Saturday 27 January 2007:
7.50 The golden sun appeared and Ingrid phoned. We, on opposite ends of the phone, looked at the sun together and the trails of 3 aircraft crossing the sky and heading south.
To continue with my thoughts on what happens after death... The body returns to the materials from which it was formed. That spark that informed it, that made it unique, the 28 grams (on reading this through with Dad, I mentioned that it was 21 grams and he said that his soul is a bit overweight - K), the dust, joins "the air, the earth and the water", free of human limitations to become part of that to which we all belong. The conscious me with its fears, doubts, worries, anxieties, lusts, greeds and pettiness will no longer exist.
I would like to record the voice for posterity, for my children and their children, if they so wish (to have children, that is). I do not wish for grandchildren, as I believe that is prompted by a selfish desire to have some form of immortality. I am proud of what I have brought into the world in loving union with my beloved Ingrid. I can ask for no more. I leave it to them if they want to be parents themselves in their turn.
I have not been as good to Ingrid as I might have been (I know she will protest but I know better) but I am a wilful character rather than a strong one - I often mistake want for need.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Thoughts on Hospital, Life and Death
Friday 26 January 2007:
Woke at six. Watched sun rise.
Had Jaspar, Alan, Mark, Ingrid, Liam, my girls, Anita and Margaret as visitors.
Saw Mark for only ten minutes as I had a surprise summons for a test. The first I knew of it was when a porter turned up with a chair for me.
Ingrid accompanied me upstairs to G8 for a sonic test on the arteries in my neck. My arteries turned out to be "thickening a little but otherwise okay" from Penny who was doing the test.
In the evening Ingrid, Alice and Liam went to the cinema and a meal at Gunwharf. I was pleased because I am concerned about Ingrid's health. I want her here with me but need her to be well.
It was interesting yesterday to hear about Cyril (Ingrid's father) and details of what happened to him. He died of heart problems when Ingrid was 13.
Apparently he collapsed at a church party and Enid had to attend to him without assistance from other guests. Eventually, Uncle Hugh (the family doctor) was sent for. Strangely he just took them home and left them with sedatives - things have greatly improved since those days. Cyril seemed to recover but, one morning as he set off to work, he collapsed at the top of their road on the way to the station.
My recent experience gives an insight into those last few minutes. Did he wake up in discomfort? Did he breakfast and prepare for the day knowing he wasn't really well but unable/unwilling to break from his routine? (I hope that it wasn't like this but, rather like the lull before the storm, he was blissfully unaware of what was to come). As he left the house and looked up the hill, did he have to grit his teeth with determination? When the attack came, I hope it was brief as I cannot contemplate the thoughts that mustpress in. I was scared on Monday at 3.30am and yet detached as if it was happening to someone else. The mind almost clinically observed the effect but kept an impartial distance. So, I hope, it was with Cyril.
(Jeremy, Ingrid's older brother, has reported "indigestion" so he must take care).
In the evening I was visited by Irene and Brendan, followed by Robin who stayed until about 9.00pm.
Robin and I talked about her father who had a heart attack in Singapore and had his angioplasty out there. We also talked about her hole-in-the-heart surgery to cure her migraines.
The realisation that the ICU in Southampton is run by Anita's elder daughter is strangely reassuring.
The fact that Betty Penrose had a bypass in her 50s after an attack on Crewe train station and is still here in her 90s is also very reassuring.
I didn't want to stay in hospital but now hope that the surgery willtake place sooner as a result.
I am afraid but not scared. I think my angina is unstable and am therefore appreciative that I have the QA team pressing my claim for an operation to happen sooner rather than later.
I have read a great deal of the available literature which, once again, I have found reassuring.
There are risks involved in the surgery. However, I have established that a general anaesthetic is used. I know this sounds obvious but it is important to know what kind. Robin and Roger both spoke of a general anaesthetic which completely knocked them out and had little after-effect. Robin spoke of one using morphine, which was less pleasant afterwards.
Is it cowardly to hope that if the worst has to happen, I would wish to die on the operating table under the surgeon's knife when hopefully "I", the conscious me, would be blissfully unaware? In those circumstances, upsetting though it would be for my loved ones (and my family has proved to be a thing of pride and joy over the last few days. They always have been but my view is much more crystal clear now), I hope they would eventually appreciate that that would be how I wanted it to happen. "It" being my "departure from this Earth". That expression now seems odd to me because the image I have has changed. I used to think of it as a journey down a tunnel to a new existence, where acquaintance is renewed with the dear departed. Unfortunately, that image was limited by an over-reliance on vaseline-smeared camera lenses, like those used in many Hollywood movies of the 40s and 50s. The greeting and reunion was heartwarmingly marvellous but I could never get beyond this opening chapter of a new existence.
"Departure from this Earth" is governed by my Christian belief in an after-life, a heaven. His Dark Materials, the trilogy of books by Philip Pullman (rather than the plays) provided me with a more coherent view of what could happen after death.
Woke at six. Watched sun rise.
Had Jaspar, Alan, Mark, Ingrid, Liam, my girls, Anita and Margaret as visitors.
Saw Mark for only ten minutes as I had a surprise summons for a test. The first I knew of it was when a porter turned up with a chair for me.
Ingrid accompanied me upstairs to G8 for a sonic test on the arteries in my neck. My arteries turned out to be "thickening a little but otherwise okay" from Penny who was doing the test.
In the evening Ingrid, Alice and Liam went to the cinema and a meal at Gunwharf. I was pleased because I am concerned about Ingrid's health. I want her here with me but need her to be well.
It was interesting yesterday to hear about Cyril (Ingrid's father) and details of what happened to him. He died of heart problems when Ingrid was 13.
Apparently he collapsed at a church party and Enid had to attend to him without assistance from other guests. Eventually, Uncle Hugh (the family doctor) was sent for. Strangely he just took them home and left them with sedatives - things have greatly improved since those days. Cyril seemed to recover but, one morning as he set off to work, he collapsed at the top of their road on the way to the station.
My recent experience gives an insight into those last few minutes. Did he wake up in discomfort? Did he breakfast and prepare for the day knowing he wasn't really well but unable/unwilling to break from his routine? (I hope that it wasn't like this but, rather like the lull before the storm, he was blissfully unaware of what was to come). As he left the house and looked up the hill, did he have to grit his teeth with determination? When the attack came, I hope it was brief as I cannot contemplate the thoughts that mustpress in. I was scared on Monday at 3.30am and yet detached as if it was happening to someone else. The mind almost clinically observed the effect but kept an impartial distance. So, I hope, it was with Cyril.
(Jeremy, Ingrid's older brother, has reported "indigestion" so he must take care).
In the evening I was visited by Irene and Brendan, followed by Robin who stayed until about 9.00pm.
Robin and I talked about her father who had a heart attack in Singapore and had his angioplasty out there. We also talked about her hole-in-the-heart surgery to cure her migraines.
The realisation that the ICU in Southampton is run by Anita's elder daughter is strangely reassuring.
The fact that Betty Penrose had a bypass in her 50s after an attack on Crewe train station and is still here in her 90s is also very reassuring.
I didn't want to stay in hospital but now hope that the surgery willtake place sooner as a result.
I am afraid but not scared. I think my angina is unstable and am therefore appreciative that I have the QA team pressing my claim for an operation to happen sooner rather than later.
I have read a great deal of the available literature which, once again, I have found reassuring.
There are risks involved in the surgery. However, I have established that a general anaesthetic is used. I know this sounds obvious but it is important to know what kind. Robin and Roger both spoke of a general anaesthetic which completely knocked them out and had little after-effect. Robin spoke of one using morphine, which was less pleasant afterwards.
Is it cowardly to hope that if the worst has to happen, I would wish to die on the operating table under the surgeon's knife when hopefully "I", the conscious me, would be blissfully unaware? In those circumstances, upsetting though it would be for my loved ones (and my family has proved to be a thing of pride and joy over the last few days. They always have been but my view is much more crystal clear now), I hope they would eventually appreciate that that would be how I wanted it to happen. "It" being my "departure from this Earth". That expression now seems odd to me because the image I have has changed. I used to think of it as a journey down a tunnel to a new existence, where acquaintance is renewed with the dear departed. Unfortunately, that image was limited by an over-reliance on vaseline-smeared camera lenses, like those used in many Hollywood movies of the 40s and 50s. The greeting and reunion was heartwarmingly marvellous but I could never get beyond this opening chapter of a new existence.
"Departure from this Earth" is governed by my Christian belief in an after-life, a heaven. His Dark Materials, the trilogy of books by Philip Pullman (rather than the plays) provided me with a more coherent view of what could happen after death.
New Ward
Thursday 25 January 2007:
Boanerges was moved on his birthday from the assessment ward to a cardiology ward:
Tony in the bed opposite was born in 1934 and is 73
Next to Tony is unknown (later found out that his name is Charlie) was born in 1929 and is 78
Les next to me is unknown.
Betrayed by my heart.
Sun shone but nurse had to de-ice her car twice on way in to hospital this morning.
Ingrid's comment in her card that "I'm her life and she loves me" touched me deeply and gave me strength.
Liam and Alice (bless them) stayed behind last night till I was moved to my new ward. Zoe (bless her) went home with her Mum.
Liam and Alice are still discussing their future. It seems Alice has gone off the idea of a Masters (I am still thinking about it) and it seemed to me, more inclined than ever to drama school. The quandary is the old one about security and a reasonable income against risk.
I didn't contribute as I felt that this was their discussion. I don't think they would have minded my chiming in and may even have welcomed it. I didn't because I understand all too well the need for stability and security. I was brought up in a Protestant Work Ethic household and am a child of a divorced couple. For some this is a cause of future recklessness, I have examples of that sort of behaviour in my own life story, or a cause of timidity. Perhaps because of this, I was not able to take the plunge into the professional theatre as many of my contemporaries did: Steve Hodson (Follyfoot Farm), Gordon Kaye and Duncan Preston. I would like to say I had no regrets and I certainly have very few indeed. I would not have wanted to miss Ingrid and my two wonderful daughters. I would not have wanted to miss the Bench and the range and variety of roles I have been able to play, which I never would have played professionally. I have the friendship of the Penroses and the Hartley-Woodwards to be thankful for. However, all this is a prologue to the fact that I can look back and be pleased with my life but there is still a little niggling "What If?" Am I trying to satisfy that niggle through Alice? I fear my motives are suspect hence my silence.
Boanerges was moved on his birthday from the assessment ward to a cardiology ward:
Tony in the bed opposite was born in 1934 and is 73
Next to Tony is unknown (later found out that his name is Charlie) was born in 1929 and is 78
Les next to me is unknown.
Betrayed by my heart.
Sun shone but nurse had to de-ice her car twice on way in to hospital this morning.
Ingrid's comment in her card that "I'm her life and she loves me" touched me deeply and gave me strength.
Liam and Alice (bless them) stayed behind last night till I was moved to my new ward. Zoe (bless her) went home with her Mum.
Liam and Alice are still discussing their future. It seems Alice has gone off the idea of a Masters (I am still thinking about it) and it seemed to me, more inclined than ever to drama school. The quandary is the old one about security and a reasonable income against risk.
I didn't contribute as I felt that this was their discussion. I don't think they would have minded my chiming in and may even have welcomed it. I didn't because I understand all too well the need for stability and security. I was brought up in a Protestant Work Ethic household and am a child of a divorced couple. For some this is a cause of future recklessness, I have examples of that sort of behaviour in my own life story, or a cause of timidity. Perhaps because of this, I was not able to take the plunge into the professional theatre as many of my contemporaries did: Steve Hodson (Follyfoot Farm), Gordon Kaye and Duncan Preston. I would like to say I had no regrets and I certainly have very few indeed. I would not have wanted to miss Ingrid and my two wonderful daughters. I would not have wanted to miss the Bench and the range and variety of roles I have been able to play, which I never would have played professionally. I have the friendship of the Penroses and the Hartley-Woodwards to be thankful for. However, all this is a prologue to the fact that I can look back and be pleased with my life but there is still a little niggling "What If?" Am I trying to satisfy that niggle through Alice? I fear my motives are suspect hence my silence.
Kitten's in Charge
Hello, the readers of Boanerges's blog. Having read the previous blog, you will probably be unsurprised to hear that the blood test came back with evidence that his chest pains were the result of a heart attack. He was rushed to hospital and is now awaiting triple heart bypass surgery. He has been spending time, when not inundated by lovely visitors, compulsively filling a notebook with thoughts and records. These thoughts often take the form of posts and as the hospital provides a frustratingly slow internet service, I've been asked to pop these in for him. The records are of his visitors, things that occur to him, questions, observations, medical results and plans for when he leaves, and these generally consist of stand-alone sentences like:
"Man in bed next door used a mobile"
I'm tempted to recreate Dad's note-taking as it is, because the randomness is lovely, but the format of the blog does not allow for scribbles and odd page placements. Maybe if I had a scanner! Anyhoo, please enjoy and I promise that Dad will get to see any comments you wish to make.
Kitten
"Man in bed next door used a mobile"
I'm tempted to recreate Dad's note-taking as it is, because the randomness is lovely, but the format of the blog does not allow for scribbles and odd page placements. Maybe if I had a scanner! Anyhoo, please enjoy and I promise that Dad will get to see any comments you wish to make.
Kitten
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Health Scare
I had a scare in the early hours of Monday morning. I had gone to bed Sunday night not feeling 100% but nothing definite - start of a cold, tummy upset, or just plain tired after a really good weekend.
However, at 3.30 a.m. I awoke with a pain across my chest and the tops of my arms. The pain wasn't sharp but a "clutch" or ache in the centre of the chest making it difficult to breathe deeply.
I got out of bed so as not to disturb best beloved, who needed her sleep as she was back at work in the morning (later that day). I sat in the spare bedroom and I can tell you I was frightened! My 60th birthday is tomorrow and it did cross my mind that I had often said none of the male antecedents in my family had survived beyond 59. What irony I thought if I should be allowed so near to my sixtieth birthday only to have it snatched away at the last moment.
Eventually I decided to take painkillers and indigestion tablet. The ache subsided sufficiently let me back to bed where I dozed until Ingrid had left for school. Getting up I did have cereal but still the chest feeling (can't describe it as pain as such) was there. I took a stronger indigestion mixture called Gaviscon and went back to bed where I slept until 2.00 p.m.
Having resolved to my own satisfaction that tiredness was no longer an issue, I dosed myself at prescribed intervals and managed to have an evening meal. A final dose before bedtime and I slept through the night soundly.
I awoke this morning with a chesty feeling in my lungs but the central feeling was gone...almost. Ingrid insisted on phoning the doctor and I got an early morning appointment. The young doctor (are they related to policemen?) gave me a blood pressure test (ok), took some blood to be tested (would show the after effects of a heart attack if that is what it was), sent me to the nurse for an ECG (which equally proved negative) and listened to my heart.
I left his surgery much relieved and am hoping the blood test is also negative, although he may send me to the fast track clinic at the hospital to check for angina.
My intention is not to log all my ailments but rather to remind myself and all those who may read my blog in passing to live for the moment - no-one can predict what is going to happen beyond that.
However, at 3.30 a.m. I awoke with a pain across my chest and the tops of my arms. The pain wasn't sharp but a "clutch" or ache in the centre of the chest making it difficult to breathe deeply.
I got out of bed so as not to disturb best beloved, who needed her sleep as she was back at work in the morning (later that day). I sat in the spare bedroom and I can tell you I was frightened! My 60th birthday is tomorrow and it did cross my mind that I had often said none of the male antecedents in my family had survived beyond 59. What irony I thought if I should be allowed so near to my sixtieth birthday only to have it snatched away at the last moment.
Eventually I decided to take painkillers and indigestion tablet. The ache subsided sufficiently let me back to bed where I dozed until Ingrid had left for school. Getting up I did have cereal but still the chest feeling (can't describe it as pain as such) was there. I took a stronger indigestion mixture called Gaviscon and went back to bed where I slept until 2.00 p.m.
Having resolved to my own satisfaction that tiredness was no longer an issue, I dosed myself at prescribed intervals and managed to have an evening meal. A final dose before bedtime and I slept through the night soundly.
I awoke this morning with a chesty feeling in my lungs but the central feeling was gone...almost. Ingrid insisted on phoning the doctor and I got an early morning appointment. The young doctor (are they related to policemen?) gave me a blood pressure test (ok), took some blood to be tested (would show the after effects of a heart attack if that is what it was), sent me to the nurse for an ECG (which equally proved negative) and listened to my heart.
I left his surgery much relieved and am hoping the blood test is also negative, although he may send me to the fast track clinic at the hospital to check for angina.
My intention is not to log all my ailments but rather to remind myself and all those who may read my blog in passing to live for the moment - no-one can predict what is going to happen beyond that.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
The Caretaker
I have fond memories of "The Caretaker".
Cunning Plan did a touring production with Steve Foden as Mick, David Penrose as Aston and myself as Davies. There are two abiding memories of that production. One is carrying a gas cooker with Steve up several flights of stairs at Brockenhurst College to the performance venue. (David Penrose, at the end of the run, discovered that we could have taken the gubbins out and just used the shell, which would have made it a hundred times lighter to carry up those stairs!)
The second abiding memory is of David's performance as Aston. I was privileged to be onstage as Davies every performance and observe the layers David built into an extraordinary characterisation. Later David reprised the role in the Bench production of The Caretaker. If anything the characterisation was richer and deeper. David is brilliant at dead pan delivery but the moment of terror he introduced when Aston is describing his experiences at the hands of the doctors in what the audience assumes is a mental hospital was enough to send shivers down the spine. He had intellectualised that moment but now he, and consequently we, also felt it. The confrontation between Aston and the smelly, noisy Davies, when the former wants to evict the latter, was redolent with threatened violence. You could see, in David's performance, a possible reason, a propensity for violence perhaps that had been subdued/ removed, as to why Aston had had to undergo the treatment he so graphically describes. The room, which was cluttered with rubbish, suddenly had the potential to furnish this large and disturbed/disturbing man with all the weaponry he might need to oust his unwanted guest.
On Friday I went to see a performance of The Caretaker by Jackson and Hill Productions C.I.C. at the Arts Centre.
This was a company who had hired the theatre as a venue to show their work. The company is four young men who were part of the Chichester Festival Youth Theatre but are now branching out on their own.
The set was well made with a solid door USR and a back wall with a window covered by sacking against which were pressed the two beds. When the scene opens the SR bed, which will eventually become Davies', is covered in an eclectic collection of boxes, household furniture, suitcases and a gas cooker with a buddha sitting on top. SR and SL the stage is covered with more items and the makings of a garden shed collected together by the owner of the room, Aston. This clutter was both decorative and used well during the performance. However the overwhelming impression was of new wood and an intrinsic tidiness rather than the smells of old, forgotten newspapers nibbled by rodents and the smells of human bodies mixed with damp and rot. What was missing was the sense of accumulated layers of a man's life.
Hugo Jackson, an excellent actor in his early twenties I would estimate, gave a very good and detailed performance of Davies, the homeless vagrant brought in off the streets for the night by Aston, and who becomes the eponymous caretaker of this ramshackle dwelling with its other rooms which will remain uninhabitable apparently until Aston finishes building his shed in the garden. Aston was played well by the tall and slim James Price. He caught the slow speech of a man trying to think through thoughts and reactions with what we assume is a damaged brain but a good heart. The two strike up a relationship of sorts and Davies seems to have wheedled his way into the house and Aston's life. Things are looking up for the old man. However there is a serpent in every paradise and in The Caretaker that is Aston's brother, Mick. Played at pace with great gusto by Chris Levens, Mick brings an air of menace but also great humour into the piece.
I enjoyed the evening and I think the cast have the talent to do well. The director, Daniel Hill, a youthful contemporary of the actors, certainly knows how to keep the action moving and wasn't afraid to inform the famous Pinter pauses with business. All the set pieces were achieved with style and elan.
The speech by Aston (James Price), which I watched David perform many times, perhaps summed up what I felt was missing from the production. For a start Aston sat on his bed (SL) as directed by the playwright and the surrounding lights dimmed to a virtual spotlight. However the actor was sat in profile and unless there is a reason for doing this, i.e. downstage bathed in light but upstage in darkness, which gives an eerie out of body feel to the visual picture, this limits drastically the impact the actor can make. James delivered the speech well but he didn't make the hairs on the back of your neck rise as they should at the outrages committed against this fellow human being. He couldn't because he was too young - you just couldn't believe that he had ever experienced such an assault on his body, mind and dignity as Aston describes. James gave a good performance of the speech but couldn't provide the layers of living needed to make it convincing that we could believe it had happened to him.
The same applies to Hugo Jackson , who gave a clever, detailed performance full of nuances, but who just wasn't an old battered smelly man with whom we feel sympathy on occasions but wouldn't want to allow into our comfortable lives.
Chris Levens as Mick was playing a character who is probably more in line with his actual age. There were touches of Del Boy in his vocal delivery and the stiff tense angle at which he held his neck worked in conveying the rage which seems to percolate at the heart of this character. When played by Steve Foden to David's Aston, Mick seemed the younger brother trapped by an older sibling with difficulties and who might under different circumstances have flown free of this broken backed existence. In this performance, Mick seemed more like the older brother, defensive of his sibling, and Mick's inability to make something of his life did seem to stem from the fact that the mental instability may have been a family trait. The performance for me owed more to Joe Orton than Pinter, the leather coated Ruffian on the stairs.
What the performance did do though was remind me how brilliant Pinter the playwright is and that is great credit to the young and talented company of Jackson and Hill Productions.
Cunning Plan did a touring production with Steve Foden as Mick, David Penrose as Aston and myself as Davies. There are two abiding memories of that production. One is carrying a gas cooker with Steve up several flights of stairs at Brockenhurst College to the performance venue. (David Penrose, at the end of the run, discovered that we could have taken the gubbins out and just used the shell, which would have made it a hundred times lighter to carry up those stairs!)
The second abiding memory is of David's performance as Aston. I was privileged to be onstage as Davies every performance and observe the layers David built into an extraordinary characterisation. Later David reprised the role in the Bench production of The Caretaker. If anything the characterisation was richer and deeper. David is brilliant at dead pan delivery but the moment of terror he introduced when Aston is describing his experiences at the hands of the doctors in what the audience assumes is a mental hospital was enough to send shivers down the spine. He had intellectualised that moment but now he, and consequently we, also felt it. The confrontation between Aston and the smelly, noisy Davies, when the former wants to evict the latter, was redolent with threatened violence. You could see, in David's performance, a possible reason, a propensity for violence perhaps that had been subdued/ removed, as to why Aston had had to undergo the treatment he so graphically describes. The room, which was cluttered with rubbish, suddenly had the potential to furnish this large and disturbed/disturbing man with all the weaponry he might need to oust his unwanted guest.
On Friday I went to see a performance of The Caretaker by Jackson and Hill Productions C.I.C. at the Arts Centre.
This was a company who had hired the theatre as a venue to show their work. The company is four young men who were part of the Chichester Festival Youth Theatre but are now branching out on their own.
The set was well made with a solid door USR and a back wall with a window covered by sacking against which were pressed the two beds. When the scene opens the SR bed, which will eventually become Davies', is covered in an eclectic collection of boxes, household furniture, suitcases and a gas cooker with a buddha sitting on top. SR and SL the stage is covered with more items and the makings of a garden shed collected together by the owner of the room, Aston. This clutter was both decorative and used well during the performance. However the overwhelming impression was of new wood and an intrinsic tidiness rather than the smells of old, forgotten newspapers nibbled by rodents and the smells of human bodies mixed with damp and rot. What was missing was the sense of accumulated layers of a man's life.
Hugo Jackson, an excellent actor in his early twenties I would estimate, gave a very good and detailed performance of Davies, the homeless vagrant brought in off the streets for the night by Aston, and who becomes the eponymous caretaker of this ramshackle dwelling with its other rooms which will remain uninhabitable apparently until Aston finishes building his shed in the garden. Aston was played well by the tall and slim James Price. He caught the slow speech of a man trying to think through thoughts and reactions with what we assume is a damaged brain but a good heart. The two strike up a relationship of sorts and Davies seems to have wheedled his way into the house and Aston's life. Things are looking up for the old man. However there is a serpent in every paradise and in The Caretaker that is Aston's brother, Mick. Played at pace with great gusto by Chris Levens, Mick brings an air of menace but also great humour into the piece.
I enjoyed the evening and I think the cast have the talent to do well. The director, Daniel Hill, a youthful contemporary of the actors, certainly knows how to keep the action moving and wasn't afraid to inform the famous Pinter pauses with business. All the set pieces were achieved with style and elan.
The speech by Aston (James Price), which I watched David perform many times, perhaps summed up what I felt was missing from the production. For a start Aston sat on his bed (SL) as directed by the playwright and the surrounding lights dimmed to a virtual spotlight. However the actor was sat in profile and unless there is a reason for doing this, i.e. downstage bathed in light but upstage in darkness, which gives an eerie out of body feel to the visual picture, this limits drastically the impact the actor can make. James delivered the speech well but he didn't make the hairs on the back of your neck rise as they should at the outrages committed against this fellow human being. He couldn't because he was too young - you just couldn't believe that he had ever experienced such an assault on his body, mind and dignity as Aston describes. James gave a good performance of the speech but couldn't provide the layers of living needed to make it convincing that we could believe it had happened to him.
The same applies to Hugo Jackson , who gave a clever, detailed performance full of nuances, but who just wasn't an old battered smelly man with whom we feel sympathy on occasions but wouldn't want to allow into our comfortable lives.
Chris Levens as Mick was playing a character who is probably more in line with his actual age. There were touches of Del Boy in his vocal delivery and the stiff tense angle at which he held his neck worked in conveying the rage which seems to percolate at the heart of this character. When played by Steve Foden to David's Aston, Mick seemed the younger brother trapped by an older sibling with difficulties and who might under different circumstances have flown free of this broken backed existence. In this performance, Mick seemed more like the older brother, defensive of his sibling, and Mick's inability to make something of his life did seem to stem from the fact that the mental instability may have been a family trait. The performance for me owed more to Joe Orton than Pinter, the leather coated Ruffian on the stairs.
What the performance did do though was remind me how brilliant Pinter the playwright is and that is great credit to the young and talented company of Jackson and Hill Productions.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Principles
In an earlier post, I recall saying that the question, which always stumped me in interviews, was "What would I lie down in the road for?" I used to ponder this question long and hard and arrive at suitably appropriate replies, but my heart was never in them (and I suspect the questionners could feel that too).
However, when it comes to the existence and rationale of the Bench Theatre, I find I have a whole set of principles, for which I would be perfectly willing to lie in the road for, and to defend.
The current Arts Centre brochure has the Bench Theatre proudly proclaiming that we have "forged a reputaion for non-professional theatre of the highest quality. Our membership is made up of talented individuals from all walks of life and we are always keen to welcome new members."
Astute readers will notice the avoidance of the term "amateur". The word itself means a lover of what one is doing, and this love provides the reward rather than a remuneration. The word itself cannot cause offence, but, unfortunately, it has accrued connotations. Amateur theatre creates the image of a well meaning and enthusiastic group of people, who band together to put on and perform a play for the entertainment and enjoyment of their friends and families. They bring a range of abilities to bear on the play, but the prime aim is to enjoy themselves, forge friendships and to please their audience, thereby gaining their approval. If the group is successful in their first attempt ,they will continue to mount plays, until a new generation comes along to take their places, but who will change the group, beyond the recognition of its founder members, or the difficulties outweigh the rewards and the group go their separate ways.
One of the reasons that the Bench has avoided either of the two dangers, being changed beyond recognition or disintergrating, is that it began with a different set of principles from the majority of other amateur theatre groups. There are other groups as good, if not better, than us and who have made better use of their opportunities - members of the Little Theatre Guild, for example, who own and run their own theatres and put on monthly (if not more) productions (see The Questors of Ealing at www.questors.org.uk, the largest amateur theatre in Europe with its own 350 seater Playhouse and Studio). However, there are some unique qualities about the beginnings of the Bench, that have stood the group in good stead throughout its 38 years of existence ,and might yet see us through to our 40th anniversary. These unique qualities form the principles, upon which the company has built its "reputation" and which are constantly under examination, usually by well-meaning and well -intentioned proposals designed to further the general good, but are counter to those guiding principles.
What are these principles?
The Bench Theatre began as a further education class in 1969, in which a lecturer, Keith Milner, at the local college decided to mount the play, "Six Characters in Search of an Author". The actors, who took part in that play, were mature students in today's parlance and decided to form their own company, Theatre Union. Keith Milner, the original director of the first play, took no further part after that play. He moved away from the area for professional career reasons. Theatre Union was on its own but used the principles he had shown them in that first production to build their group. (It became the Bench Theatre when it took over the abandoned police station - rehearsal space/ workshop and dressing rooms in the cells - and magistrates court -auditorium; hence the name).
The first principle is that a director brought a play to the company. The director wanted to do the play. If he hadn't wanted to do the play, the company would not have formed. If the company had not wanted to do the play, the play would not have been performed. This is the first and most important principle! We change this principle and we change the company. The structure of the company has changed because of circumstances and you have to adapt. However, to have the idea mooted recently, that only certain types of plays should be offered in order to fit the demographic shape of the group, runs counter to this first principle.
The second principle is the choice of play offered. It seems to me that Pirandello's "Six Characters in Search of an Author" is not an easy choice even now and would not have been considered a suitable "audience puller" in 1969. The choice was made because the director wanted to do this play and was able to persuade the actors to join him (first principle). The play was not about the potential audience but about what the cast would get out of the experience. This is the second important principle! It would be better if the Bench disappeared from existence doing plays that met this principle than allowed itself to become a different entity. If this is what the membership decided it wanted to cater for demographic changes or audience tastes, it should form a new group with its own set of principles.
"Six Characters in Search of an Author", simply as a title, encapsulates the third principle and the reason why the company's first name was Theatre Union. Pirandello's play introduces the audience to the above mentioned number of characters who come on stage demanding that a playwright be found to put their stories into a play. From this I extract the principle that the Bench Theatre is a collection/collective of actors looking for a play in which to tell a story (their story?). We often get into heated debate about producers, backstage staff and front of house staff. These are all elements that can add to the ease, the end result and the comfort of the audience. But the Bench principle is that the only essential element is the actors - everything else is an add on. (This remark may need to be teased out in further postings.) The choice of Theatre Union as a name is also significant because it says so much about the intention of its founder members. They didn't call themselves the Havant Amateur Dramatic Society with its community overtones. They united to do theatre in its purest form, as a means of expression for its participants. Union has socialist connotations and no doubt these were intended knowing Tim Mahoney, who probably came up with the name.
The three principles are the director chooses to do a play, the play must offer the company of actors a unique experience or opportunity, and the company is based on actors. The commitment to these principles to date have produced a body of work that qualifies in the main as being of the "highest quality". There have been productions that fell below this standard but the reason can usually be found in one or more deviation from the above principles. The play was chosen to appeal to "an audience" (identified in the mind of the director or the company) or the production was used to give members parts rather than cast according to the needs of the play. The Bench Theatre has a huge turnover and not only of young students transient in their membership as they find themselves leaving to take up new lives at university etc. The company welcomes new members regularly and worries when they don't stay. The main reason is that the company cannot offer enough opportunities to act but other reasons is that for some joining a theatre group is a social activity and the commitment and determination to hang on in a play producing machine like the Bench is not for them. Some members cry out that the Bench has a responsibility to such individuals but my standpoint is that the Bench has responsibility to those founding principles, and to become a more sociable organisation offering parts to anyone who walks through the door would be to change it beyond recognition. If that is what they want, they should go and form the Havant Players or whatever they want to call themselves, but should leave the Bench as it was intended.
Ask not what the Bench can do for you, but what you can do for the Bench. (With apologies to JFK).
However, when it comes to the existence and rationale of the Bench Theatre, I find I have a whole set of principles, for which I would be perfectly willing to lie in the road for, and to defend.
The current Arts Centre brochure has the Bench Theatre proudly proclaiming that we have "forged a reputaion for non-professional theatre of the highest quality. Our membership is made up of talented individuals from all walks of life and we are always keen to welcome new members."
Astute readers will notice the avoidance of the term "amateur". The word itself means a lover of what one is doing, and this love provides the reward rather than a remuneration. The word itself cannot cause offence, but, unfortunately, it has accrued connotations. Amateur theatre creates the image of a well meaning and enthusiastic group of people, who band together to put on and perform a play for the entertainment and enjoyment of their friends and families. They bring a range of abilities to bear on the play, but the prime aim is to enjoy themselves, forge friendships and to please their audience, thereby gaining their approval. If the group is successful in their first attempt ,they will continue to mount plays, until a new generation comes along to take their places, but who will change the group, beyond the recognition of its founder members, or the difficulties outweigh the rewards and the group go their separate ways.
One of the reasons that the Bench has avoided either of the two dangers, being changed beyond recognition or disintergrating, is that it began with a different set of principles from the majority of other amateur theatre groups. There are other groups as good, if not better, than us and who have made better use of their opportunities - members of the Little Theatre Guild, for example, who own and run their own theatres and put on monthly (if not more) productions (see The Questors of Ealing at www.questors.org.uk, the largest amateur theatre in Europe with its own 350 seater Playhouse and Studio). However, there are some unique qualities about the beginnings of the Bench, that have stood the group in good stead throughout its 38 years of existence ,and might yet see us through to our 40th anniversary. These unique qualities form the principles, upon which the company has built its "reputation" and which are constantly under examination, usually by well-meaning and well -intentioned proposals designed to further the general good, but are counter to those guiding principles.
What are these principles?
The Bench Theatre began as a further education class in 1969, in which a lecturer, Keith Milner, at the local college decided to mount the play, "Six Characters in Search of an Author". The actors, who took part in that play, were mature students in today's parlance and decided to form their own company, Theatre Union. Keith Milner, the original director of the first play, took no further part after that play. He moved away from the area for professional career reasons. Theatre Union was on its own but used the principles he had shown them in that first production to build their group. (It became the Bench Theatre when it took over the abandoned police station - rehearsal space/ workshop and dressing rooms in the cells - and magistrates court -auditorium; hence the name).
The first principle is that a director brought a play to the company. The director wanted to do the play. If he hadn't wanted to do the play, the company would not have formed. If the company had not wanted to do the play, the play would not have been performed. This is the first and most important principle! We change this principle and we change the company. The structure of the company has changed because of circumstances and you have to adapt. However, to have the idea mooted recently, that only certain types of plays should be offered in order to fit the demographic shape of the group, runs counter to this first principle.
The second principle is the choice of play offered. It seems to me that Pirandello's "Six Characters in Search of an Author" is not an easy choice even now and would not have been considered a suitable "audience puller" in 1969. The choice was made because the director wanted to do this play and was able to persuade the actors to join him (first principle). The play was not about the potential audience but about what the cast would get out of the experience. This is the second important principle! It would be better if the Bench disappeared from existence doing plays that met this principle than allowed itself to become a different entity. If this is what the membership decided it wanted to cater for demographic changes or audience tastes, it should form a new group with its own set of principles.
"Six Characters in Search of an Author", simply as a title, encapsulates the third principle and the reason why the company's first name was Theatre Union. Pirandello's play introduces the audience to the above mentioned number of characters who come on stage demanding that a playwright be found to put their stories into a play. From this I extract the principle that the Bench Theatre is a collection/collective of actors looking for a play in which to tell a story (their story?). We often get into heated debate about producers, backstage staff and front of house staff. These are all elements that can add to the ease, the end result and the comfort of the audience. But the Bench principle is that the only essential element is the actors - everything else is an add on. (This remark may need to be teased out in further postings.) The choice of Theatre Union as a name is also significant because it says so much about the intention of its founder members. They didn't call themselves the Havant Amateur Dramatic Society with its community overtones. They united to do theatre in its purest form, as a means of expression for its participants. Union has socialist connotations and no doubt these were intended knowing Tim Mahoney, who probably came up with the name.
The three principles are the director chooses to do a play, the play must offer the company of actors a unique experience or opportunity, and the company is based on actors. The commitment to these principles to date have produced a body of work that qualifies in the main as being of the "highest quality". There have been productions that fell below this standard but the reason can usually be found in one or more deviation from the above principles. The play was chosen to appeal to "an audience" (identified in the mind of the director or the company) or the production was used to give members parts rather than cast according to the needs of the play. The Bench Theatre has a huge turnover and not only of young students transient in their membership as they find themselves leaving to take up new lives at university etc. The company welcomes new members regularly and worries when they don't stay. The main reason is that the company cannot offer enough opportunities to act but other reasons is that for some joining a theatre group is a social activity and the commitment and determination to hang on in a play producing machine like the Bench is not for them. Some members cry out that the Bench has a responsibility to such individuals but my standpoint is that the Bench has responsibility to those founding principles, and to become a more sociable organisation offering parts to anyone who walks through the door would be to change it beyond recognition. If that is what they want, they should go and form the Havant Players or whatever they want to call themselves, but should leave the Bench as it was intended.
Ask not what the Bench can do for you, but what you can do for the Bench. (With apologies to JFK).
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Useful
My 60 th birthday rapidly approaches. It is on Wednesday the 24th, gentle reader. I am still searching for a purpose to my life other than the schedule of housework and domestic tasks I am currently completing - reasonably happily.
Yesterday I took time out to visit the public consultation by the Executive of Havant Borough Council as they presented their annual policy and budget for this coming year. After listening intently for some time, I began to realise how limited was my knowledge of how local government works. Mind you, some of the questions asked by some of the taxpayers present showed they were unsure of the complex structures at operation. Complaints about alleyways in Waterlooville, the state of roads throughout the borough and the lack of policing when needed were all levelled at the councillors fielding the questions. It became clear to me that a great deal of the housing stock and land in Havant Borough belongs to Portsmouth or Housing associations. The roads and streets are the responsibility of Hampshire County Council. The policing question is the responsibility of the Police Authority and not under the control of the borough. An interesting fact came to light in so far as 40 police officers were removed from Havant last year as Gosport was considered an area of greater priority - thereby leaving Havant undermanned. In the end I was stirred to point out publicly that I thought the Borough Council was trapped between two very hard places- the taxpayers and the national government. The former are baffled by the complex layers of organisation and know not at whom their ire should be directed for results. The latter maintains this complexity and adds to it by constant flow of new legislation and enervating control of finances. The Borough Council collects the Council Tax but only 13.5% is for the Borough, the rest is sent on to the County, the Police Authority and the Fire Brigade. But because it is the collection agent, the taxpayers think their money goes to the Borough.
I must look into the structuring of local government more carefully if I am to be a more useful citizen. Anyway, today I am being a care nurse. My best beloved is having an operation in Chichester and has to be monitored at home over the next couple of days. I have to get Gran to Guild in the evening and Zoe will take over bedtime duties with Gran on behalf of her Mum today and tomorrow (lovely kid!). In February Zoe is having an operation on her wisdom teeth so for a couple of days I have to care nurse her. Anyone who has seen my bedside manner knows it leaves a great deal to be desired (and they are more people who have seen my bedside manner than you would think, so there!)but I will imagine I am playing Hugh Laurie as House. Oh, on second thoughts, his bedside manner is crap as well....
Yesterday I took time out to visit the public consultation by the Executive of Havant Borough Council as they presented their annual policy and budget for this coming year. After listening intently for some time, I began to realise how limited was my knowledge of how local government works. Mind you, some of the questions asked by some of the taxpayers present showed they were unsure of the complex structures at operation. Complaints about alleyways in Waterlooville, the state of roads throughout the borough and the lack of policing when needed were all levelled at the councillors fielding the questions. It became clear to me that a great deal of the housing stock and land in Havant Borough belongs to Portsmouth or Housing associations. The roads and streets are the responsibility of Hampshire County Council. The policing question is the responsibility of the Police Authority and not under the control of the borough. An interesting fact came to light in so far as 40 police officers were removed from Havant last year as Gosport was considered an area of greater priority - thereby leaving Havant undermanned. In the end I was stirred to point out publicly that I thought the Borough Council was trapped between two very hard places- the taxpayers and the national government. The former are baffled by the complex layers of organisation and know not at whom their ire should be directed for results. The latter maintains this complexity and adds to it by constant flow of new legislation and enervating control of finances. The Borough Council collects the Council Tax but only 13.5% is for the Borough, the rest is sent on to the County, the Police Authority and the Fire Brigade. But because it is the collection agent, the taxpayers think their money goes to the Borough.
I must look into the structuring of local government more carefully if I am to be a more useful citizen. Anyway, today I am being a care nurse. My best beloved is having an operation in Chichester and has to be monitored at home over the next couple of days. I have to get Gran to Guild in the evening and Zoe will take over bedtime duties with Gran on behalf of her Mum today and tomorrow (lovely kid!). In February Zoe is having an operation on her wisdom teeth so for a couple of days I have to care nurse her. Anyone who has seen my bedside manner knows it leaves a great deal to be desired (and they are more people who have seen my bedside manner than you would think, so there!)but I will imagine I am playing Hugh Laurie as House. Oh, on second thoughts, his bedside manner is crap as well....
Monday, January 15, 2007
Theatrical New Year started
The Bench Theatre is planning on entering the Totton Drama Festival in March 2007. Last year the company entered two plays written by our own members and which had previously been part of the Supernova event in 2005. The event itself is well organised and takes place at the Hangar Arts Centre, which is worth a visit and certainly as a performance venue for a non-professional company.
This year we have a much expanded company because of the influx needed to mount His Dark Materials. Naturally this creates a problem in how do we keep so many people interested for the rest of the season. Most of the newcomers are youngsters who are planning to go off to university or drama school in the summer but we want to keep them happy and occupied as Bench members until then. Also we mustn't forget that other members joined who are intending staying for the forseeable future. The company have already cast and are rehearsing a three hander, Frozen by Bryony Lavery, for performance at the end of February. It seemed a good idea to follow the enormous cast play with a small cast play at the time, but in hindsight perhaps this isn't the best policy. The next production on the stocks is Play It Again, Sam by Woody Allen, which is scheduled for April. This needs a larger cast and certainly the age range required is more suited to the younger end of the membership spectrum, the 20s and 30s. However the company needs to find more outlets.
Until its performances in March, the Totton drama festival entry will provide a way of engaging as many members as want to be involved. Furthermore, the company is requesting that directors consider larger cast plays, and probably ones with greater female participation, for the July and November slots (the September slot is Supernova - the Bench encourages new writing - and the whole company is involved in mounting performances of new material). My personal feeling is that this is shutting the stable door after the horse has fled! The young people going off to university and drama school will not be here in November and will probably be making other plans and arrangements in July. We could end up in the situation where we might actually have difficulty in casting plays chosen for the July and November slots when it comes to auditions. I am all in favour of the principle of looking around for plays (quality plays) with a greater number of female roles ( after all I have three actresses in my own nuclear family to satisfy) but principle needs to mix with a little pragmatism and a little foresight to avoid creating a situation which is equally problematic.
At the moment the Bench mounts productions in February, April, July, September and November (every other year the November slot becomes the December slot, as we do a large scale Christmas show, like His Dark Materials in 2006 or Christmas Carol in 2004). These five productions a year are probably all that the Arts Centre can sustain, as there are other user groups such as Dynamo Youth Theatre, Humdrum, Havant Light Opera and the Arts Centre own youth drama groups, Act One and Act Two. If the Bench Theatre had its own premises and performance venue....... ah, fantasy!
To this end I have suggested a Bench touring arm. This would mount extra productions quarterly in March, June , September and December. These productions would need to be flexible and to respond to the demands of the five main house productions outlined above. For example, every other year the touring would not take place in December, as the emphasis would be on the Christmas show at the Arts Centre. The September slot could be problematic but could be resolved if the main house production is given the priority in casting and support before the touring company. In Supernova years, the touring could be suspended or the Supernova plays could be given further performances as part of the touring circuit. The annual March touring production could be the Totton Drama Festival entry.
The touring would be to venues other than the Arts Centre. David Penrose used to lead a troupe called Cunning Plan, which performed for Hampshire colleges, and this would provide one type of venue which could be recultivated. During a recent performance of Dude, Where's My Script? (the improvisational arm of the Bench Theatre) a member of the audience asked whether we would be interested in performing Dude at their recently modernised village hall. A little bit of research revealed that there has been a huge investment programme in village halls nationally but in particular, as far as we are concerned, in Hampshire and West Sussex. Some of these establishments have facilities to rival Havant Arts Centre and Hangar Farm Arts Centre!
My intention is by June 2007 is to have found 6 to 8 venues willing to mount a performance by the Bench Theatre. We would pay for the rights and cost of production and the venue would be responsible for getting an audience ( as they would be collecting audience receipts as revenue for themselves, they would see this as mutually beneficial hopefully). The performances would take place over the period of a fortnight similar to a main house production so that the touring production is self contained. The problem is going to be rehearsal space and we may have to change our working practices in order not to impact in any way upon the main house productions. There are several ways of doing this and all need careful research and consideration, but, for instance, we could do Sundays (either independently of the main house production or piggy back, i.e. concurrently) or weekdays when the main house cannot rehearse for logistical reasons (absence of cast members or director or technical crew) or find a new venue for rehearsals. Costs need to be kept to a minimum but where there is a will there is a way. If the company continues to expand this idea would provide gainful employment for more members, if the company shrinks touring could be tailored to fit or even curtailed.
This year we have a much expanded company because of the influx needed to mount His Dark Materials. Naturally this creates a problem in how do we keep so many people interested for the rest of the season. Most of the newcomers are youngsters who are planning to go off to university or drama school in the summer but we want to keep them happy and occupied as Bench members until then. Also we mustn't forget that other members joined who are intending staying for the forseeable future. The company have already cast and are rehearsing a three hander, Frozen by Bryony Lavery, for performance at the end of February. It seemed a good idea to follow the enormous cast play with a small cast play at the time, but in hindsight perhaps this isn't the best policy. The next production on the stocks is Play It Again, Sam by Woody Allen, which is scheduled for April. This needs a larger cast and certainly the age range required is more suited to the younger end of the membership spectrum, the 20s and 30s. However the company needs to find more outlets.
Until its performances in March, the Totton drama festival entry will provide a way of engaging as many members as want to be involved. Furthermore, the company is requesting that directors consider larger cast plays, and probably ones with greater female participation, for the July and November slots (the September slot is Supernova - the Bench encourages new writing - and the whole company is involved in mounting performances of new material). My personal feeling is that this is shutting the stable door after the horse has fled! The young people going off to university and drama school will not be here in November and will probably be making other plans and arrangements in July. We could end up in the situation where we might actually have difficulty in casting plays chosen for the July and November slots when it comes to auditions. I am all in favour of the principle of looking around for plays (quality plays) with a greater number of female roles ( after all I have three actresses in my own nuclear family to satisfy) but principle needs to mix with a little pragmatism and a little foresight to avoid creating a situation which is equally problematic.
At the moment the Bench mounts productions in February, April, July, September and November (every other year the November slot becomes the December slot, as we do a large scale Christmas show, like His Dark Materials in 2006 or Christmas Carol in 2004). These five productions a year are probably all that the Arts Centre can sustain, as there are other user groups such as Dynamo Youth Theatre, Humdrum, Havant Light Opera and the Arts Centre own youth drama groups, Act One and Act Two. If the Bench Theatre had its own premises and performance venue....... ah, fantasy!
To this end I have suggested a Bench touring arm. This would mount extra productions quarterly in March, June , September and December. These productions would need to be flexible and to respond to the demands of the five main house productions outlined above. For example, every other year the touring would not take place in December, as the emphasis would be on the Christmas show at the Arts Centre. The September slot could be problematic but could be resolved if the main house production is given the priority in casting and support before the touring company. In Supernova years, the touring could be suspended or the Supernova plays could be given further performances as part of the touring circuit. The annual March touring production could be the Totton Drama Festival entry.
The touring would be to venues other than the Arts Centre. David Penrose used to lead a troupe called Cunning Plan, which performed for Hampshire colleges, and this would provide one type of venue which could be recultivated. During a recent performance of Dude, Where's My Script? (the improvisational arm of the Bench Theatre) a member of the audience asked whether we would be interested in performing Dude at their recently modernised village hall. A little bit of research revealed that there has been a huge investment programme in village halls nationally but in particular, as far as we are concerned, in Hampshire and West Sussex. Some of these establishments have facilities to rival Havant Arts Centre and Hangar Farm Arts Centre!
My intention is by June 2007 is to have found 6 to 8 venues willing to mount a performance by the Bench Theatre. We would pay for the rights and cost of production and the venue would be responsible for getting an audience ( as they would be collecting audience receipts as revenue for themselves, they would see this as mutually beneficial hopefully). The performances would take place over the period of a fortnight similar to a main house production so that the touring production is self contained. The problem is going to be rehearsal space and we may have to change our working practices in order not to impact in any way upon the main house productions. There are several ways of doing this and all need careful research and consideration, but, for instance, we could do Sundays (either independently of the main house production or piggy back, i.e. concurrently) or weekdays when the main house cannot rehearse for logistical reasons (absence of cast members or director or technical crew) or find a new venue for rehearsals. Costs need to be kept to a minimum but where there is a will there is a way. If the company continues to expand this idea would provide gainful employment for more members, if the company shrinks touring could be tailored to fit or even curtailed.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Conor McPherson's The Seafarer
The Bench Theatre produced The Weir, one of Conor McPherson's earlier plays in 2004. A group of us involved in that play, led by the director John Batstone, went to the Royal Court to see Shining City in order to pick up the speech patterns and the distinctive McPherson way with plot and characters. Up until that matinee I had been dubious about the play and about the playwright. However I was blown away by the performances and the sheer artistry with words and ideas that McPherson exhibits.
I therefore leaped at the chance to see the Seafarer, the latest in the McPherson canon, which opened at the National Theatre's Cottesloe auditorium in September 2006. This is the first time that one of his plays had opened at the National - previously his London work has been shown at the Royal Court. Born in Dublin in 1971 ( which still makes him only 35) he has been described as "already heir to the great Irish tradition of absorbing tale-telling" (Guardian) and "a distinctive talent to cherish" (Telegraph)
The Seafarer opens in the home of Richard Harkin in Baldoyle, a coastal settlement north of Dublin City. It overlooks Howth Head, long a focus of myths and legends. The house seems to have been built into a hill. The main entrance is down a flight of stairs from the ground floor, which gives a basement feel to the grim living area we see before us. The furniture is old and worn and sparse. The people who live here are immersed in pub culture as evidenced by the ashtrays, beer mats, bar stools and bottles. One man's slipper lies abandoned in the middle of the tiled floor illuminated by the cold morning light coming through the glass panels of the upstage door which leads to a yard. To the left and right of this door are a mostly unseen kitchen and toilet.
We meet the two Harkin brothers, Richard and Sharkey. The latter has returned to Dublin to look after his irascible, ageing brother who has been recently blinded after an accident falling into a skip while drunk. Sharkey is on the wagon after a lifetime of heavy drinking, Richard isn't. The relationship is one of lacerating put downs delivered with a razor sharp wit from Richard and sullen defensive retorts from Sharkey. The recently blinded Richard is played by Jim Morton ( who created the part of Jack in The Weir) and it is a performance of bravura. He cannot see and this is an entirely convincing condition by Mr Morton but Richard is a creature of passion and energy. He leaps about the room, he bullies and cajoles in equal fashion, and his rich Irish brogue lulls the audience into forgiving some of the more outrageous and deliberately hurtful comments he makes about Sharkey. Karl Johnson as Sharkey shows evidence of a tough life with lines etched deep on his face. Recently he has been involved in a fight - he has plasters on his forehead and on the knuckles of each hand. It is Sharkey who tries to desperately assert some domestic order on the chaos of the living area on this Christmas Eve morning.
Also in the house having slept overnight after a drinking bout with Richard is Ivan, a large man, who should have returned home to his wife and kids yesterday but is hindered by an enormous hangover and the fact he can't find his spectacles, reducing his sight to within a few inches of his nose. Ivan is played by Conleth Hill, who I last saw as the gay queen of a Broadway director who is hired to direct Springtime for Hitler in the award winning musical by Mel Brooks, The Producers. Mr Hill uses his undoubted comic talents here to great effect but without ever compromising the truth of the characterisation. Conor McPherson, who directed as well as writing the play, uses the lost spectacles as a pivotal piece in the play but in the hands of such a skilled playwright and talented actor I defy you to anticipate the twist in the play.
So far we have the dysfunctional lives of a Dublin drinking class laid bare to us, when the play moves into a realm beyond that we know or can guess at. Another old drinking buddy, Nicky (Michael McElhatton - the psychiatrist in Shining City) brings with him Mr Lockhart (Ron Cook) who he met in a pub and has spent the day in a massive pub crawl before ending up at the Harkins' house. There is something about Mr Lock hart that isn't quite right - is it the accent? is it the different tonal patterns in his speech? is it the smile which doesn't extend to the eyes?- and one begins to notice that the red light under the picture of the Sacred Heart has gone out and the lights of the Christmas tree dim when he is near. It gives nothing away to tell you that Mr Lockhart is not what he seems and that he has come for Sharkey's soul. The soul had been lost over a card game in Sharkey's distant past, though Sharkey had been too heavy with drink at the time to have remembered. When a card game is suggested to while away the rest of that Christmas Eve, we know we are to witness the battle for a man's redemption or damnation. The outcome is a pure stroke of theatrical genius and, yes, it does fall within that great Irish tradition of absorbing tale telling!
I therefore leaped at the chance to see the Seafarer, the latest in the McPherson canon, which opened at the National Theatre's Cottesloe auditorium in September 2006. This is the first time that one of his plays had opened at the National - previously his London work has been shown at the Royal Court. Born in Dublin in 1971 ( which still makes him only 35) he has been described as "already heir to the great Irish tradition of absorbing tale-telling" (Guardian) and "a distinctive talent to cherish" (Telegraph)
The Seafarer opens in the home of Richard Harkin in Baldoyle, a coastal settlement north of Dublin City. It overlooks Howth Head, long a focus of myths and legends. The house seems to have been built into a hill. The main entrance is down a flight of stairs from the ground floor, which gives a basement feel to the grim living area we see before us. The furniture is old and worn and sparse. The people who live here are immersed in pub culture as evidenced by the ashtrays, beer mats, bar stools and bottles. One man's slipper lies abandoned in the middle of the tiled floor illuminated by the cold morning light coming through the glass panels of the upstage door which leads to a yard. To the left and right of this door are a mostly unseen kitchen and toilet.
We meet the two Harkin brothers, Richard and Sharkey. The latter has returned to Dublin to look after his irascible, ageing brother who has been recently blinded after an accident falling into a skip while drunk. Sharkey is on the wagon after a lifetime of heavy drinking, Richard isn't. The relationship is one of lacerating put downs delivered with a razor sharp wit from Richard and sullen defensive retorts from Sharkey. The recently blinded Richard is played by Jim Morton ( who created the part of Jack in The Weir) and it is a performance of bravura. He cannot see and this is an entirely convincing condition by Mr Morton but Richard is a creature of passion and energy. He leaps about the room, he bullies and cajoles in equal fashion, and his rich Irish brogue lulls the audience into forgiving some of the more outrageous and deliberately hurtful comments he makes about Sharkey. Karl Johnson as Sharkey shows evidence of a tough life with lines etched deep on his face. Recently he has been involved in a fight - he has plasters on his forehead and on the knuckles of each hand. It is Sharkey who tries to desperately assert some domestic order on the chaos of the living area on this Christmas Eve morning.
Also in the house having slept overnight after a drinking bout with Richard is Ivan, a large man, who should have returned home to his wife and kids yesterday but is hindered by an enormous hangover and the fact he can't find his spectacles, reducing his sight to within a few inches of his nose. Ivan is played by Conleth Hill, who I last saw as the gay queen of a Broadway director who is hired to direct Springtime for Hitler in the award winning musical by Mel Brooks, The Producers. Mr Hill uses his undoubted comic talents here to great effect but without ever compromising the truth of the characterisation. Conor McPherson, who directed as well as writing the play, uses the lost spectacles as a pivotal piece in the play but in the hands of such a skilled playwright and talented actor I defy you to anticipate the twist in the play.
So far we have the dysfunctional lives of a Dublin drinking class laid bare to us, when the play moves into a realm beyond that we know or can guess at. Another old drinking buddy, Nicky (Michael McElhatton - the psychiatrist in Shining City) brings with him Mr Lockhart (Ron Cook) who he met in a pub and has spent the day in a massive pub crawl before ending up at the Harkins' house. There is something about Mr Lock hart that isn't quite right - is it the accent? is it the different tonal patterns in his speech? is it the smile which doesn't extend to the eyes?- and one begins to notice that the red light under the picture of the Sacred Heart has gone out and the lights of the Christmas tree dim when he is near. It gives nothing away to tell you that Mr Lockhart is not what he seems and that he has come for Sharkey's soul. The soul had been lost over a card game in Sharkey's distant past, though Sharkey had been too heavy with drink at the time to have remembered. When a card game is suggested to while away the rest of that Christmas Eve, we know we are to witness the battle for a man's redemption or damnation. The outcome is a pure stroke of theatrical genius and, yes, it does fall within that great Irish tradition of absorbing tale telling!
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Spring Term 2007
My pork chops with apple went down a storm last night and I am looking forward to cooking roast lamb for this evening's repast!
My first day as a retired primary school teacher started today and I have been inspecting my feelings. It felt like a management day as Ingrid left for her school - one of those days I had occasionally as deputy head when I worked from home. It certainly didn't feel like a changed life moment. I had my breakfast at about 8.15 a.m. which is a little later than I would usually but then Ingrid has a PPA (Planning Preparation and Assessment) morning. This just reinforced the impression of a "managemen" day.
My main task this morning has been to read a script for an independently financed short film shooting in mid-March and apply for a casting call on Saturday 3rd February as the main character, a retired spy master. The image of Alec Guiness as George Smiley in the TV Smiley's People springs to mind. I will keep you in touch with how things develop. One interesting side aspect so far was that the director was after people based in and around Portsmouth. It isn't as if Havant is miles away in the Hampshire countryside. If Farlington qualifies as a suburb of Portsmouth (does it?) then Bedhampton should. I assured the director that I could walk from my house to Fort Widley, the main centre for location shooting.
The chance to answer the casting call came from Mark Wakeman who had received it as part of the mail directed to the Bench Theatre I presumed, although he may have contacts as he has done this sort of thing before(filming that is). Anyway, if it comes off, it will look good on my CV for film extra work (and if anyone else knows of short films being made and looking for actors, please do let me know). To date I have had one reply saying I am not on their books for the first part of the year but, if I would like to reapply, I should submit another application form, updated CV and some professionally taken photographs. To this end I have contacted Penny at Japics Portraits and am waiting an appointment with her next week. Penny is married to John Plimmer, who was cajooled back to do the dress rehearsal photos for His Dark Materials - much of the archive material of the Bench Theatre is based on the production photographs taken by John. He is really a marvellous photographer and he and Penny run the company. I also know Penny because her parents, Terry and Robbie, are good friends of ours since their days as part of the Bench company. We have known them for some considerable time now. They sensibly upped sticks and went to live in France in Duras near Bergerac. I always secretly admired their courage in doing so but know that I don't have the balls to do the same. We, and the girls when they were younger, have spent parts of our holidays as guests of Terry and Robbie, who are sublime hosts and real fun to be with. One of the things that really impressed us is that they joined the community theatre in Duras, not the ex pats but the real life French company! We were privileged to see one of their performances in the chateau grounds - a wonderful intoxicating (and on my part intoxicated) night - it lasted after the collapsing of the set into dawn choral singing at the French farm of one of the other performers. Thank you, Terry and Robbie, and hope to meet up again in 2007.
Now what shall I have to go with the roast lamb?
My first day as a retired primary school teacher started today and I have been inspecting my feelings. It felt like a management day as Ingrid left for her school - one of those days I had occasionally as deputy head when I worked from home. It certainly didn't feel like a changed life moment. I had my breakfast at about 8.15 a.m. which is a little later than I would usually but then Ingrid has a PPA (Planning Preparation and Assessment) morning. This just reinforced the impression of a "managemen" day.
My main task this morning has been to read a script for an independently financed short film shooting in mid-March and apply for a casting call on Saturday 3rd February as the main character, a retired spy master. The image of Alec Guiness as George Smiley in the TV Smiley's People springs to mind. I will keep you in touch with how things develop. One interesting side aspect so far was that the director was after people based in and around Portsmouth. It isn't as if Havant is miles away in the Hampshire countryside. If Farlington qualifies as a suburb of Portsmouth (does it?) then Bedhampton should. I assured the director that I could walk from my house to Fort Widley, the main centre for location shooting.
The chance to answer the casting call came from Mark Wakeman who had received it as part of the mail directed to the Bench Theatre I presumed, although he may have contacts as he has done this sort of thing before(filming that is). Anyway, if it comes off, it will look good on my CV for film extra work (and if anyone else knows of short films being made and looking for actors, please do let me know). To date I have had one reply saying I am not on their books for the first part of the year but, if I would like to reapply, I should submit another application form, updated CV and some professionally taken photographs. To this end I have contacted Penny at Japics Portraits and am waiting an appointment with her next week. Penny is married to John Plimmer, who was cajooled back to do the dress rehearsal photos for His Dark Materials - much of the archive material of the Bench Theatre is based on the production photographs taken by John. He is really a marvellous photographer and he and Penny run the company. I also know Penny because her parents, Terry and Robbie, are good friends of ours since their days as part of the Bench company. We have known them for some considerable time now. They sensibly upped sticks and went to live in France in Duras near Bergerac. I always secretly admired their courage in doing so but know that I don't have the balls to do the same. We, and the girls when they were younger, have spent parts of our holidays as guests of Terry and Robbie, who are sublime hosts and real fun to be with. One of the things that really impressed us is that they joined the community theatre in Duras, not the ex pats but the real life French company! We were privileged to see one of their performances in the chateau grounds - a wonderful intoxicating (and on my part intoxicated) night - it lasted after the collapsing of the set into dawn choral singing at the French farm of one of the other performers. Thank you, Terry and Robbie, and hope to meet up again in 2007.
Now what shall I have to go with the roast lamb?
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
The New Year Begins
I awoke at 3.30 a.m. convinced I had heard a sound coming from next door. Now our neighbours next door have been away over the New Year so unless they had arrived back very much earlier than intended there should have been no noises coming from next door. I decided to investigate. Of course I found nothing amiss even after I had done a tour down the side alley and back. However I knew that further sleep was pointless.
Monday night had been peculiar because after watching the Manchester United game I had studiously avoided watching any more TV and conincidentally or not I had avoided eating and drinking alcohol. This is good for me but the downside was when bedtime came I was still alert and took a long time getting off to sleep. Then of course I had the early morning rude awakening and so sleep has been a little rationed so far. Doubtless I will make up for it with an afternoon nap but I had planned an afternoon session at the gym to try out a midweek session and compare it with my usual weekend slots.
The reason for the gym session was that when walking home in the early hours of Monday morning having celebrated the New Year at our friends', David and Jacquie, I felt tight across the chest and had difficulty breathing, which wasn't helped by the wind. My best beloved was concerned by my condition. However the point was brought home to me that I was out of condition and overweight - and the realisation was unpleasant!
I had heard somewhere that a TV programme Truth about Food, which is being broadcast on Thursday I believe, tried an experiment with volunteers who were given a diet of fruit and raw vegetables (5kg per day) as this compared with that of an ape or gorilla. The diet lasted 12 days and there were remarkable losses of weight but more importantly a reduction in cholestrol and blood pressure, etc. (I am not sure what the etc was but there were other benefits identified as well). Hence my brunch on Monday was entirely a fruit one. The good effect was spoiled by sausage rolls and dinky donuts at my firstborn's house while watching pompey scrape a 1-1 home draw with Spurs. We need a proven striker and a left back as a matter of urgency. My choices would be Wayne Bridge or Gabriel Heinze, Keith Richardson, Robert Earnshaw, David Nugent and Shaun Wright Phillips. With these sort of addition (at considerable expense I admit) we would be in with a real chance of Europe next season and doing something when we are there. I would like to see Fernandes confirmed as a Pompey player and I would also consider bringing Allessandres back.
So, avid reader, what did I do in the hours between 3.30 and the present one of writing (7.20 a.m. approx.)? I took the advice of Archimedes (see links) and drew up my wine list! After that I had a severe rash of listmania and made lists of guests to be invited to a pre-nuptial gathering in Bradford being planned for Easter Sunday and for Saturday dinners at home. I updated my Task List which I maintain on Microsoft Outlook.
My blog writing was then interrupted by the appearance of best beloved who never sleeps beyond 5.30 whether it is a workday or a holiday. But today she had slept through to 7.24 a.m. ! She wasn't greatly concerned as she is going into school as a pre term set up day and therefore timing is flexible, but it shows times are a-changing at the Corrigan household. There is a number of layers of meaning in that last statement but for now, dear reader, I will leave the nuances to you while I go and breakfast royally!
Monday night had been peculiar because after watching the Manchester United game I had studiously avoided watching any more TV and conincidentally or not I had avoided eating and drinking alcohol. This is good for me but the downside was when bedtime came I was still alert and took a long time getting off to sleep. Then of course I had the early morning rude awakening and so sleep has been a little rationed so far. Doubtless I will make up for it with an afternoon nap but I had planned an afternoon session at the gym to try out a midweek session and compare it with my usual weekend slots.
The reason for the gym session was that when walking home in the early hours of Monday morning having celebrated the New Year at our friends', David and Jacquie, I felt tight across the chest and had difficulty breathing, which wasn't helped by the wind. My best beloved was concerned by my condition. However the point was brought home to me that I was out of condition and overweight - and the realisation was unpleasant!
I had heard somewhere that a TV programme Truth about Food, which is being broadcast on Thursday I believe, tried an experiment with volunteers who were given a diet of fruit and raw vegetables (5kg per day) as this compared with that of an ape or gorilla. The diet lasted 12 days and there were remarkable losses of weight but more importantly a reduction in cholestrol and blood pressure, etc. (I am not sure what the etc was but there were other benefits identified as well). Hence my brunch on Monday was entirely a fruit one. The good effect was spoiled by sausage rolls and dinky donuts at my firstborn's house while watching pompey scrape a 1-1 home draw with Spurs. We need a proven striker and a left back as a matter of urgency. My choices would be Wayne Bridge or Gabriel Heinze, Keith Richardson, Robert Earnshaw, David Nugent and Shaun Wright Phillips. With these sort of addition (at considerable expense I admit) we would be in with a real chance of Europe next season and doing something when we are there. I would like to see Fernandes confirmed as a Pompey player and I would also consider bringing Allessandres back.
So, avid reader, what did I do in the hours between 3.30 and the present one of writing (7.20 a.m. approx.)? I took the advice of Archimedes (see links) and drew up my wine list! After that I had a severe rash of listmania and made lists of guests to be invited to a pre-nuptial gathering in Bradford being planned for Easter Sunday and for Saturday dinners at home. I updated my Task List which I maintain on Microsoft Outlook.
My blog writing was then interrupted by the appearance of best beloved who never sleeps beyond 5.30 whether it is a workday or a holiday. But today she had slept through to 7.24 a.m. ! She wasn't greatly concerned as she is going into school as a pre term set up day and therefore timing is flexible, but it shows times are a-changing at the Corrigan household. There is a number of layers of meaning in that last statement but for now, dear reader, I will leave the nuances to you while I go and breakfast royally!
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