A Sense Of Pride

It’s rare that I feel the desire to applaud when the credits roll at the cinema. In 2014, that sort of over-indulgent behaviour seems to be reserved solely for the theatre and flying with Ryanair. Other than social custom holding me back, that’s exactly the urge I felt after watching Pride. Most reviews of the film have labelled it a British ‘feelgood’ film – which is completely fair – but there’s far greater depth to it than to suggest it is simply feelgood fodder.

I won’t rattle on about the plot, the soundtrack or the political climate of the eighties (you can read that in any newspaper or online article) but I will say that my pride stemmed from the British acting industry. Every once in while, a film comes along (usually produced by BBC Films or Film 4) and it reminds you of the quality and uniqueness of our productions. I’m talking about the likes of Billy Elliott (the obvious comparison), East is East, and Calendar Girls. They might not be blockbusters, but they are incredibly honest portrayals about real people that most of us can associate with. Love Actually did spring to mind but then when would the Prime Minister ever turn up at Martine McCutcheon’s house?

The evening I saw Pride, I had intended to visit Manchester’s Royal Exchange to see Maxine Peak tackle Hamlet. Peake is just one of our current acting greats who would have slotted seamlessly into Pride. My personal highlight of Peake’s screen career is her depiction of Moors murderer, Myra Hindley, in the 2006 Granada production of See No Evil – a subject way before my time but nonetheless inescapable.

I found it fitting then that Pride showcases another actor I remember for their portrayal of a serial killer: Dominic West. Although West is arguably most famous for playing Jimmy McNulty in The Wire, it’s his portrayal of Fred West in 2011’s Appropriate Adult (another of ITV’s trilogy on notorious murderers) which first brought West to my attention. West also featured on stage during my uni years, appearing at The Crucible in Othello. Looking back, to think I missed the opportunity to interview him whilst editing my student union’s arts mag is a bit of a kicker! From Peake to West though, it highlights that our acting industry is alive and well, and that many of our national treasures (no, not you, Cheryl Cole/Fernandez-Versini/Tweedy) have the ability to transition between roles.

Imelda Staunton, deservedly, has received a lot of praise for her role in Pride, as the hugely lovable but steely Hefina. Like West though, this might be considered a relative trough in the trajectory of her career. Most will remember her for Harry Potter or Vera Drake, but I also remember catching her in an accomplished stint as Mrs. Lovett in a brief West End run of Sweeney Todd with Michael Ball, who I won’t share my opinion on.

Then you have Bill Nighy and a whole string of younger starlets like Jessie Cave (like Nighy, Cave took up a part in Harry Potter, as Lavender Brown). Pride also carries with it the scent of This Is England, with its eighties setting, subversive subject matter and, of course, Joe Gilgun (Woody). Not far from that is Fresh Meat’s Faye Marsey, who I immediately mistook for someone from the Inbetweeners Movie (blame the Joe Thomas link) with her character’s Smell-esque appearance.

Add Paddy Considine to that, who links to This Is England through Shane Meadows’ Dead Man’s Shoes, and you have a cast of brilliant headline, established and developing talent.

I began this week by watching a documentary on the late Richard Attenborough; tireless supporter of BAFTA and arguably the great saviour of British cinema. How appropriate to end it watching a film that showcases a blossoming industry.

The miners’ wives singing 'Bread and Roses' may make you well up for the struggles of gay rights, miners and unionism but there’s a lot more to be proud of in this film.

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Behind The Curtain

For someone who loves theatre, it can be quite a difficult undertaking to actually go and watch a show. Having probably been behind the curtain more often then I've been in front, watching a play or musical isn't ever really the same after you've been blinded by the spots and heard the roar of a sea of silhouettes. The problem, for me anyway, is that the illusion is no longer quite as strong once you've tasted the nerves and the adrenaline, and seen how it all works first hand. If I could sum it up, it's like watching a magician, knowing exactly how he's going to escape the locked container.

In my eyes, I see the stage through a cross-section. I hear the overture and instantly I think of the actors waiting in the wings, the technical team setting off smoke machines and prepping scene changes. But what does all that look like to the uninformed observer? Post-show, the first thing people ask is how things are done. And there is usually a pretty simple answer. But there's also a long tale that lies behind it. So I thought I'd show you how it all works...

The Quiet Before The Storm

Long before the audience is through the door, the actors are in the theatre, receiving notes from the night before, warming up vocally and physically, and generally relaxing. Entering an empty theatre is an extremely strange experience. The thought of the place being full an hour later is almost foreign.

As the house opens though and you hear those first voices coming over the PA system in the dressing rooms, subconsciously, the edge begins to grow. You focus. It's time to start creating characters.

And then comes the waiting. And the nervous energy. When you hear the 15-minute call over the PA, you slowly see people change. The loud can become very quiet. The calm, restless. And then it's through that stage door, and all you can hear is the hum of the audience. And then it really kicks in.

And then it's out, into that blinding, great white light.

Of course, that's not all that goes into it. Throughout the performance, there are people working tirelessly in the wings, silently ordering lighting changes and directing teams of men in black through scene changes, smoke machines and audience blinders, all so the audience is none the wiser.

In the midst of a performance, although you're constantly focussed, there's so much going on around you, and also so little. Depending on the part, you can be sat around for an hour or more - maybe even time to nip out for a pint. But then you can be on and off in seconds, and dressed in something new. Which means getting it all out side of stage. If you're lucky, you might even get a dresser to chase you around.

And, in the madness, there's the fun. Otherwise, why would we do it? You get a performance under your belt, and then nervous energy is channeled for the good, and you relax.

Not to mention the obligatory photos!

So, I ask you, why would you want to be anywhere else but behind the curtain, part of the cross-section?

*All photos courtesy of the very talented Rob Watson. He does weddings, don't you know?! Let me know if I can put you in touch.

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Do What You Love, Love What You Do

In my last post, I mentioned that I'd been blogging for roughly a year. Curious as ever,  I went back and checked, and it turns out (give or take a day) it has been exactly that. My first post was all about growing up as a straight male who enjoyed the not-so-hetero art of musical theatre.

It seems fitting then that I should want to write this post now, a year after taking up theatre as a hobby again. A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to be on a pro stage for six nights with a brilliantly talent group of people. The best group of amateur actors I've ever performed with, in fact. My own biased opinion aside - I'd be the first to cringe at gushy Facebook statuses about 'awe-inspiring' amateur productions - it was so good to be part of something that genuinely made pro theatre staff question the quality of the touring production going on at the same time.

I put off writing this post until I'd had my fill of post-show blues (which you can read more about here), and had a clearer head, because I wanted to be sure about the direction I wanted this post to take. And this is it, in a nutshell: Do what you love, love what you do.

For fear of ruining someone's life, please don't leave your job, up sticks and try to save the turtles. The turtles are fine. They won't save you when you're homeless outside Starbucks. And that girl has moved on. If you turn up at her wedding, chances are you'll have ruined the best day of her life.

Cynicism aside, doing what you love in life is very important. And it becomes more important as you get older. I'm 23 - the phrase 'imparted wisdom' is not one I regularly associate with - but I know what's important to me. In the last year, this blog has helped me fix memories that I might not have had I not taken the time to look around and smell the roses. It's also encouraged me to do things I might have only ever discussed before, if only to write about them. The main point is that I'm doing what I love, and it makes my life more enjoyable. It turns out other people love doing what I do as well, which makes it all the more fun. There's even been the odd bit of recognition along the way as well. And if it all ended tomorrow, I know I'd be proud of what I've done in the last year.
 
Hopefully, in 12 months' time, you'll still find me doing what I love, loving what I'm doing.

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Post-Show Blues

post·show·blues

[post-shoh-blooz]noun 

1. the state of emotional fragility felt in the time following an extended run of theatrical performance.

 

"I went to the Doctor. There was nothing he could do. He said that I had it, had the post-show blues."

 

It's not unusual to feel a little down on a Monday. The weekend's over, you've not fully recovered from Saturday night and, to top it all off, it's pissing it down. But it's not for any of those reasons that I've felt slightly sullen today. You see, I have a case of the post-show blues.

Having not been on stage for a few years, I'd forgotten the feeling. The boredom, the quietness, the moping. In this case, it's only a small does of the blues - my birthday is just days away, I've another part to start preparing for and I'll be seeing my fellow cast mates before the week is out. But after a non-stop week of 'work, perform, sleep, repeat', it's difficult not to miss all the fun that you didn't have chance to appreciate. 

It's similar to that comedown you experience after a holiday, except you're absolutely knackered and therefore twice as dramatic and sensitive. I imagine it's akin to how the remains of S Club 7 feel in between half-hearted DJ sets at forgettable universities... It's the kind of feeling where opening the door to an empty fridge leaves you on the verge of tears. 

The best part of post-show blues is that, if you have it, you know you've shared something great. In show week, you live in each others pockets, make new friends and share in the applause that you've all worked so hard for. You make jokes about the script that no one else could possibly get - and those jokes stay with you! I have friends now who still bring out stories from shows we did in our mid teens. Which, cheesy as it sounds, is one of the greatest things about theatre. None of us are paid to act - we do it because we love it. And what could be better than sharing that.

Before this descends into a love in, I'd like to say thank you to every one who had anything to do with Thoroughly Modern Millie. To those who sewed costumes, designed lighting schedules or came to watch. But most of all, to the cast and production team, thank you and well done... I'm thoroughly depressed.

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Back in the thick of it

If you've been with me since the start of Tales of Timler, you'll remember me mentioning that I had recently rejoined a theatre company I was briefly a part of when I was in my early teens (if your memory isn't that good, you can read the post here).

Well, I can now happily say that following my first few weeks, I've been offered a part in their our upcoming performance of Thoroughly Modern Millie. And, rather than gently dipping my toe back into the acting pool, it seems I have quite a challenge on my hands.You see, the part I auditioned for is that of Ching Ho, one half of the comedic Chinese double act shipping unsuspecting young moderns off to Asia for less-than-respectable deeds - I'm assured there's comedy in it... What's more, the entire dialogue and lib is in Cantonese and Mandorin. I should probably mention at this point that I also went for a more conventional, English-speaking character but didn't get the part.

Thoroughly Modern Millie is a new show to me and learning lines is hard enough, let alone when you have to do it in two languages and ensure you get the laughs along the way. However, as much as it's a massive challenge, I'm looking forward to giving it my best crack. While it's nice to play romantic leads, I generally do better in character roles and, given the workshop audition, I think it's something I can pull off - even if I do have a massive ginger quiff to disguise.

Fortunately, it's not intended to be the most PC of performances but I'm convinced there's a lot of fun to be had a long the way and, hey, the audience might just enjoy it come opening night.

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Thrifty theatre - Royal Exchange, Manchester

As I've already mentioned, I love theatre, but it's an expensive hobby. Tickets to a decent professional play or musical performance are going to set you back at least £20, if you're lucky, and even then you're going to be sat in seats which give you neck ache, cramp and a poor view to boot!

That's why I love Mondays at Manchester's Royal Exchange. If you're under 26, the Royal Exchange offers tickets as part of 'Happy Mondays' (get it?) at just £5 a head and, in comparison to a lot of theatre deals, you can sit where you like (depending on availability, obviously). What's more, they also do a similar deal on Fridays where the first 50 under 26s through the door after noon can pick up tickets for the same price.

This week, I popped down with a few friends to catch one of the last few performances of Henrik Ibsen's A Doll's House, which has been playing throughout May and has, understandably, received glowing reviews - I should add that I've never seen a bad play at the Royal Exchange!

Even if you're not incredibly taken with theatre, it's worth having a look around in the day, simply for the building's history and the pretty unique setup of the theatre. The theatre is part of a set of grade II listed buildings and sits in the great hall of the former Victorian Cotton Exchange, with grand pillars running up to the eves, where cotton prices are still dotted around. 

The theatre itself looks like a space capsule which has been delivered through the dome roof. From experience, you can't really pick a bad seat as it's performance in the round and each seat is close enough to the action that you can see everything, whether you're sharing the floor level with the actors or draped over the railings of the third tier. 

At £5 it's less than you'd pay to watch middle-aged men and women still desperately trying to play 25 at your local 'am dram' club and with more than enough change for a bag of chips afterwards. Next up is Harold Pinter's The Birthday Party. Maybe I'll see you there...

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Growing pains

I have a dirty, disgusting habit. I can't kick it. I find myself longing to do it with other people... in front of other people. It's a burden on my friends and family and there's nothing they can do to stop it.

I sing. I sing a lot. And those around me are forced to live with it.
What's more, I sing showtunes. I sing showtunes on repeat. At uni, I lived in a house of typically hetero guys. They didn't know about my habit until it was too late. The contracts were signed and I had Love Never Dies on repeat. They grew used to it. I went to the gym with them, I drank with them and I played too much FIFA with them. No one was interested in a duet, though. Despite being one of the lads, it was something they couldn't really share in.

Musical theatre has always been a bit of an odd fit. I started performing when I was 11 and was generally encouraged to do it by those around me. I was good at it. I was also good at sport. I competed in as many as I could. Football, tennis, cricket, athletics. That came at a cost. Unless you're holding a guitar or sat behing a piano, singing doesn't give you much street cred in your teens. Particularly when you put on make up to do it and you have to regularly miss playing for your football team to go to rehearsal. I'm not getting the violin out, I'm just saying that it was difficult for my mates to understand.

The best thing is that, as you get older, people mature and the joking becomes more affectionate. My former housemates have already ribbed me for starting this blog, which I expected, but I know there's nothing malicious in it.

Much of the surprise for my housemates (bar the one who knew me before uni) was that until we moved in together in second year, I came across as quite a typical guy. Pool, beers, football and women. When I went to uni, I deleted some of the musicals from my iTunes and, having been part of theatre groups for as long as I could remember, let my hobby slide. No one around me was interested in it and I was too busy having fun in a new city to go and find those who were.

To an extent, I regret it. But I also know that the amazing three years I had at uni would likely have been very different. Fortunately, my enjoyment of singing hasn't disappeared. A lot of my friends now live in London, pursuing it professionally. I envy them. I could have taken that route and might have done well. But now I have a good job using another of my loves; writing. I'm not going to complain about my lot.

13 year-old Timler.

That brings us to the present. I've decided to get back up on stage. I'm due to move in with one of my housemates from uni over the summer and it's not fair to put him through the constant singing again. It needs channeling. So, last night, I went and visited a local adult theatre company that I performed with almost 10 years ago. Those who were still there remembered 13 year-old me, even though he's since been re-packaged, shaves regularly and no longer sings like a chorister. It was a real compliment. I sang for them. There were no nerves. I'm going back next week, let's see what happens...

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