Sunday, November 06, 2011
TREE OF KNOWLEDGE GOES INTO REHEARSALS
It's a solemn kind of occasion, going into rehearsal.
I never quite know what's going to happen. I want my contributions to be supportive and helpful, if they can be. Because life is so short and there's quite enough suffering in it without adding more.
It makes me blush to think how terrible I was when I first began. I didn't know what to do. But then no-one had told me. There was really no information about it at all. So I sat in the rehearsal room - which actually was the stage of the old Traverse, on the set of Chris Hannan's "Elizabeth Gordon Quinn" - sat there not knowing what to do and feeling miserable.
I hated the sound of my play, and consequently spent a lot of time with my head in my hands. Which the actors took to mean that I hated what they were doing.
Which I didn't.
And then if they ever asked me what such a such a line was for, I'd say "I don't know".
Because I didn't.
None of this was very helpful. Afterwards I learnt to glue a smile onto my face, even if it was false, and even when I didn't know what a line was doing somewhere, I'd always make something up.
Because that made everyone feel better. Including me.
But generally there's no need to fake a smile these days. I love working with actors; and I learn so much.
And directors, too, I add hastily, and designers and stage managers and musicians and lighting designers and everyone involved.
My words are about to transform. Can't wait to see what happens.
I never quite know what's going to happen. I want my contributions to be supportive and helpful, if they can be. Because life is so short and there's quite enough suffering in it without adding more.
It makes me blush to think how terrible I was when I first began. I didn't know what to do. But then no-one had told me. There was really no information about it at all. So I sat in the rehearsal room - which actually was the stage of the old Traverse, on the set of Chris Hannan's "Elizabeth Gordon Quinn" - sat there not knowing what to do and feeling miserable.
I hated the sound of my play, and consequently spent a lot of time with my head in my hands. Which the actors took to mean that I hated what they were doing.
Which I didn't.
And then if they ever asked me what such a such a line was for, I'd say "I don't know".
Because I didn't.
None of this was very helpful. Afterwards I learnt to glue a smile onto my face, even if it was false, and even when I didn't know what a line was doing somewhere, I'd always make something up.
Because that made everyone feel better. Including me.
But generally there's no need to fake a smile these days. I love working with actors; and I learn so much.
And directors, too, I add hastily, and designers and stage managers and musicians and lighting designers and everyone involved.
My words are about to transform. Can't wait to see what happens.
Labels: rehearsals, tree of knowledge
Sunday, July 17, 2011
THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE BEGINS TO TAKE LIFE
On Friday I heard the words of THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE for the first time.
Ben Harrison, the director, had arranged for us to meet a lovely woman actor who could play the part of Eve.
I don’t normally get involved in casting , it’s difficult and painful and I hate the necessity to turn people down, but I go along largely because it would be a way of strengthening my communication with Ben.
I can't pretend this was a glamourous occasion. We meet in the Traverse, and do the reading in one of the subterranean dressing rooms. They are deep down underground and smell of drains.
The actor is on her way to perform in St. Andrews. She’s only had the time to read the script on the train.
There's the underlying awkwardness you get at any job interview, too, though we all do our best to overcome it.
But she’s the first actor to look at the script - and scripts are written for actors first and above all, not for the audience - and this makes it a real occasion for me.
I am beginning to weary of the process of writing scripts in isolation. The tension of it makes me a bit ill these days, and I forget why I love the theatre.
Forget there is such a joy in giving a script over, like a present, for an actor to exercise her skills on it. And such pleasure in seeing a script transform as it’s spoken by someone like her: skilled, intelligent, sensitive, and with a lovely presence to her.
Suddenly I begin to learn what the script is about. I begin to understand how it can work.
And I am reminded why it’s such a joy to write for the theatre.
Ben Harrison, the director, had arranged for us to meet a lovely woman actor who could play the part of Eve.
I don’t normally get involved in casting , it’s difficult and painful and I hate the necessity to turn people down, but I go along largely because it would be a way of strengthening my communication with Ben.
I can't pretend this was a glamourous occasion. We meet in the Traverse, and do the reading in one of the subterranean dressing rooms. They are deep down underground and smell of drains.
The actor is on her way to perform in St. Andrews. She’s only had the time to read the script on the train.
There's the underlying awkwardness you get at any job interview, too, though we all do our best to overcome it.
But she’s the first actor to look at the script - and scripts are written for actors first and above all, not for the audience - and this makes it a real occasion for me.
I am beginning to weary of the process of writing scripts in isolation. The tension of it makes me a bit ill these days, and I forget why I love the theatre.
Forget there is such a joy in giving a script over, like a present, for an actor to exercise her skills on it. And such pleasure in seeing a script transform as it’s spoken by someone like her: skilled, intelligent, sensitive, and with a lovely presence to her.
Suddenly I begin to learn what the script is about. I begin to understand how it can work.
And I am reminded why it’s such a joy to write for the theatre.
Labels: joy, theatre, tree of knowledge
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