IT'S BEEN A FUNNY OLD WEEK!

Last Wednesday I saw the drama society's production of 'Accidental Death of an Anarchist' (Dario Fo) which was bloody brilliant. I genuinely didn't expect it to be as good as it was, despite the marvellous reviews, there's always a degree of 'Mustn't upset the students', but I've got to say (taking nobodies feelings into account) it was marvellous. Being (don't judge me) a bit of a Gleek (yes, I capitalised it. Build a bridge, get over it) a bit of 'Don't Stop Believing' karaoke is always welcome, and Mikey O'Neill (who you don't know, but one day will) playing a role he was born for.

Roll on Thursday and say hello to my directing assessment, and the first person to have chosen a comedy as apposed to something all, you know, serious. The opening of John Godber's 'Teechers' (Just taking a moment to pause and recommend that if you ever have an opportunity to watch one of Godber's plays, do so. They're so good!) was the script that I eventually chose, having read about forty, but for this reason and that reason had to ditch.
I'll confess, it wasn't the prospect of directing a comedy that was incredibly daunting, as opposed to directing a comedy that wasn't black (I think you'll find that's the correct linguistic term, not racism thank you very much). Darker stuff, the stuff where you know that you shouldn't laugh but can't help it, that stuff is easy. It's the nice stuff that I was scared of. But it went swimmingly. A few edits to the script, a touch of wordplay, more parody than you can shake a stick at, and a couple of outright insults (meant and (thankfully) taken in good humour!) meant that it actually went down a success. Obviously not perfect, looking back on it there are a million things I'd change to make it better, but still. Bright side and all that.

Then we move on to Saturday, and after a 180 mile trek back to the north I was running a Shakespeare workshop for the 'A Taste of Shakespeare' event being run by the Oldham Coliseum Theatre. A workshop that involved being funny. It involved having to be willing to make a fool of yourself, to just let go (which I am the first to admit is something I'm absolutely terrible at, yet the folk I had were absolutely marvellous. I can't thank them enough); and (and here's the risky bit) using bits of scripts from one of Shakespeare's comedies. Comedies famous for not being funny.

(NOTE TO SELF: stop using parenthesis so often!)

We used Act 1 Scene 2 from 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', the first scene with the Mechanicals as it has a nice number of people and enough material to properly play around with. I won't bore you with the details of the actual workshop, but wish to point out that it was funny! Everyone was having fun. Everyone cracked jokes, got the satire, performed brilliantly, and thoroughly enjoyed the comedy of it.

This is all massive pre-amble to a post all about comedy. Comedy is massive, currently there are stand up comedians who are outselling bands and singers in massive stadiums. It's the new rock and roll, and personally, nothing pleases me more.
(That's a lie, a lot of things please me more. Call it poetic licence)

I like to think of myself as something of a connoisseur of comedy. There are very few stand-ups I haven't heard of, sitcoms I haven't had a go at watching, panel shows that I haven't seen. My twitter feed is littered with comedians telling me about their cats (Susan Calman), sock length (Rob Brydon), or baby anecdotes (Mark Watson, Jason Manford, Robert Webb, etc.). I thoroughly enjoy comedy, and am in great admiration of those who have the ability to make people laugh. This world can be fantastically grim. Really it can. We, as people, as societies, are capable of some monstrous and horrific things. It's not nice, but it's true. We're in a bloody war that only seems to get worse. We're still struggling back from the worst economic recession we've had. Our children are an ASBO nation (I say 'our', I don't have kids, but am not young enough to be classed as one). Our prisons are full, our patience thin, our extremists getting louder and our society facing struggle after struggle.
And I think that it is a beautiful thing, an astonishing and amazing and immense thing, a thing to make you feel proud about Britain, that our society is flooded with comedy. British stand ups are considered the best in the world, we have hundreds of stand up venues, it is becoming more and more accessible and more people than ever are standing up and giving it a go, making Britain laugh. I think it's a brilliant thing that as our society gets more and more negative labels, our comedy industry has exploded, and now we have more comedians than we know what to do with. Quick! Commission another panel show!

The fact that satire is so integrated into our culture is a great thing, and although my natural instinct is to be negative toward our politicians, I give them one thing; Gordon Brown mightn't like being satirized and parodied on our screens. Cameron might not like the fact that people only love his poster campaign for the purposes of doodling. Clegg may not particularly enjoy that (until very recently) he was famous for being the guy that wasn't famous. They might not like being a laughing stock, but at least they are.

I would always choose to be here, in a 'Broken Britain' without 'the family' and 'failing systems', that is filled with laughter, than a perfect country where funny is not allowed.


"Lift up your head. Release the tension in those shoulders. And laugh. Because laughter's only human. Laughter keeps us in the moment and it keeps us on our toes. Laughter separates us from the gods while binding us closer together. If you're looking for a miracle, look no further than your most recent belly laugh. Maybe a friend made you clutch your sides till you shook with glee, maybe an old episode of 'Fraiser' had you howling on the carpet. Either way: in that moment you were immortal. and that, my friend, is as sacred as it gets."

Charlie Brooker, 'The Atheist's Guide to Christmas'

DROMIO OH DROMIO!

I went to see 'The Comedy of Errors' at the Royal Exchange Theatre on Saturday, which was interesting. the acting was largely brilliant and saved the play from the flaws in direction. The two Dromios (Owain Arthur and Michael Jibson) were utterly incredible! I cannot emphasise enough just how perfect they were in these roles, stealing the show with a fine aplomb! Catch it if you can.

I love the Exchange, and recently decided that it is definitely my favourite theatre. This is partially due to the fact that with our directing assessments the scenes we must do have to be set in the round, which a lot of people have struggled with and really not been happy about. And this is mainly because, for most people, a majority of the theatre that see is on a proscenium/end on stage, so being in the round is increasingly awkward if you haven't really seen a lot of it. Whereas I've been going to the Exchange since I was 11, and have seen some amazing plays, and some quite rubbish ones. So I sort of know what works and what doesn't, what plays fit and what techniques that work beautifully on other stages just won't here. (Does that sound pretentious?)

Anyhoo! The Royal Exchange Theatre is right in the heart of Manchester city centre, it has two spaces, the theatre and the studio. The theatre itself is like a large bubble that sits in the centre of the great hall, seating 700, making it the largest theatre in the round in Britain, 400 at ground level, the rest above the stage. So no matter where you are sat you have an awesome view. The studio is a flexible little space that seats about 120, it is also brilliant.

The layout is really gorgeously cool as everything seems to radiate out from the stage itself, and there have been some epic shows there. Firstly, Mr Matthew Dunster has done both 'Macbeth' and '1984' at the Exchange, and both have been completely amazing. I think 'Macbeth' is possibly one of the greatest things I have ever, ever seen in the theatre. It was incredibly visual and spectacular and clever on so many levels. '1984' which was on only recently was again, utterly astonishing, but in a very different way to 'Macbeth'. It was very clever in a very quiet way, lots of small and subtle but beautiful things made it a pleasure to watch, and the torture scene!! Oh my word!! You know that it's not real. You know he's not really being branded with an iron, he isn't really using those pliers, his face wasn't actually smashed into the floor, it's not real! But even I wanted to cry out 'Just say five!' as Winston was being electrocuted. It was amazing! And to boon of being able to see the rest of the audience meant that you could see everyone else cringing and covering their eyes. There is no doubt that Dunster is a most immensely talented director! (And I did travel a sort of three hundred mile round trip to go and see '1984'.) Twas immense.

I'm not a hundred per cent sure where this post is going. I guess I just want to say that the Exchange is AWESOME and everyone should pay it a visit. I'm I have to be here in Twickenham with the upcoming season looking so very good, including the poet Laurette herself rocking up for an evening or two.

I've decided that were I to end up working at the Exchange I would be very, very happy and content.

WOOT!

'THIS IS TRUE- TRUER THAN ANYTHING ELSE I WILL EVER WRITE, FEEL, OR KNOW. WHAT I AM NOW IS ME. WHAT I WILL BE IS A LIE"

I've recently been re-reading 'Moab is my Washpot', the first installment of the autobiography of Mr. Steven Fry (whom I greatly admire!), because it is a good read, and an amazing autobiography (having only read a handful of autobiographies ('Never have your dog stuffed' Alan Alda; 'And it's Goodnight from Him' The Two Ronnies; 'Dear Fatty' Dawn French; 'Look Back in Hunger' Jo Brand; and obviously 'Moab is my Washpot' Stephen Fry)) will happily place it at the top of the list.

But an analysis of the book itself can wait, what I wish to ramble about is that it's got me thinking, predominantly of two separate themes. Firstly: writing; Secondly: Riding for a fall.
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1)

I hate it, genuinely hate it, cringe, pull funny faces, joke about the topic, want to die hate it, when people ask me what I want to do as a career. Partially because most of the jobs within the theatre/performing arts industry sound ridiculously pretentious. "Oh, I wish to be an actor/director/blah blah self-sanctifying blah"; and partially because I never really know. I have a great passion for Shakespeare (and quite a lot of Elizabethan/Jacobean literature). I thoroughly enjoy directing plays, I also thoroughly enjoy acting (though I am well aware of my lack of talent). I had a brief period of considering a comedy career but, apparently, in order to be a comic one must be funny. Not likely then.
But the one thing, the one horrible, pretentious thing that has always been there in my life. The one thing that, had I the balls I would openly admit I wanted to do 'when I grow up', is write.

I want to be a writer.

Even typing it fills me with dread. I'm not sure that sentence will actually make the final post.
I want to write 'Doctor Who', I want to write plays, and poetry (don't judge me). I do, in a nobody-will-ever-ever-read-this way. My vague comedy dreams circulated around me writing sketches. I have all these stories and ideas zooming around my mind that I really want to write and have people see them, read them, experience them. I don't want it to be a secret, I want to be good enough that I needn't fear it. That I won't think up a damn good line and then think "What a pity nobody will ever see it".
But.... I'm not that good. I'm not a master of the English language. I can barely manage the complexities of a normal conversation with a cabbie, let alone scribe lines that could pass the scrutiny of a publisher/producer/director/(God forbid)audience.

"You'll never know unless you try!"

I don't want to try. I don't want to try because I don't want to fail. This is something that I love and by keeping it purely to myself my delusions of grandeur shall never be shattered by somebody saying "Well... that's shit."

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2)

That was merely the first train of thought Mr. Fry set about my mind. The second becomes even more narcissistic in nature. This is the one thing that I have been told by every teacher I have encountered that knew my name. This is something I have been told by family and friends alike. For as long as mankind has been a master of the disapproving look I have been looked at disapprovingly whilst informed of the following.

I am riding for a fall.

A few simple facts:

-I have never revised for an exam. I am yet to fail an A-Level/GCSE/whatever (though I have intentionally sabotaged a couple of papers because of boredom).

-I have never written an essay/started an assignment more than a day ahead of time. Again, am yet to fail one.

-I have never sat down and actively learnt lines. I have never dried onstage.

-I have often left scenes undirected until the last minute waiting for inspiration to strike. (Rather unfairly meaning that anybody working with me needs to be damn on the ball and able to work well and work quick.)

-I have gone to run workshops with nothing prepared and just improvised.

-I leave most of my life until the last possible minute and somehow seem to get away with it. It rarely crosses my mind that it wouldn't get done. Starting my A-Level English Language coursework at 02:00am on the day it was due it never crossed my mind that it wouldn't happen, because it does. It always does.

This isn't arrogance. I never really flaunt these facts and this attitude, it isn't very becoming. This really, honestly, sincerely isn't me saying 'Look how clever I am' because I'm really not. I often fear my IQ dips below double digits, so grand is my incompetence at life. Just the everyday aspects of life like conversation, being normal, paying attention, maintaining the social norms etc. These are just the facts. These are the reasons why I have been told, for as long as I can remember, that I am going to fail one day and that I shall deserve it.
One day I shall get a shock when I am fail at something for which I have not tried. (I would also like to impress upon you that I do try at things. I have occasionally been known to work very hard, for all the good it's done.)

What I have been riding on throughout my educational career thus far is not intelligence (L, O, and L), as opposed to luck. I rather imagine, taking the example of my English coursework, that I only did rather well because my teacher had never seen an episode of 'Doctor Who' in his life, not because of my skillful linguistic analysis. I like the imagine the staffroom conversation was something like:

"A: What's a Rutan?

B: I dunno, but they're at war with the Sontarans.

A: The what?

B: *shrugs shoulders* Apparently they were invented by Robert Holmes.

A: Is he an alien?

B: He's the writer!

A: *Confused face* Sod it, we'll give her an A"


But, rarely does effort (in my education) pay off. Looking now at the first term of my time at university. The things in which I did well were those for which I could have hardly put in less effort. In some cases the only way that I could have put less effort in would have been not to write the damn things. However, the module in which I put in the effort, I remained conscious and actually paid attention, took stuff in and did the reading; at that I failed miserably. I showed exactly zero improvement throughout the course of the term.
This is only the most recent of a lifetime of examples. If I try at something, rather if I have to try at something, I'm shit at it. And I'm rather fed up at being shit at the stuff that I like as opposed to the stuff I couldn't give a damn about.

This also appears to have gone off on something of a tangent. And has no real conclusion. One day I will crash and burn, the people in my life have happily and continually informed me of this. Statistics inform me of this, my luck has to run out. I can't live a life on chance.

There appears to be, somewhere within me, lord knows how it got there but it is deeply embedded, a sort of blasé faire mentality that I cannot seem to shake. It's probably immaturity, a sort of 'Fuck you!' way of seeing the world. You insult me, you fail me, I shall just become more introvert, less co-operative, less organised. If you must keep telling me that I am 'riding for a fall' then the childish part of my brain shall merely climb onto my metaphorical horse, place a blindfold over my eyes and thunder onward; because I can. It is yet to let me down.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

So, there you go. Those are two pools of thought taking up precious brain space that I thought I would share with... well, nobody.


There's an odd safety in posting all this here, because I know nobody reads it. Nobody gives a shit. It's rather liberating.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW.....

Let's have a show where a bunch of people who are dreaming of a stage career have to keep singing a song about dreaming. There's a producer somewhere who must be very pleased with himself I'm sure.

Every time I watch something like 'Over the Rainbow' or 'I'll Do Anything' I spend the entire time going "I could do that!"

I couldn't, but I can dream!

I think I have a very strange relationship with singing, in that I love it, I really genuinely do. More so than I'm capable of expressing with my stunted vocabulary. There's such a feeling of freedom, something intangible happens, which is a bugger because I like things to be both obvious and simple. Anything more will destroy my analysis-reliant way of seeing the world. And if I'm alone, with absolutely NO CHANCE OF BEING HEARD AT ALL WHATSOEVER! I can belt out a tune with the best of them (this is a lie, but that's how it feels). Of course, the second someone is within earshot I can't do it. This is pretty much because I'm very aware that in reality I'm not very good, however in my daydreams I am every major west end role. (And in my imagination, I am very, very good!)

But, I've sort of persevered with singing despite people telling me not to. I still rock up to sing out of tune at the odd choir. My nieces, who must be nice to me because I buy them stuff, have heard me sing almost every song I know, and getting them to sing, to see them genuinely loving it makes me really happy. Few folks have said 'Stop it Evans, you're hurting my ears' in so curt a sentence, (apart from one) but I'm well aware I'm clinging onto a... well, it can't even be described as a dying dream, it was never really alive. And it sucks! To want to be good at something and to suck so badly at something you love doing is a right pain up the arse.

[Just as an aside, I'm listening to an 'Awesome Show tunes'-esque album whilst writing this. Who is this Barbara Streisand.... like, whatever!]

I realise this is a really whiny post after months of nothing (I have no excuse, I am just lazy) but I suppose what really annoys me is that I'm not going to do anything to change the way things are. I'm the only person in the world that gives a damn whether or not I can sing, and I'm neither talented nor charismatic enough for anyone else to bother (I'm doubting anybody would have made it this far through this blog post). I'm not going to get singing lessons because I'm too self conscious, (and probably couldn't afford them), and, as the saying goes, you can't polish a turd. (I hate that phrase! But cannot think of a better way to word it!)

So, back to singing in the shower and quietly hating all the people I meet who actually have talent. I don't care how nice they are, if you can sing and I can't, you are on my hit list.

¬_¬

NORTHERN SNOW > SOUTHERN SNOW

THE MISSION: BUILD NEW AGENT, CONSISTING ENTIRELY OF FROZEN H2O

AGENTS: SECRET AGENTS KATFLAP AND JAMMY DODGER

TIME: EIGHTEEN HUNDRED HOURS

VISUAL AID: CAMERA BROKEN, OLD VISUALS USED TO PROVIDE EXAMPLES OF PREVIOUS WORK

ACTIONS: Sadly it must be reported that much snow was lost before the mission could take place due to a snowball fight. However, the agents struggled on despite the cold, cold snow. It has been observed that Agent Jammy Dodger has very much gained her father's tendency to complain about every little thing ("Auntie Kat... this snow doesn't work!" Come on now child. How hard is it to roll a snowball?). Agent Katflap was also observed muttering obscenities at the snow (thankfully out of the hearing of Agent Jammy Dodger) that the snow was particularly hard to roll.
At this point again the two agents descended into an altercation involving much throwing of snow. I would not recommend these agents for serious action.

Eventually the snow had been collated into three spheres, which were then stacked one atop of the other. After this there was a manic hunt for a necessary implement in their new agent, however, once found the carrot was place within the head to form the nasal passage of new agent. Adequate twigs were discovered and delicately placed to form limbs, and stones for visual and vocal purposes.
Also, the stones were rather superfluously placed to form buttons on none existent clothes. It is recommended that before the next snowfall these agents undergo basic accessorising training.
A hat and a scarf later the new agent is complete. Upon what appeared to be a fairly strenuous thought process, Agent Jammy Dodger named him 'Snow'. A hot chocolate later, with 'The Muppet Christmas Carol' playing on the new HD piece of televisual equipment within Agent Katflap's home, both agents fell into a slumber.

MISSION EVALUATION: Lots and lots of fun! =D

THIS IS NOT A PIPE

Last day of work today! Handed in all my essays, all my performances for this year have been performed, and my very last lecture is long gone. Woo!
In our last lecture we had to discuss the piece of theatre we had made and things that we had learnt and discovered about creating theatre that we had not previously known. The play we made was, well, not brilliant (though, admittedly, it's allowed to be a bit rubbish, only a first year!) and Dan was trying to describe how we wanted the piece to not be in your face, but rather to resonate, and this got me thinking.
I've been doing far too much thinking recently, for Christmas I shall allow my brain a day off, it never comes up with any good stuff anyway.

In my opinion (I'm aware that I'm not really educated enough to have an opinion to hold any weight, and that none of this will be original, but bear with me) there are basically three different types of theatre. There's theatre for escapism and entertainment, that's purely there to make you happy and therefore the happiness will last for as long as the show plus however long you can remember it/until someone spills coffee on you on the tube. There's theatre that is very much in your face and yelling at you 'THIS IS AN ISSUE! DO SOMETHING!' that again only lasts as long as you are in the experience. And then there's the theatre (which we were aiming for) that relies upon a sort of aftershock effect. This idea that, when watching the play, there's perhaps not as big a response as one would expect, but something about it just sticks. There's something about it that makes you think, perhaps something would be said or seen in life that relates to an image or a line in the play, and that sets you thinking, and only once that process has been set in motion do you fully appreciate the play and what was done and said. I think that that type of theatre often sticks with you for longer. Not that I'm saying any type is better or worse than the other, it's just what I think.

The best example I can think of to try and explain my aftershock theory is a painting by Rene Magritte of a pipe (a smoker's pipe, not a lead one in the study with Professor Plum) and underneath it written 'Ceci n'est pas une pipe', 'This is not a pipe'. I love this painting partially because it's not a painting you have to study, it's a little pocket painting that you can look at, not making much of an impact it must be said, remember and take away. It's not like a Dali piece which you spend ages peering at and studying and finding all the glorious intricacies of it, you just have to remember how it looks.
The first time I saw this painting I was only about fourteen and my first reaction was very much 'Of course it's a pipe, weirdo' and I never thought much of it afterwards. Until it was brought up in an episode of 'Boston Legal' where a girl who couldn't smile painted herself looking glum and captioned it 'The Smiling Girl' saying how Magritte had inspired it. I then thought of the painting, I saw it as something very different, now it was something hypocritical, it made hypocrites of the viewers as it tricked you into objecting when you didn't know the story.
The next time I had call to recollect this painting was during our a-level devised piece which was based on the stimulus of 'dreams'. This time when I thought of this pipe that is not a pipe I saw it as something of an hallucination, an 'is this a dagger I see before me' type image. And during this blog post thinking about the painting that I love I've realised that I now see it as a painting that keeps secrets. It knows something that we do not and we will never know (I ought point out that I've never seen or read anything by the artist talking about the painting, I don't want to).

I like to think I can keep track of my mental maturity with how I see this painting. But it does sort of link with the point that I was trying to make, if not in a very rambly and long winded way, sorry. I'm not sure who will still be reading this far (I'm not sure who will actually be reading this at all). I also realise how incredibly geeky I sound discussing my opinion on art... sorry.
I tried to defend my non-geekiness and somehow managed to share the fact that I am in possession of a chess board where all the pieces are shots glasses, so that when you capture a piece you down the shot. It's great! Possibly some of the finest chess I have ever played.

ALSO...

Sorry, two posts in such a short time is quite ridiculous, but I feel the need to say
I really miss Shakespeare!! None of the work we've done thus far is Shakespeare, and I'm really sad. It's just because when I went walking yesterday (I have a tendency to stage plays in my head as I walk) I started directing a version of 'Macbeth' and got really enthusiastic about it, and realised just how much I missed working with that William bloke. (I realise loads of people hate Shakespeare, but I read (and SAW them! SAW!!! They're plays! You're supposed to watch them! They make so much more sense when read aloud, honest!) it before I was old enough to be cynical, and genuinely love the good plays (not the shit ones he wrote, and he wrote some) and read them of my own volition instead of having a bored teacher talk at a bored class.)

..... I should get to work now. Essays to write.