[Tom and Karen, husband and wife both in their mid-forties, are sitting across from one another at a small table in a busy restaurant.]
Tom: This is nice isn’t it? Karen: It is nice. Tom: We don’t do stuff like this anymore. Karen: No and I really think we should. Tom: We should. Karen: Although to tell you the truth I don’t much like waiting for the food. Tom: It’s busy tonight. Karen: But really. Steak and a few vegetables. I could’ve gone in there and made it myself in this time. Tom: But you’re not cooking for yourself tonight. I’ve taken you out which means someone else will cook for you. Karen: Yes I know. Tom: I suppose I could’ve cooked for you. Karen: Oh no. Tom: No? Karen: No I want to enjoy myself. Tom: And are you enjoying it tonight? Karen: I am… I really think I am. Tom: Good. [They sit a little, looking around at all the other couples who are mostly a lot younger and all chatting away enthusiastically.] Karen: Are we past it Tom? Tom: What? Karen: Well I mean… are we too old for this? Tom: Too old to go to a restaurant? Karen: Too old for a date. Too old for Valentine’s. Tom: Now look here. I know you don’t like Valentine’s. Every year you make it quite clear, ‘no cards, and ‘no flowers.’ So over the years I have completely forgotten what day Valentine’s even is. Then I thought, well this weekend we’ll go out. I’ll take out my wife for dinner. And what do you know… I booked the table on Valentine’s Day. They had a cancellation see. Karen: Poor dears. Tom: Who? Karen: The people who cancelled. Do you think they broke it off? Tom: I don’t know. All the guy on the phone said was that they’d had a cancellation on Sunday and that was their only free table all weekend. Funny I thought, going out for dinner on a Sunday. But still, I wanted to treat you. It was only when he started asking about set menus and complimentary bubbles that the penny finally clicked. Karen: I was lying all those years you know? Tom: Hm? Beat Karen: About not wanting cards. I was lying. I always wanted cards… and flowers, and chocolates. Tom: You don’t like chocolate. Karen: I only say that because I have to watch my figure. You know I bloat easy. Tom: Do you? Karen: Yes. Tom: Never noticed. Karen: Well anyway. I was lying. Tom: Why? Karen: It’s just what you do. You say, ‘no don’t worry yourself, it’s a silly day really,’ but actually you do want love and attention. We all want to be cherished. Tom: I do cherish you. Karen: You don’t though… not enough…. Not anymore. Tom: I will then. Karen: What? Tom: I’ll cherish you more. Karen: Only because I asked you to. How pathetic. Tom: Me or you? … no anyway that’s not the point. It’s not that you asked me, it’s just that you’ve made your emotions clear and now, I am reacting. I am responding. Karen: I don’t even think I want you to cherish me anyway. Tom: …okay? Karen: I don’t think I want us to be together anymore. Tom: You mean…? Karen: Yes I mean we… Tom: Part ways? Karen: Divorce. Officially. Tom: What does officially mean? Karen: We’ve been divorced emotionally for years. But not legally. That’s what officially means. Tom: But it’s Valentine’s Day. We can’t get divorced on Valentine’s Day. Karen: I think it’s the perfect day. Because the only thing worse than being alone today is being with someone whom you loathe. Tom: You loathe me? Karen: I loathe you. Tom: You were supposed to say you love me. Blackout
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[Alex, a singer-songwriter in his early twenties, sits on a stool practising on a guitar. Ali, a singer of the same age enters]
Ali: working on something new? Alex: no, don’t you recognise it? Ali: no. sing it again? Alex: [sings] “There are cherry trees in the middle of this town, Void, bereft of bloom, And said all the men that lived in this town, A cherry will blossom there soon Ali: [joining in] “But snows fell down on a summer’s day, Withering the roots, No flower did shoot, though try it may, Nor would there given up fruits.” Alex: see you remember the words and everything. Ali: I loved that song. Alex: I loved writing it. Ali: we should put it in tonight. Alex: sure. Ali: why not? Alex: I don’t think anyone else will get it. They don’t like verses. The people who come into a place like this are generally chorus type people. Ali: Just one song. Just one good song amongst all the regular dross. Alex: I said they like choruses, I hope none of our songs are dross. Ali: you know what I mean though. Alex: I don’t want to put Cherry Trees in. Ali: why not? Alex: I’ve moved on since I wrote that. It needs work. Ali: I like it the way it was. Alex: I don’t Ali: don’t do yourself down. Alex: I’m not, I’m just saying how I feel about it. Ali: let’s ask Josh. Alex: well he won’t like it will he? Ali: why? Alex: well he likes choruses too. And there’s no drum part. Ali: he can write one. Alex: it’s not really a drum part kind of song. [Josh enters] Ali: here he is. Josh: what? Ali: what do you think…? Alex: don’t worry mate, she’s just having a moment. Josh: oh. Ali: what do you think about putting Cherry Trees in the set tonight? Josh: Cherry who? Alex: See, he doesn’t even remember it without a chorus. Just like the crowd. Let’s rehearse, we don’t have long. Josh: oh your Cherry Trees? Ali: yes! See he does remember. Alex: Great, well shall we get down to it. Only an hour till they start coming in and we haven’t run a track yet. Josh: Yeah, we should put Cherry Trees in. Alex: what? Josh: I used to love that song. Alex: what all eleven minutes of it? Josh: you could cut a few versus for sure, but yeah I used to love it. Let’s put it in near the end. We’ll have them by then so they’ll go with us I’m sure of it. Ali: see. Alex: there’s no drum part though. Josh: doesn’t bother me mate… unless you want me to write one. Coz I’m totally cool with that [vocal percussion] bomb bomb bomb te-kat te-kat. Alex: no, no. The song’s fine without drums but… Ali: I can put some harmonies in. And you can lead. Draw them in with the sound. The open, natural sound. We should, you know we should put it in. Alex: I don’t want to. Ali: why? Josh: yeah why? Alex: I’m not ready. Josh: for what? Alex: to put my music out there again. Ali: why? Alex: it’s hard you know. Playing someone else’s music is one thing. It’s all about performance. But playing your own is so much more honest. Ali: you don’t want to be honest? Alex: being honest is hard for some of us. It’s too revealing. Josh: but you used to play it for us all the time. Alex: you’re my friends. I can be honest with you. But them out there. No. Ali: okay then. Let’s perform. Josh: other people’s songs. Alex: dishonestly. Josh: not exactly dishonest, just. Alex: less honest. Ali: behind a mask. Josh: are you wearing masks now? Are you both going to wear masks? No fair, I want a mask. Ali: pathological masks. Alex: erm… Psychological. Ali: that’s what I said. Josh: so let’s perform. Blackout [Two poets, they may be male or female and any adult age, sit at a bar waiting for drinks. The bar tender, a young man, attends on them.]
Poet One: What did you think of the news? Poet Two: news? I didn’t come here to talk about news. I thought we were drinking. Poet One: We’ve had two already. Poet Two: So we’re warming up. Poet One: I don’t think I can stomach another. Poet Two: have something else then. Excuse us bar keep! I’ll have another dry martini… and you’ll have? Poet One: I really don’t… Poet Two: and a double Jameson for my friend here. Bar Tender: Coming up. Poet One: a double? Poet Two: a single isn’t worth the money. Poet One: I don’t even like Whiskey. Poet Two: then you should have said what you did like. Poet One: but I didn’t want a drink. Bar Tender: Ice with the Jameson? Poet Two: sure. Poet One: do I want ice? Poet Two: “My love is like to Ice” Poet One: I don’t need any information about your love life. Not after last time. Poet Two: look, I don’t see any of the old crowd anymore. These nights between us are the only fun I have all week. Let me enjoy it. Bar Tender: [bringing over drinks] here you go. Poet Two: thank you. Keep it on the tab. Bar Tender: of course. Poet One: [sipping the drink] oh…. Oh no I do like Whiskey. What is it I don’t like? Poet Two: Sex… you don’t like sex. Poet One: how would you… Poet Two: well I think you like sex in principle, but it’s the fucking you find unpleasant. Poet One: we’ve never even… Poet Two: I learned it for myself… I read your book. Poet One: which one? Poet Two: the last one…. The… what was it? The one about plums. Poet One: “Plums might be the only fruit?” Poet Two: Yeah that’s it. Poet One: and how does that relate to my sex life? Poet Two: all that stuff about rotting purple flesh and… “De-stoning with a look.” It’s obvious. Poet One: Is it? Poet Two: yeah. I know you think your poems are all about nature and wild-life and… what was it you said in the Financial Times? Poet One: oh… “Cezanne did to the canvas what I am doing to the page.” Poet Two: That’s it! Poet One: pretentious really. Poet Two: but at the end of the day. All poems are about sex. Poet One: really? Poet Two: Sure. Songs are about love and sorrow, Odes and epics are about heroes, Novels are about community, Plays are about relationships and Poems are about sex. And you can see why. Even those less prudent of us can never really say what we think about the act of sex, so we express it in the form which allows us to hide behind artifice and imagery. Poet One: Your poems are all about sex, but I don’t think you really hide behind anything. Poet Two: aha? Poet One: “destiny extends from between my legs, To prod, perchance to dream…” Doesn’t leave much to the imagination does it? Poet Two: no you’re wrong. It’s all in the imagination. So I’m talking about a cock. But cocks can’t dream can they? It’s all about what you take from it. Poet One: so what do you take from my poem? Poet Two: You think that passion and eroticism are for teenagers and drug addicts… and that once the sexual awakening has paced, all your bits shrivel up and rot, because you no longer need them. And that feeling is why you don’t like having sex. You think you might look down and see a rotting prune where a plum used to be. Poet One: it’s funny. All the old ladies who bought that book just thought it was about a bowl of fruit…. That’s poetry I suppose. Poet Two: That’s marketing. Bar Tender: Last orders. Blackout. [Jules, a heavily pregnant middle aged woman is walking slowly up a narrow garden path. Tony, her twenty year old son, waits in a garden chair, smoking. It is late at night]
Jules: you’re here then. Tony: where else would I be? Jules: you were supposed to pick me up tonight. Tony: I’d had a drink. I didn’t think it safe to drive. Jules: no of course. You could have phoned me though. Told me. Tony: I thought one of the other women would drive you. Jules: they were all gone before I realised you weren’t coming. I assured them you would be there. Tony: that’s really more your fault than mine. Jules: okay Anthony, I’ve had a long night so let’s not fight now. Tony: who said anything about fighting? Jules: so have you thought anymore about what we discussed this morning? Tony: I thought about it. Jules: any conclusions? Tony: I just don’t know what good it’ll do. Jules: well like I said. It might mature you. It bring the two of you closer together. Tony: do we even need to be closer? Jules: well I think… and this is only my opinion… but I think it has reached the time where you either get closer or you part ways. Tony: do you? Jules: it’s all up to you of course, but like I say, that’s my opinion…. That’s what I think. Tony: I’m glad you expressed your opinion. Jules: I think I’ll go straight to bed. Tony: you haven’t eaten yet. Jules: no but I’m tired. I walked half way home. Tony: why did you do that? Jules: I thought I could make it. Tony: what made you think that? Jules: a few weeks ago I could’ve made it. Tony: you’re fit to burst, you can’t be walking half way across town. Jules: well it’s easy to forget. It’s been twenty years since I was pregnant. Tony: thirteen. Beat. Jules: well you know what I mean. It’s been a long time anyway. Tony: is that why you want to give the baby up? Jules: what do you mean? Tony: because of Jim. Jules: don’t bring him up. Tony: because you reckon Jim would’ve given you grandkids the proper way? Jules: who said anything about… Tony: so you give me yours and then you have grandkids and great-grandkids and it all works out. Jules: it was just a thought. I thought it would bring you…. Tony: why would you want us closer together? You hate Patrick. Jules: well he’s not what I would’ve chosen but I think he’s…. Tony: no you would’ve chosen Sally from down the road. Jules: where’s all this coming from? I’ve never said a word about… Tony: I’m just trying to see why you want to get rid all of a sudden. I thought you were happy. ‘A happy accident’ you said. Jules: I was in shock then. You don’t expect to conceive at my age. Tony: so you obviously weren’t using protection. Jules: well no we didn’t Tony: the irony. A Queer boy lecturing his mum about condoms. Jules: I don’t think that is irony actually. And don’t say Queer, you’re degrading yourself. Tony: no, we’ve reclaimed that word. We’re allowed to use it again now. Jules: are we? Tony: yeah. Jules: I see. Beat. Jules: look. I just don’t think it’s fair to bring up a baby at my age. I thought… well you used to talk about kids. I thought it might focus you. And if you really do care for Patrick, then maybe it would help a little. Tony: nah, having a baby to save a relationship sounds more like your sort of game. [stands, they stare at each other in the eye for a moment.] I’m going up. See you in the morning. Jules: see you. [They hold each other’s gaze a moment longer. As Tony turns away the lights begin to fade. Jules screams in pain. Blackout] [We see two young men, Sam and Bill, who are in a harness, dangling in front of a large clock face which they are cleaning.]
Sam: it’s warmer today isn’t it? Bill: what? Sam: I said it’s warmer today isn’t it? Bill: Oh yeah, quite a bit warmer. A bit damp though too hey? Sam: you’re not wrong. It does feel damp. Bill: I reckon that’s just the sponges though. Sam: you what? Bill: I reckon that’s just the sponges. Sam: the sponges don’t make the air damp. Bill: but they make us damp, so we feel that it is damp. But actually it might not be damp at all. It could just be the sponges. Sam: you talk shit sometimes. Bill: do I? Sam: yeah you do. Sometimes I wish you wouldn’t say anything. Better to say nothing than talk shit like you do. Bill: I won’t say anything then. Sam: well no, don’t be all sensitive. You can say some things, but just don’t talk crap. Bill: but how can I tell what’s crap and what’s not? I reckon it’s the sponges what makes us damp, you say that’s crap, but I disagree. Sam: fine, you just say whatever’s on your mind and I’ll tell you if it’s crap. Sound good? Bill: not really. Sam: why? Bill: well, it’s a bit degrading. Sam: is it now? Bill: yeah it is. Because at the end of the day, some of the things you say sound like crap to me. Sam: oh yeah? Bill: yeah. Sam: like what? Bill: like you saying it’s warmer. Sam: what today? Bill: yeah it’s not warmer today. It’s colder if anything, so that’s crap what you said. Sam: you agreed with me. Bill: I was being polite. I wouldn’t just come out and say something was crap like you do. Beat. Sam: do you really not think it’s warmer today than it was yesterday? Bill: no I don’t. I think it might be colder if anything. Sam: really? Bill: really, I do. That’s my opinion. And it’s not crap. Sam: right…. And the dampness. You think it’s the sponges? Bill: could be. We’re damp so we think it is damp. But at the end of the day, it’s actually just us who is damp. Sam: you know when you say it like that I can come around to agreeing with you. Bill: really? Sam: yeah. Bill: great. Sam: great. Long pause. Sam: reckon we’ll finish this on time today? Bill: we better. It’s bloody freezing. I was reading Josie Long’s article in The Guardian today where she argued that University education should be made free in this country. She raised some interesting points and made a great case for how her own University days have helped her in more ways than one.
It got me thinking about the worth of my own education. It’s important for me to point out at this stage that my degree has had inconsistent (and occasionally negative) effects on my employment prospects, so I’m really evaluating my education based on how it has helped me as a person. Josie points out that education at its best is exploring your own humanity. Certainly my time at University taught me so much about the world, and encouraged me to travel and think more broadly about my plans for the future. It has also made me engage with human rights in a more active way than I did before. In terms of my Theatre making, I was shown new ways of working and I am now able to approach performance with an open mind and a wealth of contextual knowledge. I passionately believe in the power of education. I don’t think University is for everybody but I do think viewing higher education as a means to a job is at best naïve and at worst personally damaging. I’m often asked by younger relatives or acquaintances about my opinions on whether University is worth it, when so many graduates are either unemployed or earning less than their non-University educated counterparts. At the end of the day, if your goal in life is monetary then University is certainly not the easy route and I’m unsure whether or not free education would change that; but whatever your goals and opinions, devoting three to six years of your life to the in-depth study of a subject you are interested in, is never a waste of time. I my never earn enough to pay off my own student debt, so it doesn’t affect my day to day life, but I certainly would have been glad of a free degree; and getting rid of tuition fees may at least break the misguided link between University and money. I first worked with Jules Tipton during the final year of my degree at East 15 Acting School. Jules was directing and I was performing and assistant directing for the devised show, ‘The Last Resort,’ which aimed to lift the veil on the Asian tourist industry and expose the hidden sexual slavery going on in East Asia’s most luxurious hotels. Jules’ attention to detail where research and discovering truth both in character and in politics are concerned is second to none. It is that and her many witticisms, that have endured throughout our subsequent friendship. I spoke to Jules in the ambient setting of London’s Barbican Centre where Jules had just finished a day’s teaching with her students at The Guildhall School of Music and Drama. Though now working predominantly as a Director and Teacher, Jules’ career began in Acting. From the outset her work always had a community focus and she gained several roles in Community Theatre productions and Theatre in Education alongside some Television. This led to working in workshop facilitation and by virtue a level of direction. Though the repertory system had all but disappeared, there were companies and theatres still producing work in that way and Jules first taste with more traditional Theatre came when she joined The Everyman in Cheltenham, performing in ‘Lark Rise.’ This was an adaptation of Flora Thompson’s literary work, which many will know via its later Television treatment as ‘Lark Rise to Candleford.’ As well as furthering Jules’ acting career it gave her the chance to collaborate with The Albion Band who provided the folk soundtrack to the show. ‘I can get a tune out of almost anything,’ Jules asserted when I asked her what instruments she plays. The Guitar, keyboards, concertina, harmonica, Mandolin, and of course her very own voice. After around 8 years of acting, Jules began to tire of the craft and the creative restraint being put on her as an Actor. ‘I don’t know if I gave up acting or it gave me up… I was trying to fit into a box that someone else wanted to put me in. [I didn’t want] to compromise my politics for the sake of a performance. That was one of the reasons why I went back to music.’ Jules left the acting world to pursue a career as a singer songwriter, creating and performing acoustic songs that had, ‘a close connection with the audience [and were] centred on the text.’ As with her theatre work now, Jules wanted to write songs that, ‘meant something and had a connection with the audience.’ Though still performing, Jules had left acting for music as a way of retaining artistic and political control, but it has also had a longstanding effect on her work. ‘It’s very scary when all you’ve got between you and an audience is a Guitar and a microphone, but it’s made me braver.’ I wondered what Jules’ inspirations were. She told me about an early champion of her work, the actor David Suchet who supported her in the early stages of her work: ‘When I auditioned at Cheltenham he took me through a piece of Shakespeare, which I had never done before.’ It was watching Suchet in an RSC production of The Tempest and seeing how, ‘the world could be created and someone sitting in a plush seat could be transported,’ that gave Jules a real sense of the power and scope that theatre had. ‘The most recent practitioner that has made the biggest impression on me is Mike Alfreds… I learned the different positions of a narrator and the way movement and fabric can be used in performance.’ After finding her own acoustic style and becoming a well-received singer/ songwriter Jules began to re-join the world of Theatre, but this time as a Director: ‘When I was performing I used to like seeing the big picture, and as an actor you don’t always have the chance to have an input on that.’ But it is important to point out that Jules is most interested in collaboration: ‘I’m not one of those Directors that sits behind a table. That creates a barrier. Even when I’m working with text I like to be on the floor with [the actors]. That way I’m on the journey with them, I’m not just giving them the map and telling them where to go.’ Many Directors follow specific methodologies and styles in their work, I wondered what had influenced Jules. In truth, Jules plays by her own rules, though she points out some early inspirations as coming from the political Theatre Companies of the 70s and 80s such as Monstrous Regiment and Gay Sweatshop which carried a more Brechtian style of presentation. However, Jules points out: ‘one of the things I enjoy is working with actors to find characters that have a truth and an honesty, which is more like Stanislavski.’ Much like myself, Jules has also been subtly influenced by the work of Joan Littlewood whose centenary is being celebrated this year (2014). Littlewood’s use of real people's stories and the way she used improvisation to explore characters has hugely influenced Jules’ work. Certainly, Jules has specialist skills as a Director, and there are, as she puts it, ‘common threads,’ in her work, but I wanted to know whether Jules considered herself a specialist. ‘No. What I find quite frustrating sometimes is people who say, ‘oh you do devising,’ and I say, ‘yes but I also do bloody good text work. It’s a resistance to being pigeon holed.’ Jules is currently working back at East 15 Acting School with the graduate year of the World Performance course, directing their Applied and Political Theatres show. This was the project where I first met Jules so naturally I was keen to find out more. Jules explained that her students are looking into Homelessness both as a global issue, and local to Southend-On-Sea where the school is based. ‘I am encouraging them to find stories from real people.’ I wondered too, with all the many global political issues currently taking precedent in the media, what led her students to settle on homelessness as a topic of exploration? ‘The students saw the local presence of homelessness and were motivated by how often we walk past homeless people and don’t see them. They wanted to make the inviable visible. They want to create a piece of theatre that is going to make the audience sit up and take notice; that will make them challenge their preconceptions.’ I asked Jules which of her projects she was most proud of. ‘Sailing to Britain,’ was her immediate answer. This was a large scale heritage project which Jules directed and co-ordinated with Tara Arts alongside Artistic Director Jatinter Verma and playwright Nicholas McInerny. ‘[The project] explored the untold stories of Lascars who were Sailors that worked on the East India Trading Company ships. Mainly they hailed from South East Asia and China [and we showed] how they became part of the communities in the east end of London and the way in which the East India Company abandoned these workers once they got to Britain. ‘The project encouraged young people to engage with their own migratory history.’ Jules has worked prolifically both on new writing and devising as well as classic drama, so I wanted to know which English language play Jules most wanted to direct that she hadn’t had the chance to yet. Though Jules gave mention to Middleton and Dekker’s ‘The Roaring Girl,’ and Arthur Miller’s, ‘The Death of a Salesman,’ she did have to admit: ‘What play would I like to work on? I don’t know that it’s been created yet. I enjoy making my own work and collaborating with a writer.’ So what advice would Jules give to someone just starting out? ‘The advice that was given to me by a school drama teacher: ‘be aware of your own limitations and act on them. Don’t ever stop learning, keep the hunger, strive for the best you can. If I ever feel like I’ve stopped learning or that I know everything then I would stop and do something else.’ And what about the future? ‘If I can tell accessible stories that mean something to somebody then that’s all I can hope for. I want to get people to think that Theatre doesn’t just happen in a box.’ On a mild September day in Crouch End I had the pleasure of speaking with my old colleague Becka McFadden. I assisted Becka on the St James Theatre performance of The Return for Legal Aliens Theatre Company of which she is Associate Artistic Director. In all our various interactions since, I have been enthralled by her wealth of knowledge and eloquent communication, so she became a natural choice for my series of Theatre Specialist interviews. Becka heralds from the Pennsylvania town Hershey, home of the chocolate bar and attended Villanova University near Philadelphia before moving to London in 2007 intending to study at LISPA. She left after just one term but remained in the UK and went on to study for a PhD at Goldsmiths University. She now works as a Director, Dramaturge, Teacher and Performer specialising in Czech theatre, physical theatre and new writing and translation. But what led her to become the artist she is today? Her early inspiration and continuing collaboration is the result of a year spent living in Prague during a break from her MA: ‘I taught English while I was in Prague and I also made theatre with a group of interesting international actors.’ She explained that the film industry in Prague brought a lot of different artistic voices to the city. ‘The film [industry] allowed actors to live and create more artistically interesting theatre without worrying about it being commercially viable.’ I wondered whether our own theatre scene in the UK could learn a thing or two from the Czech Republic; Becka explained: ‘The biggest difference is that there’s still a repertory system there that’s very healthy… it allows for experimentation, sometimes the money actors earn in the repertory system subsidises projects that are more experimental.’ All of us that pursue, have pursued, or want to pursue a career in Theatre can probably cite a particular experience that led us to that decision. For me it was probably a school production of Brecht’s The Good Person of Szechwan that led me to where I am now. I wanted to know what it was that made Becka turn to the Theatre. Like so many great Theatre practitioners of the past, Becka had notions of becoming a Lawyer. It is fitting then that the production which Becka worked on at Villanova during the end of her undergraduate degree; which cemented her desire to work in theatre, was Moises Kaufman’s verbatim drama The Laramie Project. ‘The Laramie project is about Matthew Shepherd, who was a gay student at the University of Wyoming… one night two local townies picked him up and drove him to a fence outside of town, they tied him to the fence, they beat him to within an inch of his life and they left him there and he eventually died of the wounds he sustained. ‘[Kaufman and his company] went and interviewed the towns people, who were asking the same questions as they were… how did this happen? ‘I went to a Catholic University that had a more socially conservative student body than I thought I would encounter when I went there. The process of doing this piece provoked a number of discussions on campus. We didn’t have a gay/straight alliance when we started. As a result of doing this show we were able to organise a panel discussion, and we got our organisation. It showed me that theatre isn’t selfish.’ Though Becka was keen to point out Theatre must work artistically and that its primary goal shouldn’t be as a vehicle for social change, she is aware of Theatre’s political and social power: ‘Any time I’m making something there needs to be a reason why. When I teach dramaturgy I call this the dramaturgical why. How is that decision in dialogue with where it’s being made and the people who are going to see it? When you make theatre with an awareness of where you’re making theatre and you understand that it’s inherently social; it sits within communities and works both artistically and in other ways as well. That’s what [The Laramie Project] taught me.’ We all know that making a career out of art must have its down times, and I wanted to know if there was any time Becka had wanted to quit. ‘When I moved to London in 2007 to go to LISPA. Which was an uninformed decision. I knew that I wanted to study physical theatre… I think I should have done more research because I don’t think Lecoq was ever going to be my route in. The course was run very differently to how I was used to being trained, it was much less personal than I was used to. I didn’t complete the first year even though there are some wonderful things that I’d learned from it’ Becka showed how strong the link between society and theatre making is in her mind when she explained her further difficulty with making theatre in the UK: ‘I don’t know what needs to be made here, I can’t answer the why question, I don’t know what I have to say here yet, because I don’t know what it is.’ Becka had a similar low point recently after finishing her PhD. In both cases it was creating new work that got her back on track. Becka pointed out that: ‘When you don’t know what to do, you do something that you love. You make your own work rather than sitting around waiting for people to give you opportunities and often that produces people to give you opportunities.’ I have often thought that Theatres restorative powers over an audience are mirrored in its affects over actors. Becka ascertained that: ‘We get into really big trouble if we think we are only artists when employed on a production. We think of ourselves as commodities, when we’re not. We’re artists, we have generative powers and we can make our own work. You don’t stop being an artist just because of a run of bad luck with auditions. It’s important to remember one has a practice, just like a musician plays scales every day. One has an identity as an artist that’s independent of every given project.’ I asked Becka whether she considered herself a specialist or not, and what her speciality would be. ‘There are orientating principles that inform all my work. An international perspective. Making work that is well considered in terms of the dramaturgical why, and an awareness to the societies in which it is being made. An attention to working through the body and approaching performance through the body rather than from the text. Whether that makes me a specialist I’m not sure. ‘If I were to say I’m a specialist, which I do sometimes because I think my areas of specialism are physical and devised theatre and new writing and translation and those are things I do that not everyone else seems to. I’m interested in them so then you do more. You realise that you are coming up with a way of doing it. ‘That’s certainly been the case with Legal Aliens with the casting of bi -lingual actors which Is a methodology that we’re invested in as a way of approaching translated material. But is it useful to call yourself a specialist? ‘We all have to create narratives around what we do. Sometimes I say – and I’m only half joking – that I did a PhD to make my CV make sense. And to clarify my narrative which had gotten a bit messy [but] Theatre is a magpie art and everything we learn influences how we work in a holistic way. We bring our previous experiences and we take new lessons onto future projects. At the end of the day making theatre is making theatre.’ Becka’s most recent project was Walthamstow Mysteries, a piece of site specific, promenade theatre written by Deborah Nash that was performed outside on Coppermill fields in Walthamstow Marshes. ‘It was one of the largest projects I have run as a Director in terms of assembling an artistic team and being able to go through a proper casting process. It was great working outside although we did get sun burnt and stung by every sort of nettle and bitten by bugs. It was really cool being there every day, we become very aware of the rhythm of the marshes.’ Becka began to reflect on her own collaborative approach to directing actors: ‘Even though I like the way I work and I want to work that way, every now and then I think ‘if I stand here and admit I don’t know is that really unprofessional?’ and I don’t think it is. [The main role for the director is] facilitation and overall coherence. Dramaturgical coherence.’ And are Directors necessary? ‘Often playwrights do not really know how theatre is made. Some writers don’t understand the process that a text goes through to become playable, and that is the work of rehearsal. You want someone standing outside watching it who is a theatre artist, and I don’t think the writer is always a theatre artist. I’m sure there are [writers] who can do it – I may even know a few - but it’s a hard thing.’ I wanted to know which of Becka’s projects she was most proud of. For obvious reasons, The Laramie Project had to be mentioned. Also the multi-lingual production of The Winter’s Tale which Becka performed in with Parrabbola for its innovative use of language. I asked her whether she saw more multi-lingual performance being made in Britain. Although she has hopes and has said that Legal Aliens is looking into ways of making bi-lingual Shakespeare, Becka reflects that, ‘In Britain it’s hard to get that type of work made, because there’s so much emphasis on the playwright.’ But most of all, Becka is very proud of her current endeavour Backstories which she is devising with her collaborator and friend Scheherazaad Cooper – an Actor and classically trained Indian Odissi dancer. They have been fortunate to find development opportunities both in the UK and Czech Republic and will present an extract at Sadler’s Wells in London in October. The piece is a non-text based series of solos and duets exploring the back body and how our lives and tensions are played out through the back. Becka admits that the amount of positive feedback in this experimental project has made her very proud. But what about the future? I wanted to know which English language play she would most like to work on that she hasn’t had the chance to yet. ‘Sophie Treadwell’s Machinal’ which follows the story of a young woman restricted by societies expectations to the point that she murders her husband and is subsequently executed by electric chair. ‘I love expressionist plays. I love the rhythm of the language. It’s grounded in such a genuine emotional reality while also being really heightened stylistically.’ Becka reflects that while the play still speaks to a particular female experience, dramaturgically it now works on a different level: ‘I think it speaks to an experience of coming out of University and thinking, ‘I have to get a job, I have to get a job, it may make me really unhappy but I have to get a job.’ Becka closed the interview with a good piece of advice. Something which students and graduates alike should listen to very carefully, and which even Becka has to remind herself of from time to time: ‘There’s no moment where you feel like you’re good enough. When I was young I was over concerned with external validation but the only way through is work and time. Those of us who find our way into this field are all inclined to be good at it. There’s really no replacement for time and work. Work a lot, even if it’s just on yourself.’ *Becka McFadden is a performer, director, devisor and dramaturg, working primarily on devised physical theatre, new writing in translation and community-based theatre projects. She holds an MA in Theatre from Villanova University (PA, USA) and a PhD in Theatre & Performance from Goldsmiths, University of London. Recent directing credits include The Walthamstow Mysteries (Coppermill Fields, Walthamstow Marshes); Commodity (Theatre Lab Company, Riverside Studios); and The Return (LegalAliens, St. James Theatre Studio). With Scheherazaad Cooper, she is co-creator of BackStories, currently in development with support from Arts Council England, Canada Council for the Arts and Cooltour (Ostrava, Czech Republic). Based in London since 2007, Becka grew up in Pennsylvania and has spent significant time living and working in the Czech Republic and Poland. She is Associate Artistic Director of LegalAliens International Theatre Company and founding Artistic Director of Beautiful Confusion Productions. Hello!
I've got some good interview's lined up for the next couple of months, so keep checking back for more details. Today I have a not quite fully formed thought for you about art's funding. I suppose I am posing a question rather than offering a solution. In the UK, our Art's Council scales back every year and private companies who used to spend a little of their profits sponsoring Theatre Companies no longer want to play ball. For today's budding Theatre Makers, the opportunities for funding are few and far between. Largely funds are given to companies who were lucky enough to form before the cuts, who already have good links with the people holding the purse strings. At the moment most makers have to use their own money and/or rely on crowd funding. But now there are so many crowd funding platforms and even major stars are now using the medium to produce their albums and 'engage' with young audiences. For now It is doing the job, but I can't see crowd funding as being a sustainable method of fundraising for the next generation. So this leads me to my main point. When funding is so hard to come by, many theatre companies are creating art for funding's sake. What I mean here is that rather than creating something of artistic merit and then finding the money, they are creating pieces based on the restrictive parameters of a specific funding opportunity and then hoping that it turns into something worth watching. The relationship between money and art has always been tricky, and I am certain that we will never get it exactly right across the board. But I just hope some people out there are still making art for the right reasons. Thanks people. Hello!
I'm still on the look out for some specialist theatre practitioners to interview for this blog. if that's you, or someone you know, get in touch. In other news, I wanted to share a new theory I have about the British Theatre industry. Its tough times for those starting out as stage actors at the moment. There are not enough opportunities, and often the opportunities there are, are given funding for very specific reasons. This means the requirements for actors are also very specific. If you don't fit that mould, then you can't be included. I think It should go without saying that the current acting masters, and their greater predocessors, got where they got through repetition. Especially in the old days of repertory, young actors were able to play a wide range of parts and work with other, more experienced actors. They played in various different venues and to a wide demographic, and that is how they became great. The rep doesn't really exist in this country anymore, but a new theatre has emerged which seeks to fulfil the same purpose for actors. The fringe (by this I include the works of urban and rural theatres, festivals and organisations who recognise themselves as producers of 'fringe theatre') is now the place where younger - or less experienced actors get to learn their craft and develop their talent. It is a place where trained and untrained performers work together with trained and untrained directors, playwrights, stage managers and designers. It can be hit and miss, though in my experience, fringe shows are at the very least, interesting, and at best, outstanding. Many actors lucky enough to break into the upper echelons of the industry will boast several credits and awards earned on the fringe circuit. Let us hope, that the frequency of fringe shows increases, and we may have a new rep. Thanks people. |
GeorgeThis is where I share my views on Theatre and Film, and encourage others to tell me theirs. Archives
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