Auditions
So much has been written about how horrible it is for actors to do auditions. They have to wait, nervously. They are vulnerable lambs in the hands of directors/casting directors/idiots who don’t recognise their talent/can’t tell that they are having a bad day/already know what they want and it isn’t them. Actors bemoan the lack of work/the kind of work/the dates. Actors do have it hard, and I know. There have been many disgusting audition experiences that I would love to erase off the hard drive of my memory.
But this post is about ‘holding’ auditions. Actors, just think about it from this angle for five minutes. It took me a week and a half to set up auditions. Here are just some of the things I had to do. Create an audition brief. Send it to 5 agents. Liase with agents around days, times, slots. Book an audition venue. Slot in and make allowances for independent actors who wanted to attend and who either didn’t have or weren’t sent by their agents. Send fifty emails. Refuse to answer ‘please call me’ SMSes from actors. Make an audition form. Make audition lists. Make audition numbers. Change the schedule 100 times. Fill in empty slots, rebook and switch times. Deal with irate actors whose SMSes I hadn’t returned. And this is all before auditions had even started.
So, yesterday was day 1 of 3. In the morning I had less than 50% turnout from the one agency. My 11h30 arrived at 09h30, there were three 10h20s, and in the space of a morning actors managed to assign themselves numbers completely randomly different from the order in which I saw them. All of this would have been ok if…
I had sent out a very clear and detailed brief around the characters in the work and asked actors to keep this in mind when choosing a short monologue. I would watch the prepared piece and then we would sightread from the script. Well, I never. Firstly, most of the independents had never seen the brief. I have no idea what they were thinking. They had no idea what they were auditioning for. I saw poems. I listened to sad letters written to sons in exile. I heard a massacre and slashing of a village, I witnessed a child do some weird thing in a new dress. Haibo! Really though, what were they doing there? I started getting cross. And here’s why. I had to sit there through it all. From 0900 to well after 1700.
I must be fair. Some auditionees were completely prepared and had given their material a bit of thought. Some of them had even written pieces themselves or found cool things on the internet. Bravo for those guys. That was really exciting. By the time my last person left yesterday my head was ringing. And I knew that today was going to be more of the same.
And it was; in reverse. I had a great morning, with tons of well prepared and talented performers, only two no shows, and young people with tons of commitment and enthusiasm. I had more than one 1st choice in my notes. Then this afternoon it went totally pear-shaped. Only two of the first six bookings came, and then some of them came late. Two people got the day wrong. One person didn’t know what I was auditioning for, and one person had not auditioned before. Surely not? One person did a Shakespearian monologue. For a piece of industrial theatre.
Now, I have been in that hired room for two days and there is still another to go. I have repeated myself so many times I can do this in my sleep. Yet I am not asleep. Each person gets my full attention, notes, appreciation, input and even my lectures about bad choices, arriving on time, making sure that people are available for dates, making allowances for sight reading, finding out where people live, you name it. Each person gets a full ten minutes or more of my time. Each person gets a good shot. What do wannabe actors think? that if I asked for a short prepared monologue I didn’t mean them? Why do actors sabotage any real possibility of actually landing the work? Do they really think that I will magically fall in love with them regardless of their total lack of preparation and thought?
Well, actors, I won’t. And I am seeing hundreds of you. I am going to choose somebody who looks like they are going to be good to work with; someone who is on time and prepared and does themselves justice by treating me with respect. And I know it’s just a piece of industrial theatre; but it is well paid, beautiful, amazing work!
The next morning
The gods of scheduling have been particularly unkind with me. I ran an hour long improvisation workshop at 22.35 last night and I am presenting again at 0830 this morning! I am also sharing a room with a poor woman who thinks I am mostly demented. I had to drag my stuff into the bathroom in the pitch dark to get dressed and out of there!
I am trying to acclimatise to 475 Jewish people all in the same place at the same time. Last night there was a communal Shabbat supper. I must confess that being there without a partner was quite hard, especially since my partner was at home, in his non-Jewishness. I don’t feel so much like these are my people. I ended up having a very passionate discussion with a gorgeous, totally proud and passionate Zionist, a woman who is deeply in love with Israel. Truly surprising, and hard for me to bite my tongue.
Then I went to an interesting chat called Women in South African Jewish History: Conformists and Rebels. It was a slice of life view of Bertha Marks, a typical Victorian Jewess in South Africa, the conformist, and then a same sex couple, Roza Van Gelderen and Hilda Purwitsky, who passionately and energetically pioneered education in Cape Town, amongst other things. Very interesting. Then it was my turn. I did an improvisation workshop. It was so late that I was worried nobody would come, but there were about thirty participants and it was amazing.
Update: It’s now 1520 and I have not only done (and loved) my other presentation, I have also been to two more, and AWOLed into Stellenbosch for real coffee! My head is full. Even the casual encounters with people are so intense and diverse. I have just been talking to Julian Gordon about death, and I’ll go and listen to his presentation Where Angels Fear to Tread, about the body and soul split, I think. After that it’s The Jewish Atheist – A Contradiction?
I heard Gerald Potash tell stories of Boerejoode this morning, and an amazing lecture by Gilad Stern called “”Why is a Gattis called a Gattis?” Words that make us laugh, wink or cringe.” I am too naive to spot the real left from the sort-of left, and right with politics so from now on I am just going to avoid those. There is so much on offer. And it is still weird for me. But interesting weird. And controversial weird. And uncomfortable weird. But, slowly slowly I see that I do in fact have a tiny voice here, and I can be heard if I want to. Now that is the next step I need to take. I don’t need these people’s approval; but do I want it? And if I do, do I want it enough? The jury is still totally out on this one.
The gift of improv
There is no doubt that performing improv (in my case, in the form of TheatreSports) in front of a live audience is one of the most rewarding things you can do on stage. I think it’s because the possibilities are endless, the experience is unique and totally unrepeatable, and there is that short cut to the feeling of magic because you are present, in yourself, totally truthful and responsive.
Improv has become my religion. I find myself sprouting it as a cure-all for everything. If people want to be good leaders they need to know how to improvise. If companies are dealing with change and fear they need improvisation skills. People suffering from presentation anxiety need to learn to improvise. Actors need improvisation as a fundamental tool of their craft. The skills of improvisation and the mindset it can help create change the way people live and respond to things. It’s altogether a more positive, problem solving, cooperative way of being.
So I am so excited and happy that I am going to be facilitating the new TheatreSports improv workshop over the coming two weekends. A group of wannabe improvisers will be gathering for this intense course. Some will be coming because they want to ‘let loose’ and free themselves from inhibitions. Some will be entertaining the fierce desire to join our existing group of players to perform TheatreSports in front of an audience. Some will not even know exactly why they are there until, in a moment, it falls into place. It’s not too late to sign up. Contact me and I’ll share the details.
100 days to go!
It’s a hundred days to go to the soccer world cup! I am sure that all of you want to know why I am even mentioning this, and why I even care, and you would ask if you could see me why I am wearing my ‘I heart SA’ T-shirt with the SA flag on it today.
Well, I have to say, I have been turned around on this SWC thing. In the beginning I was omigod! WTF? I’m going to a desert island. At the time I could think of nothing worse than Cape Town, and South Africa being swamped by a bunch of rowdy foreign soccer thugs, who would be overcharged, under entertained, over liquified, under transported and in my face. In the beginning I was the stereotype of a DWP (depressed white pessimist) that believed nothing would be ready, nobody would come and the SABC would screw it up royally (that part might still come true).
But my involvement with the Engen Phambili road show has changed all that. I have been working with Engen for the past six years, creating industrial theatre plays as part of the road shows that go all over the country and are aimed at Engen petrol pump attendants and cashiers. It is work that I am so proud of and committed to. It is also the most effective work I make. But while my cast of brilliant actors and I have been working at delivering a message of giving great service, pride, loyalty, energy, enthusiasm and enjoyment, I have been learning about the world cup, the way soccer brings people together, the love of the game, the excitement ordinary people feel, and they way that Engen feels about this once in a life time opportunity for South Africa to shine! It’s rubbed off. I am feeling it. Marks Maponyane and Clive Barker do a Q & A around the SWC and they are absolutely inspirational. The audience of petrol pump attendants and cashiers know their soccer, their players, the participating countries, their favourites to win. World cup tickets are cherished and fought over prizes! The South African national anthem is sung with enthusiasm, passion and commitment. I’m in! Boots and all! Woza 2010 soccer world cup! A hundred days to go!
Traffic
I think that traffic, driving and pedestrians tell us a lot about societies, and how people are. Flying through five cities in 11 days and comparing the traffic gives one amazing insight, just through the modes of transport and traffic solutions.
We went on a day tour of Istanbul while we were in transit there. Traffic was heavy, driving reckless, lots of hooting but everything was well handled. There are a combination of huge highways on the outskirts and tiny, ancient roads in the city centre, all negotiated by cars, motorbikes and even busses.
Paris was incredible. There, a successful Metro makes traversing the city a joy, especially when the train pops out of an underground tunnel and gives you a stunning view of the Seine, the city streets or even a glimpse of winter greenery. It also gives one a chance to perve at the Paris sexies, of all ages, colours and sizes. it just doesn’t get more stylish. Out on the street traffic is totally intense. In places, cars move at a snail’s pace, waiting for pedestrians to move across hectic intersections. Sirens are constantly heard, and all traffic gives way to the ambulances that dash across the city. In Monmartre everyone has a scooter. Their buzzing can be heard up and down the streets and alleys through the night and into the morning. There are piles of scooters on every pavement and street corner. A novelty for me were the rows of automated bicycle parking spots along many of the streets. Apparently, you get a card loaded and then activate a bicycle pole with your card, to lock your bike down.
There is not a single car or scooter or bicycle in the whole of Venice. You either walk, or travel on water. What an absolute relief. The public water taxi/ferry system is efficient and comprehensive, just like an ordinary metro. Gondolas are strictly an expensive tourist thing, and not really to get you from point to point, although Paulo, our gondolier, was a wealth of information, and of course you can hear every word he says, the trip is so quiet, with no motor, only the gentle slap of water against the buildings as you go past. It is also a great leveller, seeing everyone walking; rich, poor, local, foreign.
Rome is a traffic experience like no other. The advice I was given was, just walk. You can, and everyone stops for pedestrians. It is a madness of cars, busses, scooters, bikes, pedestrians, trams, trains and, even in some piazzas horses and carts. It was also a wet dream for the car buffs. Lamborghinis, Porsches, Ferraris and other fancies dot the streets and are left parked in alleyways. There are thousands of teeny cars; the best way to have a car in this mad traffic and space deprived city. And of course there are hundreds of thousands of scooters and bikes. I saw an old woman kick start her fancy black scooter down a busy city street like a stylish Hell’s Angel granny. And all of this is perfectly negotiated, as cars and bikes mount kerbs, huge busses screech to a halt to let a school’s tour of children cross a massive intersection, people bulldoze onto packed busses and metros and squeeze past cars and bikes in narrow cobbled streets.
Summing up, winding down, speeding off
I have tons on my mind at the moment, and I’m feeling just like the blue arsed fly. It’s been a whirlwind of world cup fever (did anyone else notice the not so fantastic lip sync mess of the gorgeous Angelique Kidjo?), last minute TheatreSports performances, the handing in of proposals for a project next year, a bout of a tummy bug, still biting my nails to hear about whether The Tent will be accepted onto the Grahamstown main festival next year, and getting ready to go overseas!!!! I am accompanying my friend and 12 of her 17 year old students on their art and kulcha tour of France and Italy!
I have only been to Holland and Germany in Europe, for work, so a visit to Paris, Venice, Florence and Rome, with a transit in Istanbul is making me very excited and happy. And nervous! It has been 4 degrees in Rome these last couple of days. The idea of a pre-Christmas Europe is thrilling. I am imagining the train journey through the snowy landscape, the Venice Christmas night market, the small ice rink on the first floor of the Eiffel tower, the icy fountains in Rome.
I need a dollop of kulcha. I need to look at really old buildings, listen to old language, see gorgeous old art and walk really old streets. And I’ll be doing it all through the eyes of the young and fresh.
I hope my jacket is warm enough!
Grace
Every day for the last while I have been choosing one word for my Facebook status. Sometimes they are silly or funny; sometimes they are serious, personal or meaningful. Today’s word was grace. I love that word. It has such a good attitude about it. And it is also a poetry word. So much so, it inspired my friend Phillippa Yaa De Villiers who left her whole, magnificent poem, Grace, as a comment.
It was an inspired choice of word for me too today because it epitomised how I am feeling about my work on The Tent. Loving it. I am filled with the grace of my cast, and the really beautiful work they are doing. They move from moment to moment like dancers, playing with nuance and meaning, emotion and technique, and I am learning from them and delighting in them. It’s a cast of eight, so I don’t want to go into detail about each one’s magnificence here. Instead I am going to list their names so you know who I am talking about. Sizwe Msuthu. Nicola Hanekom. Pierre Malherbe. Nelson Chileshe Musonda. Albert Pretorius. Leon Clingman. Deborah Vieyra. Lungelo Sitimela.
I am also graced with a brilliant technical team, stage manager, asm, crew. And the designer Alfred Rietmann, who, when he is not in his office, is scratching in the skip for builder’s junk to use for our set. He is from that old school of thought. Theatre runs in that man’s blood. He loves it. His love has no boundaries, work hours, limitations. He is one of those ‘anything is possible’ guys. I am so lucky to have him.
Tomorrow morning is when we do a full, proper run of the play. I am beside myself with everything. I am saying grace.
Pre The Tent twitches
We start rehearsing The Tent on Monday, so my mind is full-up with it. I am full of the usual pre-rehearsal anxiety; is the script good enough? Do I know what I’m doing as a director? Can a writer/director do justice to the script and honour the actors? Have I done enough prep? Once we get stuck in to rehearsals those feelings will dissolve, morph and develop. New things will occupy that now space of nervous/neurotic anticipatory panic.
I have an amazing, mostly new cast to work with. Last year’s ’showcase’ was an excellent try out, and the response helped mould and develop the play further. It was also easy to nag people to come and see the four performances last time. This time we have a full two week run; and I have to say, I’m in that omigodwhatwillpeoplethink space.
It’s hard to understand all my feelings. I am mostly graciously thankful to The New Writing Programme that Artscape runs, for their belief in and support of my work. I really have properly benefited from this amazing process that gives space, time, energy, advice, and most importantly, budgets to new South African playwrights.
One of my blessed moments is having found a designer who totally, completely gets my work. Alfred Rietmann helped me stage the showcase, and this time around he is designing set, costume and lights. I am absolutely in love with what he is doing. He also designed the gorgeous poster BTW.
I have mixed feelings about the content of my play. It’s mostly about how South Africans don’t and can’t manage strangers; whether they are foreigners, people who believe different things, people with different sexual orientations and even just outsiders. It’s pretty bleak and not ‘happy ending’ stuff. That’s quite hard to sell, even though I believe the message is so important. It’s not all doom and gloom though. I find it funny too. So, how do you merge those things? How do you find the balance? And who is the you I keep banging on about when I should be saying I? Hectic.
So, luckily I am running the second weekend of the TheatreSports training course this weekend. It is a big, time and energy consuming task. and for some hours my head will not be filled with the The Tent The Tent The Tent The Tent!
Now this is inspirational
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Randomness
