad. but now the work to get 'Beckett' began in earnest. I really wanted to get this gig as it was big time West End stuff which doing 'Calico' had made me hungry for. Cool. Also both jobs started 3 weeks after Willows finishes so that would mean I could fly back to the land of the Déise and write the music for 'The Lord of the Flies'. It couldn't get better. Now all I needed was to get the job. Like I said, if only life was that simple. The phone holler's, the agent proclaims;
'You have an audition for 'Beauty Queen of Leenane'.
I told you it was a sign. I'm glad I bought that fecking script.So I had started with 3 auditions and had ended up with 2 recalls and another audition.
Things do happen in threes but all I wanted was one.
Which one would it be?
PS. Just a quick note to say that throughout all of this Wind in the Willows had opened and was going down a storm. nearly 1,200 people a show, good weather, I got some of the best reviews of me career (With the exception of the Gaurdian which didn't mention me at all in the review but proceeded to print a huge photo of me beside it. Adding insult to injury really!) and the voice had been holding out grand. Of course i had been taking it easy and only went out at the weekend, but lets not talk of such an uneventful time. I was in a hit! I was sharing a dressing room with Russ Abbott! How bad. just in case you wanted to know.
Three Auditions on the one day? What the feck was going on? Of course I was delighted but if you multiply the nerves I get when going to one audition by three then you get a seriously sick stomach. Add to this the fact the on this faithful day of intestine tangling audition action I also had a sound check and complete run through of Wind in the Willows. The audition for 'The Country Wife' was at 10.30am, 'Beckett' was at 1.30pm and 'Putting it together was at 5.45pm. Aaaaaagh! Of course the singing audition would be the last one of the day when I'm utterly vocally knackered (things had only slightly improved voce-wise in rehearsals). I was not the most confident of bunnies let me tell ya. But this is the business I'm in so I have to take it in me stride. There can come a point in your career as a thesp where you are so well known that you no longer have to audition. You just have meetings. I'm very far off that to be quite honest. More's the fucking pity! So the script for 'Country Wife' arrives, I go out and by the script for Beckett (the one I'd really like to get) and for the Sondheim audition I start scabbing music off of friends because all of my songs are in storage in a house in Bedford (don't ask) and I sit down and do some serious swotting. I'm gonna get one of these. I can feel it in me water and I want it to be Beckett. Big time.
-Interlude 1: During all of this I go and see the new Conor McPherson Play at The Royal Court donchaknow. Brilliant play, stunning acting and to top off a top evening in the bookshop afterwards I espy a sweet little bargain. All the scripts for the plays the Royal Court have produced over the years are available for a paltry 2 quid a pop. How bad. And staring down at me from the shelf is Martin McDonagh's first play 'The Beauty Queen of Leenane'. This pretty famous piece is well regarded in the history of the Déise as it originally starred one of the original Blaa actors Anna Manahan and won the West End of Waterford diva a Tony award for her troubles. Despite all that though I have never seen the bloody thing or even read it and I've been told enugh times that there is a part I could play in it so I should really have a gander. At £7.99 in your high street bookstore its a bit of a stretch at the mo (I'm out of a job soon sure, and I can't eat old scripts for dinner) but 2 pound? Sold! And off I trotted happy at me nights entertainment and frugal purchase.
End of Interlude-
And then it was before me. That day. It went something like this;
7am: I'm up and feeling groovy. I didn't go out the night before so I'm fresh as a feckin' daisy and ready for anything. Come on boy! here we go! Shower shave and a bit of breakfast and all's well with the world. Quick look at the script for the first audition. Grand not a problem. Pack me bag with the requisite change of clothes for the run and a bit of smelly, throw on the glad rags and I'm out the door, making me way to the West End, where I arrive at;
10.30am: 'Country Wife' audition. Walk in to meet the casting director whom I've met previously and the director who is a very nice chap that proceeds to tell me that they've been discussing the script and they think that the character I'm reading for should actually be Irish. Go 'way! Well that's handy. Away go all my thoughts of playing this med student as some stoned Londoner and out I come with me best blaa and it works a treat! Nice One. And throughout the audition the banter is good and I don't say anything crap and stupid like I normally do. Great start to the day.
11.30am: Sound check at Regent's Park. Out of me glad rags and onto the stage with a pin mike to sing all of me songs and the auld voce aint too bad. This is a great warm up. But the big problem is the run through. That'll knacker me big time. I'm thinking I'm gonna have to hold back a bit during that one. Oh yes indeedy. it wont be the big mad performance of Toad that has had me losing me voice for ages. Oh no I've got an audition buddy. All goes cool at the sound check then and its a quick spray of smelley, into my gladrags and off to -
1.30pm: 'Beckett' audition. This is the one I'm most anxious about. I've had a read of the script and I'm checking over bits on the tube down to the very swish flat in Mayfair where it's all about to happen. Of course the script i have is an old translation (sure it's a French play originally) and Mr. Dougray Scott aint gonna do any shitty old script but is having a brand new translation done especially. Grand so. I get there a bit early which is cool as I'm handed the new script to have a look over. Good stuff. I don't mind sight reading at all but the look over beforehand is very desirable. I go into meet the casting director who is very pleasant and encouraging, I read a bit and we chat for AGES. We just chat about loadsa stuff and I'm thinking 'this is grand, she's interested in what I'm saying. In my opinion.' and it seems to go on forever. This is a very good sign. Bit more reading and she says how she liked my reading and that she'll be in touch and as I'm leaving she says that most golden of phrases;
'And well done on Calico. I loved your performance.'
I literally skipped out the door. Nice one! Now that went really well. No, I mean REALLY well. So well I had lost all sense of time while I was in there, so i look at my watch. Aw shit! It's
2.05pm: I'm sprinting up towards Bond street station at this stage because I had promised the director of Willows I'd be back for them to start the run at 2 sharp. Not a sign. The thing is though that i don't come on stage for nearly twenty minutes at the start of the show so maybe they'll start without me in the hope that I'll have arrived by the time they get to my first bit.
2.20pm: They'd started without me! I run into the rehearsal room literally just as I'm supposed to make my entrance in the show. Great timing on their part I must say but I'm bolloxed from all the rushing and I don't even get a chance to change clothes. Not to worry though, I'll take this run pretty handy, don't want to over exert myself with another audition to come today, now do I? Me bollox. As I gently saunter rather than whack into my first few lines I notice a figure sitting among the gathering that's watching the run. Ah no! It's only the erstwhile artistic director of the Open Air Theatre. A sound man if ever I met him, and indeed it was him that gave me my first job in the London. He also very famously played Toad in the West End for 11 Christmases on the trot. I was bricking it about auditions but now I'm shitting meself about him watching me play his part for the first time...and he's taking notes!! That's his job as AD of course but that makes me worse. So the thoughts of doing a low energy run is out the window boy. Big time. I whack into it with style after that and it goes really well but by the end I'm feckin' knackered. The last thing I need now is another audition......
5.45pm: Another audition. I peg it down to Clapham from the park hoping the auld smelly is doing its job overtime as I haven't had a chance to have a shower after the run and I am rank with sweat. Jesus! One of the other lads out of Willows is with me as he has an audition for the same part. Of course there is no tension between us. We're professionals. We don't let tawdry things like work get in the way of friendship. That said if he gets the part over me I'll be like a dog! I'm downing water like a good thing and the nerves are really kicking in. Much more so than for the last two auditions. You see there's no lines to read here. This is the one I have to sing at and nothing fills me with more dread. I don't know why singing auditions give me nightmares, I mean I came to the London to study musical theatre, surely I'd be alright with singing an auld song? Nope. It gives me the fear. What makes it worse of course is the way my voice has been for the past few weeks. Shite in other words. Also I feel really unprepared, its my first time singing at an audition in months and I had no music so i had to just pick out what I knew from me flatmate's music. It amounted to 3 songs. 2 of which were grand and easy but one of them is a bitch big time and I'm really not sure me voice will be up for it after the day I've had. Hopefully they wont ask me for that one.
Some hope.
In I go and there's a bit of chat, they tell me that the show isn't happening until christmas which seems ages and ages away and they ask me that old faithful..
'So what are you going to sing for us today?'
'Well I've brought 'Good Thing Going'
'Oh' says the musical director. Now I'm worried. 'What else have you brought? May I have a look at your music?'
No....... But of course I let him. Just as long as he doesn't pick 'Giants in the Sky' that's the bitch.
'Why don't we have "Giants in the Sky' instead?'
Crap.
But I needn't have worried. It went great. I don't know where the voice came out of but all the high notes were there and the panel were impressed enough to ask me to sing the first song I suggested as well. Sweet! That went well too and they said thank you and I walked out and nearly collapsed. What a day. Now it was over there was only one thing to do......go to the opening night of a musical at Regent's Park and get shitfaced. And so I did.
-Interlude 2: I'm having a quiet auld drink with that Larry Olivier of Lisduggan Mr. Brian 'Dots' Doherty when he stakes me to some very valuable advice. He had heard from a very reliable source that York Theatre Royal are planning to put on Beauty Queen of Leenane in November. Sure that's gas didn't i just buy the script for that the other day. Maybe its a sign. I tell me agent about and forget about it. Gas.
End of interlude-
So the waiting by the phone began. It wasn't too long thankfully and calls came from both 'Country Wife' and 'Beckett' (yes!) saying I had recalls the following week. Cool. No joy with the Sondheim show but you can't win them all and they said they liked me so that's not too bad. but now the work to get 'Beckett' began in earnest. I really wanted to get this gig as it was big time West End stuff which doing 'Calico' had made me hungry for. Cool. Also both jobs started 3 weeks after Willows finishes so that would mean I could fly back to the land of the Déise and write the music for 'The Lord of the Flies'. It couldn't get better. Now all I needed was to get the job. Like I said, if only life was that simple. The phone holler's, the agent proclaims;
'You have an audition for 'Beauty Queen of Leenane'.
I told you it was a sign. I'm glad I bought that fecking script.So I had started with 3 auditions and had ended up with 2 recalls and another audition.
Things do happen in threes but all I wanted was one.
Which one would it be?
PS. Just a quick note to say that throughout all of this Wind in the Willows had opened and was going down a storm. nearly 1,200 people a show, good weather, I got some of the best reviews of me career (With the exception of the Gaurdian which didn't mention me at all in the review but proceeded to print a huge photo of me beside it. Adding insult to injury really!) and the voice had been holding out grand. Of course i had been taking it easy and only went out at the weekend, but lets not talk of such an uneventful time. I was in a hit! I was sharing a dressing room with Russ Abbott! How bad. just in case you wanted to know.
Monday, July 19, 2004
12. THE JITTER
It was two weeks into rehearsals for Wind in the Willows and I was getting 'The Jitter'.
Quoth Oxford's English;
jit·ter (jtr)
intr.v. jit·tered, jit·ter·ing, jit·ters
1. To be nervous or uneasy; fidget.
2. To make small quick jumpy movements
Or in my case;
de jit·ter (d) (jtr)
intr.v. de jit·ters, eg "I've got the Jitter boy"
1. To be nervous or uneasy or anxious about the outcome of a hurling match in which Waterford is participating.
2. To be nervous or uneasy or anxious about whether you'll have another job to go on to after your current contract finishes.
I had a severe case of the number 2's. Now normally this wouldn't come so early on in a job but it had hit me square in the face that Willows was only a 7 week contract and with 5 weeks to go I had no job to go to and no auditions in sight. Ah no! The awful shadow of not having anything to go on to was looming over me and quickly getting bigger and bigger. This wasn't like after Calico, where i could afford to sit on me arse and just wait for an acting job to come along. It's because I did that after Calico that I spent all me savings and now Willows was really just paying off debts and leaving me survive. Hi ho the glamorous life then. As well as that my voice was a constant worry and kept giving up on me in rehearsals. I had visions of being given my P45 from the job if things didn't get better. I was sure that my vocal problems were just because we kept doing scenes and songs over and over again in rehearsals and once we got up and running and just had one show a day it would all be fine. It was still a worry though. So was my lack of auditions. You do the math.
Lack of auditions = Lack of new acting job to go onto when current contract finishes
Lack of new acting job to go onto = Having to get a NORMAL JOB!!!!!!!
Spoken with hatred disgust and fear throughout the profession the words 'normal job' make my stomach churn. 'How dare you' I hear you cry 'How dare you think that you poncey actors are somehow above normal jobs!' I hear you accuse. Well let me explain to clear my name. When an actor says he has to get a 'normal job' he doesn't mean just any normal job. He means he has to get the singularly worst, most boring most sole-destroyingly crap job you can possibly think of. I feel an example coming on. The summer of 2002 wasn't a great one for me so I got a job selling Audio Guides at The London Eye. Now picture me in a bright orange jacket, a cap and a very insincere smile on my face as I traipse up and down a queue of hundreds of tourists, all of whom think I look like a prick, trying to sell these bloody audio guides which no one had any interest in buying. They were right. I did look like a prick. And people acted like pricks to me and I would see people I knew there and they felt sorry for me because I looked like (and was being treated like) a prick for 6 fecking pound an hour which was paid monthly!!!! Aaaaaagh! Worst. Job. Ever! But why do it? Because it was one of the few places that would employ actors and was cool about people taking time off for auditions. You see actors need jobs which are flexible around their acting career and only the worst jobs are like that. Believe me. When you get someone cold-calling you asking you whether you want to subscribe to a great new magazine, chances are its an out of work actor doing his 'normal' job. That fella who stands on the street trying to get you to stop and have a chat about giving money to a charity? He's been to RADA. What's the most common question asked of a drama school graduate? 'Can I have fries with that, please?'......actually that's not quite accurate......the 'please' would be wishful thinking. The last time i had to get a 'normal job' was for 3 weeks in February 2003. So you see why i had The Jitter. I'd been spoiled up to this point to be honest. 90% of actors are out of work at any one time so obviously a lot of actors have to put up with 'normal jobs' so who the hell am I to be whining? Talk about being ungrateful. One of the guys in Willows, a terrific actor called Simon McCoy who was playing Ratty, hadn't worked in two years up to that point and didn't even have an agent. What right had I to be complaining that i had no aud........but wait! What's that buzz in me back pocket? Please god let it be! It is! And thus my agent spoke the golden words;
'You have an audition for a new version of 'The Country Wife' for Watford Palace Theatre on Friday next. I've had them put you on at 10 am so you can make rehearsals.'
Result! Now the Jitter is dying down a bit. I have an audition. On the ball! Of course this is cause to celebrate. And celebrate I did. Remember what I said before about it being a sober summer. Me Bollox boy! Earlier that evening I met up with the cast of Calico for a little reunion and had a nice civilised drink with them until the ladies of the company left and I got shitfaced with the remaining lads. Sweet action! When enough was enough for all others I was still bullin' for more and so off I trotted into the centre of The London only to fall into that most (un)classy of venues; Break for the Border. This is a dodgy club underneath the London Palladium off of Oxford Street and on a Wednesday night its cheap beer and free in if you're in a show in London. Which I am Mr. Bouncer, thank you very much! Loadsa cheap booze later and I'm well out of me box on the night bus home and miraculously I don't fall asleep. One dirty chip in pitta later and I'm a happy bunny tucked up in me bed. The following morning I'm paying for it big time as I fall into rehearsals, still a bit drunk to be honest, for a fecking fight call of all things. We choreograph the big fight at the end of the play and its the single most painful few hours of rehearsals I've ever had. I mean who in they're right mind would hand me a sword in the first place much less after a serious feed of beer and 4 hours sleep. It was even more obvious from this little incident that it would be impossible to do the show with any sort of hangover. SO COP THE FUCK ON JAMIE! I was definitely not going to go on a session the night before me audition anyway. Oh I'm sorry did I say audition? I meant audition's'. You see on the (far more sober) following day the phone goes. Hark, 'tis the agent;
'You have another audition.'
Another audition? oh happy day.
'This one is for a new production of the play 'Beckett' in the West End starring Dougray Scott. The casting director didn't want to see you but when I said you were in Calico she changed her mind immediately, she said she saw it and really liked you in it'
Very nice! Another season in the West End would be lovely thank you very much and with the baddie out of Mission Impossible 2 to boot! How bad! So when is it fair agent of mine?
'Its on the same day as your 'Country Wife' audition but I've got it for around lunchtime so you won't miss rehearsals.'
I pay that lady with good reason! Woohoo! Two auditions on the one day! I can't remember the last time that happened. I'm slowly but surely waving goodbye to the Jitter methinks. Hang on though about half an hour later there's a buzz in me pocket dear Liza. What, the agent once more?
'You have another audition, this one's for a production of Stephen Sondheim's 'Putting it Together' at Harrogate.'
Sweet! Not as flashy as a West End gig but who can turn their nose up at Sondheim? This is the business! One minute I have no auditions, the next i have three. The Jitter's getting its P45. And when does this fabulous Third audition occur?
'You're not going to believe this but it's on the same day as your other two auditions.'
I don't believe it!
'I've got them to put you on at the end of the day, so you wont miss rehearsals.'
At this stage I'm in too much shock to be listening. Three auditions in one day. Now that has never happened me before. Ever. So after a serious case of the Jitter I had got my wish. In spades boy! Jesus! I went to the director and explained my situation and in fairness she was extremely accommodating, especially seeing as it was the week before we opened. Directors can be funny about releasing actors from rehearsals for auditions but this lovely lady was well cool. Grand sorted so. Goodbye Jitter? Well no not really. I had auditions but that didn't mean I had the jobs. Not by a long shot. So there was still a possibility that I would have to get a crappy 'normal job'. But in the middle of all this a memory came to me. A distant drunken memory of a conversation with the braveheart of Irish theatre, Ben Hennessy, one night in the Munster on my last jaunt to the land of the Déise. In the memory I see him telling me that Red Kettle Theatre Co. are planning to stage 'The Lord of the Flies' in the Autumn. Then I see myself asking him if he fancied me doing some music for it. Then I hear the word 'Yes'! A quick phone call later and its sorted! I'm writing the music for 'The Lord of the Flies' which I can start any time once I finish Willows. Legendary! That was it so, the Jitter was gone. Not a sign of needing to get a 'normal job'. I was sorted with a grand aul music gig which would get me through until I got another acting job. Which couldn't be too far off sure.
Sure didn't I have three auditions coming up?
If only life was that simple.
Quoth Oxford's English;
jit·ter (jtr)
intr.v. jit·tered, jit·ter·ing, jit·ters
1. To be nervous or uneasy; fidget.
2. To make small quick jumpy movements
Or in my case;
de jit·ter (d) (jtr)
intr.v. de jit·ters, eg "I've got the Jitter boy"
1. To be nervous or uneasy or anxious about the outcome of a hurling match in which Waterford is participating.
2. To be nervous or uneasy or anxious about whether you'll have another job to go on to after your current contract finishes.
I had a severe case of the number 2's. Now normally this wouldn't come so early on in a job but it had hit me square in the face that Willows was only a 7 week contract and with 5 weeks to go I had no job to go to and no auditions in sight. Ah no! The awful shadow of not having anything to go on to was looming over me and quickly getting bigger and bigger. This wasn't like after Calico, where i could afford to sit on me arse and just wait for an acting job to come along. It's because I did that after Calico that I spent all me savings and now Willows was really just paying off debts and leaving me survive. Hi ho the glamorous life then. As well as that my voice was a constant worry and kept giving up on me in rehearsals. I had visions of being given my P45 from the job if things didn't get better. I was sure that my vocal problems were just because we kept doing scenes and songs over and over again in rehearsals and once we got up and running and just had one show a day it would all be fine. It was still a worry though. So was my lack of auditions. You do the math.
Lack of auditions = Lack of new acting job to go onto when current contract finishes
Lack of new acting job to go onto = Having to get a NORMAL JOB!!!!!!!
Spoken with hatred disgust and fear throughout the profession the words 'normal job' make my stomach churn. 'How dare you' I hear you cry 'How dare you think that you poncey actors are somehow above normal jobs!' I hear you accuse. Well let me explain to clear my name. When an actor says he has to get a 'normal job' he doesn't mean just any normal job. He means he has to get the singularly worst, most boring most sole-destroyingly crap job you can possibly think of. I feel an example coming on. The summer of 2002 wasn't a great one for me so I got a job selling Audio Guides at The London Eye. Now picture me in a bright orange jacket, a cap and a very insincere smile on my face as I traipse up and down a queue of hundreds of tourists, all of whom think I look like a prick, trying to sell these bloody audio guides which no one had any interest in buying. They were right. I did look like a prick. And people acted like pricks to me and I would see people I knew there and they felt sorry for me because I looked like (and was being treated like) a prick for 6 fecking pound an hour which was paid monthly!!!! Aaaaaagh! Worst. Job. Ever! But why do it? Because it was one of the few places that would employ actors and was cool about people taking time off for auditions. You see actors need jobs which are flexible around their acting career and only the worst jobs are like that. Believe me. When you get someone cold-calling you asking you whether you want to subscribe to a great new magazine, chances are its an out of work actor doing his 'normal' job. That fella who stands on the street trying to get you to stop and have a chat about giving money to a charity? He's been to RADA. What's the most common question asked of a drama school graduate? 'Can I have fries with that, please?'......actually that's not quite accurate......the 'please' would be wishful thinking. The last time i had to get a 'normal job' was for 3 weeks in February 2003. So you see why i had The Jitter. I'd been spoiled up to this point to be honest. 90% of actors are out of work at any one time so obviously a lot of actors have to put up with 'normal jobs' so who the hell am I to be whining? Talk about being ungrateful. One of the guys in Willows, a terrific actor called Simon McCoy who was playing Ratty, hadn't worked in two years up to that point and didn't even have an agent. What right had I to be complaining that i had no aud........but wait! What's that buzz in me back pocket? Please god let it be! It is! And thus my agent spoke the golden words;
'You have an audition for a new version of 'The Country Wife' for Watford Palace Theatre on Friday next. I've had them put you on at 10 am so you can make rehearsals.'
Result! Now the Jitter is dying down a bit. I have an audition. On the ball! Of course this is cause to celebrate. And celebrate I did. Remember what I said before about it being a sober summer. Me Bollox boy! Earlier that evening I met up with the cast of Calico for a little reunion and had a nice civilised drink with them until the ladies of the company left and I got shitfaced with the remaining lads. Sweet action! When enough was enough for all others I was still bullin' for more and so off I trotted into the centre of The London only to fall into that most (un)classy of venues; Break for the Border. This is a dodgy club underneath the London Palladium off of Oxford Street and on a Wednesday night its cheap beer and free in if you're in a show in London. Which I am Mr. Bouncer, thank you very much! Loadsa cheap booze later and I'm well out of me box on the night bus home and miraculously I don't fall asleep. One dirty chip in pitta later and I'm a happy bunny tucked up in me bed. The following morning I'm paying for it big time as I fall into rehearsals, still a bit drunk to be honest, for a fecking fight call of all things. We choreograph the big fight at the end of the play and its the single most painful few hours of rehearsals I've ever had. I mean who in they're right mind would hand me a sword in the first place much less after a serious feed of beer and 4 hours sleep. It was even more obvious from this little incident that it would be impossible to do the show with any sort of hangover. SO COP THE FUCK ON JAMIE! I was definitely not going to go on a session the night before me audition anyway. Oh I'm sorry did I say audition? I meant audition's'. You see on the (far more sober) following day the phone goes. Hark, 'tis the agent;
'You have another audition.'
Another audition? oh happy day.
'This one is for a new production of the play 'Beckett' in the West End starring Dougray Scott. The casting director didn't want to see you but when I said you were in Calico she changed her mind immediately, she said she saw it and really liked you in it'
Very nice! Another season in the West End would be lovely thank you very much and with the baddie out of Mission Impossible 2 to boot! How bad! So when is it fair agent of mine?
'Its on the same day as your 'Country Wife' audition but I've got it for around lunchtime so you won't miss rehearsals.'
I pay that lady with good reason! Woohoo! Two auditions on the one day! I can't remember the last time that happened. I'm slowly but surely waving goodbye to the Jitter methinks. Hang on though about half an hour later there's a buzz in me pocket dear Liza. What, the agent once more?
'You have another audition, this one's for a production of Stephen Sondheim's 'Putting it Together' at Harrogate.'
Sweet! Not as flashy as a West End gig but who can turn their nose up at Sondheim? This is the business! One minute I have no auditions, the next i have three. The Jitter's getting its P45. And when does this fabulous Third audition occur?
'You're not going to believe this but it's on the same day as your other two auditions.'
I don't believe it!
'I've got them to put you on at the end of the day, so you wont miss rehearsals.'
At this stage I'm in too much shock to be listening. Three auditions in one day. Now that has never happened me before. Ever. So after a serious case of the Jitter I had got my wish. In spades boy! Jesus! I went to the director and explained my situation and in fairness she was extremely accommodating, especially seeing as it was the week before we opened. Directors can be funny about releasing actors from rehearsals for auditions but this lovely lady was well cool. Grand sorted so. Goodbye Jitter? Well no not really. I had auditions but that didn't mean I had the jobs. Not by a long shot. So there was still a possibility that I would have to get a crappy 'normal job'. But in the middle of all this a memory came to me. A distant drunken memory of a conversation with the braveheart of Irish theatre, Ben Hennessy, one night in the Munster on my last jaunt to the land of the Déise. In the memory I see him telling me that Red Kettle Theatre Co. are planning to stage 'The Lord of the Flies' in the Autumn. Then I see myself asking him if he fancied me doing some music for it. Then I hear the word 'Yes'! A quick phone call later and its sorted! I'm writing the music for 'The Lord of the Flies' which I can start any time once I finish Willows. Legendary! That was it so, the Jitter was gone. Not a sign of needing to get a 'normal job'. I was sorted with a grand aul music gig which would get me through until I got another acting job. Which couldn't be too far off sure.
Sure didn't I have three auditions coming up?
If only life was that simple.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
11. SILENCE IS GOLDEN
So the week before I start a new job I lose my voice.
Winning the Munster Hurling Final is to blame of course.
Generally speaking an actors most valued attribute is his voice. I'm pretty sure a deep-seated love of talking is what leads some people to become actors (that and a serious masochistic streak I would say are essential to be honest.) and actors talk.........a lot. Why is it that we always want more lines than we have? Why is it that we love the sound of our own voices? And why do we always talk about ourselves. Jesus I don't know, but its certainly the case. If you can't read the lines you won't get the job. If you can't be heard in the back row of the Gods you wont get the job and if you can't charm the casting panel with your practised wit and polished brogue you're well fecked buddy, so just walk away there and then and save yourself the bother. A good clear articulate voice is essential she said in the back room of the Guildford School of Acting. 'But what about the morning after a deadly mad session the night before?' I hear you cry! 'The voice is never too shit hot after one those! Are you saying you have to sacrifice that?'
Fuck no!
In my case my voice is generally back to the land of the living after a seisúin mór just in time for the evening show at 7.30. I try to be a little less mad the night before a matinee and of course it all depends on the role and its hangoverability (more on that later). While I was in previews for Calico a number of us gatecrashed the Olivier Awards as i mentioned previously. It was a night spent drinking copious amounts of wine and ending up in that wonderful lady (and Olivier nominee) Tracie Bennett's room drinking vodka until 5 in the morning. I had rehearsals the next morning at 11. I was still full of vodka. I sobered up for the show of course and the voice was fine when it came to delivering the lines but the small bit of singing I had did not go so well and the director remarked the next morning that he could hear the half four vodka in my voice. I made a mental note never to tell a director where I had been the night before again. As for auditions, well I have to admit to going to an morning audition last year having not been to bed at and still a bit tipsy from an evenings merriment. I got the job. Sound. But its still not that advisable. If I'm singing for the Audition I'll be a good boy, if its for a play I'm a bit more lax. But I feel after nearly 4 years at this game i know how to handle the voce pretty well.
Famous last words.
I was back in the land of the Déise of course and we won the hurling. In style. Now I confess to know very little about the mighty Gaelic sport of hurling. But I have to say I go a bit mad when I watch it. Especially when I'm standing on the terraces in Semple Stadium in Thurles watching one of the most nail biting Munster finals in Waterford's history. The sheer excruciating tension of which was only broken when, as all eyes were fixed on the pitch with so much concentration that you would hear a pin drop, that great man of words Ultan Hayden uttered the immortal line;
'Come on lads....... dig deep, aim high!'
You had to be there.
But it was drama of the highest order and no doubt with the fighting Déise battling the Cork rebels despite one of our star players, John Mullane, being sent off for pucking a Cork langer in the head with his hurley. I was in the school choir with the aforementioned Mr. Mullane (He was a 1st year when i was a 6th year) and we used to give him an awful time about messing. Needless to say that wouldn't happen nowadays that he's a big mad hurler and I'm a poncey actor. I live in hope that he has put those choir days to the far recesses of his mind. Another valued attribute to an actor is his face, and while mine won't launch any ships or toilet products, the butt of a hurley in it would indeed lessen my chances at auditions. But I digress. To say that the Waterford fans present in Thurles that day turned at times into screaming lunatics would not be an overstatement. We went mental. As every ball went over the bar, as each goal went in, as the ref gave away each free I could feel the larynx being ripped out of me as I roared, and I mean ROARED, along with the crowd. No big stage shouts as we were trained to do at drama school, no supporting from my diaphragm, all that shite went out the window. Gutteral, primal sounds were roared at the men in blue and white who to us were no longer sportsmen, but warriors of old! Like the fecking Fianna they were!!! And we as their supporters sang powerful chants to give the Déise soldiers fire in their bellies. An age old chant from the mists of time which went;
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap clap)
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap clap)
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap...........jesus noddy keep in fecking time will ya!!!!!!)
It is not in our make up as Déise men to sing that song nicely, so this was further damage to the vocal chords. The final straw however came when Paul Flynn Stepped up to take a free late in the second half. Cork were slightly ahead and all eyes were on him and everyone thought he would send it over the bar for an easy point. Me Bollocks!!!!! GOAL! He drove it into the back of the Cork net like Setanta killing the hound of Chullain! YOU FUCKING LEGEND!!!! Mayhem on the terraces as the Déise crowd erupted! We're all screaming! Kevin Kehoe has nearly crippled an elderly gentleman in front of him and I feel me voice go. That's it then. No voce. It's officially gone dear and i can feel me glands closing in to try and repair the damage. Even when they blow the final whistle and we've beaten those Cork bastards by a point and Paul 'Flex' Browne is in floods of tears and I'm leaping up and down but the sound coming from my mouth is far from healthy. 'Of course you went straight home after the match to rest up the chords?' I hear you expect. Don't ya know me by now boy. We drove back to town and it was straight into the fair Downes' for a refreshing large bottle, then home for the shower and back into town to the musical mecca known as the Munster Bar to watch the game all over again on the big screen! GO ON PAUL FLYNN! Ouch! Now the voice is beginning to hurt. More beer will sort that of course. Of course not. It got to the stage where I had to leave that last chance saloon known as Muldoons early. Jesus there must've something up with me. There was. Me voice was completely fucked at that stage. Thank God I had a week to recover for the Willows aren't windy until the following monday. I'm shitting a few bricks but it should be grand, sure I've got a full seven days to recover. The phone goes. Tis the agent;
'They've rung me from Lord of the Rings and they want to do a new recording of the script, so you'll need to be back here for Friday the 2nd. Good news.'
Good news of course, it means they were happy enough with me at the workshops that they want me to go back and do some more work. This is only a good thing and hopefully will mean I'm a little bit closer to being in the full production. Middle-Earth here I come! Again! And its just a reading of the script so that's handy. Hang on, reading? Oh sure that's brilliant!! I have zero fecking voice for christ's sake! If I was shitting bricks about the first day of rehearsals of Willows now I'm building walls and possibly small McInerny houses. I can't turn up there with no voice. So the rest of the week is spent taking it easy. Well............except for the night after the final when I get blind drunk again. I've got a problem I tell ya! Lack of fecking cop on! Help! I'm woken from my drunken stupor the next morning by the agent and she is the bringer of bad tidings indeed;
'They rang from Working Title.'
AH! The Pride and Prejudice people. Yes yes go on...
'The director has narrowed it down to a couple of people for the part you read for and you're one of them,'
Legend!
'So they rang to check your availability...'
Yes! This is good!
'....for a week from the 19th of July.'
Shite! This is not good!
My agent already knows that that's the last week of rehearsals for Wind in the Willows and that's when a big discussion starts about whether I should back out of Willows which I say is impossible as we start rehearsals in 6 days. When you sign a contract you do the work. That's the way I see it. So that's that for my film debut. I've since found out that my scenes would have been with Kiera Knightley. Ah shit! That put me in a bad mood for a week.
'What's wrong with your voice?' quoth the agent.
'Waterford won the munster final.' hoarsely quoth I. She didn't get it.
Neither did I. The film that is. But hey ho. Onward to Middle Earth then. So after a few days of rest, relaxation and getting the voce back up to scratch I'm back in the London in a studio about to read the latest script of Lord of the Rings the musical. Now I'm not allowed tell you anything about it as this time they made me sign away my second born child if I should divulge anything. I would like kids at some stage. I can tell you that before the recording started I had a good auld chat with the producer of the show of the decade, who's a grand chap from Limerick. So I go into great detail about waterford's victory in the Munster championship and he's very entertained by my spirited retelling, but by the end of it I can feel the voice going again. Oh shite. So its still not recovered from Paul Flynn's goal. Bollocks. By the end of the day of elfing and hobbiting (which I cannot speak about) it was well knackered. No beer for me at the weekend then! Crap. But I'm a pro and a good boy I am. I Don't go out and I keep the chat to a minimum so as to make sure I'm alright for rehearsals. And I am in the end. Thank Jesus.
And so come monday morning I make the journey into Regent's Park. Its a place I know very well at this stage and whereas normally first days, meeting strangers who you are now about to work with for the next while, can be a bit nerve wracking, I'm well at home here. I'm feeling cool about the voice as well. It feels good and strong. There's nothing worse than turning up for a read through on the first day with no voice, as all the rest of the cast look at you wondering 'How the hell did he get this job?'. I know. It happened me last year and it wasn't pleasant. The Waterford Air Guitar Championships were to blame. But I digress and that's a story for another time. This read through, however, goes very well indeed and there's a good feeling in the room and the writer even compliments me on my reading. This could be a good show. In the afternoon we do some singing and some sweet sounds come out of me if I do say so myself. Nice. After a day like that I'm on a good buzz about doing the show, I feel I can do this well and its going to be a good auld craic.
By the end of the following day the voice is gone again.
Shite. As I mentioned before the beer intake during a show depends on the hangoverability of the role your playing. ie; How easy the show is to do with a bad hangover. Generally this effects the antics of the night before a matinee. On willows we only have matinees. Add to this the fact that - I'll be jumping around the stage for the best part of two hours in the open air singing and dancing in a big green suit and delivering my lines in a high pitched posh English accent which is so vocally demanding for me that I'm hoarse after just two days rehearsals - and a very bleak picture begins to be painted.
It was shaping up to be a very sober summer.
Winning the Munster Hurling Final is to blame of course.
Generally speaking an actors most valued attribute is his voice. I'm pretty sure a deep-seated love of talking is what leads some people to become actors (that and a serious masochistic streak I would say are essential to be honest.) and actors talk.........a lot. Why is it that we always want more lines than we have? Why is it that we love the sound of our own voices? And why do we always talk about ourselves. Jesus I don't know, but its certainly the case. If you can't read the lines you won't get the job. If you can't be heard in the back row of the Gods you wont get the job and if you can't charm the casting panel with your practised wit and polished brogue you're well fecked buddy, so just walk away there and then and save yourself the bother. A good clear articulate voice is essential she said in the back room of the Guildford School of Acting. 'But what about the morning after a deadly mad session the night before?' I hear you cry! 'The voice is never too shit hot after one those! Are you saying you have to sacrifice that?'
Fuck no!
In my case my voice is generally back to the land of the living after a seisúin mór just in time for the evening show at 7.30. I try to be a little less mad the night before a matinee and of course it all depends on the role and its hangoverability (more on that later). While I was in previews for Calico a number of us gatecrashed the Olivier Awards as i mentioned previously. It was a night spent drinking copious amounts of wine and ending up in that wonderful lady (and Olivier nominee) Tracie Bennett's room drinking vodka until 5 in the morning. I had rehearsals the next morning at 11. I was still full of vodka. I sobered up for the show of course and the voice was fine when it came to delivering the lines but the small bit of singing I had did not go so well and the director remarked the next morning that he could hear the half four vodka in my voice. I made a mental note never to tell a director where I had been the night before again. As for auditions, well I have to admit to going to an morning audition last year having not been to bed at and still a bit tipsy from an evenings merriment. I got the job. Sound. But its still not that advisable. If I'm singing for the Audition I'll be a good boy, if its for a play I'm a bit more lax. But I feel after nearly 4 years at this game i know how to handle the voce pretty well.
Famous last words.
I was back in the land of the Déise of course and we won the hurling. In style. Now I confess to know very little about the mighty Gaelic sport of hurling. But I have to say I go a bit mad when I watch it. Especially when I'm standing on the terraces in Semple Stadium in Thurles watching one of the most nail biting Munster finals in Waterford's history. The sheer excruciating tension of which was only broken when, as all eyes were fixed on the pitch with so much concentration that you would hear a pin drop, that great man of words Ultan Hayden uttered the immortal line;
'Come on lads....... dig deep, aim high!'
You had to be there.
But it was drama of the highest order and no doubt with the fighting Déise battling the Cork rebels despite one of our star players, John Mullane, being sent off for pucking a Cork langer in the head with his hurley. I was in the school choir with the aforementioned Mr. Mullane (He was a 1st year when i was a 6th year) and we used to give him an awful time about messing. Needless to say that wouldn't happen nowadays that he's a big mad hurler and I'm a poncey actor. I live in hope that he has put those choir days to the far recesses of his mind. Another valued attribute to an actor is his face, and while mine won't launch any ships or toilet products, the butt of a hurley in it would indeed lessen my chances at auditions. But I digress. To say that the Waterford fans present in Thurles that day turned at times into screaming lunatics would not be an overstatement. We went mental. As every ball went over the bar, as each goal went in, as the ref gave away each free I could feel the larynx being ripped out of me as I roared, and I mean ROARED, along with the crowd. No big stage shouts as we were trained to do at drama school, no supporting from my diaphragm, all that shite went out the window. Gutteral, primal sounds were roared at the men in blue and white who to us were no longer sportsmen, but warriors of old! Like the fecking Fianna they were!!! And we as their supporters sang powerful chants to give the Déise soldiers fire in their bellies. An age old chant from the mists of time which went;
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap clap)
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap clap)
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap...........jesus noddy keep in fecking time will ya!!!!!!)
It is not in our make up as Déise men to sing that song nicely, so this was further damage to the vocal chords. The final straw however came when Paul Flynn Stepped up to take a free late in the second half. Cork were slightly ahead and all eyes were on him and everyone thought he would send it over the bar for an easy point. Me Bollocks!!!!! GOAL! He drove it into the back of the Cork net like Setanta killing the hound of Chullain! YOU FUCKING LEGEND!!!! Mayhem on the terraces as the Déise crowd erupted! We're all screaming! Kevin Kehoe has nearly crippled an elderly gentleman in front of him and I feel me voice go. That's it then. No voce. It's officially gone dear and i can feel me glands closing in to try and repair the damage. Even when they blow the final whistle and we've beaten those Cork bastards by a point and Paul 'Flex' Browne is in floods of tears and I'm leaping up and down but the sound coming from my mouth is far from healthy. 'Of course you went straight home after the match to rest up the chords?' I hear you expect. Don't ya know me by now boy. We drove back to town and it was straight into the fair Downes' for a refreshing large bottle, then home for the shower and back into town to the musical mecca known as the Munster Bar to watch the game all over again on the big screen! GO ON PAUL FLYNN! Ouch! Now the voice is beginning to hurt. More beer will sort that of course. Of course not. It got to the stage where I had to leave that last chance saloon known as Muldoons early. Jesus there must've something up with me. There was. Me voice was completely fucked at that stage. Thank God I had a week to recover for the Willows aren't windy until the following monday. I'm shitting a few bricks but it should be grand, sure I've got a full seven days to recover. The phone goes. Tis the agent;
'They've rung me from Lord of the Rings and they want to do a new recording of the script, so you'll need to be back here for Friday the 2nd. Good news.'
Good news of course, it means they were happy enough with me at the workshops that they want me to go back and do some more work. This is only a good thing and hopefully will mean I'm a little bit closer to being in the full production. Middle-Earth here I come! Again! And its just a reading of the script so that's handy. Hang on, reading? Oh sure that's brilliant!! I have zero fecking voice for christ's sake! If I was shitting bricks about the first day of rehearsals of Willows now I'm building walls and possibly small McInerny houses. I can't turn up there with no voice. So the rest of the week is spent taking it easy. Well............except for the night after the final when I get blind drunk again. I've got a problem I tell ya! Lack of fecking cop on! Help! I'm woken from my drunken stupor the next morning by the agent and she is the bringer of bad tidings indeed;
'They rang from Working Title.'
AH! The Pride and Prejudice people. Yes yes go on...
'The director has narrowed it down to a couple of people for the part you read for and you're one of them,'
Legend!
'So they rang to check your availability...'
Yes! This is good!
'....for a week from the 19th of July.'
Shite! This is not good!
My agent already knows that that's the last week of rehearsals for Wind in the Willows and that's when a big discussion starts about whether I should back out of Willows which I say is impossible as we start rehearsals in 6 days. When you sign a contract you do the work. That's the way I see it. So that's that for my film debut. I've since found out that my scenes would have been with Kiera Knightley. Ah shit! That put me in a bad mood for a week.
'What's wrong with your voice?' quoth the agent.
'Waterford won the munster final.' hoarsely quoth I. She didn't get it.
Neither did I. The film that is. But hey ho. Onward to Middle Earth then. So after a few days of rest, relaxation and getting the voce back up to scratch I'm back in the London in a studio about to read the latest script of Lord of the Rings the musical. Now I'm not allowed tell you anything about it as this time they made me sign away my second born child if I should divulge anything. I would like kids at some stage. I can tell you that before the recording started I had a good auld chat with the producer of the show of the decade, who's a grand chap from Limerick. So I go into great detail about waterford's victory in the Munster championship and he's very entertained by my spirited retelling, but by the end of it I can feel the voice going again. Oh shite. So its still not recovered from Paul Flynn's goal. Bollocks. By the end of the day of elfing and hobbiting (which I cannot speak about) it was well knackered. No beer for me at the weekend then! Crap. But I'm a pro and a good boy I am. I Don't go out and I keep the chat to a minimum so as to make sure I'm alright for rehearsals. And I am in the end. Thank Jesus.
And so come monday morning I make the journey into Regent's Park. Its a place I know very well at this stage and whereas normally first days, meeting strangers who you are now about to work with for the next while, can be a bit nerve wracking, I'm well at home here. I'm feeling cool about the voice as well. It feels good and strong. There's nothing worse than turning up for a read through on the first day with no voice, as all the rest of the cast look at you wondering 'How the hell did he get this job?'. I know. It happened me last year and it wasn't pleasant. The Waterford Air Guitar Championships were to blame. But I digress and that's a story for another time. This read through, however, goes very well indeed and there's a good feeling in the room and the writer even compliments me on my reading. This could be a good show. In the afternoon we do some singing and some sweet sounds come out of me if I do say so myself. Nice. After a day like that I'm on a good buzz about doing the show, I feel I can do this well and its going to be a good auld craic.
By the end of the following day the voice is gone again.
Shite. As I mentioned before the beer intake during a show depends on the hangoverability of the role your playing. ie; How easy the show is to do with a bad hangover. Generally this effects the antics of the night before a matinee. On willows we only have matinees. Add to this the fact that - I'll be jumping around the stage for the best part of two hours in the open air singing and dancing in a big green suit and delivering my lines in a high pitched posh English accent which is so vocally demanding for me that I'm hoarse after just two days rehearsals - and a very bleak picture begins to be painted.
It was shaping up to be a very sober summer.
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
10. THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME
Níl áon thinteán mar a thinteán homestead as we used to say in the 80's and 90's.
I miss Waterford very much (everybody say awwwwww now and get it over with. Now.) so at the least opportunity I hop on an auld flight and head back to recharge me Déise batteries. Or drink meself stupid as is most often the case. When I'm poor I thank God for Ryanair and when I'm feeling a bit rich I say thank God for Aer Arann, but poor or rich I will never thank god for the bus from Dublin. Four and a half hours of pure torture which ruins any happy homecoming to the land of blaas and the blues. I tell ya my heart always sinks when I see the sign for the Naas bypass only to realise that the bus is not going to avail of it and happily heads the long way. I hate it when I see the Gem approaching. Some day I'll blow it up. Needless to say I get the train when I can. It's not that much better but more than somewhat.
There are various factors that come into play when I plan a trip home. The only time I can go home is when I'm not working on a show in England (Except for this Christmas when I flew home for Christmas day. Lovely day but I was not a happy bunny sitting on a plane at 8.00 on Stephen's morning heading back to Birmingham to do two shows! Painful!) and in those times of unemployment I need to be auditioning. So the best time for me to go home really is when i know I have work coming up, as was the case when I finished filming Judge John Deed. I had about three and a half weeks until I began rehearsals for Wind in the Willows, so I started making plans to head home because surely there won't be any auditions I can do between now and July.
Don't bet on it.
I was just about to book me flight when the agent rang,
"You have an audition for a new film version of Pride and Prejudice. You need to do an RP (posh English) accent. I've told them you can do that. Can you do that?"
Of course I can do an RP accent, was it not with an RP accent that I wowed the audiences at Regent's Park last summer as that sorry English fop Sir Thurio in The two Gentlemen of Verona? Well maybe not wowed but they didn't know i was Irish that was for sure. Hey look I got nominated for a frigging award for it so it can't have been that bad.
"Yes I can do that."
Sound. So I now know when I can go home and as I'm waiting for the script to be biked over to me from Working Title Films (I kid you not! I'm going up in the world!) I hop onto good old Ryanair.com and book meself a lovely flight to dublin for £15 including taxes. How bad. At prices like that i don't mind the journey to Waterford. The train mind, NOT the bus. I hang around for the few days to do the audition taking in a few shows, being the culture vulture that I am, two of which are the press nights for this year's Shakespeares at Regent's park which feature Waterford's best known redhead Mr. Keith Dunphy. And pretty good they are too, helped of course by the fact that because I'm about to be working there myself I get a handsome discount at the bar. Sweet. Oh it shall be a very merry summer methinks!
The audition goes ok, I would say it went very well only for me and me big mouth saying stupid stuff. I arrive at Working Title's office on Oxford Street on the hottest day of the year so far, full biked over script in hand and I'm ushered into a room by a very pleasant casting director. Her first words were;
"Hi jamie, please follow me, I thought you were great in Calico by the way, congratulations."
Nice one! Well that's a good start. How bad. I'm then introduced to the producer and the director.
"Hi Jamie, pleased to meet you. Well done on Calico by the way I saw it on press night and really liked your performance."
Ah Jesus! This is the business. They've already seen and liked my work so that calms me down no end, but maybe too much as the chat is flowing freely for the next few minutes. But they're a grand crowd of people. Then the director's ready to do a little reading. No problem buddy. And I ask him, seeing as the scene is set in a church during a sermon, does he want the delivery 'Colla Voce'? It's only after i say it do I realise. I try to impress the panel by using a musical term, ya know me with the degree in music and all that, and I only give him the wrong one! I should have said 'Sotto Voce'! But it's ok, they'll never know.
"Don't you mean 'Sotto Voce'?" Quoth the producer, who heretofore has been very quiet.
"Yes," I reply, "that'd do too."
What a pleb.
But the reading goes well, and he gets me to do it a few times and films me and all seems pretty cool. they seem pretty happy and we part company and as I'm leaving I utter the immortal line;
"Bye now, enjoy the weather."
Its one of the nicest days of the year and these poor people are stuck in a stuffy casting room for hours on end and I say that. You can only laugh. Otherwise you'd cry. Ah well I have me trip home to look forward to don't I? Well, not necessarily. The day after the phone goes and its the agent telling me I have an audition for an Irish play that's going on at the Glasgow Citizen's Theatre. This is from a tip off I received from that stalwart buachaill Dermot Crowley whom I had the great honour to share the stage with in Calico. He had been offered it and turned it down, but rang me to leave me know it was happening and that I should get on to my agent as there were a couple of good roles in it for me. Top man. Top actor.
"They want to see you Tuesday."
Aw crap. That, of course, is the day i have my flight booked for. Ah well it was only 15 squid, that won't break me. I'll get a cheap flight for the next day. Not a sign of a cheap flight whatsoever, big money. So I say feck it and I splash out on a flight straight to Waterford. 70 notes. Janey its like the days before Ryanair. I grit me teeth and buy it and think of the comfort. The audition goes well though so it seems to be worth it. I had met the casting director for the theatre before when I worked in Scotland in 2002 on Carousel. back then she was very pleasant but i don't think she was very interested as i had only musicals on my CV at that stage, but now was a different matter. The auld CV is a tiny bit better. So in I go and meet two directors and a designer. The Director of the Irish play greets me;
"Hi Jamie, pleased to meet you. Well done on Calico by the way I really liked you in it."
Already I'm a happy camper. I'm liking this trend. The side-effects of Calico are finally being felt. Sound. And it goes really well. I had read the entire play before I went in, 'A Whistle in the Dark' by Tom Murphy, terrific play. She likes my reading and asks me to read a couple more pages (good sign). She's happy and the other director asks me to read a scene from another play they're doing (Very good sign). I like sight reading because its real shit or bust stuff and some good things can come out of nowhere. And indeed it does go well and he explains to me that they might be casting the same people in both plays (through casting as its called) so happy days. I leave, obviously none the wiser whether I'm going to be doing it or not but feeling good after a good audition and happy that I stayed for the day. But happier again that I'm going home the next day. And so home I fly, back to the land of the Déise and the crystal and the lovely blaas in the morning and family and friends and.......Bulmers! That fine sweet cider which is very hard to obtain in the London (Strongbow is rank). It's not good for ya, indeed its the cause of many an ulcer over the years and I gave up drinking cider last year, but I always have a few large bottles when I go home. You just have to. I'm off the plane, up to me mother's for chops for dinner, down to me grandmother's (Where I live when I'm home) for a chat and then straight out into town. And sure I got quite drunk me first night there on the fine alcoholic apple juice from Clonmel. MMMMMM Lovely. Perfect day, in other words, to start a grand 2 and a half weeks of me holidays. Spain? Greece? Italy? Feck all them! Give me Waterford. I wake up me second day there with a nice mild cider hangover and tuck into me ham blaas and I'm very very content. No stress of the London. Time to chill out.
The phone rings.
It's the agent.
"You have a meeting with the casting director of Neil Jordan's new film."
Holy shit! THE Neil Jordan of The Crying Game, Interview with the Vampire and Michael Collins fame?
"He's doing a movie of the novel 'Breakfast on Pluto'. Do you know it?"
Not a hope, but who cares its Neil fecking Jordan! When's the meeting? WHEN'S THE MEETING?!?!?!
"Wednesday."
Crap.
I'm just home and I have to go back. Hang on though! Neil Jordan? Irish movie? Is the meeting in London or.......Dublin????
"London."
Crap.
I book me flights a half hour later, again from Waterford. No sooner than I have them booked and the €130 (ouch) paid on the credit card (I'll be sorry in the end) than the phone goes again, but this time it's not the agent its the casting director from the Glasgow Citizen's Theatre.
"Hello Jamie, we were wondering if you were available to come in to read some more of the French play with us."
Please let it be Wednesday........
"We'd like to see you tomorrow."
Crap.
I guess they were happy with what I had done for the Irish play but wanted to hear me do more of the other. Common practice, just shite timing. If only they didn't want to through cast I might have a lovely Irish play to go to after Wind in the Willows. A bit of meat to follow a bit of Toad. But no. I politely tell her that I'm in Ireland and would be back in london the following Wednesday if that was any help.
"I'll mention that to the director."
I have yet to hear from her.
But not to worry, sure I had a meeting for a new Neil Jordan film. How Feckin' bad? The few days leading up to going back are filled with the usual sights sounds and characters of the town i loved so well and a huge amount of booze is imbued (Not all cider I hasten to add as I am happy to keep the lining of my stomach) parties were sought and found for the most part. I sat in Adrian Dowers house at 6.30am, after a party, off me head, watching a video of a local production of Sweeney Todd and still I did not feel I was pushing the envelope. 3 nights on the trot not getting to bed before 7am all was still fine. Twas only when I found myself falling asleep during Kill Bill 2 at (the now very long-haired) Robert's house that I felt, ok, enough, chill. I got to bed at 8 the following morning of course. Still I did not think it too many. And all this revelment despite the fact that the cost of a night out in waterford would cripple the economy of certain small 3rd world countries such is the price of happiness...sorry....alcohol in Ireland today. Mental. But thank god for the smoking ban. Now I can wear the same clothes the day after a night out. Not that I'd ever do that but its just nice to have the option now. The downside of course is the smell of BO that can now be registered from the area of Muldoons frequented by chaps from certain parts of the county. You also can't get away with leaving a sneaky fart out. Not that I'd ever do that but it was just nice to have the option. Enough of odours, I think you get the idea of the kind of break I was having. But it was all in a good cause. If I say that enough it'll come true.
So like a rich movie star this very poor stage actor hopped back to the London for a meeting, sure y'know? And it goes well. I arrive at the house of this very nice lady casting director and she invites me in;
"Hi Jamie, nice to meet you, thanks for coming. I have to apologise but I haven't seen a single thing you've done,"
Ah, well that's the end of that trend.
"Which you were obviously terrific in."
Now that's more like it! And of course the usual banter starts, your typical first meeting conversation. I mean what a job this is, it seems like I just sit around all day talking about myself..........no cheek from the back please! Anyway she gets on to talking about the film;
"I'm afraid you're not right for the part I had you in mind for, you're too old."
Whaaaaaaaaaattttttttt???????!!!?!?!?!?!?!? ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY YOYOS TO HEAR THAT!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
"The character begins at 14 and ages up."
Ah sure that's alright then. 14 I can't do, but have you seen my 23?
"That said though I would like to get you in to meet Neil, he's asked me to find new Irish actors rather than the same people that are in every Irish movie."
Well that's me to a tee baby! I'm in no Irish movie whatsoever. So how bad. She says that she will take a good look at the breakdown to see if there is anything else I could get seen for, but she is very positive and wants to bring her daughter to see Wind in the Willows. Nice one. And I leave feeling that I haven't wasted a load of Euros by coming back, it seemed like a very constructive afternoon. But still no news from Working title and still no news from Glasgow either. Well we'll see, for all of that would have to wait. I had thought about just going back to the London and staying there until Wind in the Willows started, thereby saving money on flights and lethal nights on the sauce and cider. Yeah I could have done that. But I bought a return ticket for the next day. I had to.
Waterford were playing Cork in the Munster Hurling Final.
And I had a ticket.
I miss Waterford very much (everybody say awwwwww now and get it over with. Now.) so at the least opportunity I hop on an auld flight and head back to recharge me Déise batteries. Or drink meself stupid as is most often the case. When I'm poor I thank God for Ryanair and when I'm feeling a bit rich I say thank God for Aer Arann, but poor or rich I will never thank god for the bus from Dublin. Four and a half hours of pure torture which ruins any happy homecoming to the land of blaas and the blues. I tell ya my heart always sinks when I see the sign for the Naas bypass only to realise that the bus is not going to avail of it and happily heads the long way. I hate it when I see the Gem approaching. Some day I'll blow it up. Needless to say I get the train when I can. It's not that much better but more than somewhat.
There are various factors that come into play when I plan a trip home. The only time I can go home is when I'm not working on a show in England (Except for this Christmas when I flew home for Christmas day. Lovely day but I was not a happy bunny sitting on a plane at 8.00 on Stephen's morning heading back to Birmingham to do two shows! Painful!) and in those times of unemployment I need to be auditioning. So the best time for me to go home really is when i know I have work coming up, as was the case when I finished filming Judge John Deed. I had about three and a half weeks until I began rehearsals for Wind in the Willows, so I started making plans to head home because surely there won't be any auditions I can do between now and July.
Don't bet on it.
I was just about to book me flight when the agent rang,
"You have an audition for a new film version of Pride and Prejudice. You need to do an RP (posh English) accent. I've told them you can do that. Can you do that?"
Of course I can do an RP accent, was it not with an RP accent that I wowed the audiences at Regent's Park last summer as that sorry English fop Sir Thurio in The two Gentlemen of Verona? Well maybe not wowed but they didn't know i was Irish that was for sure. Hey look I got nominated for a frigging award for it so it can't have been that bad.
"Yes I can do that."
Sound. So I now know when I can go home and as I'm waiting for the script to be biked over to me from Working Title Films (I kid you not! I'm going up in the world!) I hop onto good old Ryanair.com and book meself a lovely flight to dublin for £15 including taxes. How bad. At prices like that i don't mind the journey to Waterford. The train mind, NOT the bus. I hang around for the few days to do the audition taking in a few shows, being the culture vulture that I am, two of which are the press nights for this year's Shakespeares at Regent's park which feature Waterford's best known redhead Mr. Keith Dunphy. And pretty good they are too, helped of course by the fact that because I'm about to be working there myself I get a handsome discount at the bar. Sweet. Oh it shall be a very merry summer methinks!
The audition goes ok, I would say it went very well only for me and me big mouth saying stupid stuff. I arrive at Working Title's office on Oxford Street on the hottest day of the year so far, full biked over script in hand and I'm ushered into a room by a very pleasant casting director. Her first words were;
"Hi jamie, please follow me, I thought you were great in Calico by the way, congratulations."
Nice one! Well that's a good start. How bad. I'm then introduced to the producer and the director.
"Hi Jamie, pleased to meet you. Well done on Calico by the way I saw it on press night and really liked your performance."
Ah Jesus! This is the business. They've already seen and liked my work so that calms me down no end, but maybe too much as the chat is flowing freely for the next few minutes. But they're a grand crowd of people. Then the director's ready to do a little reading. No problem buddy. And I ask him, seeing as the scene is set in a church during a sermon, does he want the delivery 'Colla Voce'? It's only after i say it do I realise. I try to impress the panel by using a musical term, ya know me with the degree in music and all that, and I only give him the wrong one! I should have said 'Sotto Voce'! But it's ok, they'll never know.
"Don't you mean 'Sotto Voce'?" Quoth the producer, who heretofore has been very quiet.
"Yes," I reply, "that'd do too."
What a pleb.
But the reading goes well, and he gets me to do it a few times and films me and all seems pretty cool. they seem pretty happy and we part company and as I'm leaving I utter the immortal line;
"Bye now, enjoy the weather."
Its one of the nicest days of the year and these poor people are stuck in a stuffy casting room for hours on end and I say that. You can only laugh. Otherwise you'd cry. Ah well I have me trip home to look forward to don't I? Well, not necessarily. The day after the phone goes and its the agent telling me I have an audition for an Irish play that's going on at the Glasgow Citizen's Theatre. This is from a tip off I received from that stalwart buachaill Dermot Crowley whom I had the great honour to share the stage with in Calico. He had been offered it and turned it down, but rang me to leave me know it was happening and that I should get on to my agent as there were a couple of good roles in it for me. Top man. Top actor.
"They want to see you Tuesday."
Aw crap. That, of course, is the day i have my flight booked for. Ah well it was only 15 squid, that won't break me. I'll get a cheap flight for the next day. Not a sign of a cheap flight whatsoever, big money. So I say feck it and I splash out on a flight straight to Waterford. 70 notes. Janey its like the days before Ryanair. I grit me teeth and buy it and think of the comfort. The audition goes well though so it seems to be worth it. I had met the casting director for the theatre before when I worked in Scotland in 2002 on Carousel. back then she was very pleasant but i don't think she was very interested as i had only musicals on my CV at that stage, but now was a different matter. The auld CV is a tiny bit better. So in I go and meet two directors and a designer. The Director of the Irish play greets me;
"Hi Jamie, pleased to meet you. Well done on Calico by the way I really liked you in it."
Already I'm a happy camper. I'm liking this trend. The side-effects of Calico are finally being felt. Sound. And it goes really well. I had read the entire play before I went in, 'A Whistle in the Dark' by Tom Murphy, terrific play. She likes my reading and asks me to read a couple more pages (good sign). She's happy and the other director asks me to read a scene from another play they're doing (Very good sign). I like sight reading because its real shit or bust stuff and some good things can come out of nowhere. And indeed it does go well and he explains to me that they might be casting the same people in both plays (through casting as its called) so happy days. I leave, obviously none the wiser whether I'm going to be doing it or not but feeling good after a good audition and happy that I stayed for the day. But happier again that I'm going home the next day. And so home I fly, back to the land of the Déise and the crystal and the lovely blaas in the morning and family and friends and.......Bulmers! That fine sweet cider which is very hard to obtain in the London (Strongbow is rank). It's not good for ya, indeed its the cause of many an ulcer over the years and I gave up drinking cider last year, but I always have a few large bottles when I go home. You just have to. I'm off the plane, up to me mother's for chops for dinner, down to me grandmother's (Where I live when I'm home) for a chat and then straight out into town. And sure I got quite drunk me first night there on the fine alcoholic apple juice from Clonmel. MMMMMM Lovely. Perfect day, in other words, to start a grand 2 and a half weeks of me holidays. Spain? Greece? Italy? Feck all them! Give me Waterford. I wake up me second day there with a nice mild cider hangover and tuck into me ham blaas and I'm very very content. No stress of the London. Time to chill out.
The phone rings.
It's the agent.
"You have a meeting with the casting director of Neil Jordan's new film."
Holy shit! THE Neil Jordan of The Crying Game, Interview with the Vampire and Michael Collins fame?
"He's doing a movie of the novel 'Breakfast on Pluto'. Do you know it?"
Not a hope, but who cares its Neil fecking Jordan! When's the meeting? WHEN'S THE MEETING?!?!?!
"Wednesday."
Crap.
I'm just home and I have to go back. Hang on though! Neil Jordan? Irish movie? Is the meeting in London or.......Dublin????
"London."
Crap.
I book me flights a half hour later, again from Waterford. No sooner than I have them booked and the €130 (ouch) paid on the credit card (I'll be sorry in the end) than the phone goes again, but this time it's not the agent its the casting director from the Glasgow Citizen's Theatre.
"Hello Jamie, we were wondering if you were available to come in to read some more of the French play with us."
Please let it be Wednesday........
"We'd like to see you tomorrow."
Crap.
I guess they were happy with what I had done for the Irish play but wanted to hear me do more of the other. Common practice, just shite timing. If only they didn't want to through cast I might have a lovely Irish play to go to after Wind in the Willows. A bit of meat to follow a bit of Toad. But no. I politely tell her that I'm in Ireland and would be back in london the following Wednesday if that was any help.
"I'll mention that to the director."
I have yet to hear from her.
But not to worry, sure I had a meeting for a new Neil Jordan film. How Feckin' bad? The few days leading up to going back are filled with the usual sights sounds and characters of the town i loved so well and a huge amount of booze is imbued (Not all cider I hasten to add as I am happy to keep the lining of my stomach) parties were sought and found for the most part. I sat in Adrian Dowers house at 6.30am, after a party, off me head, watching a video of a local production of Sweeney Todd and still I did not feel I was pushing the envelope. 3 nights on the trot not getting to bed before 7am all was still fine. Twas only when I found myself falling asleep during Kill Bill 2 at (the now very long-haired) Robert's house that I felt, ok, enough, chill. I got to bed at 8 the following morning of course. Still I did not think it too many. And all this revelment despite the fact that the cost of a night out in waterford would cripple the economy of certain small 3rd world countries such is the price of happiness...sorry....alcohol in Ireland today. Mental. But thank god for the smoking ban. Now I can wear the same clothes the day after a night out. Not that I'd ever do that but its just nice to have the option now. The downside of course is the smell of BO that can now be registered from the area of Muldoons frequented by chaps from certain parts of the county. You also can't get away with leaving a sneaky fart out. Not that I'd ever do that but it was just nice to have the option. Enough of odours, I think you get the idea of the kind of break I was having. But it was all in a good cause. If I say that enough it'll come true.
So like a rich movie star this very poor stage actor hopped back to the London for a meeting, sure y'know? And it goes well. I arrive at the house of this very nice lady casting director and she invites me in;
"Hi Jamie, nice to meet you, thanks for coming. I have to apologise but I haven't seen a single thing you've done,"
Ah, well that's the end of that trend.
"Which you were obviously terrific in."
Now that's more like it! And of course the usual banter starts, your typical first meeting conversation. I mean what a job this is, it seems like I just sit around all day talking about myself..........no cheek from the back please! Anyway she gets on to talking about the film;
"I'm afraid you're not right for the part I had you in mind for, you're too old."
Whaaaaaaaaaattttttttt???????!!!?!?!?!?!?!? ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY YOYOS TO HEAR THAT!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
"The character begins at 14 and ages up."
Ah sure that's alright then. 14 I can't do, but have you seen my 23?
"That said though I would like to get you in to meet Neil, he's asked me to find new Irish actors rather than the same people that are in every Irish movie."
Well that's me to a tee baby! I'm in no Irish movie whatsoever. So how bad. She says that she will take a good look at the breakdown to see if there is anything else I could get seen for, but she is very positive and wants to bring her daughter to see Wind in the Willows. Nice one. And I leave feeling that I haven't wasted a load of Euros by coming back, it seemed like a very constructive afternoon. But still no news from Working title and still no news from Glasgow either. Well we'll see, for all of that would have to wait. I had thought about just going back to the London and staying there until Wind in the Willows started, thereby saving money on flights and lethal nights on the sauce and cider. Yeah I could have done that. But I bought a return ticket for the next day. I had to.
Waterford were playing Cork in the Munster Hurling Final.
And I had a ticket.
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
9. LIGHTS! CAMERA! INACTION!
It was one small step for an actor but one giant leap for me!
Television never seemed an option to me. When I decided to become a professional actor the stage was all I thought would be in my future and very happy I was with that thought too. Of course the reality of the situation is that if you want to be successful in theatre these days you also have to be successful on screen. As is so often the case now, theatres and companies are more and more interested in getting 'names' to appear in their productions. If you do a three month stint on a soap its good odds you'll be cool when you want to get a theatre job because you'll be 'so and so' from Hollyoaks or whatever. A very good example of this is a guy called Nigel Harman with whom I did a concert about two years ago at the open Air in Regent's Park. Little did I know that the guy dancing beside me in the kick line from Pirates of Penzance would, a few months later, turn up as Dirty Den's illegitimate son in the king of cockney soaps; Eastenders. This was a guy who had jobbed around for years playing chorus and small roles in musicals and with that one break on the telly he is now on the cover of Heat magazine every second week. Now that is not a fate I wish for myself to be honest (nor would I wish it on the rest of ye, imagine my ugly mug staring at you from the magazine shelfs!) but when Nigel Harman leaves Eastenders he will have the pick of the roles in theatre. Now that's the fate I would wish for myself. I can only get so far up the ladder in theatre without needing to be a 'name'. Now that's easier said than done because if you have no screen experience its very very hard to even get an audition for TV. So getting two lines on Judge John Deed was a start at least. It's just a pity Judge John doesn't have an illigitimate son! But surely this was going to be an exciting experience, my first telly. This was the big time, cameras, 'names'. Maybe I'll become so enamoured by TV production that I'll forget all about my love of the stage. The excitement of being on set, the buzz as the cameras roll, the constant character decisions having to be made on the spot because time is of the essence in this frenzied brilliant world of filming.
Jesus did I have wrong idea!
But let me rewind before the cameras start to roll. I'm not allowed to tell you that the Lord of the Rings workshop went really well, or that I think its going to be deadly when it comes out. I'm also not allowed to tell you that while we were doing the final read-through the american producer sat basically right next to me. I'm not telling you that said producer was hollywood legend Saul Zaentz who produced (among other things) One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Amadeus and The English Patient. I'm definitely not telling you how shit-scared i was doing the reading. So don't ask. I'm sworn to secrecy. I can tell you about afterwards though. After the workshop is finished we retire to the bar in the theatre where we rehearsed for a celebratory drink, all of us now hoping that we did well enough today to be considered to be part of the full production. The phone goes and its the 1st assistant director from Judge John deed telling me that my call for filming the following morning is for 7.30 and that a car will pick me up at 6.30. Jesus. That's early. But hey, that's the telly life for ya! A car to pick me up? Hey hey, now I know I've made it, 2 lines or not. A car is picking me up. Well I had two things to celebrate so and needless to say i did.
I regretted it when I finally made it to bed at two in the morning knowing I had to be up at 5.30! God will I ever cop on.
So there I was looking like shite and feeling a whole lot worse than I looked as I was driven at an ungodly hour in the morning to an american college near Watford where all the courtroom scenes are filmed. And I start getting nervous. I've never done anything like this before and the two other actors in my car are old hands at it. Their conversation and vast knowledge of the craft of screen acting is starting to give me the shits in a big way. But I'm acting all cool and not letting on that I'm about to pop my celluloid cherry. We arrive at the unit base (see, the jargon is already like a second language to me!) and the morning went something like this:
7.30: Into costume. Being a journalist I thought I might have a nice suit, maybe without a tie so as to show I'm casual but serious about getting the story. Nope. I get a khaki shirt over which is put a khaki jumper along with a pair of navy trousers and a dull grey jacket (not of the suit variety). My telly debut will not be glamorous. I look like I work for the frigging Daily Sport (the dodgy rag which sports a nipple count every issue on page 2....not that i'd know of course). Ah well. I'm offered breakfast tho which I politely decline as I had something before I left the flat, but i've made a mental note for tomorrow.
7.45: Makeup. Now this is far less painful. Just a little bit of foundation and powder and suddenly as if by magic I'm a tv actor. Sound.
8.00: On set. This was the long walk. I'm brought over to the set by a few of the other actors all dressed as British courtroom types. Each in turn look at me and ask me who i am in this episode. I think they're taken aback at the fact that I look like the bloody convict than a journalist. Anyway. On to the set and in this large room in the college they have this replica of a british courtroom. Mad. All around it are the cameras and monitors and this guy is shouting at that guy and this fella's running here and another fella's running there and I'm introduced to the lead actress in the series and i meet the 1st AD (assistant director dontchaknow. I'm getting very good with me terms at this stage) and suddenly I'm starting to get a bit excited about it all. I know I don't have any lines in the courtroom but i guess I'll have some reaction shots and so on so that'll be cool and the buzz is starting to build as the set gets ready and I'm getting ready to make my screen debut and the auld acting muscles are starting to flex in preparation and I'm ready for my close up now Mr. DeMille and the 1st AD comes over to me and my heart leaps.....this is it.
'Ok Jamie we won't be needing you for this shot so if you want go outside and wait in the artiste's chairs, we'll call you when we're ready for you.'
Oh.
Ok so. Fair enough. But the artiste's chairs boy, now that's more like it. Out I go into this courtyard and a group of people have gathered and they're all quite well dressed etc. and I'm guessing they're in this episode as well. But they're all sitting on bucket seats against the wall of the building while in the middle of the courtyard there's a small canopy under which are about 8 comfortable chairs. But I decide to sit with the people against the wall. I plop myself down on a seat beside some jovial looking chap dressed like a security guard and say hello after which he grunts at me. Riiiight. Well it seems I was sitting in his buddies chair. Oh right sorry all you had to do was say. But it soon becomes clear that I'm not very welcome on any seats against the wall. It turns out that the people against the wall (who seem to group into their own little cells and stay there and not really talk to anyone else) are supporting artistes. Or extras. They are here to make up the numbers for such things as the jury and the press and all that seperates me from them is my two lines. It seems that a very definite line is drawn between the Artistes and supporting artistes and very seldom do the twain mix. It also transpires that they are on better money than me so now I definitely don't want to talk to them. So I plop meself down on one of the comfortable chairs under the canopy. Sure I wont be there long as they'll be out soon to bring me in to do my stuff. Yes I'm sure they will. Any time now. Won't they?
11.00: Still sitting under the canopy. I haven't moved from that spot in three hours. I think my legs have gone numb. Me arse definitely has. But the waiting occasionally broken when some of the actors are released from the scene they're filming. They're a grand crowd of very experienced men and we have a good old natter any time they're out. One of them had seen one of the shakespeare's I was in at the park last year, but can't for the life of him remember me in it. Lovely. It's a pity I hadn't brought my phone and my book over from my dressing room. They would have been handy, but not to worry. Surely I'll be needed any second now to give my eagle eyed journalist. Yes. Any second now.
13.00: Still sitting under the canopy. After a while I had started dozing off to sleep. Being on the piss the night before will do that to ya. But at one stage I open me eyes to find Mr. Martin Shaw sitting beside me staring at me with disapproval.
"How're ya boy?" quoth the Déise boy.
"Hello." quoth the TV star. And not a word more.
Right so that's the end of me sleeping
But jesus I wish i had me phone on me, just so I could send a text. One measly little text so that someone else can share in my utter boredom. Or at least my book, this is a perfect opportunity to whack through me current read. Ah crap why oh why did I leave them behind me. I'm looking over at the supporting artistes and they have their phones and their books and they think they're so brilliant and what have I got nothing. Jesus. But you never know they still might get to me before lunch.
13.30: Lunch. Nope they didn't get to me. But i'm starving and eating always relieves boredom. But it turns out that this set is not like other sets TV shows (not that I'd have a clue) in that its a completely vegetarian set. I kid you not. You aren't even allowed to bring meat with you onto the premises. This is due to the producer being an extremely strict vegan. And so we all are now. You can even see his dog wandering around the set with a sign on his collar saying -I'm a vegetarian- Riiiiiiight. So I queue up for me pumpkin and spinach curry and it tastes as good as it sounds. Rank. But hey ho. It's pretty healthy I'm sure. Although the conversation over lunch seems to revolve around what people wouldn't do just to have a bacon roll. I leave the table early though so I can run back to the dressing room and get my phone and my book, which will undoubtedly save my life and my sanity in the hours to come.
14.30: Back on set, but this time armed with me weapons of literature and communication. Lots of texts are being sent in the hope that someone will help relieve the stifling boredom. Out of the corner of my eye I notice 3 middle aged lady supporting artistes striding up the courtyard. Nothing too strange about that says you although they are perfectly in step with other and seem to have some kind of steely determination. What is strange is when I see the very same sight about 3 more times when I realise that they are exercising by doing laps of the courtyard. And this continues for about half an hour and I'm starting to get dizzy and a bit freaked by it to be honest when all of a sudden the 2nd AD comes out of the building and says
"Jamie, we're ready for you now."
And my heart jumps. This is it. And I look at my watch so that I know what time this momentous moment occured in my career. My first time in the can began at 15.00.
15.05: Back outside in the courtyard. Well that was exciting. Sat at the side of the courtroom and took notes for 2 minutes. I have a feeling that there was part of my elbow in the shot and nothing more. Ah well back to reading Porno (The Irvine Welsh novel that is) and our valiant walkers are still doing laps of the courtyard.
17.00: My journalistic skills have not been required since that burst of activity at 15.00 but the sandwiches arrive for the tea time break. And what a selection they are. I learn very quickly that I should get to the sandwiches as early as I can or else all the egg mayonnaise will have been swiftly procured because the others on the menu are quite shite. Banana and chocolate spread or vegetarian spam salad do not in any way appeal to me or indeed probably to most western cultures. The cakes aren't bad though. I can see myself on Trisha now 'TV drama made me fat!'
18.00: Slight dementia is setting in but I'm kept sane by the knowledge that we must finish shooting by 19.00. The other actors are spending more time in the yard as well and there's a good bit of banter, including a chat with Martin Shaw about the plane he owns and flies every week. Jesus I don't even have a car!!!
18.30: Oh joy!! More note taking.
19.00: That's a wrap! Thank jesus! Off we all trot get ready and get our cars home. Knackered. Just as I'm leaving they tell me that my car will pick me up at 6.30 the following morning. Lovely.
And if you start at the top of that description of my first day of filming and read through it twice again you'll get the story of what happened for my next two days of filming. Literally it was groundhog day but without the wacky antics of Bill Murray. So this is TV. Right. But that wasn't the end of my Judge John Deed experience. I still had to say my lines.
A week later I'm outside a real courtroom in Aylesbury and its the hottest day of the year so far and I'm dressed in three layers of clothing and absolutely baking. It's all very swift I'm told where to stand we do a quick rehearsal and we're cool, ready to go. But the actor playing the accused has a problem with his first lines.
"I think it needs another line from the journalist to lead me into the press conference."
What a gent! Suddenly instead of two lines I now have THREE!!! Bring it on! Cause I'm ready for my close up NOW! And it goes swimmingly. There's no fear of me forgetting me lines because they're written on the journo notepad I'm pretending to be writing on (Well Brando always had his lines pinned to the set so he could just read them!).
"Mr. Ferns, would you care to comment on the verdict?" (Wrote that one meself!)
"What are your plans?"
"What would you do with them?"
And all delivered in me best blaa accent. I hope they're not writing into points of view asking why on earth there was an Irish journalist covering a trial in the south coast of England. I'd love the controversy though! We do a few takes from different angles and I'm suddenly feeling part of this, feeling like a telly actor instead of set dressing. I'm excited. It's only three lines but it's a bit of a buzz and the director even speaks to me for the first time.
"God, you must be very hot dressed like that."
Master of understatement him. Makeup need to mop my brow and apply powder every now and then. Makes me feel important.
"Aaaaaaand cut! That's a wrap, thank you."
And that was it. Me first telly. Well I saw every aspect of it from the waiting to the hectic rush of having to get it in the can before lunch. It will never be as good as theatre though, that's where my real passion lies. Ah yes, treading the boards! A live audience every night! Of course when I get the cheque for four days filming from the BBC and compare it to the average weekly theatre wage I feel I could be swayed to do some more telly work. Oh yes.
A thought strikes me though. I'll be able to watch myself on the telly. No feckin way! Not a hope! Then another thing strikes me. Everyone will be able to watch it! It's on telly for jesus' sake!!!!! Aw crap. So I decide not to tell a soul when its going to be on in the hope no one will see it. And of course my real friends won't watch it because they value our friendship. So they won't.
It's not too much of a worry though.
There's decent odds that most people will blink and miss me.
Television never seemed an option to me. When I decided to become a professional actor the stage was all I thought would be in my future and very happy I was with that thought too. Of course the reality of the situation is that if you want to be successful in theatre these days you also have to be successful on screen. As is so often the case now, theatres and companies are more and more interested in getting 'names' to appear in their productions. If you do a three month stint on a soap its good odds you'll be cool when you want to get a theatre job because you'll be 'so and so' from Hollyoaks or whatever. A very good example of this is a guy called Nigel Harman with whom I did a concert about two years ago at the open Air in Regent's Park. Little did I know that the guy dancing beside me in the kick line from Pirates of Penzance would, a few months later, turn up as Dirty Den's illegitimate son in the king of cockney soaps; Eastenders. This was a guy who had jobbed around for years playing chorus and small roles in musicals and with that one break on the telly he is now on the cover of Heat magazine every second week. Now that is not a fate I wish for myself to be honest (nor would I wish it on the rest of ye, imagine my ugly mug staring at you from the magazine shelfs!) but when Nigel Harman leaves Eastenders he will have the pick of the roles in theatre. Now that's the fate I would wish for myself. I can only get so far up the ladder in theatre without needing to be a 'name'. Now that's easier said than done because if you have no screen experience its very very hard to even get an audition for TV. So getting two lines on Judge John Deed was a start at least. It's just a pity Judge John doesn't have an illigitimate son! But surely this was going to be an exciting experience, my first telly. This was the big time, cameras, 'names'. Maybe I'll become so enamoured by TV production that I'll forget all about my love of the stage. The excitement of being on set, the buzz as the cameras roll, the constant character decisions having to be made on the spot because time is of the essence in this frenzied brilliant world of filming.
Jesus did I have wrong idea!
But let me rewind before the cameras start to roll. I'm not allowed to tell you that the Lord of the Rings workshop went really well, or that I think its going to be deadly when it comes out. I'm also not allowed to tell you that while we were doing the final read-through the american producer sat basically right next to me. I'm not telling you that said producer was hollywood legend Saul Zaentz who produced (among other things) One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Amadeus and The English Patient. I'm definitely not telling you how shit-scared i was doing the reading. So don't ask. I'm sworn to secrecy. I can tell you about afterwards though. After the workshop is finished we retire to the bar in the theatre where we rehearsed for a celebratory drink, all of us now hoping that we did well enough today to be considered to be part of the full production. The phone goes and its the 1st assistant director from Judge John deed telling me that my call for filming the following morning is for 7.30 and that a car will pick me up at 6.30. Jesus. That's early. But hey, that's the telly life for ya! A car to pick me up? Hey hey, now I know I've made it, 2 lines or not. A car is picking me up. Well I had two things to celebrate so and needless to say i did.
I regretted it when I finally made it to bed at two in the morning knowing I had to be up at 5.30! God will I ever cop on.
So there I was looking like shite and feeling a whole lot worse than I looked as I was driven at an ungodly hour in the morning to an american college near Watford where all the courtroom scenes are filmed. And I start getting nervous. I've never done anything like this before and the two other actors in my car are old hands at it. Their conversation and vast knowledge of the craft of screen acting is starting to give me the shits in a big way. But I'm acting all cool and not letting on that I'm about to pop my celluloid cherry. We arrive at the unit base (see, the jargon is already like a second language to me!) and the morning went something like this:
7.30: Into costume. Being a journalist I thought I might have a nice suit, maybe without a tie so as to show I'm casual but serious about getting the story. Nope. I get a khaki shirt over which is put a khaki jumper along with a pair of navy trousers and a dull grey jacket (not of the suit variety). My telly debut will not be glamorous. I look like I work for the frigging Daily Sport (the dodgy rag which sports a nipple count every issue on page 2....not that i'd know of course). Ah well. I'm offered breakfast tho which I politely decline as I had something before I left the flat, but i've made a mental note for tomorrow.
7.45: Makeup. Now this is far less painful. Just a little bit of foundation and powder and suddenly as if by magic I'm a tv actor. Sound.
8.00: On set. This was the long walk. I'm brought over to the set by a few of the other actors all dressed as British courtroom types. Each in turn look at me and ask me who i am in this episode. I think they're taken aback at the fact that I look like the bloody convict than a journalist. Anyway. On to the set and in this large room in the college they have this replica of a british courtroom. Mad. All around it are the cameras and monitors and this guy is shouting at that guy and this fella's running here and another fella's running there and I'm introduced to the lead actress in the series and i meet the 1st AD (assistant director dontchaknow. I'm getting very good with me terms at this stage) and suddenly I'm starting to get a bit excited about it all. I know I don't have any lines in the courtroom but i guess I'll have some reaction shots and so on so that'll be cool and the buzz is starting to build as the set gets ready and I'm getting ready to make my screen debut and the auld acting muscles are starting to flex in preparation and I'm ready for my close up now Mr. DeMille and the 1st AD comes over to me and my heart leaps.....this is it.
'Ok Jamie we won't be needing you for this shot so if you want go outside and wait in the artiste's chairs, we'll call you when we're ready for you.'
Oh.
Ok so. Fair enough. But the artiste's chairs boy, now that's more like it. Out I go into this courtyard and a group of people have gathered and they're all quite well dressed etc. and I'm guessing they're in this episode as well. But they're all sitting on bucket seats against the wall of the building while in the middle of the courtyard there's a small canopy under which are about 8 comfortable chairs. But I decide to sit with the people against the wall. I plop myself down on a seat beside some jovial looking chap dressed like a security guard and say hello after which he grunts at me. Riiiight. Well it seems I was sitting in his buddies chair. Oh right sorry all you had to do was say. But it soon becomes clear that I'm not very welcome on any seats against the wall. It turns out that the people against the wall (who seem to group into their own little cells and stay there and not really talk to anyone else) are supporting artistes. Or extras. They are here to make up the numbers for such things as the jury and the press and all that seperates me from them is my two lines. It seems that a very definite line is drawn between the Artistes and supporting artistes and very seldom do the twain mix. It also transpires that they are on better money than me so now I definitely don't want to talk to them. So I plop meself down on one of the comfortable chairs under the canopy. Sure I wont be there long as they'll be out soon to bring me in to do my stuff. Yes I'm sure they will. Any time now. Won't they?
11.00: Still sitting under the canopy. I haven't moved from that spot in three hours. I think my legs have gone numb. Me arse definitely has. But the waiting occasionally broken when some of the actors are released from the scene they're filming. They're a grand crowd of very experienced men and we have a good old natter any time they're out. One of them had seen one of the shakespeare's I was in at the park last year, but can't for the life of him remember me in it. Lovely. It's a pity I hadn't brought my phone and my book over from my dressing room. They would have been handy, but not to worry. Surely I'll be needed any second now to give my eagle eyed journalist. Yes. Any second now.
13.00: Still sitting under the canopy. After a while I had started dozing off to sleep. Being on the piss the night before will do that to ya. But at one stage I open me eyes to find Mr. Martin Shaw sitting beside me staring at me with disapproval.
"How're ya boy?" quoth the Déise boy.
"Hello." quoth the TV star. And not a word more.
Right so that's the end of me sleeping
But jesus I wish i had me phone on me, just so I could send a text. One measly little text so that someone else can share in my utter boredom. Or at least my book, this is a perfect opportunity to whack through me current read. Ah crap why oh why did I leave them behind me. I'm looking over at the supporting artistes and they have their phones and their books and they think they're so brilliant and what have I got nothing. Jesus. But you never know they still might get to me before lunch.
13.30: Lunch. Nope they didn't get to me. But i'm starving and eating always relieves boredom. But it turns out that this set is not like other sets TV shows (not that I'd have a clue) in that its a completely vegetarian set. I kid you not. You aren't even allowed to bring meat with you onto the premises. This is due to the producer being an extremely strict vegan. And so we all are now. You can even see his dog wandering around the set with a sign on his collar saying -I'm a vegetarian- Riiiiiiight. So I queue up for me pumpkin and spinach curry and it tastes as good as it sounds. Rank. But hey ho. It's pretty healthy I'm sure. Although the conversation over lunch seems to revolve around what people wouldn't do just to have a bacon roll. I leave the table early though so I can run back to the dressing room and get my phone and my book, which will undoubtedly save my life and my sanity in the hours to come.
14.30: Back on set, but this time armed with me weapons of literature and communication. Lots of texts are being sent in the hope that someone will help relieve the stifling boredom. Out of the corner of my eye I notice 3 middle aged lady supporting artistes striding up the courtyard. Nothing too strange about that says you although they are perfectly in step with other and seem to have some kind of steely determination. What is strange is when I see the very same sight about 3 more times when I realise that they are exercising by doing laps of the courtyard. And this continues for about half an hour and I'm starting to get dizzy and a bit freaked by it to be honest when all of a sudden the 2nd AD comes out of the building and says
"Jamie, we're ready for you now."
And my heart jumps. This is it. And I look at my watch so that I know what time this momentous moment occured in my career. My first time in the can began at 15.00.
15.05: Back outside in the courtyard. Well that was exciting. Sat at the side of the courtroom and took notes for 2 minutes. I have a feeling that there was part of my elbow in the shot and nothing more. Ah well back to reading Porno (The Irvine Welsh novel that is) and our valiant walkers are still doing laps of the courtyard.
17.00: My journalistic skills have not been required since that burst of activity at 15.00 but the sandwiches arrive for the tea time break. And what a selection they are. I learn very quickly that I should get to the sandwiches as early as I can or else all the egg mayonnaise will have been swiftly procured because the others on the menu are quite shite. Banana and chocolate spread or vegetarian spam salad do not in any way appeal to me or indeed probably to most western cultures. The cakes aren't bad though. I can see myself on Trisha now 'TV drama made me fat!'
18.00: Slight dementia is setting in but I'm kept sane by the knowledge that we must finish shooting by 19.00. The other actors are spending more time in the yard as well and there's a good bit of banter, including a chat with Martin Shaw about the plane he owns and flies every week. Jesus I don't even have a car!!!
18.30: Oh joy!! More note taking.
19.00: That's a wrap! Thank jesus! Off we all trot get ready and get our cars home. Knackered. Just as I'm leaving they tell me that my car will pick me up at 6.30 the following morning. Lovely.
And if you start at the top of that description of my first day of filming and read through it twice again you'll get the story of what happened for my next two days of filming. Literally it was groundhog day but without the wacky antics of Bill Murray. So this is TV. Right. But that wasn't the end of my Judge John Deed experience. I still had to say my lines.
A week later I'm outside a real courtroom in Aylesbury and its the hottest day of the year so far and I'm dressed in three layers of clothing and absolutely baking. It's all very swift I'm told where to stand we do a quick rehearsal and we're cool, ready to go. But the actor playing the accused has a problem with his first lines.
"I think it needs another line from the journalist to lead me into the press conference."
What a gent! Suddenly instead of two lines I now have THREE!!! Bring it on! Cause I'm ready for my close up NOW! And it goes swimmingly. There's no fear of me forgetting me lines because they're written on the journo notepad I'm pretending to be writing on (Well Brando always had his lines pinned to the set so he could just read them!).
"Mr. Ferns, would you care to comment on the verdict?" (Wrote that one meself!)
"What are your plans?"
"What would you do with them?"
And all delivered in me best blaa accent. I hope they're not writing into points of view asking why on earth there was an Irish journalist covering a trial in the south coast of England. I'd love the controversy though! We do a few takes from different angles and I'm suddenly feeling part of this, feeling like a telly actor instead of set dressing. I'm excited. It's only three lines but it's a bit of a buzz and the director even speaks to me for the first time.
"God, you must be very hot dressed like that."
Master of understatement him. Makeup need to mop my brow and apply powder every now and then. Makes me feel important.
"Aaaaaaand cut! That's a wrap, thank you."
And that was it. Me first telly. Well I saw every aspect of it from the waiting to the hectic rush of having to get it in the can before lunch. It will never be as good as theatre though, that's where my real passion lies. Ah yes, treading the boards! A live audience every night! Of course when I get the cheque for four days filming from the BBC and compare it to the average weekly theatre wage I feel I could be swayed to do some more telly work. Oh yes.
A thought strikes me though. I'll be able to watch myself on the telly. No feckin way! Not a hope! Then another thing strikes me. Everyone will be able to watch it! It's on telly for jesus' sake!!!!! Aw crap. So I decide not to tell a soul when its going to be on in the hope no one will see it. And of course my real friends won't watch it because they value our friendship. So they won't.
It's not too much of a worry though.
There's decent odds that most people will blink and miss me.
Monday, May 17, 2004
8. IT NEVER RAINS.......
But it feckin' pours!
Its an old old saying but very very true. And it always happens to me let me tell you. I go through periods waiting for an acting job and 5 come along at the same time. Well, not always 5. Alright, I've never been offered 5 jobs at the same time but you get the motion picture I'm trying to paint here.
Example. I spent a year out of work when i first left drama school in 2000 and what a horrible year it was. No one would employ me and I was barely getting any auditions. I was literally sitting by the phone waiting for it to ring. I finally got a Job tho. An 8 month tour of Gilbert & Sullivan's swashbuckling operetta Pirates of Penzance with Su Pollard of Hi De Hi infamy! Grand. I was very hungry to work and I felt like I had hit the big time. Then, while I was on tour, I get offered a small part in a new movie. Jesus! I couldn't get a job to save me life and now I had two. But of course they're clashing. And the producers of Pirates wouldn't let me out of my contract for the weeks filming I've been offered and not only that but I was told I would be sacked and sued for breach of contract if they found me to be sick on the dates I requested. Sued on me first job. Well I'd never have worked again but it would make a deadly story down the pub. Nah. So I have to grit my teeth and do my little dance up the back of the chorus in Milton Keynes. Oh the glamour. Ah well. You sign the contract you sign your life away. End of example.
More recent example.
Well I'm like a pig in shit after getting the offer for the Lord of the Rings workshop. Its only 2 weeks but its work goddamnit and cool work at that. It also comes just 5 weeks after Calico finished so that's pretty cool as I haven't had time for the old doubts of ever working again to creep in. A few days before I start though i have a meeting at the BBC with a casting director with the possibility of doing a couple of lines on the courtroom drama 'Judge John Deed'. Never seen it meself to be honest. So up I waltz to BBC Television Centre in the West of the London and tell a nice girl at reception that I'm an actor who's come for a meeting dontchaknow and would she be ever so nice and tell them that I'm here, ready and waiting. I'm still standing there, ready and waiting, 10 minutes later as she rings to see if anyone knows anything about a Jamie Beamish. What do they mean? Don't they know who I am. Bloody right they don't! So I call my agent to find out the casting directors name and once I give that to the girl she proceeds to inform me that I'm in the completely wrong building and that castings take place across the road, where they always take place. Ah. Now I feel like a bit of a pleb. Award nomination or not this is still my first meeting at the BBC, so I really don't have a clue no matter how much I pretend to. Across the road the lady I meet is extremely nice and after a little chat she gives me a page of script and Films me reading the part of the Journalist. Its two lines and that's it. She apologises for it being so little. I tell her not to worry, in the four years I've been an actor I've done no telly so anything would do me grand. I must remember not to sound so desperate in future. She says it should work out fine and indeed it does. The agent rings the following day saying they've offered me the crucial part of the Journalist and I'll be needed for 3 days filming the day after i finish Lord of the Rings. Nice one! Not only have I just gotten my first telly job but it comes straight after another job. How bad. Me mother will be delighted. Its not The Bill but its something.
But.
Ah but there's always a but with me isn't there. But the read through for it is right in the middle of the Lord of the Rings workshop so I can't make it. Aw c'mon they're not going to replace me just because I can't turn up to read two lines. Are they? I don't know, its my first telly. It takes 3 days for them to come back to my agent to say its ok, I don't have to be there. Whew. Grand, sorted so.
But.
Aw jesus not another but? Oh yes, for nothing is ever easy when it comes to my frigging career.
The first few days of the Lord of the Rings workshop go very well. There's only 10 actors doing it and some of them are pretty shit - hot famous-in-London-theatre types so I'm well chuffed to even be there. I would go into it more about the show but alas I cannot. Why, I hear you cry? Well on the first day before we even sat down we were made sign a contract saying we would keep all details of the workshop and the music and script private and confidential. A bit like a gagging order I suppose. I'm not really sure what would actually happen to me if I did say anything. Maybe I'd have to give up my first born child or something? Who knows, all I do know is that if I told you I'd probably have to kill you. They take things seriously in the wonderful world of showbiz!
(Speaking of secrecy I found out recently that the film I mentioned that the Hubbards were casting, Tiny dancer, is not called that at all. Its a made up name being used because the film its hiding is super top secret. I found out its real name the other day. Its King Kong. The remake that Peter Jackson is directing. Now I'm like a dog I wasn't seen for it! But I digress....grrrr)
On the 3rd day of the workshop the producer comes in to have a chat with everyone individually. It turns out one of the actors is unavailable to do the final audio recording of the workshop on the last day, so would everyone be available to do the recording the day after? And of course everyone is, everyone...but...me. Aw no, hang on now. Are ye telling me I have to give up my first telly job because some other actor's agent cocked up their dates? If he can't do the recording then tough! Replace him! I mean who does he think he is? Well he happens to be one of London's top stage actors, with two Olivier awards under his belt and is playing the somewhat important part of Gandalf. So the real question is who am I? And the answer is very replaceable. I'm told that if i can't make the recording then i will have to be replaced, although they would very much like me to stay. So much so that the producers are willing to compensate the money I will lose from turning down the BBC job. Now that is indeed very very generous. But its not the point. This is my first telly, and although it may be only 2 lines its a start and we all need that. Once you start having telly credits on your cv then people will start seeing you for more and the ball gets rolling. Also this is a job I've already agreed to do so I stand to lose a lot of face at the BBC for messing them about. So there was the decision, and I had to make it.
Of course I chose lord of the Rings.
I mean wouldn't you? The chance to work on a huge big budget stage adaption of one of the greatest literary adventures of all time with one of the top young directors in the country or 2 lines on a drama series with Bodie out of the professionals. Answers to my email address. So I put the whole BBC thing to the back of my mind and got on with the job at hand. We had a quest to fulfill after all.
But.
Yes another one. A good one though. The agent rang the day after I made my decision to say that the producer of Lord of the Rings had rung the BBC to explain what had happened. This is good as it shifts the blame from me and the BBC wont think I'm arseing them about.
"The BBC were happy with this explanation."
Good.
"So much so that they have released you from the filming on the Monday and you will start on Tuesday instead!"
I'm sorry, come again. You mean the producer actually sorted everything out and I still have the other job? While this is not unheard of it is in my career. I think back to the trouble me getting that film during Pirates caused and how nasty the producer was there. It warms my heart to see someone actually appreciating an actor enough to go to a bit of trouble to help him out. So the moral of this story is that not all producers are shitheads. Just some. So two buses came at the same time and miraculously I was able to hop on both. The only downer is that I can't say anything about Lord of the Rings. But that said, it was me who signed the contract and enough people (girls) have told me that I'm a completely different person when I'm drunk, and seeing as that person never signed any contract I can be paid in beer for information. Sweet.
So there it was, you really never know what's around the corner in this Job. After the disappointment of Calico closing I (After a bit of drama) had 2 nice little jobs........Well...... 3 actually. I've just accepted the offer from the Open Air Theatre. I start rehearsing for Toad in Wind in the Willows from the 5th of July. Its going to be a very green and interesting summer.
But 2 lines on a telly program.
Me Mammy's over the moon.
But it feckin' pours!
Its an old old saying but very very true. And it always happens to me let me tell you. I go through periods waiting for an acting job and 5 come along at the same time. Well, not always 5. Alright, I've never been offered 5 jobs at the same time but you get the motion picture I'm trying to paint here.
Example. I spent a year out of work when i first left drama school in 2000 and what a horrible year it was. No one would employ me and I was barely getting any auditions. I was literally sitting by the phone waiting for it to ring. I finally got a Job tho. An 8 month tour of Gilbert & Sullivan's swashbuckling operetta Pirates of Penzance with Su Pollard of Hi De Hi infamy! Grand. I was very hungry to work and I felt like I had hit the big time. Then, while I was on tour, I get offered a small part in a new movie. Jesus! I couldn't get a job to save me life and now I had two. But of course they're clashing. And the producers of Pirates wouldn't let me out of my contract for the weeks filming I've been offered and not only that but I was told I would be sacked and sued for breach of contract if they found me to be sick on the dates I requested. Sued on me first job. Well I'd never have worked again but it would make a deadly story down the pub. Nah. So I have to grit my teeth and do my little dance up the back of the chorus in Milton Keynes. Oh the glamour. Ah well. You sign the contract you sign your life away. End of example.
More recent example.
Well I'm like a pig in shit after getting the offer for the Lord of the Rings workshop. Its only 2 weeks but its work goddamnit and cool work at that. It also comes just 5 weeks after Calico finished so that's pretty cool as I haven't had time for the old doubts of ever working again to creep in. A few days before I start though i have a meeting at the BBC with a casting director with the possibility of doing a couple of lines on the courtroom drama 'Judge John Deed'. Never seen it meself to be honest. So up I waltz to BBC Television Centre in the West of the London and tell a nice girl at reception that I'm an actor who's come for a meeting dontchaknow and would she be ever so nice and tell them that I'm here, ready and waiting. I'm still standing there, ready and waiting, 10 minutes later as she rings to see if anyone knows anything about a Jamie Beamish. What do they mean? Don't they know who I am. Bloody right they don't! So I call my agent to find out the casting directors name and once I give that to the girl she proceeds to inform me that I'm in the completely wrong building and that castings take place across the road, where they always take place. Ah. Now I feel like a bit of a pleb. Award nomination or not this is still my first meeting at the BBC, so I really don't have a clue no matter how much I pretend to. Across the road the lady I meet is extremely nice and after a little chat she gives me a page of script and Films me reading the part of the Journalist. Its two lines and that's it. She apologises for it being so little. I tell her not to worry, in the four years I've been an actor I've done no telly so anything would do me grand. I must remember not to sound so desperate in future. She says it should work out fine and indeed it does. The agent rings the following day saying they've offered me the crucial part of the Journalist and I'll be needed for 3 days filming the day after i finish Lord of the Rings. Nice one! Not only have I just gotten my first telly job but it comes straight after another job. How bad. Me mother will be delighted. Its not The Bill but its something.
But.
Ah but there's always a but with me isn't there. But the read through for it is right in the middle of the Lord of the Rings workshop so I can't make it. Aw c'mon they're not going to replace me just because I can't turn up to read two lines. Are they? I don't know, its my first telly. It takes 3 days for them to come back to my agent to say its ok, I don't have to be there. Whew. Grand, sorted so.
But.
Aw jesus not another but? Oh yes, for nothing is ever easy when it comes to my frigging career.
The first few days of the Lord of the Rings workshop go very well. There's only 10 actors doing it and some of them are pretty shit - hot famous-in-London-theatre types so I'm well chuffed to even be there. I would go into it more about the show but alas I cannot. Why, I hear you cry? Well on the first day before we even sat down we were made sign a contract saying we would keep all details of the workshop and the music and script private and confidential. A bit like a gagging order I suppose. I'm not really sure what would actually happen to me if I did say anything. Maybe I'd have to give up my first born child or something? Who knows, all I do know is that if I told you I'd probably have to kill you. They take things seriously in the wonderful world of showbiz!
(Speaking of secrecy I found out recently that the film I mentioned that the Hubbards were casting, Tiny dancer, is not called that at all. Its a made up name being used because the film its hiding is super top secret. I found out its real name the other day. Its King Kong. The remake that Peter Jackson is directing. Now I'm like a dog I wasn't seen for it! But I digress....grrrr)
On the 3rd day of the workshop the producer comes in to have a chat with everyone individually. It turns out one of the actors is unavailable to do the final audio recording of the workshop on the last day, so would everyone be available to do the recording the day after? And of course everyone is, everyone...but...me. Aw no, hang on now. Are ye telling me I have to give up my first telly job because some other actor's agent cocked up their dates? If he can't do the recording then tough! Replace him! I mean who does he think he is? Well he happens to be one of London's top stage actors, with two Olivier awards under his belt and is playing the somewhat important part of Gandalf. So the real question is who am I? And the answer is very replaceable. I'm told that if i can't make the recording then i will have to be replaced, although they would very much like me to stay. So much so that the producers are willing to compensate the money I will lose from turning down the BBC job. Now that is indeed very very generous. But its not the point. This is my first telly, and although it may be only 2 lines its a start and we all need that. Once you start having telly credits on your cv then people will start seeing you for more and the ball gets rolling. Also this is a job I've already agreed to do so I stand to lose a lot of face at the BBC for messing them about. So there was the decision, and I had to make it.
Of course I chose lord of the Rings.
I mean wouldn't you? The chance to work on a huge big budget stage adaption of one of the greatest literary adventures of all time with one of the top young directors in the country or 2 lines on a drama series with Bodie out of the professionals. Answers to my email address. So I put the whole BBC thing to the back of my mind and got on with the job at hand. We had a quest to fulfill after all.
But.
Yes another one. A good one though. The agent rang the day after I made my decision to say that the producer of Lord of the Rings had rung the BBC to explain what had happened. This is good as it shifts the blame from me and the BBC wont think I'm arseing them about.
"The BBC were happy with this explanation."
Good.
"So much so that they have released you from the filming on the Monday and you will start on Tuesday instead!"
I'm sorry, come again. You mean the producer actually sorted everything out and I still have the other job? While this is not unheard of it is in my career. I think back to the trouble me getting that film during Pirates caused and how nasty the producer was there. It warms my heart to see someone actually appreciating an actor enough to go to a bit of trouble to help him out. So the moral of this story is that not all producers are shitheads. Just some. So two buses came at the same time and miraculously I was able to hop on both. The only downer is that I can't say anything about Lord of the Rings. But that said, it was me who signed the contract and enough people (girls) have told me that I'm a completely different person when I'm drunk, and seeing as that person never signed any contract I can be paid in beer for information. Sweet.
So there it was, you really never know what's around the corner in this Job. After the disappointment of Calico closing I (After a bit of drama) had 2 nice little jobs........Well...... 3 actually. I've just accepted the offer from the Open Air Theatre. I start rehearsing for Toad in Wind in the Willows from the 5th of July. Its going to be a very green and interesting summer.
But 2 lines on a telly program.
Me Mammy's over the moon.
Friday, April 30, 2004
7. ONE MUSICAL TO RULE THEM ALL
They'll make a musical out of anything....and I mean anything. Think of any subject or story and they will make a musical about it. I mean who in they're right mind would turn a sprawling novel about the french revolution into a musical and expect it to be a hit? The last few days of the life of Jesus Christ? Anyone? Anyone? There's musicals about presidential assassins, Saint Bernadette, Carrie (the Stephen King novel), Rod Stewart (God help us all), Superman (I kid you not), football, Prisoner Cell Block H, Cats.......listen I could go on and on and on, just believe me they will make a musical out of anything (I should know. I was in a musical about the holocaust. That was fun. A few boys in Dublin nicknamed it 'Schindler's List on Ice'). So it should come as no surprise that there are plans to stage a musical version of THE LORD OF THE RINGS!
BUT WHY??!!!?? I hear you cry.
I DON'T KNOW! PROBABLY TO MAKE MONEY.......I cry back.
The rumour of a musical of Lord of the Rings has been kicking about for a couple of years now, pretty much since the first film came out and was such a success. I never thought it would happen mind you. They say a lot of things in the board rooms of the Wonderful West End and a lot of it never sees daylight, so Lord of the Rings the musical must be a pipe dream. How the hell are they going to condense what is one of the most epic stories in all literature into a three hour musical......and not make it shite? Nah. never happen methinks. Methinks wrong as it turns out. And how do I know i'm wrong.
I had an audition for it.
And herein begins my quest.
The call came from my agent as it always does at the most inopportune time. In this case I was in London's Forbidden Planet reading some comics. This shop is great, you can just go in and have an auld read of anything you want and no one says nothing. Brilliant. That also means that it can be like a library at times and when a phone goes off you inevitably have some nerd pop his head up from behind a copy of the latest Spectacular Spider-Man and gives you a withering glance. His spider sense going off obviously. But I digress. I leave the shop to talk shop with the agent;
'You have a meeting tomorrow with a casting director. Its about Lord of the Rings the musical. They're doing a workshop in a couple of weeks time.'
Workshops are pretty common things for new musicals, a way to test out the material before launching into a full production. Grand. My mind goes back to the Spectacular Nerd-Man and how he'd give his entire collection of Punisher War Zone to have a meeting for Lord of the Rings the musical. Tough titty. 11.00 the next morning I'm sitting in the offices of the Almeida Theatre waiting to meet the casting director. I'm cool as a cucumber 'cos I know I won't get this workshop. I never get auditions for these big musicals like Les Mis or Miss Saigon (not that I care anymore) so I can't see myself doing this one. No, the real reason I'm there, I tell myself is to have a nice auld meeting with this chick as she also casts the Almeida Theatre, one of London's most well regarded theatres. I mean its not even an audition is it? Well within ten minutes it is. It turns out the casting director in question was at my table at the Ian Charleson awards and is very impressed by my CV and she wants me to audition for the director Matthew Warchus (One of England's top directors) and also to read for Gollum. Fine so. Jesus I wish all meetings went that well. And Gollum too. How bad.
Fast forward to 10.50am Thursday morning. I've just spent the past couple of days checking out the books but not watching the films. This morning Matthew I will NOT be Andy Serkis doing Gollum but Jamie Beamish doing Gollum. That'll impress them, my own take on it. Yeah right. But something very strange happens just before I go in to read. The casting director comes out and enquires do I have anything to do during the day, to which I reply no. Which is true because I've recently been living the lazy life of the unemployed.
'Would you mind sticking around for the day and reading with people for us?'
Ah. That's a tricky one. While it would be good fun to be part of a day of auditions (not to mention educational), I will at some point have to read opposite an actor who is going for the same part I am. Now that's hard. You don't normally get to see your competition. Ignorance can be bliss. So I'm not so sure.
'We would pay you of course.'
I'm your man!
So in I go for my audition. It goes fine. The director, however, is giving away nothing whatsoever so I haven't a clue if he likes me or not. Ah well. But the thing is of course I now have to see every other persons audition. This is a very strange situation. But its some craic at the same time. I mean I'm reading all these lines from Lord of the Rings. In the course of the day I play all the hobbits, Gollum and Aragorn. I'm also hopefully impressing the director with my versatility and he'll be more inclined to give me the part. But then my hopes are dashed. I read opposite a guy who's going for Gollum...and he's terrific. Now that was hard. Reading the lines opposite him as I felt any hope of me getting it slip away. Had to be professional mind, couldn't try and mess his audition up in any way. But there it was. He was good though, I mean I would have given it to him hands down. He was very like the film and they seemed to like that. Silly me trying to be an individual. The rest of the day is handy after that. I know I'm not in with a shout so I can chill out a bit. We were auditioning in a place where there was a number of auditions going on and at one stage while I was in the waiting room a lady came over to me.
'Are you auditioning for me?' She asks nicely.
'No. But I will if you want.' I reply cheekily.
'Hmm. Hang on there a minute.' Whereupon she goes into a room brings out a director who looks me up and down, nods his head and goes back into the room.
'Fancy auditioning for a commercial?'
Have no doubt. So just by sitting there I get myself a commercial casting for some new board game. Comedy! Well something good might still come out of the day seeing as Lord of the Rings has gone west on me. The day ends and they thank me very much for doing it and I thank them for the hard cash and all is cool. But what a deadly day even if I didn't get the part. Hopefully it might lead on to something else with this director, he does loads so you never know.
My phone goes at 10.30 the following morning. Tis the agent.
'You didn't get Gollum.'
Well I could have told you that yesterday. Ah well not to worry.
'But they've given you Legolas instead.'
Oh.
Wasn't that the part Orlando Bloom played in the film?
Ha ha. What sweet irony.
They'll make a musical out of anything....and I mean anything. Think of any subject or story and they will make a musical about it. I mean who in they're right mind would turn a sprawling novel about the french revolution into a musical and expect it to be a hit? The last few days of the life of Jesus Christ? Anyone? Anyone? There's musicals about presidential assassins, Saint Bernadette, Carrie (the Stephen King novel), Rod Stewart (God help us all), Superman (I kid you not), football, Prisoner Cell Block H, Cats.......listen I could go on and on and on, just believe me they will make a musical out of anything (I should know. I was in a musical about the holocaust. That was fun. A few boys in Dublin nicknamed it 'Schindler's List on Ice'). So it should come as no surprise that there are plans to stage a musical version of THE LORD OF THE RINGS!
BUT WHY??!!!?? I hear you cry.
I DON'T KNOW! PROBABLY TO MAKE MONEY.......I cry back.
The rumour of a musical of Lord of the Rings has been kicking about for a couple of years now, pretty much since the first film came out and was such a success. I never thought it would happen mind you. They say a lot of things in the board rooms of the Wonderful West End and a lot of it never sees daylight, so Lord of the Rings the musical must be a pipe dream. How the hell are they going to condense what is one of the most epic stories in all literature into a three hour musical......and not make it shite? Nah. never happen methinks. Methinks wrong as it turns out. And how do I know i'm wrong.
I had an audition for it.
And herein begins my quest.
The call came from my agent as it always does at the most inopportune time. In this case I was in London's Forbidden Planet reading some comics. This shop is great, you can just go in and have an auld read of anything you want and no one says nothing. Brilliant. That also means that it can be like a library at times and when a phone goes off you inevitably have some nerd pop his head up from behind a copy of the latest Spectacular Spider-Man and gives you a withering glance. His spider sense going off obviously. But I digress. I leave the shop to talk shop with the agent;
'You have a meeting tomorrow with a casting director. Its about Lord of the Rings the musical. They're doing a workshop in a couple of weeks time.'
Workshops are pretty common things for new musicals, a way to test out the material before launching into a full production. Grand. My mind goes back to the Spectacular Nerd-Man and how he'd give his entire collection of Punisher War Zone to have a meeting for Lord of the Rings the musical. Tough titty. 11.00 the next morning I'm sitting in the offices of the Almeida Theatre waiting to meet the casting director. I'm cool as a cucumber 'cos I know I won't get this workshop. I never get auditions for these big musicals like Les Mis or Miss Saigon (not that I care anymore) so I can't see myself doing this one. No, the real reason I'm there, I tell myself is to have a nice auld meeting with this chick as she also casts the Almeida Theatre, one of London's most well regarded theatres. I mean its not even an audition is it? Well within ten minutes it is. It turns out the casting director in question was at my table at the Ian Charleson awards and is very impressed by my CV and she wants me to audition for the director Matthew Warchus (One of England's top directors) and also to read for Gollum. Fine so. Jesus I wish all meetings went that well. And Gollum too. How bad.
Fast forward to 10.50am Thursday morning. I've just spent the past couple of days checking out the books but not watching the films. This morning Matthew I will NOT be Andy Serkis doing Gollum but Jamie Beamish doing Gollum. That'll impress them, my own take on it. Yeah right. But something very strange happens just before I go in to read. The casting director comes out and enquires do I have anything to do during the day, to which I reply no. Which is true because I've recently been living the lazy life of the unemployed.
'Would you mind sticking around for the day and reading with people for us?'
Ah. That's a tricky one. While it would be good fun to be part of a day of auditions (not to mention educational), I will at some point have to read opposite an actor who is going for the same part I am. Now that's hard. You don't normally get to see your competition. Ignorance can be bliss. So I'm not so sure.
'We would pay you of course.'
I'm your man!
So in I go for my audition. It goes fine. The director, however, is giving away nothing whatsoever so I haven't a clue if he likes me or not. Ah well. But the thing is of course I now have to see every other persons audition. This is a very strange situation. But its some craic at the same time. I mean I'm reading all these lines from Lord of the Rings. In the course of the day I play all the hobbits, Gollum and Aragorn. I'm also hopefully impressing the director with my versatility and he'll be more inclined to give me the part. But then my hopes are dashed. I read opposite a guy who's going for Gollum...and he's terrific. Now that was hard. Reading the lines opposite him as I felt any hope of me getting it slip away. Had to be professional mind, couldn't try and mess his audition up in any way. But there it was. He was good though, I mean I would have given it to him hands down. He was very like the film and they seemed to like that. Silly me trying to be an individual. The rest of the day is handy after that. I know I'm not in with a shout so I can chill out a bit. We were auditioning in a place where there was a number of auditions going on and at one stage while I was in the waiting room a lady came over to me.
'Are you auditioning for me?' She asks nicely.
'No. But I will if you want.' I reply cheekily.
'Hmm. Hang on there a minute.' Whereupon she goes into a room brings out a director who looks me up and down, nods his head and goes back into the room.
'Fancy auditioning for a commercial?'
Have no doubt. So just by sitting there I get myself a commercial casting for some new board game. Comedy! Well something good might still come out of the day seeing as Lord of the Rings has gone west on me. The day ends and they thank me very much for doing it and I thank them for the hard cash and all is cool. But what a deadly day even if I didn't get the part. Hopefully it might lead on to something else with this director, he does loads so you never know.
My phone goes at 10.30 the following morning. Tis the agent.
'You didn't get Gollum.'
Well I could have told you that yesterday. Ah well not to worry.
'But they've given you Legolas instead.'
Oh.
Wasn't that the part Orlando Bloom played in the film?
Ha ha. What sweet irony.
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