A Christmas Carol at The Rose Theatre, Kingston

I didn’t feel jolly or remotely ready for Christmas. I am bruised after months of heartache and festivities are making me feel bitter and alone. Rather like Scrooge.

But I had very nicely been invited along to the press night of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol at The Rose Theatre, Kingston and so I dragged my gloomy self up the A3 to see if I could be ‘out-Scrooged.’

Firstly, may I say what a fantastic theatre The Rose is; shame on me for living in Twickenham for years and never having visited it before.  It has a cosy, yet cool, vibe – all mis-matched furniture, warehouse architecture and quirky cafe. Think more Royal Court than local repertory theatre. It is warm and welcoming (especially with the red carpet VIP treatment tonight) with people piling into the grand auditorium. The stage is vast, rather like that of The Olivier, with a 'groundlings' section where families settled in on red cushions.

The programme told me that A Christmas Carol hasn’t been out of print for 172 years and after countless adaptations (woo hoo for The Muppet one) we’d be forgiven for thinking ‘oh not this again.’ But this production at The Rose is breathtaking and packed with sentiment.

I was thrilled to see my Thenardier from my last Les Mis contract and West End darling, Martin Ball, playing Scrooge. There’s a reason why this man works so much – he’s brilliant. His exquisite vocal technique effortlessly tackles Dickens’ prose with the right amount of weight and humour.  With such buzzing ensemble scenes you could easily forget that Scrooge is watching, but Ball is living every moment and his subtle reactions are heartbreaking.

He is supported by the very professional Rose Youth Theatre (I saw the Red Team, marvellous, with a young Ebenezer who was the spit of Robert Pattinson!) and a cast of actor-musicians, including Tomm Coles who I saw this summer as Sowerberry in that brilliant Watermill production of Oliver! As I’ve blogged in the past, it really is the year of the actor-muso and rightly so – they bring such an authentic quality to a production and I marvel at their talent. They help to create a beautiful soundscape, although at times it was slightly too amplified for my sensitive ears, a technical issue not theirs. 

The scenes feel panoramic with clever projections that create a murky and bleak Dickensian London. I enjoyed the nod to Bentalls, all the details are there in this great design. The ghostly appearances were made particularly effective through projection; Marley’s entrance was truly terrifying and the ghost of Christmas present (an incredible creation reminiscent of Bjork, all angles and innocence) was spectacular.

I don’t want to give too much away and spoil the surprises. All I will say is that the end of Act 1 moved me to tears, as did Scrooge’s arrival to his past where I could have danced with Christmas delight (despite holding my breath and watching through tears!)

There’s a reason why this story is retold every year and it is simply because it’s perfect. It has all the lessons you need for a happy life; Christmas is for family, for love, life is an act of will and The Rose does this story justice with an energetic and moving production. Director, Ciaran McConville writes beautifully in his forward,

“Scrooge’s story illustrates that it’s never too late to change the world, nor our place in it...........this is the season for wise hearts and second chances.”

That is certainly my Christmas wish to have a wise heart and a second chance. And I’m sure that we could all do with a dose of A Christmas Carol to escape the world of David Cameron decisions and news reports for two hours.

So whether your heart is broken, bruised, delicate or confused this Christmas, I urge to warm it with this production of A Christmas Carol. Let that be my Christmas present to you all!

Bums on seats for Mr Foote's Other Leg

Visiting the Theatre Royal Haymarket last week was a very proud moment for me. I was meeting my dear friend Laura Toots** who is making her play debut there in Mr Foote’s Other Leg. You may remember dear Toots as my accomplice in Henna Night years ago, a play we co-produced with dreams of broadening our careers beyond musical theatre. WELL, SHE DID IT! Her play debut wasn’t a regional tour or fringe event, no dear Toots doesn’t mess around with starting small, it is at the bloomin’ poshest theatre in London’s celebrated West End! Proud doesn’t even come close, she’s so brilliant.

AND it’s a fantastic play. Well, it stars Simon Russell Beale and anything that man touches can’t fail to be fantastic. It is based on a real man, Samuel Foote, a one-legged transvestite and comedy actor. The play is saturated with fast-paced wit and bawdy fun but with some genuinely touching moments.  Foote was a fascinating man and I can’t believe I hadn’t heard of him before so thank you to the writer (and actor in the cast) Ian Kelly for bringing him to our attention in such a successful way. I’m not sure the tourists sat next to me with their two children under the age of 12 agreed as the first scene commenced with some ‘fucks’ and ‘cocks in jars!’ but trust me it’s great.

I was surprised to see the upper balcony closed on a Saturday night and saddened by the interval when I was realised what a gem of a play London’s theatre audiences were missing out on. I’m sure they were all jammed into some budget-busting musical but more fool them for not seeing this before boarding their planes home.

If you are an aspiring actor, drama student or just a simple theatre lover then why oh why aren’t you knocking down the doors of The Haymarket to see Simon Russell Beale live onstage? He is one of the country’s most gifted actors, (arguably the finest) with such natural delivery and impeccable technique to make throw away comments reach the back of the dress circle. Dressed in full 18^th frockage, he manages to make you well up with empathy and then p*ss your pants a moment later.

Writer Ian Kelly calls his play ‘a love letter to theatre’ – full of the characters that will forever appear in the life of such beautiful buildings. You cannot help but laugh knowingly as the stage manageress laments her life washing actors’ socks and backstage dressing-room chat behind the scenes. But this play is not just peppered with in-jokes for actory folk; it celebrates the will to perform and write plays that deserve to seen, the role that theatre plays in society and that unnameable quality that defines a performer.

In short, get yourself a ticket. It will be a great Christmas pressie, a way to spend time with a loved one and the show is so wonderful that you will thank me for it! Trust me, I’m an actor.

**Toots is not her real, or even Spotlight, name but an endearing nickname inspired by a superb Trombone impression in her repertoire!

A Little bit of Honesty

I have been having some singing lessons. They are long overdue and my first step towards getting Daniella and her mojo back together.

I have written in the past about how important it is to keep honing your skills when you are a performer; singing lessons, dance class and theatre trips. In my silly world, I haven’t lived up to my own advice. I’d let my passion and drive dwindle so no wonder I’ve been a rudderless, miserable shadow of myself.

Well, I’ve had a good telling off/rude awakening whatever cliché you want to use here and I’m on the path to finding my own Act 2.

When you’ve been teaching for a while yourself, it’s really strange to be the student again. It’s like starting from scratch, realising that old habits were wrong and perhaps that’s why I hit a wall professionally. But how liberating to start again and learn new ways to do the thing that I love best. 

Yes, it’s hard but I have a great teacher and it feels invigorating to have a goal. Only today I saw an article in The Stage about actors needing to constantly re-train and re-hone theirskills. Becoming stagnant is the danger, not only as an actor but in life to. My wise old Dad says life is about always working towards a goal, if he was on that Jeremy Vine Radio 2 segment “What makes us human,” I suspect that this would be Dad’s definition. It seems a good one to live by.

Who knows if it will lead to auditions and being a working actress again, but I do know it is a step towards being the best that I can be again.

Why am I telling you all this? Is this over-sharing with the inter-web world? Well, yes, it is very personal to me but I feel like it might be relevant. A lovely tweeter contacted me this week saying that she enjoyed the honesty of my blogs – so what’s the point of only writing about the good stuff? That doesn’t always help and is the blog equivalent of all of those “nom nom my gorgeous meal, look at me and my perfect relationship and baby scan picture” facebook folk. Life is a yin and yang of good and bad and if this little bit of honesty can help someone, then great. There may be actors out there who are losing their confidence like I did, people who are unsure what to do and it may help to know that we all feel a bit crap from time to time. Just don’t let it go too far, don’t lose your mojo entirely – trust me, it’s scary. So go and try to do something positive, something small. Just re-address the balance of creativity in your life in whatever form that may take for you. What’s that phrase? Take care of the pennies and the pounds will take care of themselves? Little steps folks, little steps!

I wish you all a happy day.

Brush Up Your Shakespeare - audiences and their theatre etiquette

“I spent most of my summer down at the beach,” said Sandy in Grease, but as for me? I went to the theatre.

I have ticked some theatrical greats off my ‘people that I love and want to see live’ bucket list. Antony Sher, Harriet Walter and Imelda Staunton have all stunned me, moved me to tears and demonstrated the utter brilliance of their craft.  It’s an incredible feeling to witness the power of human communication looking so effortless and yet being aware of the toil and skill involved. Money well spent, I say, and for a fraction of the cost for a ticket to Elf at The Dominion!

But something else struck me whilst I soaked up some summer culture – audiences have changed.

There doesn’t seem to be that same reverence or hushed respect from behind the fourth wall. The proscenium arch seems to have been mistaken for a TV screen with the audiences in their own living room. I’m going to sound like an old crone “it wasn’t like this in my day” but I have a lot of respect for old crones and ‘my day’ was only a few years ago so here comes the rant!

v  When the lights go down – Sssshhhh! “Who’s that then?” “What she say?” are things you may hear whispered in an auditorium, even my Grandpa decided to exclaim loudly that “they wouldn’t have had kettles like that!” during a performance of a World War 1 play but when it comes to general chit chat .....Ssssssshhh. This summer I was surrounded by theatre-goers discussing texts on their phones (there’s a whole other section for that gripe) discussing their snacks and just having general chats whilst the play was going on. In my book it is a travesty to chat while Imelda Staunton is singing the balls off of ‘Rose’s Turn’ – if your focus is not entirely on her then you shouldn’t be allowed in a theatre, any theatre - ever.

Imelda - there are no words 

v  It’s not a panto – Pantomime is brilliant; a fantastic way to introduce children to the theatre, they can shout, scream and dance as much as they like. I even love the drunken hen do dancing in the aisles that a Mamma Mia megamix creates, but it has a place. The people next to me at a performance of ‘Oliver’ at The Watermill, after shouting up to their friends in the balcony, decided to help the characters with their lines. I’m pretty sure that this uber-talented cast (nearly all playing 3 or more instruments live) had rehearsed enough to know the script and even though it’s a very famous story, I do not need to hear you warble “Moooooooore” before Bumble does and I certainly don’t need you to remind him that the law is “AN ASS!!” Well done for seeing the film but if you want to be in the play – get an agent and audition! (ps. You should add Cameron Blakely onto your own bucket lists – he was Fagin in this production and is a truly enigmatic and magnetic actor.)

 

Cameron Blakely is awesome. In everything!

v  Phones – We can see you! You face is illuminated by a blue glare and it pisses actors off. Benedict was onto you this summer with his eloquent stage door plea.  You are not in Avatar – stop giving yourself a blue face, the world won’t stop if you turn off your phone for a bit. There might even be something more stimulating happening on the stage.....

v  An ice-cream in the interval – that’s all!

I love the very English tradition of eating a local, over-priced ice cream with a tiny shovel whilst staunchly minding our seats from potential chancers. A treat in-between acts whilst the actors have a fag /wig change so we can chill out and read their biogs in the programme. But since when is it ok to have a meal.....during the show? It’s been this way in the cinema for a while now; smelly nachos and phallic fake meat in a bun to stink out the room. My late Nannie had to endure the munching of popcorn and wafts of nachos whilst watching me in a stadium in Europe. I have even heard an audience member open ‘the noisiest bag of crisps available to man’ as we sat on the barricades watching Eponine die in Les Mis - the lack of awareness was comical. But I resent sitting next to a rustling picnic of homemade sandwiches and fizzing bottles of pop whilst watching a play.

Should I blame Simon Cowell and Andrew Lloyd Webber? Have they brought the TV watching audience into theatres via reality casting? Do we blame social media for forcing us to tweet our opinions before the finale? Or is our fault for no longer wearing an evening gown for a night in the West End and instead trailing in with our shopping bags and collapsing into our £70 seat like it’s an armchair?

But wait, old crone. Shouldn’t I move with the times? The Donmar’s 2014 play, Privacy, asked audiences to actually use their phones as part of the production. Selfies were used to prove a point about our digital footprints – we are in the digital age after all why shouldn’t art tackle it? We are asked to tweet our reactions to help with the marketing of a show, heck, most productions don’t even use the proscenium arch anymore. We explore promenade theatre, we go to site-specific productions where we may be in a shop, a field or a restaurant; we are taking exciting theatrical risks.

Bravo!

And shouldn’t I just be pleased that people are leaving their lounges and going to the theatre? Anybody and everybody should keep attending and gaining from all the marvellous things that a live performance offers. I don’t want us to go back to an elitist age where people think that the theatre’s too posh for them but maybe we do need to brush up on our theatre etiquette, if only to show our respect to the actors beyond the footlights who are slogging their guts out.

Gotta sing.....Gotta Dance.....

I miss singing. My heart misses it. Not just belting along to the radio or pottering around the house with the ditty “If I were a flip flop where would I beeeeeeee?” (Oh c’mon we all do a little inner monologue singing from time to time) but performance singing with an ensemble, the lights, the orchestra and a heart-stopping libretto written by a genius.

Since focusing on becoming a secure grown-up person my bank balance may have stabilised but my soul has depleted somewhat. Now don’t fret folks, I’m not miserable. Not at all. I am happily surrounded by things that make my heart swell; my niece and nephew, a new found obsession with yoga, a bright future with my man but.......... that part of me,the girl who sang along with Elaine Paige to “Nobody’s Side” on cassette in her first car has been resurfacing. I’ve had to bury her away in order to get on with things but I’m realising that you can’t keep parts of your personality hidden away for long because they’ll become malnourished little shadows of themselves. Think Cheryl Vander-whatshernewname and those recent tabloid pictures; my inner performer is skin and bones in a Prada jumpsuit.

My theory is that we all nurture little facets of our personality inside of ourselves that pop out and take the lead at various times;

• Inner child – she still wants to be adored, has the occasional tantrum and eats too many sweets,
• Maternal lioness – she is selfless, needs to protect and care, dotes on her nephew and niece and is aware of her ticking body clock,
• Career woman – she is independent, sharp and driven, you don’t mess with her in an email row
• Reckless gal – she buys random clothes online, giggles like mad with her girlfriends and drinks tequila despite her vow never to do so again in Magaluf circa 1996,
• Spiritual yogi – she explores her connection with the universe, has a meditation app and eats Kale on purpose

At different stages of your life, who am I kidding, at different stages of my day I can be led by any one of these versions of me. But the whole array fit together and make up who you are. Without the whole mix, you aren’t being true to yourself and I’m realising that without my performer-self, (“Dani Star” as I christened her 29 years ago. Don’t worry it makes me shudder too!) I feel unbalanced.

I think it’s part of the grieving process to shut things away; I couldn’t set up a business whilst crying into my Mamma Mia show shoes, but maybe now is the time to....... quote an old cliché. Sometimes you just need old cliché, (just look at your Facebook feed for evidence of this trend!)  I need to face the music and dance.

You know this feeling? That's what I want back

So I’ve got a plan folks, watch this space........

In the words of Jean Valjean - Who Am I?

I feel weird.

Actually, I don't know how I feel.

How should one feel after deciding to step away from their career for a bit? Grief-stricken? Disappointed? Hopeful?

I’ve not got a ‘bun in the oven’ or destined for pastures new, my acting career just hasn't been going as planned recently and so I've decided to take a step back, re-group and re-think.
But oh what a hard decision it's been. Maybe I'm not weeping and wailing now because I did all my grieving during the crappy auditions and dead-end decision process. There’s been months of uncertainty, questions and dwindling self-esteem.

But if I'm not actively looking for acting work for a while then, in the words of Jean Valjean, “who am I?” Unlike Jean Valjean and his tenor tones, I don't have an answer hidden under my shirt to rip off in a reveal (trust me, I’ve tried it!)

Ever since I was 8 and told Gary Wilmot after meeting him backstage that I was going to an actress that is what has defined me. It defined my education, my life choices and my personality. I was blinkered and that was my only goal. But when did those blinkers widen? When did my goals change? And what defines me now?

If I'm not "Daniella the actress" then who the hell am I? I certainly don't feel as exciting or interesting anymore. And definitely not defined; instead my edges seem blurry and the colouring has spilled over the lines. Friends and family expect me to be that person, family especially have enjoyed it, so am I letting people down? I have always told aspiring actors in my columns and blogs not to make your career your world and to nurture your normal life too. Did I take that too literally? Or am I so unhinged now because, unwittingly, acting was more of my life then I realised? An Oedipus-like figure wandering in the wilderness of options. Gosh, even my analogies have become epic!

Either way I'm scared now folks. Anxious/calm/over-thinking/relieved/unsure! What if I've done the wrong thing?

Will I be crawling about Grizabella-style haggard by my bad life choices? Will I be planning a come-back in my twilight years a la Norma Desmond? Will I ever be able to live a life not peppered with musical theatre imagery? I hope not, because that's how I like to see the world.

I'm hoping that if I keep humming Boubil and Schonbourg’s beautiful melody long enough, one day I may rip open my shirt and find the answer. 

The Circle of Life - a trip to The Lion King and the life decision I've been avoiding

I went to see a hugely successful and long running show yesterday – The Lion King. Last year it was announced that it had grossed more money through ticket sales (not counting merchandise or the film revenue) than any other stage show or film release. I had seen it a decade ago when a fellow drama student gave her magnificent debut but I hadn’t been back since. However being blessed with a theatre-loving, confident little 4 year old nephew, I felt now was the time to take him on his first trip to the West End. Until ‘Cars’ or ‘Planes 2’ the musical opens in town, The Lion King was the obvious choice. And it did not disappoint.

Seeing theatre through a child’s eyes filled me with magic and awe. But the presence of this show is such that I think I would have been just as tearful had I been sat there alone. This show has been running for 15 years in London and it still amazes. The set and design are just faultless and the skill and energy of the ensemble performers are sublime. I thought I'd done well to master how to work Trekkie Monster and my Bad Idea Bear in Avenue Q until I saw a man on 4 stilts as a giraffe!

My neph and I gasped as the elephant walked past us and cowered as the hyenas sang. I’m sorry but no matter how advanced technology gets, no 3D movie can have the same effect as a live performance.

The irony of attending a Sunday matinee wasn’t lost on me after airing my views on the matter last year. However, it was a packed house and the performers didn’t appear to be dreaming of roast dinners with family instead, they were fully focused and awe-inspiring.  When you are a performer in a long-running show you can be forgiven for having the odd jaded day, it is tough to do the same thing 8 shows a week with the same intensity. So I just want to say thank you to them and should they ever have an “I’m knackered, it’s Sunday, why am I dressed as a bloomin’ bird” feeling, let them know that audiences REALLY appreciate their work.

It’s easy as a performer to forget that the mass of eyes in the darkness are individual people; folk who’ve saved up all year for a ticket (seriously Disney £70 a ticket?) couples on a first date or a proud auntie with her much-adored nephew. If you are playing to a 1000seater house then you are making that many people happy. How great is that? So thank you to all of them, and especially to my barricades pal Andy Mace for organising the tickets, you all made our day.

My enjoyment as an audience member held more poignancy today; I have seen more productions than appeared in them in recent months and my decision making process of ‘what the heck to do next’ has come to a head. That’s hard for a performer to say, whether you’re a jobbing actress or not. It cuts away at the part of you that defines who you are or who you have been. Wow, I feel like I’m at a cyber actors anonymous meeting, but you catch my drift.

I loved watching the skill of The Lion King cast and being able to experience my precious nephew’s reactions to it. But did I enjoy that more than I do performing myself? My heart misses it terribly but if I was sat waiting for the phone to ring then I wouldn’t be able afford such precious days as yesterday with my family (once again, seriously £70 a ticket?)

The Circle of Life is one of the most rousing songs in the musical with a clear message – maybe moments in one’s life are transient. Maybe we can’t have the same career forever and you get caught up in the circle of life that includes responsibility and bills. Or is that an excuse – am I missing out on my place in the world by being scared of this blip and not holding on fast? Surely, all the happiness guides in the world say follow your heart but I have to be honest and tell you, that I don’t know what my heart wants. And that is scarier than a hyena running past you in the theatre. I need Rafiki to come and knock me on the head and give me the answer.......

Noisyjet - traveling on a budget in half term

I have just got back from a few days in Marrakech – it was colourful, chaotic and crazy. A unique experience that resulted in my boyfriend and I spending our hard earned pennies on ‘souk’ purchases!

I had booked some budget flights just to get us to and fro with minimal fuss. They do the job, don’t they? I did that typical thing of sitting at my laptop, choosing the 7am flight out and 9pm flight back and thinking “well, that’s perfect....three whole days there.”  But that never happens does it? You have one full day, one where you’re half asleep and have had 3 breakfasts by 11am and the last day is spent drinking in endless cafes like a nomad until the evening because you were turfed out of your comfy hotel at 10am.

The other downside of the dawn/dusk flight package is that you need those precious hours in the air to catch up on your sleep so that you don’t mooch about your destination in a sleep deprived fog snapping at your other half. That was our plan......

7am on the way out – I have stuffed my earphones in my ears ready for my Most Relaxing Album..Ever! to lull me into sleep. However, our surroundings were about to conspire against us. A Dad sat next to us and had been left in charge of his three children under 7 (his wife had disappeared to the solace of a solo seat towards the front.) These three children were excited to be flying “We’re SOOOOOOOO high” but the younger one soon got bored of sitting and wriggled/cried/wailed across her seat and across ours. Bliss.

But these little ones were the least of our loud-mouth troubles. No matter how high the volume of The Lark Ascending on my iPod, nothing could drown out the Twitchers behind us. Twitchers are bird watching enthusiasts and they were excitedly talking about the species they were off to see. To be fair, that is very exciting for them. But the German gentleman directly behind me didn’t have a volume button and emphatically shouted across to his mates to get above the roar of the engines, for three hours.

Between the toddlers and the twitchers, not a wink was to be had.

Three days of exploring and relaxation later and we were looking forward to catching a few Zzzzz’s before an early morning drive home from Gatwick. As we settled down.....what’s that? An alarm? A goat being sacrificed? No, another toddler incandescent with rage sitting 2 rows behind. Now, I am not being dramatic or a grumpy old woman – EVERYONE at the back of our plane couldn’t believe the irrepressible sounds emitting from row 29. Imagine a mixture of air raid siren with car alarm and screeching fox. A few heads began to turn, then more with wide eyes and even an air steward attempting to explain why she needed to wear a seat belt. I may not be a parent yet (and this experience has put me off for a while) but I do know that quietly saying Ssssh to a screaming toddler will not work. The Dad was bloody useless. A woman went up to offer help, my man kept huffing through annoyance and exhaustion and every time there was a small interlude the intercom erupted with a mundane update at a decibel level that I’m sure should be illegal.

It went a little something like this.....

Toddler - Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech, wail, sob, aaaaaaaaaaaargh

Boyfriend – Huff, Huff

Intercom – BING BONG! (I jump out of my skin)

Toddler – Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaail, wail, wail, cough, cough, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH

Boyfriend – Sigh, deep breath, huff

Intercom - We are flying in a high wind so the journey will be 20 minutes longer

Toddler – SCREEEEEEEEEEEECH, squeal, bellow, shriiiiiiiiiiek

Boyfriend – Grumble, huff

Intercom – BING BONG It is raining in London, if you are asleep (no bloomin’ chance) please show us your seat belts are fastened (what?)

.........for three hours.

When we eventually landed the megaphone/intercom belted out the news that we had to wait to get onto a stand for a further 10 minutes. You could visibly see all the passengers tense up; there was silence, even psycho toddler was muted. It was agonising - where’s Cliff Richard when you need him to break the tension with a good ol’ sing song?

Noisyjet was silent and we’d survived.

So where to book for a city break next? Ooooo the early morning flight is £30 cheaper.........