Alastair Whatley: June 5th -June 22nd

June 17th
Dress Run
Bracknell

After three consequetive years solely concerned with outdoor theatre, the company this year has set its sights on combining its outdoor tour in June with a 3 month indoor tour running until November. And so on the 5th June, The company returned to its creative base in the gorgeous surrounds of South Hill Park Arts Centre for the first day of rehearsals, this would be the first 2 rehearsal weeks of a total of 5 scattered into three sections. 2 weeks in June to get the show up on its feet, followed by another one in early June to re rehearse the show for The Southwark Playhouse and then finally another 2 weeks in late August preparing the show for its Autumn tour. So we would all become very well acquainted with the old Georgian mansion and its assorted rooms and theatres.

The Park is a total surprise, Bracknell is filled with many large corporate businesses who share their headquarters with a town centre contructed entirely of concrete, all in all, I think I'm not going out on a limb by desribing Bracknell as being a little beastly. However, just a mile outside of the town centre lies the art centre in positive cornocopary of greenery. A georgian mansion that springs out of this concrete oasis is a wonderful surprise for new visitors to Bracknell, opened as the first UK arts Centre in the 70's, it is filled with fantastic natural light and a pool of fantastic creative people who assemble themselves in a various office spaces all over the building.

The problem, and the unique selling point of the arts centre is its location, a problem for us because getting actors and audience to come from London is always a headache, but a wonderful selling point in the service that this arts centre provides to the local community. The place is always buzzing with events, theatre, exhibitions, classes and music events and is a centre that is both used and appreciated by the local community in Bracknell and surrounding areas. By housing the actors in digs locally we saved on the 2hr commute, and were able to convert that time into rehearsals. It is a fantastic resource, and one that gave our show a great foundation.

Two weeks whizzed by in a flurry of activity and before we could blink we staged our dress run
to assembled production staff (and our lovely landlady Hilary over), our rather jaded cast and crew managed to achieve the rather splendid feat of fitting all our set and costume (which includes squeezing a large heavy altar, five antique pews, an organ, large windows and all the technical gear) into our rather small transit van.

So at about midnight, with Fiona our valiant Costume Designer left manically sowing up the last of the costumes ready for our morning departure, we left a very exciting rehearsal period behind us and prepared for our first night and journey down to Plymouth. I love this time in a productions life, I could just walk around the house and ground of The Arts Centre and every where, there would be someone like Fiona battling against the clock to get the show out in the best possible shape. All these people, working with so much passion and dedication- creating a piece of theatre. From Victoria, our set designer making last minute changes to the set in the scene dock, or the cast warming up in the gardens to Matt, our behatted sound engineer, putting the last edit together, his gazebo office literally coming down around his ears, leaving him and his computer alone in the darkness. All these disparate elements coming together always generates a bigger buzz than any review ever could manage, its why we do it, and when done with love and care it all makes it worthwhile.

‘Exciting’ is a word perhaps used too freely in the theatrical world, everything from your doublet and hose Shakespeare to one man fringe show with dog has the word attached to it. So I am always wary of using it, but in this case I think describing our rehearsal period as exciting is for once justified. I won’t speak for the rest of the cast, but as the director, it is rare to find a cast who bond quickly and are able to work with great ferocity without it descending into increasingly acrimonious disputes. It is a dangerous and scary time for an actor, at their most vulnerable, without the assurance of lines being learnt, or indeed the assurance of whether they themselves, their colleagues or the whole production will be any good, it is naturally a time when emotions run high both on and off stage. The danger is that this emotion gets channelled in the wrong way and the bulk of rehearsal time is spent on soothing egos and placating people rather than focussing on the play in hand. Not so the case with these guys.

We only had two weeks to get the show on, which combined with ‘school outings’ to a school in Dorset, a day of ‘paintballing’ in the woods outside Basingstoke it all added up to a frenetic few days that could have gone horribly wrong. Fortunately the cast clicked, the play tripped of our tongues and by the 17th June, we managed a perfectly passable dress run that had our co-producers at South Hill Park ‘excited’ and our cast and crew ready to take on the first few weeks.

18th -19th June,
Plymouth

This was our fourth consecutive year visiting and performing at Kitley House Hotel just outside Plymouth. Owned once by the wonderfully titled ‘Bastard’ family, it has a suitably austere frontage and is reached by a long and bumpy road taking you right out into what feels like the middle of nowhere. We arrived this year in the rain, the clouds louring above our heads and the prospect of a very wet and miserable opening in their picturesque fountain garden. Yet to our relief the decision had already been made to stage the show in the library within the house. Which meant we didn’t get wet, audience stayed dry...and...the set wouldn’t fit in the room... it was a space that was at least half the size we had ever rehearsed, thus needing dramatic changes to our blocking and the need to light the show...with outdoor floodlights...as the van arrived a further problem emanated in the fact that Gemma our Stage Manager was having severe trouble in getting the sound computer to work. So all in all not the ideal opening. However, I was pleased that the cast and crew just got on with it, I had tried to prepare them for the need to be flexible with the show, especially in its outdoor incarnation, and to their credit we soon cut down our set to the barest minimum, reworked the fights, gemma fixed the sound (it transpired that she had plugged a wire into itself...!) and promptly set to with the lighting; so by the time we sat down to our first meal at 5pm everything was on schedule, and everyone happy. Apart from me- who had arrived to be given a lovely suite on the ground floor, which was absolutely delightful- until everyone else realised that the door from my bathroom led directly onto the evening’s stage in the library- making it the perfect dressing room! So lovely suite soon became lovely green room. Ah well.

The show goes up on time and marring a total blackout mid way through the Tybalt/Romeo fight scene it all goes off without a hitch, a few elements clearly not working at this stage and characters and story not as strong as they need to be, but generally the show is in fine shape for an opening night under difficult conditions and the cast relish the intimate playing space which bodes well for our run in Southwark in July. We retire to the bar for drinks, and more drinks and Tommy the bar man stays with us stoically until the early hours when one of the cast members who shall remain nameless... (Hackney) excels himself by chewing the ear of Sharon one of stage crew, dancing manically on anyone he can find before promptly retiring having first orally expelled all he just consumed, we joke that this is the Mr Hyde that will unleash itself on us as the tour progresses- the cast member concerned had taken a vow of abstinence for the duration of the rehearsal process, which whilst not always strictly adhered had certainly kept his Mr Hyde at bay! The remainder celebrate slightly more quietly, drinking local ales and ciders and mulling over the events of the past few weeks. A good night and a job well done.

The next day we head off to the Dorset coast just 20 minutes from our hotel, a madcap game of beach rounder’s is played before a few of the more daring among us plunge into the sea for a swim. Hogben heads off to a quiet space to contemplate his poetry book- his inner Romeo never far from the surface these days, Donnelly braves the sea in his boxer shorts and then nearly exposes himself to all and sundry, Gilbert and Hackney take a turn around the sea front and watch as Gemma, Donnelly and I swim like loons in the choppy, icy cold sea. But the sea air is a tonic, and as we play and frolic, the stresses and strains of the past few weeks fade to distant memories.

The evening performance is not brilliant, classic second night syndrome with lots of little errors creeping in. All this is not helped by a particularly unfortunate ‘corpse’ by Mr Donnelly. Corpsing can be wonderful, a moment when actor and audience alike get to share a moment of illicit naughty school boy sniggering- it is highly contagious and can be caused by the smallest trifle, and when contained and at the place can create a dangerous and electric atmosphere. Sadly the ‘pronging’ noise made by Gilbert as he jumped through the pew catching one of our metal clips made him look akin to a telly tubby and aided by the comic sound effect soon had poor Donnelly in stitches. The problem was that this was at the climax of the first half, and at a crucial moment for audience and actors alike and a corpse here just proved very distracting. This is not to blame Donnelly in the least (well thats not strictly true...) its something that is very hard to contain, but caught up in the moment and annoyed by all the mistakes that had crept in I promptly marched round to the dressing room in the interval and perhaps unfairly reminded them of everything they already knew, and poor Donnelly’s sorrowful face as I castigated him for his illicit laughing will long stay with me. I was soon jettisoned out by Stage Management and left the rue my actions in the bar. Fortunately the cast picked up the momentum and the second half was much better. But I made a mental note to stay away from the dressing room in the interval unless I had something good and useful to say.

It can be hard being a director, sitting at the back powerless but totally responsible for all that is happening on the stage can be a beastly experience. When the audience are in stitches or hanging on every word it is wonderful, when they are sat in stony silence as a scene of high comedy falls around its ears it is unbearable. As the run went on I took to plonking myself as far back as possible, it means my note taking can be done at a distant not disturbing either the actors or audience and that I am removed from the experience. I know of some directors who can never watch the show in front of an audience, they leave at curtain up and return as the curtain falls and leave it at that. But from my point of view- hard as it can be, it is surely absolutely necessary? It is only with an audience that you gauge the success of a scene or indeed the production. We have 6 months ahead of us and a long way to go, theatre is not film, where once finished a cut can stay static on celluloid for eternity. What makes the theatre experience so special is its constantly mutating landscape; no night is ever the same. Each audience behaves in an entirely different manner. One night the show is biggest hit in town and the next a big disappointment, and yet it is the same show, same actors observed by a different audience. But already we are all finding new ideas and different intentions for scenes and characters, new lines emerge in front of audience, and the actors all truly come to life when they have an audience laughing with them and crying with them. It is a unique shared experience, never again replicated and personally for me holds a certain magic. So as much as it hurts and bruises me to watch an audience watching my show, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

20th-21st June
Overton, nr Basingstoke

Way back in January I had a meeting with Hilary and her committee who form up an area committee of a great Children’s charity called The Children’s Society. The ladies are such characters and the lunch could have been made into a wonderful Ayckbourn sketch. Over coronation chicken they squabbled and argued with wonderful wit and charm and by the time the cream cakes arrived for dessert we were on board and a date set for Midsummer Day, when the rain would surely stay away.

Naturally I couldn’t have been more wrong! We arrived on the Friday night to dark skies, and these were to continue until just after the show came down! We were all put into digs with committee members very near to Hilary’s marvellous house where the show was being held the following day to a sold out audience, already jealous of Craig and the Stage Management team who had the luxury of Hilary’s house complete with snooker room, I was delighted and relieved to be staying with the Foot family ...with Hackney. I knew the Foot’s through Charlie their son who I taught briefly when I worked at Sherborne School, Charlie had played Sir Toby Belch in a belting production of Twelfth Night which is how we were put in contact with the Children’s society in the first place. So we arrived, and to our delight found a delightful farmhouse complete with swimming pool and tennis court. Despite the cold we jumped in and thrashed around for a bit before walking through the woods into the village for a meal in the local gastro pub.

The meal was a delight, paying and splitting the bill a 40 minute nightmare, but the walk back was absolutely petrifying. Hackney, Charlie Foot and I on saying goodbye to Donnelly who had the fortunate excuse of living on a road replete with street lighting, leavbing the three of us to plunge into absolute blackness and navigate our way through a very creepy and dark wood. Without the luxury of light- natural or artificial -Hackney and I resorted to some Shakespearean recitations. So as poor Charlie led the way he was forced to contend with the entire length of the Chorus’ part from Henry V performed in tandem by two theatricals slightly the worse for wear. As the chorus reported the treaty of Troyes we ourselves found a treat in the form of the flickering lights of Charlie’s farmhouse which welcomed us with open arms, sleep came swiftly to us all.

Sport played a key role in the early part of our rehearsals, with excursions to play badminton, table tennis, running with the local running team, rounders etc. The aim was to build up a group identity and forge bonds outside the rehearsal room walls. And I think on the whole it worked well, obviously with only two weeks and 12 hour days the time and will to play a football match verges on the non existence. Often the boys would be exhausted after a day on their feet, but I would be straining on the leash to get into the swimming pool or onto the tennis courts. Matters weren’t helped by the arrival of ‘the claw’.

‘The Claw’ was the unfortunate name given to my left hand by Hogben after it was put in a cast mid way through rehearsals. The actual accident happened a good few weeks before this whilst we were paintballing. Now Paintballing fell into the ‘team bonding’ category of rehearsal, but it also broke the director, which was unfortunate. The incident that caused ‘The Claw’ was on about our third game which involved the holding and taking of a bridge. Nominated for my speedy running and fuelled with the adrenaline of youth I dashed full pelt at the bridge gun held aloft in a flurry of testosterone. And whilst it lasted it was good, the problem was it lasted for all of the few seconds it took me to reach the bridge, upon arrival of the bridge my trainers took an instant dislike to its flooring and decided to let me experience it for myself, and so I slipped at full pace and crashed downwards at quite some speed whilst the rest of the team including Donnelly and Hogben included shot past laughing. I hasten to say their smugness was short lived as I shot Hogben in the back and Donnelly was soon put of action as well. This will be a surprise to them as I have yet to own up to this piece of treachery, but the pain was sizeable and a weight of shame stood heavy on my aching shoulders.

I was later informed that ‘The Claw’ was caused by the snapping of a tendon with such force that the shattered tendon smashed into one of the bones on my left hand causing a bit of the bone to fracture. Yet I carried on regardless the adrenaline still pumping and was only finally put out of action when the crazy girl on the opposing team shot me in a very unfortunate place in front of all the world, leaving me to crawl back to the base in agony. A week later the hand was in plaster, and not just the hand but the bulk of my entire arm. Deciding, maybe slightly foolishly in retrospect, that the claw was not deserving of so much plaster it was soon cut off in the kitchen of my landlord much to his distress especially when he noted the state of his kitchen knifes the next morning.

Which in a round about sort of way leads me to waking up in the farmhouse in Overton, a tennis racket thrust into my hands and blinking like a baby mole in headlights was soon weaning my way onto the tennis court to play a game of tennis with Mr Foot and his three male companions whose names all escape me, although there was a Rod I believe. Now I am a fine sportsman, but Tennis might not be one of my greatest strengths, the warm up soon proved that I was well out of my depth as I managed to knock ball after ball out of the court into the long grass. Things went from bad to worse as we started the match itself. I was noticeably so much worse than my compatriots in racquets that they soon started exchanging looks, which upon witnessing my dolly drop serve changed to the exchanging of words which much to my relief soon changed again into the making of jokes at my expense. This to me was a good sign as it suggested that they had come to the conclusion that I had successfully ruined their tennis match and that they had come to terms with this and could accept me and my dolly drops in good heart. I successfully allowed my partner to lose the game in straight sets and I retired with Hackney to Hilary’s house to take stock of the clouds which were already spitting delicate spits of rain as far as the eye could see.

Now the show was for charity, but the set had to keep until November...and the rain was looking increasingly ominous, fortunately enough Hilary is not a lady one would like to cross , a modern day Mrs Rafi she encouraged us to forge ahead and so in the rain we set up camp and promptly took refuge in the snooker room.

The ladies on the committee had organised a lovely early supper for us served by Hilary’s delightful housekeeper who was determined that we had everything we need. The coronation chicken was wolfed down with much appreciation, although pudding was to be kept until after. This posed a problem to the food obsessive Hackney who could feel his belly rumbling for dessert and so sneaked round to confront the benign dear old lady who was serving us. However this soon proved beyond him and he soon reappeared from the kitchen having got cold feet, Hackney is incidentally one of the politest young men we have had work for us, he is also one of the most eccentric, fortunately the pudding miraculously appeared. Hackney’s stomach breathed a sigh of relief as it was stuffed with a deluge of cream and fruit and cake and as the rain began to beat down and the audience set up their picnics the actors prepared for a rather cold evening under the grey skies of Overton.

The rain held out for precisely the amount of time it took for us to get to the first line of the play, and so the umbrellas and macs soon made their first appearance of the evening. The English do picnics in the rain very well and all the audience had come fulsomely prepared for the rain and from the technical gazebo Gemma and I looked down upon a sea of multicoloured umbrellas sprawling down to the lake behnd us. With our largest audience of the tour so far at just over 250, and without a rake on either the stage or seating, it naurally meant sightlines for those at the back were less than satisfactory and further more audibility amidst the pounding rain became a problem. However the actors strode ahead and as the show veered into tragedy the weather came into its own and really helped set the scene for the unfolding drama, we were encouraged that the interval had not seen the customary exodus to escape the weather but rather the intrepid bunch had returned en masse to see the play out to its heartbreaking climax.

The only hiccup came midway through the final balcony scene as Romeo and Juliet leave each other for the very last time, a huge ‘cracking’ noise emanated from the gazebo drawing everyone’s attention dramatically away from the action on stage towards the ungainly sight of the director legs akimbo amidst the ruins of the box on which he had been sitting, smiling inanely and quite uselessly in a futile attempt to pretend that nothing untoward had happened. After the fuss made about Donnelly’s corpsing it wasn’t necessarily the best thing I could have done to help the evening, but at least I feel I made a contribution.

The audience cheered and rapidly departed leaving the assembled cast and crew including Hubert our work experience lad who would be joining us later in July for a 3 week run, to do the get out amidst the continued rain. Finally at just before midnight we stumbled quite exhausted back into Hilary’s kitchen for wine and cheese followed by a hasty retreat to bed.