Tears of a Drama Queen

The Dalai Lama said

“Most of our troubles are due to our passionate desire for and attachment to things that we misapprehend as enduring entities.”

The town of Dunstable was awash with the tears of 13 emotional actors yesterday as the 2012 touring production of Avenue Q closed its last performance.  Tears as we said goodbye to each other and seven months of our lives.  But is leaving a job that lasted just over half a year worthy of such heartbreak?  Did the audience members appreciated seeing Yellow Bear yelping and Trekkie’s tears?  I doubt you’d see someone leaving a “normal” job in such a state; imagine Joe Bloggs the estate agent showing his last client around a potential home whilst gasping for breath in between sobs “ The....gulp...schools in the area..sniff....have outstanding......gasp.....Offsted results...Waaaaaaaah!!!”

The floodgates opened during our warm-up as we posed for pictures with our puppets and were given a moving goodbye notes session from our “Gary Coleman.”  Any time I managed to dry my eyes and calm myself, another goodbye card was delivered and my mascara was forsaken again.   This lasted all day until the finale of the evening show where we all bowed together bawling our eyes out.  Being part of company is like creating a family especially on tour, you live together, row together and evolve together so to leave that is unsettling. 

My emotional attachment to people and productions began with my first taste of showbiz aged 8.  I had played Gretl in an amateur production of The Sound of Music for the grand total of 5 performances and as a result was often found in my parents’ downstairs toilet hyperventilating because I missed “my onstage brothers and sisters,” hence, why my Mum and Dad are no longer surprised by their “luvvie” daughter and don’t let me near The Alps in case of a relapse!

My first job was in “Mamma Mia!” at the young age of 21 and I recognised my reaction to leaving it in younger members of my cast yesterday; shock and bewilderment that it’s gone so fast and fear that such wonderful opportunities may never happen again.  Your attachment to your first acting job is great and the tears reflect that; to make my cast-mates feel better, I was found in the showers of The Prince Edward Theatre after my last ABBA megamix convulsing with tears on the floor like I had lost a relative and would never breathe again.  Dramatic and ridiculous, yes, but genuine.

Contracts may not endure but frienships do.  Photo by Katharine Hall

I have been fortunate enough to leave a number of companies and shows during the last 10 years as an actress and each last performance has caused me to shed a few tears.  But none have caused me such heartbreak as leaving Avenue Q.  It is weird because, as you have read, I have loathed touring around, missed my family and boyfriend and physically suffered during this contract.  I can’t blame it on being 21 or the wrong time of the month, I genuinely think that Avenue Q and its 2012 cast are special.  Without getting too sentimental for non-Avenue Q readers, every single cast member brought a unique quality into the mix and we created something special; be-it the physical closeness I had onstage with Chris Thatcher, Nicky/Trekkie, where I knew his every breath and reaction or the offstage closeness with Aussie Eve, Julie Yammanee, who was my touring wife and sister, or the generosity of Luke Striffler and Jonny Fines whose camaraderie was astounding as they laughed us through bad matinees as Skittles and Sprite.

But back to the Dalai Lama; contracts, shows and relationships do not and cannot endure and the grief comes from our surprise that they don’t.  But why are actors so bloomin’ dramatic about it?  You’d think our creative compulsions would be dying to find pastures new, other actors seem to be able to move from one TV job to another with pragmatism and realism and don’t understand our drama. 

Sheila Hancock, an actress I admire and a writer I want to be, wrote that actors keep their emotions close to the surface at all times because it helps them to empathise with other humans which in turn benefits their ability to act.  I may end up with emotions spewing out of me at every angle over shopping in Asda or losing a shoe but those emotions hopefully help me to get under the skin of the next character I wish to inhabit.  (If you haven’t read any of Sheila Hancock’s books....DO! I thoroughly recommend “The Two of Us” her autobiography and biography of her late husband John Thaw as a study of love and grief.  Also, “Just Me” where she attempts to re-build her life after his death and the earlier, brilliant “Ramblings of an Actress” which is what I pray these meanderings of mine may end up like day.)

Photo by Katharine Hall - Memories won't fade

Everyone on Avenue Q, including myself, will of course move on.  Arina Il put it very eloquently by likening the end of a show to breaking up with everyone individually and you always ‘get over’ even the worst break up because life goes on.  We are left with the amazing memories and achievements but equipped with more skills to move forward.

Good luck to all of my dear cast mates and thank you.  We should be proud and now must be brave, others may not understand our tears but they came from our “passionate attachment” to our show.  And hey, we wouldn’t be proper “luvvies” if we didn’t cry ridiculously, you need a degree in Musical Theatre for that!

Change - "Everything in Life is Only For Now"

A train journey can lull even the most stressed commuter to sleep; the rock of carriages over the track and condensation cooling your face as the (less than hygienic) window becomes a makeshift pillow, all these elements conspire to create a slumbering haven.  This is especially the case on an early morning train or for any number of the Avenue Q-ers who have travelled the length and breadth of the UK via National Rail.  Something about a train journey is hypnotic, comforting and safe but then you get to the end of the line.

“All change please” is the cry.  For romantic story-telling purposes I am imagining this coming from a conductor with a moustache, suit and whistle in the 1930s rather than that automated posh lady or scrolling text on a screen today.

You have to get off and continue your journey.  But in that state of relaxation you really don’t want to; you’re comfortable, you’ve grown attached to the seat and pieces of chewing gum beneath it and the thought of your forthcoming meeting/audition/lunch with the in-laws is not appealing.  But you must get off; changing is the only option.

I am someone who thinks they crave change but when it is presented to me, I panic and cling on to what I know.  Just as I begrudgingly get off the train at Waterloo when I’d rather stay put and head back from whence I came!

A change can be invigorating and for the best so why does it appear so daunting?  Whether it is a change in job or relationships, it feels overwhelming and clinging to what and who you know seems like the safest and less painful option.  Hindsight is a wonderful thing and I bet if you look back over changes in your life you will admit that the change did lead to something better.....eventually.

We have less than two weeks left on Avenue Q and after 6 months of travelling, working and living together the company is disbanding and heading off for new horizons.  For some it is a relief; they are ready for new challenges and mentally left the contract weeks ago.  For others, unemployment looms like a foreboding dark cloud and the thought of a change in routine is further upheaval.  I fall somewhere in-between; I never want to see a suitcase again but the thought of leaving some people, pay-checks and (surprisingly) the puppets pull at my heart strings.  Actors have to able to adapt to quick changes in circumstance and this soppy creature of comforts finds it hard.

I have written an article in the past about actors and bravery; having that inner steel to deal with rejection, exposure, vulnerability and fighting against the “norm.”  I now see (with that old friend hindsight) that actors don’t have the monopoly on this because everybody faces these challenges.  Without nurturing your inner steel, relationships, rows and problems just cause you more stress and I personally need a bloomin’ metal detector to find my inner steel sometimes.

I suppose we need to adhere to the old adage about waves when considering change......resist and you go under, ride it out and you arrive on the other side.  (I was reminded of this whilst watching the beautiful The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, wonderfully written, acted and full of nuggets of wisdom, watch it!)  Sadly, my one surfing lesson “down-under” on Bondi Beach came to an abrupt end - I was unable to even carry the damn board in my midget-length arms and after several failed attempts to get past the first break in the waves I ended up sunbathing – so perhaps I should have chosen a better analogy than waves!  But you catch my drift?  (Oh stop the metaphors I hear you cry!)

We can try to fight change; pretend to be asleep at the end of the line, ignoring the shouts of the train conductor but, ultimately, we have no choice.  It is going to happen whether we are ready for it or not.  That conductor is going to turf us off into new decisions and opportunities and we just need to trust him.

With all the change coming my way soon, this scared little blogger is hoping and praying that he will point me in the right direction and not hand me a surfboard!

Shelf life and Sell-by-dates

My Dad would say that's OK!

People can be split into two categories; those who throw milk away as soon as it smells weird and those who cut off the wiggly sprouts from potatoes and reckon "that ham has a few days left in it yet!"

What does that say about your personality; does a dare devil of gastric health generally take more risks or is the cautious milk drinker more likely to make safer life choices? 

And do we need to listen to such guidelines at all?

It is not just food that is given a time limit, in certain professions people are given an estimated shelf-life with a metaphorical date stamped on your forehead advising when you’re likely to be “going off!”  For the majority of workers the retirement age is approximately 65 although the Government keeps 'eeking' that up as a result of various pension changes or European laws.  It is the age when you are due a well-earned break from the state and encouraged to enjoy your twilight years on a cruise ship or when you are no longer able to perform your responsibilities as expected.

Footballers, ballet dancers and athletes are “old” or past their peak in their 30s mainly because their bodies have endured such demands and performed at a high standard over an intense period of time.  This can result in severe arthritis, joint conditions and muscular pain which means it is no longer possible to work at such a level .

Congratulations Serena!

Seeing two 30 year old tennis players become champions of Wimbledon last weekend prompted me to think about shelf-lives; their ages were cited as reasons for likely failure despite proven successes or current ability.  But they did achieve it and my 30 year old self cheered whole-heartedly in support of Serena Williams’ and Roger Federer’s talent defying their creaky joints, (despite willing Murray to succeed.)

There is a big black hole in theatreland where women in their late 20s and early 30s can disappear from musical theatre.  Only a few, or the very famous, can persevere and reappear through the other side as a character actress in middle-age.  It is that time when you can’t get away with the juvenile leads anymore but don’t quite look old enough yet to play the Mum. 

I am mortified to share this with the world
 but here I am as a 10 year old boy (aged 28!)

I am currently hurtling towards the black hole, despite pulling off a convincing portrayal of Gavroche in Les Miserables only two years ago (no mascara and bushy eyebrows was the key!)

Singing ability aside, my lofty heights of 5’ 1” wipe out any chance of playing Truly Scrumptious in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang or Nancy in Oliver! because on stage you wouldn’t be able to distinguish me from the children (they’re all so tall nowadays!) 

The same goes for my make-up less face that is often asked for ID when trying to buy Pinotage in Tescos, but put up against real 16 year olds in a High School Musical audition and I suddenly resemble Mick Jagger or a wrinkly prune! 

Age inspires so many stigmas and cliches; Life begins at 40, your 40s are the new 30s, being childless, single and 30 and how many actresses do read about who say “I really know who I am now I am 42, I feel better than ever!” despite sporting a trout pout and sad eyes!  It is all just opinion and a state of mind.

Sometimes it can be “mind over matter” or “you are only as old as you feel” but other times your body does let you down in-spite of your mental age.  I have found doing Avenue Q exhausting; blaming the tour schedule and driving as causes of my fatigue but a light-hearted comment from my boyfriend nailed it “Well you are getting on a bit aren’t you?”  After a tantrum over such insults, he might as well have said “Yes my bum does look big,” I realised there is an element of truth in it; especially as I am currently typing with an acute back spasm as my body crumples against the physical demands of the show.

Casting Directors may see 31 Jan 2013 stamped on my forehead and I may be reaching my sell-by-date in terms of musical theatre but it doesn’t mean I cannot emerge after hibernation as a butterfly in some other career!

So maybe we should give certain sports people or actors a chance even though they may be sprouting wiggly bits or no longer the firmest plum in the fruit bowl; people evolve and can achieve new greatness despite being long in the tooth.  Whether it is finding love at 40, captaining the GB Olympic Football team like 38 year old Ryan Giggs or completing marathons at 100 like Fanja Singh.

After all, didn’t Fleming discover Penicillin in a petri dish that was growing mould....?

Superstar is coming - that's the reality

Last Saturday saw the first episode of Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber’s search for Jesus Christ Superstar on ITV.  It seems like the ultimate quest – trying to find a Jesus Christ.  People are always seeing images of Him; only two weeks ago His face appeared to two men on the side of a Chinese takeaway in Sunderland.  But could this image have the abs for a loin cloth and sing falsetto in arenas around the UK opposite a Radio 1 DJ and a former Spice Girl?

Lord Lloyd Webber has his work cut out.  Yet again, the usual audition process, that we were drilled in at drama school, has been shunned for weeks of live singing on the television in front of a panel of celebrities.  He will be assisted by Dawn French and Jason Donovan in his search.  They certainly add more calibre to the panel than in past versions; at least Donovan has performed in a Lloyd Webber musical as Joseph (of Dreamcoat fame,) who also rose from pages of The Bible so he must be able to offer some valuable advice and French’s qualifications as “The Vicar of Dibley” may prove to have godly insights despite menial musical credentials.  The last of the panel is renowned West End Casting Director, David Grindrod, who my 21 year old self auditioned in front of for Mamma Mia! all those years ago; still as scary as ever!

Whatever my personal feelings about reality TV searches you cannot deny that they certainly get the ratings.  Millions of people tune in to watch their favourite young hopeful (whose three year drama training is cleverly replaced by a career as a cold-caller) and book tickets to see them perform the ultimate prize.  And there you have the real reason behind these programmes; revenue.  Searching for a Nancy/Maria/Joseph has enhanced audience figures and introduced people to the theatre who perhaps would have previously been loathed to leave their sofas for a night.  But if “that ginger girl who we voted for off the telly” is playing Dorothy then more tickets are sold and West End profits are up. 

The ultimate prize this time is to play Jesus in the arena tour of Jesus Christ Superstar alongside Chris Moyles as Herod, Tim Minchin as Judas and Melanie Chisholm (Sporty Spice) as Mary Magdalene, not an unknown in sight.  “Jesus Christ Superstar” is a rock opera penned by Lord Lloyd Webber and Sir Tim Rice in the 1970s with huge box office success in the West End and around the country.  Lyricist Sir Tim Rice is notably absent from the programme, although he supports a new arena tour version he has called the TV talent search “tacky,” and was quoted in The Daily Mail at the beginning of this year:

“I really don’t think Superstar needs that tasteless reality television treatment. Those shows are relentlessly downmarket, which is fine if the show is a lightweight bit of fluff.  I am fully behind an arena show, but I just don’t think you need another television series to do that.”

The tour itself only amounts to eleven performances over a one month period; hardly a challenge of vocal or performance stamina.  Perhaps this is a lesson learnt after past winners haven’t been able to last the rigours of an eight show week and so will negate the need for “runner-up understudies” to appease the expectant audience.  It is horrible to be the “normal” understudy of a reality show winner; as your name is announced before the show you can hear the groans of patrons and squeak of theatre seats as they hurry out to demand a refund at box office.  You don’t really feel like listing your “favourite things” after that!

So what can we expect from the new Saturday night search for Jesus; fresh-faced hopefuls, impressive voices, sob stories and rising against the odds?  Columns of media hype and interest is a dead cert and plenty of ‘tweets’ and water cooler discussions regarding the success of John from Croydon’s rendition of Maroon 5’s “Moves Like Jagger” can also be expected.

Introducing new people to the theatre and filling our auditoriums is something that even the most disgruntled performer cannot disagree with, we want our industry to thrive and the whole nation will have an opinion on musicals during the coming weeks. 

We cannot change the way musical casting is evolving; Superstar is well on its way and who I am to challenge the Lord?

(This post was originally written for The Huffington Post)

Update!!! – I watched parts of the two episodes screened over the weekend (for research purposes only!) and luckily I wasn’t playing some kind of “down a drink when you spot someone you know” game or I would have been sozzled.  Men that I have auditioned with, done West End shows with and are Facebook friends with, all kept appearing and rockin' out for the panel.  Not just ensemble boys but well-established West-End leads; a sign that they are moving with the times or sad that this is the only way that proven talent can now get jobs?  Let’s see how many of them make it past the builders and pub singers to the live shows........

A Hull-uva Week

I had a bad habit when I was younger of leaving pieces of fruit in my school bag.  Not just until the end of the day but for prolonged periods of time.  I have an image printed on my memory of my poor Mum pulling out a smelly splodge formally known as “banana” from my rucksack with a look of shock and rage.  This was later repeated with a plum, I didn’t mean to, I just forgot.

These memories haunted me in Hull.  Our dressing-rooms were underground and after weeks of rain they all smelt pretty damp, dressing-room number 8 in particular.  Aussie Eve and I lamented our fate as the stench grew and grew until we became convinced it must be a dead mouse or rotting corpse somewhere. 

In fact I have to say that my main memories of Hull will be entirely olfactory; strange aromas in the dressing room, on the streets and in my digs.  I have previously enlightened you about the digs debacle on tour.  You sometimes get a gem; nice people, clean bathroom etc, I seem to bypass this blessing and the stars align to strengthen my character or give me blog fodder.  Not since the limbs nestling in the Welsh topiary bushes have I giggled so much on my arrival somewhere. 



It was bigger than me

I awoke each morning in Wendy, John and Michael’s nursery as created by JM Barrie in Peter Pan.  In this revival Nana the dog was a smelly greyhound, I had a rocking horse, Victorian toys everywhere and a large window that unfortunately Peter didn’t whisk me out of towards London.  In all honesty, parts of it were quite beautiful but that much antiquity in one space is oppressive and creates a smell from 100s of years ago.  It also depressed me that the ornate dresser shook against the wooden floors as I walked past making me feel like a ten tonne Tessie.

I wish I could say that I at least woke peacefully in my nursery but I was roused on the first morning by a piercing doorbell at 7am that repeated every few minutes and culminated in a very noisy tool starting to dig up the pavement outside my window.  Grumpy was not the word and I became downright grouchy when the doorbell started again one hour later.  With no sign of my landlady, I stormed downstairs in my floral pjs greeting some poor workman at the door with a grimace and my early morning face (which even with constant Clarins-ing is pretty ghastly first thing.)  “I don’t know what you want me to do,” I raged, “I don’t live here.” The kindly workman, who was covered in rain and had been working since 7am, was much more polite than I deserved “Just need someone to move this car so we can carry on, love.”  At this point said landlady appears in a dressing gown and takes over as I flounce back to bed ignoring her calls of “I am so sorry!” 

Four hours later, in a better mood and my features in their rightful place, I went and apologised to the poor workman who was gracious once again but still continued to drill that pavement every morning from 7am.

My lack of sleep did not help my reaction to the daily enigma that was the dressing-room pong.

We were kindly moved to another room but despite our scented candles that room stank too?  The plot thickened because when we returned to room 8 it was now free from smell.  “Oh my god it’s us!  It’s us!” we screeched, pulling our suitcases apart and sniffing every item of clothing we own.

In the 30 minute run up to the show that night, fellow cast members dropped by to agree we smelt vile and gave helpful suggestions to what it may be; have you checked your shoes for mice?  It smells like off yogurt!  Do you think a mouse is maybe trapped in the lining of your suitcase?  I grew more anxious whilst Aussie Eve put on calming music and applied more eye shadow! 

So we decided to do a smell ratio test.  We would place various items in dressing room 8 to see if the smell returned and reconvene during the interval.  My cod liver oil tablets were the first to go; "no change," reported Aussie Eve in the wings; we were like the Scooby Doo gang.  Next went the bin and to our relief and horror the smell ratio in room 8 rocketed up and was wretched by the interval.  Mystery solved. 

It was the bin.

But why was it the bin in the new room when we hadn’t moved it from the old room?  There must be a common denominator?  It was at this point that I felt the heat rise up my neck as I remembered lovingly preparing some turkey and spinach at home on Monday morning in Tupperware to give me some nutrition during the week.  But instead of eating it on Monday evening, I abandoned it for a cast trip to Nandos instead and there my Tupperware stayed until I popped in the bin of our new dressing room.

So it was me and the return of my 8 year old ways.  I can hear my mother laughing through the internet, rolling her eyes that her daughter will never change.  I make a public, blogging apology to the company of Avenue Q for assaulting their nostrils and to Aussie Eve for making her doubt her cleanliness!

I have a problem with rotting food.  If I ever get back to London I will find some self-help group to help me become more socially acceptable! 

So with the pong, a Lazerquest tournanment of International standards, a pub quiz and the threat of theatre floods I can agree with a local cabby who proudly said.......

“It is never dull in Hull!”

“People always learning all through their life” Christmas Eve in Avenue Q

Beneath the puppets and smiley tunes, the musical Avenue Q is quite profound; it could be the basis for a self-help book.  The title of this blog comes from the wonderful character of Christmas Eve who, in her quest to become a paid therapist, talks a lot of sense. 

"People always learning, all through their life"

Life gives us numerous opportunities to learn; whether it is about ourselves, others or trivial pursuit subjects.  I have recently noticed that people differ, quite considerably, in how much they allow themselves to learn and develop.

As a baby you are open to learning about the world.  My nephew must learn 100s of things a day; everything is new, fascinating and deserves his full attention.  Nothing is rushed and you see his brain process, analyse and enjoy it all.  Watching this does rubs off on you;  I now shout “duck” excitedly to myself as I run along the river and am suddenly aware of the number of Nee Nahs (Ambulances/fire engines/police cars) that I see per day.  When do we lose this joy at the simplest things in life?  When does a bus ride stop being a new experience and become commuting ennui?

There is also that phase when people feel like they know it all.  You know the types; the University students awakening their sense of individuality and quote “the government are Sh*T” but can’t really give reasons why they believe this, they just do.  You also hear folks, forever in this phase, on the radio or phoning into The Wright Stuff on Channel 5 airing strong opinions about immigration or council housing but without any political knowledge, “They should all get out of our country, why? They just should.”  It is wonderful to have your own opinions and to be able to debate, argue and put them across with insight and reason, it shows an educated, well-rounded person.  Shouting loudly without substance does not.

 Maybe young people go through that “know-it-all” phase because we spend 15 years in constant education, ramming our brains with facts and figures so we conclude we must know it all. But there is more to knowledge than the National Curriculum.  An education in life is much more valuable and perhaps it is not until your mid-twenties, when life has bashed you about a bit, that you realise you actually haven’t got a clue and are just beginning a lifetime of learning.  You become humble.

As an actor we are given constant opportunities to better yourself; sometimes it feels relentless and hard to hear.  You are given audition feedback or daily notes when performing.  No-one is too talented for notes; even Meryl Streep and her three Oscars must crave direction and criticism knowing her performance will be better because of it.  But the desire to learn requires humility and seeing it as an opportunity; understanding that there are people more knowledgeable than you and being open enough to hear them.

I recently watched a documentary entitled "The Pitman Painters"; about a group of miners in the North-East town of Ashington in the 1930s who had left school at 12 years old for a life working underground.  This group of men felt they had missed out on an education so, with the help of the Workers Education Association, decided to study “something different.”  After a 12 hour shift down the mine, they studied art appreciation leading them to create works of art themselves capturing their lives.  I was struck by this desire to broaden your mind amid such toil when the majority of us would be shattered and head home for dinner and Eastenders.  Even though the subject was so far removed from their working lives this group of men had the drive to enhance and occupy their minds, not in return for a degree or adulation but purely for themselves.  It was truly inspiring.

Their story was turned into a play written by Lee Hall

So do we need to leave school at 12 to fuel the desire to better ourselves? 

There are numerous Adult Education courses now but our main concern when bettering ourselves is increasingly aesthetic; losing weight, getting more toned or tanned.  Learning doesn’t necessarily mean reading bigger newspapers or watching more episodes of Eggheads, it can be about changing your perspective.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the men in that documentary compared with some people I seem to encounter today; those who are bored and so just head to a pub for a day or two or those who don’t seem willing to listen to anyone else.  But this isn’t a modern phenomenon, I am sure people have always been separated by an ability to settle or the desire to strive; it is a state of mind.  We can be learning until the day we die if we want to; evolving and re-designing ourselves.

Taking time to wonder....

I know it is naive to wish everyone was like my nephew; humble, in awe and hungry to learn but maybe if we took these elements into the adult world then we would ultimately gain more.....

....and if you don’t fancy art or painting, I promise you counting Nee Nahs is fun!

(take a look at The Ashington Groups website if you fancy knowing a bit more about the group www.ashingtongroup.co.uk )