November 13: the Autumn of a bitter year

This blog is in association with www.teachyourselfacting.com providing access to an amazing range of presentation and performance skills training.

As this worrying year moves into its closing months, as voices from the dark side call triumph on both sides of the Atlantic, I thought a soothing image of sunset over calm waters might help us feel a bit better. It’s a shot I took a couple of weeks ago in the Arabian Sea – ironically in the most pirate-infested part of the world’s oceans. I was there to run some acting workshops for passengers on a ship, which mercifully slipped through unnoticed by Somalian boarding parties, and peace reigned. Oh that it would elsewhere, but with HMS UK casting off into choppy Channel waters steered by Mrs May with Boris holding the map, and with the rudder of the Free World about to be grasped by Donald Trump, we could dear friends be in for an interesting voyage…

Back here in the UK, as I write there is snow in the north and bitter winds driving sleet across the reservoir at the end of my garden. On either side of dodging seaborne kidnappers in the the tropics, there have been theatre visits and other events in London.

I had the great joy of meeting one the TYA overseas clients, Joann Valley, who has been taking Shakespeare by Skype classes with me for several years, and who was in transit between Ohio and Russia. We met at Shakespeare’s Globe, and saw a matinee of “Imogen”, a new take on “Cymbeline”. This had lots of noise, pulsing blasts of electronic music, lots of young energy,  and finished with – oh welcome change from the lumpen hopping  about which ruins the curtain-call of many an English Shakespeare production – a really gutsy street-dance, in which Joann joined with glee. She set off for the land of Chekov with warm thoughts of London and our immortal Bard

I was delighted that she had enjoyed her first experience of the Globe, and yet, and yet… I couldn’t help but note my own inner misgivings. There’s always a place for rock’n’roll Shakespeare (is anyone here like me, old enough to remember “Catch My Soul“?) but so much research, so much effort so many pounds and dollars went towards re-creating the Globe on Bankside, pennies raised in response to the magnificent vision of Sam Wanamaker. A vision allowing today’s directors and actors the chance to match their creativity against the genius of Shakespeare and his contemporaries using the same tools, in the same physical environment. This has been the exact opposite of a dry academic exercise – Mark Rylance and Dominic Dromgoole produced glorious, vibrant productions – think only of the Rylance “Twelfth Night”, of Dromgoole’s rich and varied seasons, in which actors of the calibre of James Garnon, Eve Best, Michelle Terry and Jamie Parker took possession of that challenging wooden “O” and made us thrill to the words, to relish the energy and excitement of the stories, often with the most basic of lighting, and without a microphone or loudspeaker in sight.

But days after our visit came a bombshell. Following a series of “controversial” productions, and I imagine a series of quite lively meetings, the governing council of Shakespeare’s Globe announced that Emma Rice – appointed a few short months ago as the theatre’s Artistic Director – is to be asked to stand down at the end of her current two-year contract. Cue howls of outrage in the London arts community. An exciting, innovative talent had been turfed out by the forces of reaction, demonstrating that no worthwhile creative could ever create good work within the stifling limits set by such a theatre. Well sorry chaps, that’s simply not true – see above. A letter in The Guardian, for me, nailed it:  “The Globe can embrace all the rampant creativity the plays were designed to cultivate and still to its own self be true as the “radical experiment to explore the conditions within which Shakespeare and his contemporaries work…” “

Quite so. Messing about with Shakespeare’s plays is now the norm, for God’s sake – there’s absolutely nothing radical or innovative left. Every drama group in every college throughout the English-speaking world does “concept” Shakespeare – on bicycles, on pogo-sticks, set in swimming pools, in media-company offices, etc etc. The Globe offers a wonderful opportunity for directors with courage and confidence not to impose, but to allow the magic waiting in those fabulous texts to emerge and do its work.

But, as with Brexit, until 2018 – until which Emma is still in charge – there is still time for doubters to be proved radically wrong. Her previous work with the Kneehigh company was indeed innovative and exciting: her production of “Brief Encounter” gave me one of the best evenings I’ve spent in a theatre anywhere. The timing of the Globe board’s announcement is at least questionable, as she’s hardly had time to hit her stride. She  may yet confound them all, her 2017 Shakespeare shows could take the Globe to new and amazing levels, perhaps after all the board will beg her to stay and accept a new contract, whereupon like Coriolanus she may well turn her back on the common cry of curs and seek a world elsewhere.

Moving indoors, I saw a cracking play at the Royal Court – “Torn” by Nathaniel Martello-White – a sharp, clear-eyed breakdown of life in a mixed-race, urban family, rich in character, rich in use of language, resonant and memorable. One of Nathaniel’s class-mates during his time training as an actor with us at RADA – James Hillier –  was in the cast, giving a cracking, arresting and wonderfully layered performance. Look out for both these guys – undiluted, disciplined talent, bringing to our trade what the football commentators call “real quality”

Picture source: “The Stage”

                  Adelle Leonce and James Hillier in “Torn”Picture source: http://www.theartsdesk.com

And talking of quality, while the London theatre explores kingship through a gender-blind prism (see this blog’s September entry) television drama has been busy with the lives of two famous queens – Victoria and her current descendant, Elizabeth the Second. Cressida my daughter and I became totally engrossed in ITV’s “Victoria”, happily suspending disbelief as a brilliant cast led by Jenna Coleman, Rufus Sewell and Tom Hughes took us through this – of course carefully tidied-up and disinfected – slice of history. Whatever your politics, the life and loves of people in extraordinary circumstances, well chronicled and performed, make great drama – and the British royals of almost any era live in undeniably extraordinary circumstances, begging to be dramatised. Ask Will Shakespeare.

So we sat down to watch the new Netflix series “The Crown” with eager anticipation – after all, it’s the same story as “Victoria”, fast-forwarded a century or so. But alas try as I might, for me suspending disbelief was a struggle. Now “The Crown” has good actors – Claire Foy and Matt Smith as HM and HRH respectively – and reportedly a MASSIVE budget, and it must be said has been well reviewed.

It’s not because I’m old enough to remember much of the story in real life, and indeed many of the characters are still with us. After all, I enjoyed “The Iron Lady”, despite being completely aware of Meryl Streep acting an all too familiar British politician, and I know Jenna Coleman is far prettier than even the most flattering portrait of Victoria. But both those performances are so well-rounded and complete that I gladly went along with their stories. In “The Crown” there is diligent attention to period detail, the research has clearly been extensive: plausible moments like Princess Elizabeth rushing to visit her seriously ill father, and on arrival instantly dropping curtseys to both her grandmother Queen Mary and her mother Queen Elizabeth, protocol observed  scrupulously no matter how distressing the family crisis.

However, I have to say I nonetheless struggled to engage in it as drama, and it’s tantalising to try to work out why. My guess is that it’s not the actors, it’s the directing of the actors, and it’s some of the script. I used to run a workshop at the Actors’ Centre on “British Class”. How do you get inside a character from another era and from a sector of society utterly different from your own background? The era bit is often just plain technical – the etiquette of how to cut a cigar, how to curtsey etc But it’s the core behaviour that’s difficult. Without actually having endured the rigours of Gordonstoun School, without having served as a wartime naval officer, without having lived a life surrounded by folk hanging on every word you utter, how do you arrive at that ducal way of walking, that unique way of talking? It’s tricky stuff: you really need lots of support – and of course dialogue that rings true. At one point Prince Philip said to the infant Princess Anne – “Now run along and play and I’ll be right over…” Right over?

Before the memories of the Summer of 2016 fade, here’s one that will last my remaining years on the planet. Recent generations of RADA-trained actors will tell you without hesitation that they owe much of their confidence, much of their success in life to the support they had as students at Gower Street from the Academy’s Registrar. This summer we celebrated twenty-five years of extraordinary service by Patricia Myers OBE, at a lovely event organised by the tireless Chairman, Sir Stephen Waley-Cohen, at the Garrick Club. Pat’s amazing energy, devotion and humour saw off not just many a student crisis, but many a crisis afflicting her colleagues, including me. I was so glad my office opened directly opposite hers:  at difficult times Pat could be relied upon to reach into the desk drawer and produce her famous silver wand. One swift wave, and shadows receded.

The Garrick event was actually quite overwhelming – literally hundreds of graduates attended, and more took part in the tributes by video-links from all over the world, including Hollywood. Not many people can be said really to have Made a Difference to others’ lives, and it’s a rare thing for good works to be celebrated on quite such a scale. So huge thanks to Sir Stephen for thinking of it, and with the RADA Council making it happen.

So, OK, what lies in store over the Pond? Leaving aside the uncomfortable truth that Mrs Clinton actually polled overall two million more votes than Trump, has his campaign been nothing more than a pantomime performance?

Trump’s suddenly soothing and conciliatory victory speech had the air of an actor who’s spent months rehearsing Abanazar the Wicked Wizard suddenly deciding he’d rather play Henry the Fifth. Then talking of class…his body language during the “hand-over” meeting with Barack Obama was that of a chauffeur called into the dignified Presidential presence to explain why a puncture hadn’t been fixed.

But this is no time for jokes. Now more than ever we need hope, we need optimism. On the morning the news of Tump’s triumph broke, I opened my curtains to a vista of ominous, grey autumnal drizzle.

But within hours, lo, the heavens cleared and God sent a rainbow….

IF YOU WOULD like to respond, if you disagree with any of the above, or would like to add a comment or two, I’d love to hear from you – you can do so anonymously, if you like – and I’ll happily publish your views. Just click on the word “Comment” at the top of this entry next to the date – or you can e-mail me via ellis@teachyourselfacting.com

This blog comes to you courtesy of www.teachyourselfacting.com. If you need help with voice-training, presentation preparation, getting ready for an audition or access to classes and advice from some of the best trainers in the UK, just click on the link.

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September 10 Heat, drizzle and what sex would you like your king?

 

This blog is in association with http://www.teachyourselfacting.com providing access to an amazing range of presentation and performance skills training

It’s been an unusual summer. The hottest English August on record, with comparatively low-key Games in distant Rio, give or take the odd stamped foot in Moscow. We’ve had the weirdly reminiscent sights of Downing Street staff welcoming a new Tory lady boss, of the Labour Party again throwing its lot behind a shambling north London no-hoper, and of Hull City FC clambering, wide-eyed and unsteady, once more onto football’s top shelf.

Me, I went to France. Old friends invited me to stay in Cap D’Antibes, on the Côte d’Azure.They have a lovely quiet house, a few steps away from the beach where in times gone by Picasso sketched, Scott and Zelda drank, and Ernest Hemingway preened, all guests of a rich, hedonistic  American couple called Gerald and Sara Murphy. Scott Fitzgerald wrote about it all in “Tender is the Night”. Another member of the group was the painter and ceramic artist Fernand Léger, now celebrated by an exuberant museum a few kilometres  inland.

Léger’s work is joyous: I love his wacky ceramic  stuff – like the “Walking Sun”, and “The Wrestlers” – the latter perhaps hinting at party games down at the Murphies….

Soon after the end of the Second World War the town of Antibes presented Pablo Picasso (in self-exile from his native Spain, then still ruled by fascism) with a studio in a fine medieval tower overlooking the bay. Now the Picasso museum, it has a stunning terrace hosting work by contemporary sculptors – and it’s not hard to see  why they call it the Blue Coast….

On my last evening with my friends Doug and Kate, we sipped wine in their garden while the Bastille Day fireworks crackled and whizzed across the bay in Nice. At one point the noises became very clear loud bangs, and I made a facetious remark about war breaking out. Shortly afterwards we turned on the TV news and discovered the dreadful truth about the horrible terrorist attack.

Mass murder, untold grief caused by religious bigotry – does our new PM really think it’s helpful to exhort religious parents to send their children to exclusive single-faith schools?

After a much-delayed flight back, I set about preparing to work on a drama project in Hampshire, and was rewarded by several glorious sun-filled weeks in one of England’s most idyllic counties. I stayed with my sister in the interesting market-town of Alton, full of Jane Austen associations (as indeed is my sister, a long-serving volunteer at the nearby Jane Austen museum) and on my free days we explored the country and the coast, along the way sampling cream teas, fish suppers and local ales.

The Hampshire seaside options are rich and varied – for example, you can watch cars drown at Bosham, fly kites on Hayling island, or re-paint the Spinnaker Tower at Portsmouth….

For those like me saddened by the closure (or trendy, ruinous modernisation) of so many urban pubs, it’s a joy to report that here flourish still many traditional hostelries, some hidden deep amongst inland forest hills, where it would be no surprise to find Frodo Baggins hobnobbing with Tom Bombadil over a foaming pint, or at least a poet jotting a few bucolic lines by the fireside…

Here’s the Three Horseshoes at Elsted with its garden views of roses and wheat-fields, a secret revealed by Jane Hayward, friend and comrade from repertory days at Farnham.

The harvest evening that seemed endless then 

And after, the inn where all were kind.

All strangers.

(Edward Thomas, reflecting on English country life, not by the fireside but from the trenches in Flanders in 1915.)

Many of these inns have stood since Tudor times, and this summer has brought echoes of those far-off days. We took time in Portsmouth to re-visit the Historic Dockyard, and the remarkable Mary Rose, whose timbers have now, after  a nigh-on thirty year process, been wax-treated to survive for several hundreds more.   Do go  – if like me you have an interest in Shakespeare and his days, here’s a window into that world – or rather lots of windows – literally thousands of salvaged objects sit there as if they’d been used yesterday – clothes, gadgets, jewels, tools, weapons, all saved from a ship sunk at the Battle of the Solent on July 19, 1545. There are curiously carved cannon, ornate swords and halberds, and many long-bows as used at Agincourt, all restored with guidance from our country’s greatest long-bow expert, the gloriously nonogenerian actor Robert Hardy.

Returning to another historic county, one nearer to my east London home, my pal Robin and I went into Essex, to see the Tudor Hunting Lodge. Queen Bess’s dad Henry V111 relaxed  – between bedding and beheading ladies – by hunting down stags in Epping Forest. Doubtless venison pasties featured on his table, and you can see a rather good display of prop-food at the lodge.

I include a picture of the stairwell, because it seems the original 16th century stairs here were used as the pattern for the staircases at the re-created Shakespeare’s Globe in 1997.

And prop-food and Elizabethan stairs take us, dear reader, back to the world of The Theatre – which is what this blog is supposed to be about. Once again it’s the time of year when I conduct New York University undergrads to London shows – and as I write this the current troupe is braving steady drizzle as Globe groundlings, watching “Macbeth”. I saw it last week – it has Ray Fearon as the Thane, with Tara Fitzgerald as the Lady, and a supporting cast including puppets. There’s a new régime at the Globe, with Emma Rice now artistic director, following several lively years running the Kneehigh company in the the West Country, promising lots of exciting new directions at Bankside.  She’s already given a reportedly very funny take on “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”, featuring  Helena as a chap. Quite where the current rash of onstage gender-bending has come from is difficult to nail. I reported earlier on our Michelle Terry’s impressive “Henry V” – see below for the latest manifestations.

Meanwhile, two other excursions to report. To the National Theatre, to see the Chichester Festival  production of “The Seagull” – part of the Young Chekov season – with some fine acting, notably from Geoffrey Streatfeild as Trigorin, Adrian Lukis as Dorn and Jade Williams as Masha. And last week back once more into Essex, to the Queens Theatre Hornchurch. This place is worth watching – one of the very few remaining near-London regional producing houses,  with high production values and a strong artistic track record.

They’ve collaborated with the New Wolsey Theatre at Ipswich to produce the first post West-End musical version of “Made in Dagenham”. To be honest, this was a tighter show than the West End one I reported on last year with our Gemma Arterton in the main role, by the Queens artistic director, Douglas Rintoul. There’s neat choreography, gutsy performances by a cast of actor-musicians, and the opening night was given extra resonance by the presence of some of the original Ford strikers (Hornchurch being next-door to Dagenham). It’s a show to watch, at a theatre to watch – on the London Underground (District Line) with sensible ticket prices once you get there.

Now, a heads-up for no less than THREE “King Lears”! Already in performance at Stratford is the RSC one. This is the most eccentric, as it has a man playing the King. Anthony Sher is by all accounts splendid, but I want you to go and enjoy the Unpleasant Sisters, played by two terrific Welsh actresses from my time in charge of the training at RADA, Nia Gwynne as Goneril and Kelly Williams as Reagan.

Meanwhile it won’t have escaped your notice that the great twice-Oscared Glenda Jackson has left politics to return to the boards in the title role of the same play at the Old Vic, due to open next month.

But don’t let that obscure the fact that another distinguished actress, Ursula Mohan, is re-creating the “Queen Lear” we reported on last year, and is performing with an all-new cast at the Tristram Bates Theatre in Covent Garden, starting on September 20th.

I don’t doubt that all three versions of this great work will be wonderfully revealing in different ways. But it may be worth pointing out that the London “fringe” is often the place to find pure gold, at a fraction of the prices you would would pay at the bigger houses. Connoisseurs of intriguing theatre, but especially those on a limited budget, please take note…

And finally, two cheering pictures taken at the end of two streets- one I have called Waltham Forest Flowers, of the blooming displays generated by the borough council on the High Street railings at the end of Coppermill Lane where I live, the other a distant view of the Alpes Maritimes taken at the end of my friends’ street at Cap d’Antibes.

Both for now, heartening local images from within the European Union.

At least for the next two years…

Enjoy.

IF YOU WOULD like to respond, if you disagree with any of the above, or would like to add a comment or two, I’d love to hear from you – you can do so anonymously, if you like – and I’ll happily publish your views. Just click on the word “comment” next to the date at the top of this page.

This blog comes to you courtesy of www.teachyourselfacting.com. If you need help with voice-training, presentation preparation, getting ready for an audition or access to classes and advice from some of the best trainers in the UK, just click on the link.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

July 5th, the solstice come and gone

This blog is in association with http://www.teachyourselfacting.com providing access to an amazing range of presentation and performance skills training

It’s a time of mud and storms, of fitful sunbursts, of humid heat and sudden night chills. I don’t do festivals – I’m sure I would have loved them when I was young and green, snuggling down in the squelch, full of music and cider, carefree sex amongst the Portaloos and the rain-drenched spliff-ends

These days the nearest I get is the Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre on Press Night. As indeed last week, to see Shakespeare’s “Henry the Fifth”, featuring Michelle Terry as the king.

There’s a lot of cross-gender Barding about, and I’m not going to get into that debate – but I must confess minor misgivings when I heard Michelle was about to do it. I mean, a superb actress, in her student days one of our flock at Gower St, someone of whom I’m immensely fond, but at five foot something I couldn’t quite see her wading through Agincourt mud dismembering brawny Frenchmen.

But hey, we call it acting! Rob Hastie’s nimble production tells the rousing story with invention and clarity, lots of fun along the way, and Michelle’s laser  intelligence sharply illuminating the arguments about sovereignty and leadership.

And talking of which, this was the day of the Referendum. There are platforms elsewhere where this event will be discussed till doomsday. My only comment is that doomsday is now a lot, lot closer. In my view the agonies we will suffer in the coming decades should principally be laid at the doors of three people, two of whom led major political parties (and I don’t mean UKIP.)

But enough of all that, let us seek Reasons to be Cheerful. Our tour of “The Father” came to a happy end in the heart of England, with a week apiece in Birmingham and Cheltenham. Birmingham holds rich memories for me – in earlier days I served time at both the old and new Birmingham Repertory theatres, and it was to the latter we toured. The backstage walls are hung with archive production pictures, and no sooner was I through the stage-door than I found myself face-to-face with images from shows I was in decades ago, including a blurry one of me as Ratty in “The Wind in the Willows”. Ah..my dear young friend, there is nothing, absolutely nothing half so much worth doing….

The recently refurbished Rep theatre building is surrounded by a surging renaissance, as the city rebuilds its “Paradise” quarter. There’s a whiff of 1920s New York, a city re-finding and rekindling its commercial roots, polishing up architectural nuggets from the past – like the remarkable Town Hall and Council House – alongside eye-grabbing new constructions, for instance a sparkling, whirligig library and a railway station wrapped massively in kitchen-foil!

 

During our week at the Rep I commuted from Stratford on Avon, where I stayed with my pal Charlie. There’s a handy local shuttle train, and since our play was short I could be in the Dirty Duck fin time for a daily post-show night-cap, and thus catch up on doings at the RSC. Cheering Events in coming months include a brace of terrific compatriot Radagrads in “King Lear” (Kelly Willams and Nia Gwynn as Regan and Goneril) and the dashing Ed Bennett reprising Berowne and Benedick,  when last summer’s Stratford hit double of “Love’s Labours” and “Much Ado” arrives at the Theatre Royal Haymarket in September.

If you stroll along the riverside between the theatre and the church at Stratford, you come across a building called the Orangery, originally part of the Flowers family mansion. It’s decorated with scenes from RSC shows – here you can see Ed Bennett (stage right) and Michelle Terry (stage left centre) in “Love’s Labours Lost”and “Much Ado”

That week we had hot sunshine – do you remember? It was a long time ago, before the Referendum…On the Friday Charlie took me on a wonderful exploration of the Cotswolds, taking in a glorious garden lunch in the Swan at Swinbrook, a pub once owned by “Debo” Duchess of Devonshire, a few miles from the stately house where she and her Mitford sisters grew up. After lunch we went to the church where Unity, Nancy and Diana are buried, alongside Diana’s grandson, Alexander Mosely. What an amazing family..now I’m busy  reading all about them in “The Mitford Girls”.

Back in Birmingham I went for stroll in the old “Cut” – the city centre canal junction, now a teeming leisure area. Here’s one for the pub quiz – where is the only roundabout in England created for water traffic?

After Brum, a short trip to Cheltenham, the elegant Spa town, and the last of our matchless Matcham theatres, the Everyman – another stunning, recently refurbished auditorium. Again, for me there were echoes –  here my adaptation of “The Pickwick Papers” was performed, and here I directed Ayckbourn comedies. The weather stayed kind, and allowed exploring the gardens and the Pump rooms, and al fresco swimming at the Lido…Truly, as the pound plummets and our Continental neighbours become less welcoming, you could have few more agreeable holidays than here in our midland counties, the Heart of England.

However, no sooner had the “The Father” tour finished than I was off to the Continent, to stage a play we launched last year at the Finborough Theatre, featuring that remarkable Duke of Wellington clone, Martin Wimbush.

This  was “Miss Wilson’s Waterloo” with Karen Archer as the eponymous Harriette Wilson, in a one-off, specially commissioned performance for a private audience on a cruise in the North Sea, who loved it. It makes cracking, informative entertainment: a startling encounter between two people whose sexual conquests were legion. For anyone who loves amazing real-life characters in true stories from a turning point in Europe’s history  – as we as a nation turn our back on that same continent – all enquiries, please, to this address.

And so back to London, to the Royal Court, and a commemoration for Bill Gaskill, a major director at that theatre and many others, a founding director of the National Theatre, and in his latter years a wise and witty colleague at RADA. There were many stories told by a gathering of very distinguished theatre folk, plus a final tribute of a Kipling poem delivered splendidly and movingly by Ken Cranham. My own memory was of a director in his prime regarded as a fierce, uncompromising firebrand of the Left, in more mellow later years accosting me one late-spring day in the corridor at Gower St and asking sternly “Now have you got your bedding plants in yet…?”

Spotting this poster at a tube station reminded me that a return to Wyndham’s Theatre was essential, to see the new piece by the author of “The Father”, Florian Zeller- a play similarly translated by Christopher Hampton.”The Father”, for those who didn’t see it, is a profoundly accurate and upsetting study of a man’s life unravelling through dementia. “The Truth” is a profoundly accurate study of two marriages unravelling through infidelity – and is very, very funny! Florian is a master craftsman who writes taut, sharp dialogue in a tight skilfully-structured story-line, with perfectly-timed twists and surprises.

This is classy stuff – if you haven’t already, try and catch it. This guy is making a contribution, and I expect there’s lots more to come  – he’s young, still in his thirties. A sequel to the present play, “Lies”, is due soon in London. I don’t think it has anything to do with the Leave campaign…

And this week there are two more Reasons to be Cheerful, the football teams from Iceland and Wales! If you’re not a soccer fan, you should know there is something afoot in France  called the European Championship, and easily the two most endearing and entertaining teams have been from two of Europe’s tiniest nations. The Icelanders have now been knocked out of the tournament and gone home to a heroes’ welcome – but the Welsh boys play again tomorrow at the Stade des Lumières in Lyons against Portugal. The Welsh team includes the World’s Most Expensive Player (Gareth Bale ) and the Portuguese team the World’s Highest Paid Player (Cristiano Ronaldo) They both earn a crust most weeks playing for the glamorous Spanish side Real Madrid. Many of you may be reading this after it’s all over, but win or lose let’s hear it for the boyos, for the fun, excitement and charm they’ve brought to our TV screens. And let’s try to forget – well just for now – that Welsh voters last week chose to turn away millions in European support for their communities…

(Image: fourfourtwo.com)

Important footnote: “The Father” production has spawned an inspiring project to help research in the field of dementia, something the chances are will affect or has affected the lives of us all. My former dressing-room mate Tom Michael Blyth has persuaded distinguished, exciting actors to take part in a new Shakespeare-based website. Please check it out at  http://www.allthesonnets.co.uk

IF YOU WOULD like to respond, if you disagree with any of the above, or would like to add a comment or two, I’d love to hear from you – you can do so anonymously, if you like – and I’ll happily publish your views. Just click on the word “comment” next to the date at the top of this page.

This blog comes to you courtesy of www.teachyourselfacting.com. If you need help with voice-training, presentation preparation, getting ready for an audition or access to classes and advice from some of the best trainers in the UK, just click on the link.

May 3rd What goes on tour…digs, awards and castles

This blog is in association with http://www.teachyourselfacting.com providing access to an amazing range of presentation and performance skills training.

We’re on the road. The  second WestEnd run of “The Father” – a pre-booked five weeks spell at the Duke of Yorks – seemed to last about five minutes. It was hugely enjoyable, and intriguing to note how a shift of a few hundred yards – the distance from the Wyndham’s Theatre (where we played before Christmas) to the Duke of York’s Theatre – brings a new focus, a new set of perspectives. The former is anchored at the corner of Leicester Square and the Charing Cross Road, the latter flanks the lower reaches of St Martin’s Lane, close by a fine view of Trafalgar Square across the steps of St Martin’s church. And St Martin’s in the Fields is the big player in this corner of London, providing succour and support to London’s ever-increasing homeless while offering the rest of us, as well as services and prayers, an almost daily serving of fine music.

Just around the corner from Maggie Hambling’s sculpture of Oscar Wilde staring  at the stars from the gutter, you can descend beneath the street to St Martin’s crypt, where you find a great gift shop, meeting rooms, chapel, an art gallery – and a large self-service,  licensed restaurant serving good food at reasonable prices, an increasingly rare phenomenon in theatre-land.

If you would seek Oscar’s monument…..look under the cardboard coffee cups.

But  a few weeks on, and St Martin’s Court seems another country, a distant time. We started our tour at Guildford, where the Yvonne Arnaud Theatre sits beside a tumbling mill-race. I first visited a theatre in the riverside car-park in this town in the early 60s, on a visit to the famous Century Theatre, which was a touring theatre building. Yes, building. This extraordinary phenomenon  toured the towns and cities of post-war England, in Guildford keeping the creative flame alight while funds were raised to replace the burned out repertory theatre in North St.  The Yvonne Arnaud Theatre was completed in 1965.

(The Century Theatre toured Britain between 1952 and 72, when it settled in Keswick, Cumbria.)

We had a great week as spring began cautiously (and mistily) to arrive. Back in 1066 William the Conqueror spotted the potential of Guildford as a regional centre, and built a tidy castle up on the top of a hill overlooking the town, which he clearly meant to last. And last it did, and it’s now surrounded by lovely gardens and great views across Surrey.

We held our breath as the Guildford week finished – for that was the weekend of the UK’s most prestigious theatre event, the Olivier Awards, and our show had been nominated in two categories. The event was televised on the Sunday

The play itself lost out to “Hangmen” in the Best New Play list, but then came the keenly awaited presentation of the Best Male Actor award. There had been feverish speculation in the media about a head-to-head confrontation between Benedict Cumberbatch for “Hamlet” and Mark Rylance for “Farinelli and the King”.

Well,  the award went to….Kenneth Cranham for “The Father”!                           Our jubilation knew no bounds.

Then the press reports came out the next morning. In both the Daily Mail and the Daily Express reports of the Olivier Awards much was made (quite rightly) of Dame Judi Dench’s record-breaking eighth prize, and then of the fact that both Mark Rylance and Benedict Cumberbatch had been “disappointed” in their hopes of the Best Actor Award – but NO MENTION AT ALL was made of the actor who had actually won it!  I tell you, it takes a lot for me to tweet, but tweet I did. I still don’t really understand tweeting, but I felt a bit better for it as my train snaked south and west.  The spirit of the players, my lord, never fades, be it recognised by the scurvy press or not, and we took our play to Cornwall.

The castles of England have perhaps proved a more enduring network than our country’s theatres – William and his northmen built theirs after they’d succeeded in conquering England over 900 years ago. Some years later an English king descended from a long line of Welshmen – Henry V111 – wanted to fend off anyone with similar ideas, and so built some impressive coastland fortresses. One of which still dominates the headland at Falmouth, just down the road from our next touring venue, the Hall for Cornwall at Truro. The British army only stopped using this castle as an operational military base in 1956, so even though Henry found picking wives a bit of a challenge, he was good at castles.

                                        Pendennis Castle, Falmouth

Truro’s a neat little city, dominated by a fine Victorian cathedral. I had lovely quiet digs (link below) and – no thanks to the Mail or Express – the news of Ken’s award clearly
had an affect on the ticket-sales, as the wide hall (a converted market-building) filled up nicely.

On my one full day off, I took the local train to St Ives. I’d always wanted to go there for a range of reasons, some personal,so it was a kind of a pilgrimage. It’s easy to see why, in the early and middle years of the last century, the Cornish coast was a magnet for artists. Whether the sun shines or not, the light has a special quality, the air salty and sharp. And when it’s bright the sea and sky are boldly blue, with sub-tropical trees deeply green beside the flinty grey and white of the buildings. Although the town was enjoying a healthy crop of tourists, I found the (still operational) Bernard Leach pottery almost deserted, and wandered in the quiet of Barbara Hepworth’s sculpture garden.

 

The clay room, Bernard Leach Pottery

And of course there are still artists and craftsmen at work, so as a memento I bought myself a present of a tiny piece of seaside artistry. I’m not sure what the process is that creates “forced glass”, but here it is. It’s by Claire Harris.

Then back home, and a week’s nice easy commute to Richmond Theatre – another small piece of fine craft-work, this time by the great Victorian architect, Frank Matcham. Size is of course relative, Richmond Theatre isn’t that small – about 800 seats – but it’s modest alongside his famous blockbusters like The London Palladium or our next stunning venue, The Theatre Royal Newcastle. This glorious palace recently had a £4.75m refurbishment, and it feels like it – it’s terrific  to work in or to watch shows in, and the locals are rightly very proud of it.

                                                (Picture: Ents24.com)

The same can be said of Tyneside in general, well certainly last week, when we had a glorious mini heat-wave. Although I’d been to Newcastle before I’ve never taken time to explore. It was a happily packed week, camera-clicking on the Tyne and in the city, and by the beaches of the nearby coast

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sun on the Tyne is all mine….the lighthouse, Whitley Bay.and the Gate, Newcastle Castle

 

 

Local travel is swift and easy on the Metro train system, fittingly since this is where the great rail engineers, George and Robert Stephenson came from, and while the Metro engines and rolling-stock are sleek and efficient, some of the local stations reflect a more ornate age:

                  The railway station, Tynemouth                                                                                                

Mind you, the local trains need to be good – at rush hours the traffic is ghastly – there are amazing bridges, and the traffic planners in the 60s did their best to create through-ways – but you have two busy adjacent cities, Newcastle to the north of the river, Gateshead to the south, both with steep, narrow ancient streets. I hired a car for an overnight trip to visit loved ones in North Yorkshire – and if ever you need to hire a car on Tyneside, take my tip, don’t do as I did, hire in the city centre – make straight for the airport and hire there. It’s about 20 minutes each way by Metro, and you save a lot of time and money!

Back at the Theatre Royal we toasted two men of genius, firstly the great Matcham (our brilliant leading man here seen inspecting the bust proudly displayed front-of-house) and of course Will Shakespeare, the 400th anniversary of whose passing coincided with our visit. The Friends of the Theatre Royal invited Ken to read a sonnet at a celebratory event, and I read one as well along with my fellow understudy, Tom Michael Blyth. Because of the content of our play, the event raised funds for the Alzheimers’ Society, an organisation which Tom is also seeking to support via a new “all-the-sonnets” web-site – of which more news anon.

Newcastle is alive with culture – famous art galleries, an astonishing silver concert hall, and at least two other significant theatres apart from the Theatre Royal. There’s the wonderfully attractive and welcoming Live Theatre – a dynamic producing house, famous for new work – and another superb Victorian survival, the Tyne Theatre and Opera House, which is home to a fine set of vintage stage machinery, and amongst other projects, a training programme for young performers.

The Theatre Royal also has a training agenda, including a year-long foundation course for those seriously considering going on to professional training. As you can imagine, on finding out about this I reached for my TYA hat and made enquiries. More information can be found in the links section below.

From the top north-east corner of England we swooped south, to the gulls and cockles and candy-floss at Brighton. But the sun had stayed on the Tyne!

Yet another fine Victorian Theatre Royal, in a town famous for its mix of elegance and sleaze, the opulent and the tacky. You can find bargains in the Lanes, eat fish and chips sometimes almost as good as those in the north-east, or pick your way through hordes of French students to inspect the Pier, which is currently up for sale should you have millions spare to invest in something more adventurous than failing retail stores or dodgy banks…

It’s been a lovely week, and a sad one. On Friday I had the melancholy task of speaking at an old friend’s funeral. Graeme Eton was a fine actor, teacher, sportsman, sometime contributor to TYA, and a man of charm and wit. In yet another week of grim news, most especially of the wretched combined police and press wickedness over Hillsborough, it’s timely to be reminded there are sometimes people in the world with a gift for bringing cheer, who when they turn up in your thoughts, make you smile.

And talking of which, as one whose chequered past career veered occasionally into the colourful world of old-fashioned Variety, I was over-joyed to find this statue in the garden betwixt the theatre and the great Royal Folly, the Brighton Pavilion.

Max, a son of Brighton, was famous for offering his audiences a choice of jokes taken from either of two books – the white book (clean) or the blue book (guess). Inevitably they would shout out for the blue book.

“You’ll get me locked up, you will….Now – ‘ere’s a funny thing… ”

Catch me in the pub sometime, and I’ll tell you the joke that got him banned by the BBC….

THE FATHER – an award-winning play with an Olivier-winning star performance at its heart – backed up by yours truly in case of accidents – has but two more weeks on the road.

Next at the Rep, Birmingham, the week after at the Everyman, Cheltenham – come and see it, it’s very special.

Links and contacts:

To book, or for further information, just click on the links

THE FATHER  at Birmingham – The Repertory Theatre

THE FATHER at Cheltenham – The Everyman Theatre

Newcastle Theatre Royal Actor Training

Other amazing theatres:   Live Theatre

Tyne Theatre and Opera House

Great places to stay in the West and the North:

TRURO –

Quiet, immaculate rooms, by the cathedral  Mary Brooks, 3 Union Place 01872 263 778

NEWCASTLE

Perfect self-contained flat Bernard & John 0191 267 1745

IF YOU WOULD like to respond, if you disagree with any of the above, or would like to add a comment or two, I’d love to hear from you – you can do so anonymously, if you like – and I’ll happily publish your views. Just click on the word “comment” next to the date at the top of this page.

This blog comes to you courtesy of www.teachyourselfacting.com. If you need help with voice-training, presentation preparation, getting ready for an audition or access to classes and advice from some of the best trainers in the UK, just click on the link.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

February 14th – Hello, shall we?

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I’m often told that a famous Chinese curse runs “May you live in interesting times”. I don’t know if this is actually is a famous Chinese curse – I must ask one of my Chinese Friends. Oh, and Happy New Year, by the way. Especially to all monkeys. If you were born in a year ending around this date in 1933,45,57,69,81,93 or 2005, then congratulations, monkey, this is your year! If you are due a baby this year, I am reliably informed – well by Wiki, so it must be reliable, just ask at the Ecuadorian Embassy – that she or he will be a Fire Monkey. For the implications of this, please ask a Chinese friend….

And talking of whom, here is one of mine, the remarkably talented Lin Li, known to her English pals as Milly – who on Wednesday graced once more the UK Chinese Students Association New Year Gala, this time at the O2 Arena, with a bravura display of Guzheng music, accompanied on drums by Tong Jiaxing – the musicians post-grads at King’s London and Oxford Universities respectively.  If you don’t know what a guzheng sounds like, at the bottom of the page there’s a link to a Youtube video of Milly playing with a young orchestra in China.

 

To move from Oriental celebrations to more domestic festivities, regular readers will know that I rejoice in dual identity, having spent my childhood years in South Wales and my teenage ones in East Yorkshire. So let us salute the approach of St David’s Day with a nod to the daffodils as they cautiously appear in my still-wintery garden, having survived the succession of tempests which recently swept these islands. Is it just me, or have the storms taken on added ferocity since the Met Office took to giving them names? Storm Imogen was especially boisterous, clearly revelling in her name’s epic Shakespearian associations – I quake at the thought of a Storm Goneril, or Heaven forfend, a Storm Margaret….

And up in storm-tossed Humberside, there are more cautious green shoots. At the KC football stadium Chief Coach Brucie and the lads of Hull City may just be looking to return to the Premier League next season, and elsewhere in the town credentials are being polished ahead of the sunburst which will be Hull, City of Culture 2017. The slogan at the head of this blog-post is a quote from the business vanguard of these events, ignited last week by a visitation from the slightly faded New Labour deity, Lord Mandelson. This is of course entirely fitting, as previous political leaders in those parts celebrated the centenary of the region’s greatest modern literary resident – the poet Philip Larkin – by decorating parts of the city with specially-commisioned sculptures echoing his poem “Toads”.

Why should I let this toad work
Squat on my life? Philip Larkin – The less Deceived (1955)

I’m not sure this fits with the thrusting business ethic of the “forward-thinking collective” which is the 2017 Hull Business Club. But hey, the lads in the snug at the Lord Prescott Arms, and all we who nursed cracked mugs of Bovril on chill Bunkers’ Hill watching the F.A. third division Tigers in the days those words were written, we know what he was on about, eh lads?

Meanwhile my life between the London theatre and academic zones is gathering momentum with the new theatre season and the new term. Following Kenneth Cranham’s entirely appropriate award as Best Actor from the Critics’ Circle, Florian Zeller’s play “The Father” returns to the West End for a limited five week run at the Duke of York’s Theatre, and once again I shall be happily in attendance as Ken’s understudy, which as I reported before Christmas is both a great privilege and enormous fun. In the spring we’re going on tour, so if you’re in the UK, keep a look out for us at your nearest regional venue.                          Photo: Simon Annand                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             And if you’re going to be in London between Feb 24th and the end of March and haven’t seen this fine production of this remarkable play, then hasten to grab tickets via the link at the bottom of the page. And by no means fail to click on the link to Ken’s comments about the play on Youtube.

These last few weeks have been punctuated with sad news of wonderful people leaving us – much has already been written and band-wagon jumping is not edifying, so just briefly to say that Alan Rickman was as supportive, thoughtful and kind a Vice-chair as Nick Barter and I could ever have wished for in our days as Principal and deputy at RADA. There were too many instances of unsolicited kindness to record, but my daughter Cressida I know will forever cherish having been one of many colleagues’ children who were invited to spend a day on one of “Rickman’s tours” of the Harry Potter sets at Leavesden Studios, having lunch with Alan and the other stars and meeting, oh best of all – the owls. Another dear colleague from those days whom we mourn this week has been the great director, Bill Gaskill – whose reputation for striking fear into actors’ hearts was belied in his later, mellow years by his endlessly patient, caring direction of the Gower St students.

Until “The Father” moves  into St Martin’s Lane I’m busy catching up on theatre fare elsewhere in London. On the “to see” list is our Gemma Arterton as “Nell Gwyn”, Simon McBurney’s Edinburgh Festival triumph “The Encounter”, and Florian Zeller’s companion-piece to “The Father” playing at the Tricycle Theatre, unsurprisingly called “The Mother”. So please stay tuned, as they used to say on Radio Luxembourg. 

Last night to the Bush Theatre, and “Pink Mist” by Owen Sheers. Fine, full-on tough work co-produced with the Bristol Old Vic company. Before we’re next asked to send soldiers to fight in distant lands, send your MP to see this .

Photo:  Manuel Harlan 

This last week I’ve also seen the matchless Claire Skinner and an immaculate cast deliver an arresting, moving, award-winning American play, “Rabbit Hole” at Hampstead, and accompanied a party of New York University students to the Royal Court for Caryl Churchill’s “Escaped Alone“. This latter is one of those haunting plays which stay with you, and you keep thinking about for days afterwards – four women sit talking in a garden, and one of them intermittently steps out to address the audience, to tell a tale echoing the underscore of global disaster ever-present beyond our private lives, in these depressingly interesting times.   The American students were utterly engrossed.  It has a superb cast and is beautifully directed by James Macdonald. Before anyone points it out, yes Claire Skinner was the daughter in the last run of “The Father” and yes, James Macdonald directed it. In amongst all the hype and the fuss, there’s so much quiet talent about in this city. Another quietly brilliant and charismatic performer, Amanda Drew, is taking Claire’s place in “The Father” alongside several other exciting cast changes – more reports soon on this and other intriguing London events.

May St Valentine this day bring you all you desire. But be careful what you wish for….

LINKS:

Tickets for THE FATHER at the Duke of Yorks Theatre

Kenneth Cranham on receiving the Critics’ Circle Best Actor Award for THE FATHER

Shall we? with Lord M and the Business Club

Guzheng music:

IF YOU WOULD like to respond, if you disagree with any of the above, or would like to add a comment or two, I’d love to hear from you – you can do so anonymously, if you like – and I’ll happily publish your views. Just click on the word “Comment” at the top of this entry next to the date – or you can e-mail me via ellis@teachyourselfacting.com

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