Half demented with this forthcoming play of ours. "Wild Honey" by Michael Frayn based on an undiscovered first script of Chekhov's (I think this is the favoured publicity wording) is a fun play - althouugh riddled with typically Chekhovian insecurity and self-doubt. There are some lovely characters in it, notably Platonov, the man that every woman fancies and the gorgeously charismatic and practically edidible Anna, the woman that every man fancies. And let's guess what happens.
I have somehow brilliantly found myself general managing, sorting costumes and trying to organise a front of house rota for the show week itself. Smart move. The show starts next week and to add to the injustice, I'm going to miss a night out with the Italian Godfather, relation of one of the girls I work with, in order to conscientiously tend to my costuming duties. Embittered times.
I shall not complain. Not in the company of the fellow cast and crew anyway as my other role as producer appears to be to serve as the one that everyone complains to. And oh my goodness what rudeness I have encountered in this production. Sometimes breathtakingly so. By no means is this a blanket phenomena. The rudeness seems to be only the preserve of a very few. And many others are cheerfully good humoured about the whole thing. But anyway. Cathartic blogging and I shall stumble on through the dust of our costume store to grimace through another day.
I found solace tonight in a little beachside run. And being the 5th of November, the beach was considerably busier and fire-strewn than usual. I can pretty confidently say I've never had a prettier or sparklier run. So I shall go to my bed tonight with this as consolation. And just growl a little under my breath now and again until next Saturday comes and goes.
Show starts next Weds for those that would like to come and view the fruits of our collective labour. Adam House on Chambers Street at 7:30 every day til next Sat. Roll up with your coach parties. I fear Chekhov will be almost as popular as my Brecht was...
I have somehow brilliantly found myself general managing, sorting costumes and trying to organise a front of house rota for the show week itself. Smart move. The show starts next week and to add to the injustice, I'm going to miss a night out with the Italian Godfather, relation of one of the girls I work with, in order to conscientiously tend to my costuming duties. Embittered times.
I shall not complain. Not in the company of the fellow cast and crew anyway as my other role as producer appears to be to serve as the one that everyone complains to. And oh my goodness what rudeness I have encountered in this production. Sometimes breathtakingly so. By no means is this a blanket phenomena. The rudeness seems to be only the preserve of a very few. And many others are cheerfully good humoured about the whole thing. But anyway. Cathartic blogging and I shall stumble on through the dust of our costume store to grimace through another day.
I found solace tonight in a little beachside run. And being the 5th of November, the beach was considerably busier and fire-strewn than usual. I can pretty confidently say I've never had a prettier or sparklier run. So I shall go to my bed tonight with this as consolation. And just growl a little under my breath now and again until next Saturday comes and goes.
Show starts next Weds for those that would like to come and view the fruits of our collective labour. Adam House on Chambers Street at 7:30 every day til next Sat. Roll up with your coach parties. I fear Chekhov will be almost as popular as my Brecht was...
posted by Claire at 9:04 pm
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