Saturday and the tech. I turn into a kind of small apologetic Hitler for these sessions I fear, listening fawningly to the technical experts (JGH in this instance) and barking disrespectfully at my cast when they ask what I suspect suspiciously to be insolent questions. But we darted through it and covered something like a half complete run of the show despite the malfunctioning second CD player.
Adjourned to the pub for tea and then back with a fluttery tummy for the show.
And it went beautifully. We were on first. The devil's slot in many respects. But the play advanced. JGH excelled himself with the lights with almost no set up time so it looked gorgeous. The music all started and stopped in the right place. Alex stumbled over her consolidated consciousness and her hellish bowl. Brian stumbled when he tried to climb onto his block and then when he tried to step down the stairs - to the point that I started to worry that he'd broken an ankle. But everything else was pretty much perfect. No-one walked out, to my immense surprise, even in the midst of the "fuck you god for making me love a person that doesn't exist. Fuck you fuck you FUCK YOU" speech. And Emma, bless her funkily dressed heart, managed to eke out a tear or two at the end.
JGH effected a black out. There was a pause. I wondered if I should start to clap to demonstrate to people that we were done. But then the curtains and people caught on and began to clap.
They were kind to my face in the interval but we all know that fake kindness is what we drama types do best so I took all of that with a pinch of salt. And the second play of the night was Leitheatre so I went into it with sinking heart assuming it would be wonderful.
But glory of glories, it was shit. Well, that's harsh. Not shit. But not up to their usual excellent standard which was good enough for me. An odd cliched choice of script didn't help. Some terrible thing called Teamwork that led you to believe we were in the trenches but actually turned out to be about corporate team-building paintballing. Maybe the premise is flawed enough to explain how unfunny it turned out to be. Though of course I was horribly biased by this point.
So I stepped up after the raffle and more glasses of cheap lash to take my place behind the heavy green velvet curtain alongside the other directors thinking "well maybe we're in with a chance". At least of coming second. And we were braver than Ae Fond Kiss...
The certificates of congratulatory participation were distributed and we took our seats of shame on the stage alongside the various assorted dignatories: commitee people, emergency panel people, the adjudicator, last year's winner. I'm concentrating on my fixed relaxed expression.
And then someone (Holy Cow?) comes third, Ae Fond Kiss comes second, we are awarded best production suddenly and I'm grinning and smiling thinking we've won like an idiot. And then they announce that the first prize goes to a group who blah blah blah and I spy Andy in the wings opposite peeking down at the winning certificate on the table and looking soberly down at the ground despite the fact that he surely sees me sitting there on stage and I'm thinking "have we won and he's being a bastard / politically correct or have we just not won...?" and then it turns out that we've won. I try hard to look casual as I juggle my broken cup and dart up to the get the shallow curry dish.
The curtains close again and I say to my fellow Ae Fond Kiss director (who shall remain nameless even though anyone who was there would clearly know who he was): "I'm so sorry, I can't believe you didn't win. I assumed you would." And he, without a trace of humour, replies: "I know. So did I."
So we're off to Kelso on April 4th. Missing my (Sarah Kane's) tragedy filled lines already so it's a bit of a relief in many ways. And a delight in many others.
Though does beg the question of whether or not I should really put myself through auditioning for our early June show, Christopher Hampton's Dangerous Liaisons.
I'm currently in a hotel in the backend of nowhere in Glasgow so I'm going to take the script for a little bath-time reading and consider my options!
Adjourned to the pub for tea and then back with a fluttery tummy for the show.
And it went beautifully. We were on first. The devil's slot in many respects. But the play advanced. JGH excelled himself with the lights with almost no set up time so it looked gorgeous. The music all started and stopped in the right place. Alex stumbled over her consolidated consciousness and her hellish bowl. Brian stumbled when he tried to climb onto his block and then when he tried to step down the stairs - to the point that I started to worry that he'd broken an ankle. But everything else was pretty much perfect. No-one walked out, to my immense surprise, even in the midst of the "fuck you god for making me love a person that doesn't exist. Fuck you fuck you FUCK YOU" speech. And Emma, bless her funkily dressed heart, managed to eke out a tear or two at the end.
JGH effected a black out. There was a pause. I wondered if I should start to clap to demonstrate to people that we were done. But then the curtains and people caught on and began to clap.
They were kind to my face in the interval but we all know that fake kindness is what we drama types do best so I took all of that with a pinch of salt. And the second play of the night was Leitheatre so I went into it with sinking heart assuming it would be wonderful.
But glory of glories, it was shit. Well, that's harsh. Not shit. But not up to their usual excellent standard which was good enough for me. An odd cliched choice of script didn't help. Some terrible thing called Teamwork that led you to believe we were in the trenches but actually turned out to be about corporate team-building paintballing. Maybe the premise is flawed enough to explain how unfunny it turned out to be. Though of course I was horribly biased by this point.
So I stepped up after the raffle and more glasses of cheap lash to take my place behind the heavy green velvet curtain alongside the other directors thinking "well maybe we're in with a chance". At least of coming second. And we were braver than Ae Fond Kiss...
The certificates of congratulatory participation were distributed and we took our seats of shame on the stage alongside the various assorted dignatories: commitee people, emergency panel people, the adjudicator, last year's winner. I'm concentrating on my fixed relaxed expression.
And then someone (Holy Cow?) comes third, Ae Fond Kiss comes second, we are awarded best production suddenly and I'm grinning and smiling thinking we've won like an idiot. And then they announce that the first prize goes to a group who blah blah blah and I spy Andy in the wings opposite peeking down at the winning certificate on the table and looking soberly down at the ground despite the fact that he surely sees me sitting there on stage and I'm thinking "have we won and he's being a bastard / politically correct or have we just not won...?" and then it turns out that we've won. I try hard to look casual as I juggle my broken cup and dart up to the get the shallow curry dish.
The curtains close again and I say to my fellow Ae Fond Kiss director (who shall remain nameless even though anyone who was there would clearly know who he was): "I'm so sorry, I can't believe you didn't win. I assumed you would." And he, without a trace of humour, replies: "I know. So did I."
So we're off to Kelso on April 4th. Missing my (Sarah Kane's) tragedy filled lines already so it's a bit of a relief in many ways. And a delight in many others.
Though does beg the question of whether or not I should really put myself through auditioning for our early June show, Christopher Hampton's Dangerous Liaisons.
I'm currently in a hotel in the backend of nowhere in Glasgow so I'm going to take the script for a little bath-time reading and consider my options!
posted by Claire at 10:31 pm
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