Tales from the Script

The job apps continue to flow, as do the words. I'm hoping that I've done the late Mr Banks and the likes of Aaron Sorkin proud by being 46 pages into my first screenplay. See below for screen writing, Royal Exchange hobnobbing, new hope, and what it's like to make a film in a disused psychiatric ward...

Further to my grumblings about auditions last time, shortly after my last post, I received an email informing me that I did indeed get the lead in a short independent film for which I auditioned. Despite the 5.30am start to a day which began with feeding the two overly-excitable pedigrees I was dog-sitting that week, and a struggle with a rogue arachnid in the kitchen, the first day of filming turned out to be an exciting new challenge - as different to my previous roles as it could have been. I play a patient in a psychiatric ward, who decides to escape from the hospital for reasons I won't disclose until further notice. As a result of what was - in my experience - the luckiest bit of location-finding in the British independent film industry, we managed to film the first block of scenes in a disused ward, in a real psychiatric hospital.

Aside from the loveliness and co-operation of the receptionist and nurses I encountered, this was a weird and confusing experience. I should start by assuring you that I did, in fact, write my dissertation on the presentation of the mentally ill on-screen and onstage, and that I do try to be an advocate for acceptance in this sector at all times. However, filming in this particular environment did take some getting used to. This was principally because - even in the disused ward - all corridors are electronically locked, and require a fob to be entered, and so on; the entire cast and crew had one fob between them, for opening what, I assume, were sound-proof doors. My main concern was being trapped between two said doors (in, say, the disused ward), with no one to hear my screams. This was only just second to the fact that I was dressed as a 'psychiatric patient' in a psychiatric hospital; a place in which many genuine psychiatric patients are treated...I honestly wouldn't have known what to say, had I encountered a real patient, nurse or doctor, donning my stereotypical white pyjamas, unkempt hair, and impractical footwear.

That said, a job is a job (albeit expenses only), and hey - I'm the lead! Edgy stuff like this is showreel gold, and any part where I get to wear pyjamas all day and be strapped to a bed for a sustained period of time has to be better than your average nine-to-five. Watch this space for trailers.

Onto the stage; recently, I saw Too Clever by Half at The Royal Exchange; a Russian comedy about class, money, and deceit. The physical performances - under the direction of theatre company Told by an Idiot - were fantastic. As was the use of 60s music, audience participation, and multi roles. I found myself bemused by the plot at times, but it was [mostly] all neatly tied up in the end. Most of all, though, I was intrigued by the individual actors - they could dance, they could switch identity from one scene to the next, they could make you laugh...where did they come from (apart from the one who was the mum in My Parents are Aliens - I knew that much)? How did they get to be so good? Can I join in? Well, after a series of unrelated events, a group of friends and I ended up at a club in Manchester - the same place, so it happened, where the cast were conducting their end-of-show-run celebrations. Being the shameless networking whore that I am, I wasted no time in speaking to the lead actor. He was warm, receptive, and happy to speak to a fan and fellow actor. It was a huge breath of fresh air for him to tell me not to worry too much about getting an agent - "Just do what you want" were his exact words, I believe. So, there we have it - while I'm waiting for the professional world to open its doors to me (even if I have to use a crowbar), maybe wandering the corridors of hospitals in my pyjamas, being eaten by mirrors, and following a deranged girl in a wedding dress around is the way to go. It usually helps if someone's pointing a camera at you, I might add.         

'Too Clever by Half' at The Royal Exchange

So, all that's left is for me to fill you in on my latest 'project'. I mentioned last time that I'd taken to writing a story, or novel...a friend of mine, having read that post, suggested that I make lemonade with my lack-of-acting-jobs lemons, and turn this into a screenplay (inevitably, casting myself as a lead role). And 46 pages later, here I am. It was a wonderful suggestion; you know who you are! I really have found writing my own film a fulfilling, relaxing occupation, and I'm itching to write more as I speak (well, type). The characters have developed nicely, and I'm starting to picture exactly how each scene should look on the big - or small - screen. After what I imagine will be a long editing process, once the first draft of the script is finished, I will advertise for a co-director (to do all the hard stuff), a crew, and a cast. Having acted in a number of films already, I do have a rough idea of the resources I'll need - principally, sandwiches. The long and short of it is that I'm excited, and that I'll have something to do for the indefinite period of no real work.      

And - you're up to date! On a slightly more positive note than usual, I hope. I'm off to do some more scripting, and look over what scenes we're filming this week (this time, I get to wear my pyjamas in public - exciting!).

It'll get better; it has to.

Post-uni, Iain Banks, Italy, Scotland, and new beginnings. 

While I don't claim to be among the hard-core long-term-unemployed - about which I feel slightly humble - having had five interviews in Rutland, Hemel Hempstead, Leatherhead, High Wycombe, and Wellington, plus an assessment in Manchester, and three auditions in Liverpool last week, I don't think I could exactly be accused of "not trying" when it comes to being a job-seeker.

For those of you who have recently graduated, finished school, or left their previous job for one reason or another, you will (probably) understand the frustrations that I and countless others are experiencing with regard to employment, or lack thereof. However, by putting virtual pen to virtual paper by means of blogging, Goodreads, the beginnings of several 'novels', and generally recording "just thoughts, really", I like to think that I know how to make the best of a bad(ish) situation.

Having finished University a matter of weeks ago, had my holidays in Italy and Edinburgh, and been left with no current plans for the immediate future, all of this new-found free time has indeed opened some doors in some rather unexpected places. As most of you who follow this blog will know, my principal ambition is - and pretty much always has been - acting and performance of various kinds. However, following the recent death of my beloved Iain Banks (The Crow Road, The Steep Approach to Garbadale), my attention has been drawn away from the stage and towards the page. When I heard of Mr Banks's illness, I soon picked up Complicity, his deeply dark thriller about journalism, murder, S&M, and drug abuse. To my delight, I accidentally stumbled upon a couple of the book's iconic settings when I visited Edinburgh a couple of weeks ago. Anyway, once I'd finished this - the first, I must admit, in a rather dry spell reading-wise - I was hungry for more Banks and literature in general. I took Stonemouth (the last book to be published before Banks's death) to Italy with me. Much more light-hearted than Complicity, the main female character was called Ellie, and call me sad, sentimental, twee, silly, or any number of things, but I couldn't help feeling a pang of emotion and satisfaction at this slight nod to me and my namesakes as part of one of his final novels.

So, to return to my original point, I was once again spellbound by the words of one of my favourite men; my attention was very much devoted to fiction and the things it can achieve. This reminded me of the makings of a story I'd started a few months before, as a way of relieving exam stress at random intervals. So, when my feet touched English soil once again, I returned to my A4 notepad, opened the file I'd given a working title based on the characters I'd previously invented, and decided to see what happened. I was instantly reminded of the refreshing, productive feeling that simply exploring your ideas can provide; I don't claim that anything I write is ground-breaking, or even particularly interesting, but it's a start, and it's better than sitting around dwelling on what you're not or could be doing. Would this have happened had I gotten the summer job I'd applied for? Probably not. Would I have even enjoyed that job? I doubt it. For once, I'm fully appreciating the joy of reading and creating for the sake of it; not because it's part of my degree, and certainly not because I'm getting paid for it.

There are certainly days - today being a prime example - when finding a job (any job) and moving out as soon as I can feel like the be all and end all, and when I'm convinced that nobody wants me, nobody will ever want me, and that I may as well give up now. I'm sure many of you know where I'm coming from. I couldn't have been in a worse mood this afternoon than when I stomped home - tears quite obviously in my eyes - slumped down at my desk, and started to scour every temp agency in the city. Taking a step back, however, by wandering into the garden and spending some time with my family and my dog in the sunshine, made me think twice. There's not just one thing that I can do, and there isn't just one option for me. As a wonderful friend of mine suggested the other day, I could be a professional dog-sitter if I really wanted to (I really do love dogs; it wasn't a bad idea); I could write my own play, recruit a small company of actors, and start touring in a few months; I could plague every newspaper in the country with articles and reviews I've written and *maybe* convince them to let me make the coffee three times a week. There's always a plan B.

To summarise, basically, I think many of us are despairing at the lack of employment, opportunities, and general comfortable living in the current climate; but sometimes, all it takes is a bit of breathing space to realise that all is not lost. These days, I spend my time reading whatever I can get my hands on, recording my thoughts, writing letters, spending time with loved ones, and exploring new options as often as possible. Unemployment is a bitch, but at least it gives us time that we wouldn't otherwise have. It's how you use that time that counts; who knows - maybe one of us will stumble upon something amazing when we're least expecting it. 




 

The Beginning of the End, or the End of the Beginning?

Well, it's been a while, but I've returned from the abyss of uni performances, exams, interviews, and dissertationing. 

My biggest news is that I've now finished my degree for good. I handed in my dissertation (Mental Illness and the Modern Stage), did my last ever inter-uni fencing competition, and finished my exams all in the space of about three weeks. Now's the time to focus on employment, auditions and agencies.

First, though, I don't believe I've blogged about any recent shows I've seen. Let's start from the top. My first trip to The Royal Exchange in the past six months was to see Orpheus Descending by Tennessee Williams. After mistakenly telling my other half that this play was about a forbidden lesbian relationship in Southern America, sitting in my seat, I soon realised that 'Val' was in fact a man (oops). Being an absolutely massive fan of Williams (focusing heavily on Cat on a Hot Tin Roof in said dissertation), I wasn't disappointed by this production. I confess, I haven't read the play, but Williams never fails to haunt reader or viewer with his chilling, atmospheric sounds and visuals; The Exchange captures this admirably. I was also pleasantly surprised to see Imogen Stubbs in the female lead (some of you may remember her short-lived, but memorable performance in Jack and Sarah). I was promised an interview with the director, which I intended to use as a brownie-points-winning appendix, but I'm still waiting on her answers.

Imogen Stubbs in Orpheus Descending

Next came Blue/Orange by Joe Penhall at The Opera House. A touring show, this starred Downton Abbey's and Cold Feet's Robert Bathurst as one of only three characters; a senior mental health consultant. Seeing as this play is centred on mental illness and hospital politics, it was another contender for The Dissertation, until I decided to focus solely on American and Canadian Theatre. Again, this was a triumph of both script and performance. The parts were perfectly cast, the dialogue slick, and the minimalist, animatronic set very fitting for the clinical, soulless setting. Do go and see it whether you're a theatre regular or not. 

The doctors argue over Christopher's (centre) case in Blue/Orange

My second trip to The Royal Exchange was to see Rats' Tales by Carol Ann Duffy. Although initially this seems like a Christmas show exclusively for kids and their parents, my grown-up boyfriend and I both thoroughly enjoyed it. Think Tim Burton meets Angela Carter (without the sadism), meets Grizzly Tales for Gruesome Kids (remember that?!). It was a perfect mix of narration, physical theatre, live music, and elaborate - often functional -costumes. The Tales dealt with included The Pied Piper of Hamlin, Wooden Maria, and something about a changeling (don't worry, most of them weren't especially familiar to me, either). Aside from some poor casting in terms of child 'actors'; definitely worth a watch.  

The troll changeling in Rats' Tales

 Finally came something from my very own department; The Zero Hour by Imitating the Dog at the Nuffield Theatre. This was the brainchild of our Director of Studies, Andrew Quick; a hypothetical, parallel universe take on the end of WWII. Seeing as I used this production for exam material, I can't say much more, for fear of plagiarising myself (!). I will say, however, that unlike many contemporary pieces - mentioning no names (except that their first is Forced and their second is Entertainment) - it didn't outstay its welcome, despite the lack of an interval and the use of a dense, thought-provoking concept to digest. 

Imitating the Dog's signature cinematic frame

In terms of cinema, my most request quest was to see Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby. More so than most of his previous efforts, this is a visually stunning film that takes hold of you from beginning to end (I'm not waxing lyrical - it does!). I can't say I was a fan of Moulin Rouge, but with this, Mr L has certainly redeemed himself. The only questionable element is Leonardo's accent - is he...Australian...South African? I think the term 'old sport' confused him (bless). Well, he certainly looks the part. Again, go and see it (and prepare for some unspeakable racism).

The man himself.

Anyway, I shall leave you with news that I'm finally attending the premier of The Wedding Dress (if all goes to plan); a film that I made over a year ago, and I've been dying to see ever since. 

Here are some pictures to illustrate the End of the Road, degree-wise:

The cover image I settled on for my dissertation

Me in my last ever uni performance: Snow White by Elfriend Jelinek

My attitude the night before Lancaster vs York fencing competition

Me (right) huntin' some York

Spinelessness

I resume blogging after a rather lengthy break; the past few weeks has been filled with filming, line-learning, rehearsals and performance.

Following my work on Matt Hilton's The Day, I was cast in a one-woman short play as part of the project Theatre Uncut Lancaster. Spine by Clara Brennan tells the story of Glenda, a library-robbing, senile widow who lets a room to Amy (me), and the carer/patient, mother/daughter, best friend relationship between the two that ensues. I spent the best part of six weeks learning this four-page monologue, which I performed at Lancaster's DT3; a converted church hall which now serves as a small theatre. During this piece, we learn of Glenda's late husband's antics with lingerie catalogues and 'tousers round his ankles'; her obsesion with pastry and tins of fruit cake; Amy's growing love of literature, and Glenda's heartbreak at her beloved libraries being shut down by councils all over the country.

This was, without a doubt, one of my favourite roles to have played so far. Overlooking Ms. Brennan's dubious attempts to write as a teenager (with the inclusion of gems like 'rock up' and 'weird-ass'), the script was emotional, intelligent, funny and heart-warming all at the same time. Everything I've dreamed of in terms of performance.

In other news, I have finally managed to get some professional standard headshots taken (as opposed to off-the-cuff accidents taken by my boyfriend at parties and such). This time, at the hands of the talented Mr Gnosill (director of The Day and cameraman for The Wedding Dress).

In rehearsal for 'Spine'; two days til cutain up.

I must also express my love for a new-found masterpiece: Quills by Doug Wright. After having been introduced to the 2000 film version starring Geoffrey Rush, Joaquin Phoenix, Kate Winslet and Michael Caine, I pursued the original 1995 play. I hoped upon hope that it would be an American work; wanting desperately to use it for my dissertation, as it tells the story of the Marquis De Sade's time at the Charenton Asylum. Lo and behold; I wasn't disappointed. If you liked Amadeus, Elizabeth, Shakespeare in Love and From Hell; this is defintely one to watch out for. 

A still from Doug Wright's 'Quills' (2000)

So, October and November have been exhausting, but deeply satisfying - one couldn't ask for more when it comes to experience.

Flaunting said headshot.

Day to Day

Here I am again after a bit of a break from blogging. 'Why the break?' You ask... Because I'm too busy being a diva on the big screen, of course! Seriously, though, I have rather had my hands full with actress-related duties in preparation for my role in Matt Hilton's The Day; a new independent film being shot in the North West.  

Trying not to give too much away, this weekend I finished my first two days of shooting, both on location at Carnforth aqueduct and in a house in Sandbach. Once we'd got all of the dog-walkers, cyclists, long boats, persistent children and HGV vehicles out of the way (who'd have thought such a beautiful patch of countryside would be busy on a perfectly sunny day?), I shot my first romantic scenes with my 'husband', all the while unwittingly burning my shoulders, chest and back in the midday sun. It's just not fair that the one day in the North West bright enough to actually give me sun burn, I was simultaneously freezing to death in a flimsy nighty-esque garment bought by our director. Tip: don't allow a man to take charge of these things. Another exciting feat of the day was having a blag a toilet break out of 'Jack the rower', seeing as the only buildings besides the rowing club for miles were some sort of factory and a housing estate. This came second to having the entire crew suspend a green screen over a car in order for me to get changed discreetly. For future reference, the above does not equal discretion.

Just one of my 'romantic' costumes. This was the main offender when it came to simultaneous sunburn/pneumonia.

Day two: arguing, Bibles and blood. As I said, I can't give too much away, but once my character - Clare - was 'home', she proceeded to bicker with her husband, Matthew, and cling to her beloved Bible for comfort. This is before she develops a hefty nose-bleed which proves to be the crux of her - and the film's - fate.

Applying 'my blood'.

So, two shoots down; two to go. My showreel is also, to my elation, very much underway. Even if things are looking fairly drab for Clare, they're certainly looking quite good for me. Do keep checking back for all the back-stage gossip (we even have a documentary in the works).

NB: Don't work with skittish cats if you don't want your tragic moments to be disturbed by a distressed  'meow'.

Edinburgh Festivities

So, as promised, I return from north-of-the-border with tales to tell. Trains were ridden, drinks were drunk and shows were seen.

My friend Amber and I set off from Manchester Wednesday lunchtime, to arrive in 'Burgh just before 4pm. No longer than ten minutes of getting off the train had I bumped into several university peers; all members of the student theatre group, promoting their play. Rucksack and sleeping bag in hand (or on back), I wasn't prepared to chew the fat for too long, so we bought some toothpaste - which we'd both coincidentally forgotten - and settled down in Rabbie Burns cafe on the Royal Mile. Note, if ever you find yourself there, the eerily life-like (at first glance) mannequin in the window, leaning into the seating area, apparently making some sort of geographical discovery. Things could get messy after a few whiskeys.

The first show we saw was Mark vs John; a sort of stand-up meets showdown variety act. Mark does stand-up...John does stand-up...they fight to the death in any context suggested by the audience. In this instance, a rap battle (Mark won, just out of interest, and I'm assured that the score now stands at 6-4). I could recommend this free event to anyone looking for bargain entertainment at the Fringe; topics covered included bisexuality, interactions with children in theme parks, sharing a birthday with one's 80-something grandmother and the fun that can be had when changing the meaning of certain acronyms.
Next came Edinburgh University's 'review' sketch show. It's worth going just for the comfort of the old school cinema style seats, and the fun orienteering exercise when it comes to navigating The Banshee Labyrinth pub. This was what it says on the tin; a sketch show devised and performed by some of Edinburgh Uni's creative students. Hit and miss, but mainly 'hit'.

Me brandishing a tag from one of the posters I found caught on my foot in C Venue. I thought the description fairly accurate.

Thirdly, The Late Show. Slightly more high-brow, this was an Underbelly event (you may be familiar with that big, purple cow). The artist who attracted our attention this time was Henning Wehn, a satirically patriotic German comedian who explores both his native and British culture, occasionally slipping into the surreal. The other comedians on that night didn't disappoint either. I was glad to have seen The Boy with Tape on his Face, who proved to be groundbreaking in his fusion of mime, audience participation, puppetry and classical slapstick. I was almost disappointed to clock a wedding ring on his finger. Then again, I could only see two thirds of his face.
   

Brief encounter

Films. Music. Edinburgh Fringe. 

Seeing as it's been a while since I last updated, here's just a quick run-down of where I'm up to. 

At the time of my last post, I'd just started reacquainting myself with my guitar playing. The principle things I've learnt between then and now, however, are that my boyfriend's guitar's strings are far too hard for me to impress him with my picking - or even strumming - abilities, and that my nails grow far faster than I'd ever realised. These things take time.

The development on the film front (Matt Hilton's The Day) is that I've seen the final design for the posters...I think I speak for all actresses when I say that one's dream has just about been realised when your face dominates any kind of promotion for a motion picture. When I've secured permission, I will reveal all ('all' being a horizontal shot of myself in profile, with mine and my co-star's names as the header).

One of the dresses chosen by our director for me to appear in, in The Day

Vanity aside, news of the week is that I have booked a last-minute trip to Edinburgh, right in the middle of the Fringe festival. I sampled the festival for the first time last summer, and fell in love with both it and the city. I'd pretty much given up on the idea this year, when a good friend of mine told me we'd been invited by another friend to annexe a student flat for a few nights next week. Last year we wangled our way into two free BBC recordings for Radio 4, and I was - at one point- about a foot away from David Mitchell. I failed to catch his eye and shuffled off with my tail between my legs.

Me (almost) at the top of Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh

My collection of leaflets/posters/tickets from last year's Fringe