Yesterday, I catalogued a frog. I often get to catalogue some peculiar items as part of my job, as our library stock includes a collection of ‘things’ used by student teachers. Artefacts for use in history and religious education, stopwatches and trundle wheels for maths, board games for all sorts of subjects. And a frog. Specifically, a beanbag frog called Fred, which is used to teach phonics (in conjunction with other resources, mostly books and flashcards). I’m not sure how this works, exactly, but according to the publishers, Fred Frog is only able to communicate in pure sounds. Poor chap.
Cataloguing these oddities makes my job that little bit more interesting, and Fred Frog was no exception. However, dealing with him (it?) did introduce a major category error in my mind, for I discovered that Fred Frog has an ISBN (9780199116546 if you’re interested). This is most odd. ISBN, for those not initiated, stands for International Standard Book Number. Not thing number, toy number, amphibian number or random item number. Book number. Fred Frog is rather lovely. Fred Frog is probably very useful. Fred Frog cheered me up no end, particularly when his picture appeared in my catalogue record (due to the ISBN being picked up). But he is not a book. Not even the most generous definition of ‘book’ could stretch to include a frog-shaped beanbag toy. Some things are just wrong. And amusing though it may be, a frog with an ISBN is definitely one of those things.
Tonight is book group night. My book group covers an eclectic range, and has introduced me to books which have become favourites (such as Life of Pi and Remains of the Day), forced me to read books which I had somehow neglected (Jane Austen’s Emma being one of the most embarrassing examples) and involved me in some hilarious discussions when we have realised that not one of us enjoyed the supposedly brilliant book we had just been reading. This time around, the novel in question is Effi Briest by Theodor Fontane. We like to alternate between classics and newer works, and this late nineteenth-century offering is apparently a standard part of the literature curriculum in Germany. I can’t honestly say that I was that taken with it.
Of course, reading books in translation is a difficult thing, as it is nigh on impossible to know whether elements of style which you particularly love or loathe belong to the original author or to the translator (in this case translators, Hugh Rorrison and Helen Chambers). I found it languid, very hard going. I wondered at first whether the overwhelming sense of boredom I felt was deliberate, evocative of the heroine’s position in life, but I eventually concluded that this was not the case – I just found the style and the plot dull. We are tantalised occasionally with something interesting, but it always happens off camera (most notably, there is some wonderful ghost story to explore, but the book shies away from actually telling us what this story is). I don’t demand high-octane action, but I do like to be engaged by what’s going on in a book.
Effi Briest tells the story of its eponymous heroine, a young woman who gets married to a man at least twice her age (who happened to have been an admirer of her own mother many years back). The two of them move far from the home where she grew up and she finds little stimulation in her new position, eventually beginning an indiscretion which will come back to haunt her some five or six years later. Most of the time, the camera (as it were) focusses on her, and we get to ‘hear’ much of her inner turmoil. Sadly, this is expressed so vacuously most of the time that it irritates more than it illuminates. We do get the odd glimpse into her parents, her husband and her servants, but they are mostly cyphers. Her father does have a somewhat endearing verbal tic, declaring anything he does not want to talk about to be “too vast a subject”, but this is as deep as the characterisation tends to go.
In some ways, the book reminds me of A Doll’s House, wherein a woman breaks societal convention (in a much nobler way than having an affair) and suffers the consequences. In both, the heroine is confined by her marriage, and her husband is so bound up in what society expects and trying to do “the right thing” that his own actions and choices are pre-determined by others. Effi’s husband challenges his cuckolder to a duel, even though he doesn’t want to. He feels there is no other way. And Torvald in A Doll’s House is so bound up with what he expects from male and female roles that he fails to understand or react appropriately to anything in the third act of the play. It does not help matters that unlike A Doll’s House, where the sequence of events and revelations makes some sort of sense, the plot of Effi Briest seems to happen essentially at random. Effi’s lover is only able to make his first move due to an extended series of unfortunate hiccups one snowy evening (which defy all logic if you start to think about them), and her affair is only brought to light due to a combination of her own stupidity (though her maid does comment on this) and a truly contrived accident.
What the novel does do is to paint a picture of the society in which Effi and those around her lived, complete with its rules, customs and expectations. This is always interesting, but was the only real point of interest I found in reading it. I know I should like it, but I don’t. In the realm of classics, give me Wilkie Collins, Henry Fielding or Jane Austen. In the real of foreign novels, I tend to get on best with Russian writers (though have yet to tackle either Tolstoy or Dostoevsky). I’m sure the novel is a marvellous achievement, but it just wasn’t to my taste. It will be most interesting to see what everyone else made of it.
I love to perform, but I have no desire for fame. I wouldn’t mind a little more money, but I don’t think riches would really please me. What makes me happy is experiencing a steady supply of life’s small pleasures. Life is so much better when it includes :
cheese on toast
a companionable silence
a cuddle with the dog
rain on a summer’s day
lemon drizzle cake
laughing as a conversation takes a logical, but surreal turn
sun breaking through the clouds in winter
entering God’s presence
harmony, even in just two parts
the satisfaction of a job well done
Cadbury’s chocolate
hearing a word you haven’t heard for a while
The list, of course, goes on. It has just struck me over the last couple of days that I need to relish these things more. This is not a new thought, nor even a new thought for this blog, but it’s something that it is very much worth remembering. Savour the sounds of the words we speak and the notes we sing. Enjoy those moments when there’s no need for talk, but also those times when talk brings us closer. Appreciate simple flavours and the smallest blessings from the weather, not just the five-course meal and the snowstorm or the rainbow. The little things in life are what really make the world go around.
You made me who I am.
Did you mean to?
With your words, your deeds, you changed me.
You made me laugh, made me cry,
Gave me pause, made me think again.
Did you mean to? Do you know?
You smiled when you crooned a song,
And your joy flowed through imperfect notes.
You sparked a flame that won’t go out.
Did you mean to?
You listened to incoherence,
Nodding and waiting for the torrent of words to cease.
You were patient, and in your patience gave me calm.
Did you mean to?
You broke me with your words.
You wounded me when you shut me out.
You made me throw up barriers that stayed up for years.
Did you mean to? Did you care?
You didn’t laugh, not to my face.
You could have, maybe should have, but held back.
You sensed what was beneath.
Your understanding eased the pain, you helped me heal.
Did you mean to?
You flattered and praised falsely, no doubt meaning well.
You made me distrust affirmation.
Did you mean to?
You used me, and I let you.
You took what I’d done, turned it to your own ends.
You hardened me.
Did you mean to? Did you care?
You asked for my advice.
You turned to me for help and guidance.
You let me know that I was wanted, needed.
Did you mean to?
You showed what friendship really means.
You stood firm when all else shifted.
You gave me hope.
Did you mean to?
You taught me what was right.
You cried for me and celebrated with me.
You showed me how to choose a better path.
You made me who I am.
Did you mean to?
Just as I did last year, I spent the last week of October stage managing for Herne Bay Operatic Society on another relatively small-scale compilation show. This time around was easier than the previous year for various reasons. Firstly, I had more of an idea of what I was supposed to be doing, which always helps with both confidence and competence. Secondly, we had less issues concerning sound, so the constant relay of hand-held mics was avoided – two mics were in use, but infrequently and they only needed to be passed from cast member to cast member on stage once. Thirdly, I had some help backstage, in the form of a very experienced props mistress, who has been backstage for many of the shows I’ve performed in. She really knows her stuff and remains calm and controlled at all times.
Unlike last year, I didn’t end up providing off-stage narration, which was quite a relief, but I was required to make a cameo appearance. I couldn’t quite work out why one of the real cast members couldn’t have done it, but I was required to appear, sweeping the stage, only to be distracted by a rendition of ‘Always True to You in My Fashion’. I was told that my appearance and reactions to the song made me look like Vic Reeves or a young Eric Morecambe. I think I shall take that as a positive!
In terms of furniture and props, there wasn’t too much to keep track of – two tables, three chairs and a collection of stools, mostly. However, the two of us backstage derived much interest and amusement from watching what happened with some drinks served on stage. Two of the sections were set up to be a Parisian cafe and a sophisticated party. In the first, a waitress passed out glasses of red wine and champagne (aka different flavours of Schloer) and in the second, the cast came on with glasses of the same ‘champagne’. There were enough glasses for each member of the cast, and the distribution of the glasses in the second section was important as one man collected his (brought on by someone else) from a table part way through, and any that were left would be cleared by two other cast members in a bit of comic business. Somehow, though, things often did not quite work out. I watched in amusement when one cast member exchanged his red wine for champagne, explaining to the waitress that he didn’t like the red Schloer, and I watched in horror on the last night when the same cast member found himself without a glass and instead of managing without (there was no essential ‘business’ with the glasses for him), proceeded to mime having a glass. In full view of the audience, he would inspect the fluid level, take sips and so forth, all from an invisible glass. And of course, because he was miming, his movements were larger and more noticeable than those made by people with real glasses. In another performance, the spare glass disappeared after being taken on to the stage, and I had to creep as close to the action as possible without being spotted by the audience, and mime to another cast member that they needed to put their glass down on the table so that it would be retrievable by the one man who actually needed a champagne class for the scene. It took a while – I will clearly never be a champion Charades player. At other times, people somehow managed to mix their drinks, creating all sorts of interesting new colours of liquid on the stage. I would stand in the wings with the props mistress and watch the champagne with great fascination each night, never sure what I was going to see.
I am still certainly not experienced enough to tackle stage management on a larger scale, partly for reasons which cross over with my reluctance to move into any management-type role in my career. I don’t have the confidence to intervene forcefully in some situations. Although the stage manager is supposed to be in charge, I was very aware that some of the others involved are much more experienced in backstage and technical matters than I am, so being in charge seemed somehow wrong. I also like to be in control of the things I am supposed to achieve, and with a larger backstage crew, I would be worrying about whether everyone would be ready for each scene change and so forth. With just a few trusted people to be thinking about back stage and in the lighting/sound control room, this was not an issue. I did feel more in charge than last year, and was able to exert my authority when it came to matters which I considered to involve the health and safety of those involved with the show, so perhaps this will come.
During the week, several people asked whether I’d ever be interested in directing a show. This is an idea that both excites and terrifies me (it involves making so very many decisions and probably upsetting quite a few people), and it looks likely that it will happen in the relatively near future.
Watching friends perform is wonderful, but also slightly nerve-wracking. I feel nervous on their behalf, willing them to do well and hoping that my presence in the audience isn’t off-putting. Thankfully, as long as they start off well, these worries quickly vanish and I can get on with enjoying the performance. Last night, I watched Lucky Stiff at University College London, starring a young man who was a student in Fame, a Future Kid in Marty’s Project and one of the two guys playing my antagonist Ren in Footloose.
Lucky Stiff is a farce, which I first heard of due to a song called ‘Times Like This’ which appeared on a CD compiling tracks from off-Broadway shows. That song was enough to encourage me to buy a full recording of the show, which is, like any decent farce, completely bonkers. Harry Witherspoon, a repressed Englishman, inherits several million dollars from his previously unknown American uncle, on condition that he takes his uncle’s body on a trip to Monte Carlo (thanks to taxidermy, he won’t rot or smell). Complicating matters are the staff of Universal Dog Home, who had hoped to inherit, his uncle’s ex-girlfriend who is desperate to get hold of a heart-shaped box and a man called Luigi who pops up literally everywhere Harry goes. Naturally, things get extremely complex, thanks to bad eyesight, ambition, drunken maids and a variety of other unforeseen incidents. The show is written by Lynn Ahrens (book and lyrics) and Stephen Flaherty (music), the team most famous for the much-respected musical Ragtime as well as the songs for the animated film Anastasia. The twists and turns in the script come thick and fast, as do the laughs. Unusually, neither the plot nor the laughs are put on hold for the songs, some of which represent some truly ludicrous situations (which make perfect sense at the time, of course). The pace does slow down occasionally, for ‘Times Like This’ and ‘Nice’, but naturally – sometimes songs in farces can feel like someone has slammed the brakes on unexpectedly.
The cast and those behind the scenes did an excellent job with this production, which was staged in the round. Each brought bags of personality to their role (or roles) and the vocals, both solo and ensemble were impressive, easily filling the space and balancing with the four-person band. The director included lots of wonderful little touches in each scene and kept the action flowing. Much attention had obviously been paid to ensuring that each side of the audience got their fair turn at seeing the actors’ faces as well. There were moments when I felt the show was slightly over-choreographed – it’s not a big dance show, but there was a few points at which characters would dance unnecessarily, particularly Harry Witherspoon, who had been in motion quite a bit before claiming “I can’t dance!” – he had even executed a few tap moves (though sans tap shoes), which made this claim unintentionally funny.
My young friend did a good job, and it was nice seeing him act and sing in an English accent. He was believably awkward, nervous, bemused and frustrated as the plot demanded, and created an endearing character who you really wanted to root for. It was intriguing, also, to be able to pick out his voice quite easily in the ensemble singing (even the background oohs and aahs) which shows how well you can get to know someone’s voice if you work with them for a while. There were a couple of moments when I was worried that he would crack and start laughing, but he managed to control himself (though I did spot a smile during his ‘nightmare). A couple of others in the cast didn’t manage to keep the mirth in quite so well, but none of them ‘corpsed’ in a disastrous manner. Even when the leading lady found herself amused by various intrusions into a scene, she managed to cover this and convert it into in-character confusion.
I was proud of him, and pleased to be watching it with another talented young performer, who had also been part of shows with both of us. He did an excellent job of being the ‘straight’ man in the midst of all the chaos, and displayed a good sense of comedy as well as the straight acting and singing skills I already knew he had. I was pleasantly surprised by the general talent level of the cast, which was extremely high (my only criticism was one guy who seemed slightly lost with the dance moves, and I can certainly empathise with that!). I spent a lot of the evening smiling broadly, and indeed laughing out loud. I feel very lucky to have seen Lucky Stiff.
At the start of half term, I had a new experience – attending a film première. It was a small-scale affair, but the requisite red carpet and champagne were involved, so all was as it should be.
The première was for Marty’s Project, a short film which will be doing the rounds of the amateur film festivals next year, and was a closed affair for cast and crew only. As each participant arrived, we were photographed on the red carpet before being treated to champagne (or non-alcoholic alternatives) and nibbles. Once we were all gathered, we made our way into the auditorium and nervously took our seats, intrigued to see what we would all look like and how the film hung together. Along with the other main members of cast, I was terrified of being rubbish, and worried that my experience of performing in theatre would translate badly to the screen.
Over the next 57 minutes, there was much laughter and a few gasps of surprise from those who had not been permitted to see the full script. I was ashamed to spot a scene where I had forgotten to remove my glasses (I’d had a strange feeling this had been the case, but apparently none of the other audience members noticed). We applauded, of course, once the end credits rolled, and after some words from our director and producer (who presented each of the main cast with a card and a DVD copy of the film), we were treated (or subjected?) to the out-take reel. We watched people pre-empt the call of “action!”, forget their words and struggle with props. We watched the ‘Future Kids’ try to keep warm on a very cold day of shooting and the travails of the many and varied people who held the clapper board.
Certain scenes took up more of the out-take reel than others. Most of these didn’t, thankfully, involve me, but there was one scene which I had entirely forgotten about. This scene took place in a cinema auditorium (filmed in the same place as the Marty’s Project première was held) and featured three of the main characters along with some extras. Due to the logistics of filming that day, the extras ended up being the director, cameraman, sound man etc. as well as one of the other main actors, well disguised and only half in shot so as to remain anonymous. Even when the scene (which contained only five words) came up in the film, I didn’t remember shooting it, but as soon as the first out-take from it came up, it all came flooding back. We were all tired and stressed, and we desperately wanted to get home to watch Doctor Who. And so, of course, a few seconds of film became a near-impossible task. We couldn’t arrange ourselves properly to make the shot work. We had costume issues. We’d get distracted by what shot number this actually was or the position of an arm which belonged to someone otherwise out of shot. We’d dissolve into giggles. We’d regain our composure then dissolve again. The lines made us laugh. The reactions of the others made us laugh. The out-takes form a fascinating Singing Librarian character study. At first, I’m messing around, but only because the director is as well. Then, I’m struggling to get on with the business of shooting the scene (you hear me say “So…” quite a number of times, as I attempt to get back on track). After everyone starts laughing, you see me struggling to contain myself, and managing. And then, just as everyone else has regained their composure, you can see that I’m still struggling, and I lose the battle.
I don’t think I lend myself to screen acting all that well, but the filming process was fun and fascinating, and the première was a truly enjoyable experience. I cannot judge my performance, or the film, objectively (but you may be able to – follow the link at the foot of this post to see for yourself), but I’m glad I did it, if only to have had such fun finding geeky t-shirts for my character and getting to walk up the red carpet.
It has been reported (at Broadwayworld.com) that musical theatre composer Jerry Bock died last night at the age of 81. Most famous for writing the music for Fiddler on the Roof, his legacy to the world also includes a number of other shows, including Fiorello!, one of the few musicals ever to win the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. In a strange coincidence, Joseph Stein, who wrote the book (the spoken words) for Fiddler, died only last month.
Fiddler on the Roof is definitely Bock’s most well-known contribution to musical theatre, containing numbers which evoke emotions from joy to despair, but there are some hidden gems in his catalogue of works. The melody for ‘Artificial Flowers’ from Tenderloin is truly beautiful (though you wouldn’t know it from Bobby Darrin’s recording), and I have a bit of a soft spot for the score of She Loves Me (not least because the show’s lead would be a wonderful part to play). It even includes a song called ‘A Trip to the Library’, so how could I fail to like it? The title song and ‘Where’s My Shoe?’ are great pieces of character writing, and ‘Twelve Days to Christmas’ evokes the panic of festive shopping perfectly. But my favourite number from the show, and from Jerry Bock, is probably ‘Tonight at Eight’ :
His style may not have been as distinctive as some of the other musical theatre writers of his generation like John Kander or Jerry Herman, but Mr Bock had a flair for melody, sometimes supporting a comic lyric as in ‘Tonight at Eight’, sometimes evoking a particular time or place, sometimes soaring free. His name may not be that well known outside of theatrical circles, but the power of Fiddler on the Roof ensures that his legacy will last for a long time to come. Jerry Bock, rest in peace.
Sometimes, the people making decisions about casting shows are clearly insane. In professional circles, this can happen when desire to cast a ‘name’ overrides any issues about whether they can play the part (we’ve all seen films or shows where a famous actor really shouldn’t have played the role they were given). In amateur circles, it can be a result of having less people to choose from. Sometimes, Bob really is the only person available to play the lead, and everyone concerned just has to keep their fingers crossed that it will work.
Recently, I have been cast in some unexpected roles, and in the most recent instance, it has been suggested that the casting committee must have been smoking something very interesting indeed.
It was a while ago now, but the first “wait…what?” moment for me in terms of casting was the panto. I am not muscular, tall, or imposing, so the idea of casting me as the Genie of the Lamp was not at all an obvious one. In this case, I was a replacement for someone else who had to drop out of the production, so some level of desperation may have been involved with the decision. Casting me must have changed the Genie concept for the production as well, since the man originally cast was (as well as looking much more like a traditional Genie) a dancer. I am very much not. I was certainly not your average Genie, and this is one of the shows where I feel my performance didn’t work quite as well as it should have done, but I don’t think the strange casting actually hurt the show.
Last year, another one followed after the auditions for When Midnight Strikes. I went along to the auditions as an unknown, an outsider, not sure whether I would even be able to do the show (due to schedule conflicts) even if cast. I had prepared to audition for the roles of Edward (the comic relief) and Alex (the in-show outsider), both roles which seemed to fit nicely with what I had done previously. However, one fellow auditionee (the only other person auditioning who I knew) persuaded me to audition for Christopher, as he thought his song would suit my voice. Despite my misgivings, knowing Christopher West to be a meaty, dramatic role, I said I’d give it a go. I had to learn the song there and then, and I was absolutely flabbergasted when offered the part. Delighted, too – I did a cartwheel in my office after speaking to the director.
For people coming to see When Midnight Strikes, it was somewhat disturbing. Whether they knew me well in real life or had seen me a lot on stage, the role came as quite a surprise. No mild-mannered Singing Librarian. No young comic relief. A dark, unpleasant character with a through story and quite a few shocks. Of course, looking back, I realise that to the director, casting me in any part as as much as risk as any other, since he had not previously worked with me or seen me perform. After the first read-through of the script, though, I did think he was absolutely insane and that it really wouldn’t work. I’m pleased to say, looking back, that I think it did work.
Now we come to the decision that almost everyone thinks is insane. We’re doing Into the Woods next year. Auditions were well attended and a source of much excitement and anxiety. A number of newcomers auditioned as well as established members of the Society, and everyone was determined to show themselves off as best as possible. For my audition, I sang “Like Father, Like Son” from When Midnight Strikes, determined to show the audition panel something they hadn’t seen from me before, since each role I’d previously played for the Society was a silly one. Generally a silly young man (Gerald in Me and My Girl or Prez in The Pajama Game, for instance), though in one show a silly old man, the Major General in The Pirates of Penzance. Having shown them different, I was very surprised by just how different what I’d shown them must have been. I was offered the roles of Rapunzel’s Prince (a delight, as I will be singing a comic duet with one of my favourite people) and the Wolf. When I was told this, I went silent for several seconds. Of all the roles in the show, the Wolf was one I hadn’t even considered possible. He is a predator with very, very creepy undertones. He is unsettling, nasty, unpleasant, and will be a ball to play, but really? Me? Anyone familiar with the show has reacted in much the same way as me to the news. Silence or a “what?” or a “really?” To see why, see this video of his main musical number :
No, I will not be wearing *that* costume!
In some ways, the casting decision may be an act of genius. The phrase “I have SO got to see this!” has been bandied about quite a bit, and it seems that the Singing Librarian as the Wolf may have pre-sold some tickets to people determined to see how bizarre it ends up. I have only just begun to learn the music (though my howl is pretty good already, I think), so we have yet to see whether this particular casting decision is a stroke of brilliance or a horrible mistake, an act of desperation or a carefully planned strategy.
If influenced by some sort of substance, it must be a truly wonderful one. I’ll definitely have whatever they’re having.
In a bid to get myself posting more regularly, I’m going to attempt NaBloPoMo, or National Blog Posting Month, for November – one blog post each day of the month. I’m not entirely sure whether I’ll manage it, but I’ll make a jolly good attempt. Things which really should be blogged about that I anticipate covering over the next month include :
stage management
issues with doors
my first premiere
several shows I plan to attend (Lucky Stiff, South Pacific, Kiss of the Spider Woman)
rehearsing for Into the Woods
higher education in general
godfatherliness
Cole Porter
I’m hoping that list will keep me on the blogging straight and narrow for a little while at least, and I hope I can manage to write in a manner that is both regular and worth reading.
The Singing Librarian Talks 