Up North

We're on the move again, after a fantastic couple of weeks in Cork, and Lisburn is a long drive into Northern Ireland. Two things happen after we cross the border - we instantly start checking our phones for home signal; and we start seeing signs for places which have strong resonance to people my age - like Derry, Enniskillen and Armagh.
It's a fact of theatre that you'll work with people of all ages, and I'm constantly astounded both by how little I know about popular culture and how quickly relatively recent history becomes clouded or forgotten. Stuart, who's in his mid-20's, admits to not knowing much about the Troubles, and Jamie and I suddenly find ourselves attempting a hamfisted potted version which skirts dangerously close to reinventing history. We lurch from trying to explain the Orange Order, Bloody Sunday and the Remembrance Day bombing to remembering how Gerry Adams had his words spoken by an actor on TV for years. I don't suppose we're the first to realise that a dot-to-dot approach doesn't work with a subject as prolonged and complicated as the situation in Ireland, but it's a humbling experience nonetheless.

The Rising of the Moon

Surely there can be no more unsuitable job than this one for a father of small children? Even when I'm around I disappear shortly before the bedtime hour - which requires Peace Process-levels of compromise and negotiations to get the bairns into their beds, and which is not to be tackled alone if possible. It also makes it terribly tricky for your missus to get along to see the show.
Cue the arrival and intervention of The Master Distractor and Entertainer of Small Boys, also known as Helen's boyfriend Bez - who has flown in  for a few days and is rewarded for this gesture by being saddled with my kids for a night. Not really, he actually volunteers and boy, is he qualified. So whilst he and Jake discuss matters like the relative merits of Megatron and Bumblebee, and whether it would be cooler to a) be invisible or b) have an eye on the end of your index finger, Sue is able to slip out for her first and probably only night at the theatre until July.

Bumblebee. The legend in Lego.

She sees a great show. Not quite as spectacular as the one the following night, when we get a standing ovation, but a solid, slick, pacy performance, variously highly charged and full of subtlety. Afterwards we're able to go see some diddlee-dee music at the Corner House and share a table with some really friendly Corkonians. This is the first time she's spent any time with me on tour since 2005, and obviously it's not entirely an accurate picture of what goes on, but it must be good to meet the people I work with and know basically what I do.

Just don't tell her that I normally get up at midday...

Blarney

It's like a outing for a very dysfunctional family, our trip to Blarney Castle. The sensible parents are Malcolm, Fiz and Jo. Sue, Matt and I are somewhere in the middle and way down below Jake and Molly are Kate and Fi, who have come armed with a football and a determination to be very silly indeed. In understanding the needs of children on holiday they are absolutely unequalled.
It's a place rich in history and which trades heavily on matters magical and mythical, but which is basically famous for one thing and the ritual which surrounds it. The path to the Blarney Experience (as it would be called in the US) is a steep and challenging one, but this doesn't faze Jake and Molly, who explore the dark passages in the lower reaches of the castle with chuckles of delight, and emerge into the roofless upper halls with squeals of discovery.

Kate gives Molly a cwtch whilst Mrs Dineen examines the likely drop zone

God only knows how a chubby tourist manages to make it to the top, where the fabled stone is built into the castle wall. The stairway is barely wide enough to admit me, and the view from the arrow-slits is dizzying. Like most monuments of this type, the actual experience threatens to be a gigantic anti-climax, but there's an unexpected significance to the final moment which even the constant monologue from the kissing assistant can't ruin. We all pucker up for the rock except the kids - even Jo, who has kissed it before and has a slight fear that a second kiss might reverse the process. Jake almost does, but settles for a photo at the last moment:

Elsewhere there's a Witch Rock complete with offerings from all over the world, a Fairy Glade and some Wishing Steps, where Fi persuades both Molly and Jake to descend backwards with their eyes closed so they can make a wish. At the foot of the steps there's a pool formed by a waterfall, and in a moment of poetic inspiration Jake suggests this might be the wishes tumbling over the rocks. Maybe there's something in this Blarney flim-flam after all!

Family Ties

Sorry about the break. That's what happens when you throw a family into the touring mix!

Just prior to Sue, Jake and Molly arriving I spent the afternoon in Charlie's bar listening to an impromptu session of trad Irish music. I love the Dubliners, and I was hoping for some classics along the lines of "Seven Drunken Nights" and whatnot, but with no vocalist the repertoire tended to sound a bit similar. That's not to say the musicians weren't accomplished, but without a structure the centre doesn't hold.

Anyway, that's my application to be folk critic for NME done. Wide-eyed, wired kids arrived accompanied by their long-suffering mother on a turboprop plane at 6.45pm, and were pushed out straddling an airport trolley by  same a few minutes later. Lovely to see them again. Once we get to Vienna Woods and they meet potential playmates Kate, Fi and Helen it only takes a few hours to get them to go to bed...

Cork Notices!

I buy the Evening Echo (from the guy in St Patrick’s Street who calls “Ech-oh"!) and there’s a great review from Liam Heylin, saying it’s the best marriage of play and production LCT have brought to Cork. In particular it singles out Malcolm’s expert portrayal of Dysart, and it possibly works even better if read in a Cork accent. Try the following sentence and you’ll see what I mean:

"Malcolm James gives a fine performance as he offers himself as our conduit for the teenager's agonies".

One of many reflective moments. Photo by Sheila Burnett

Beautifully phrased. Malcolm gets mentioned and praised a lot, and along with Matt he really is the beating heart of the play. There’s not a single scene he’s not centrally involved in, and the prospect of tackling his monologues makes brave men blench. An injured shoulder wouldn't be a problem, but quite what would happen if he dislocated his tongue, no-one wants to think about.

Travelling People

I have a bit of a Cork history in my family. Dineen’s a very Cork name, and when we were here in 2008 we made much of this to promote the show - even to the extent that we invented an address and career (firelighter maker) and for my great-great grandpa John James Dineen. Well, details were sketchy…and it made for interesting copy.

Although there’s no Dineen bar in Cork to visit, there are several businesses with the name, and one of these, Dineen Crash Repairs, is on the way to our digs. Well, the cottages at the Vienna Woods Hotel aren’t really digs, they’re too luxurious for that. I’m sharing with Fi (DSM) and Kate (CSM) so consequently there’s a fair bit of drinking, late night dancing and drying underwear everywhere, but that’s no great hardship. In fact, as I write Kate is making a fantastic-smelling chilli for later so I’m not going to entirely waste away, either.

As usual there’s a young house (Helen, Stuart, Jamie and Matt) and a calm house (Malcolm, Jo and Fiz).  Since Jo and Fiz have the lion’s share of the new lines to learn and most of their scenes are with Malcolm anyway, this works out well.  And Stuart has a filthy sense of humour and enjoys working out, so he’s a perfect fit, too.

In fact, they all fit amazingly well. The dress rehearsal goes swimmingly and the first night, to well over 300, is almost flawless. There’s press in and expectations are high (we’re victims of our own success up to a point, I suppose) but for tonight, it’s Murphy’s, congratulations and swapping stories in Dan Lowrey’s Bar next to the theatre. Slaìnte!

Silly not to.

I'm a Rover (Seldom Sober)

Life doesn’t stop when you go into production week. It just seems to. You still have your monthly debits going out, junk mail arriving and so on at home – you’re just not there to see it. Or deal with it. If you’re me, you’re lucky enough to have a lovely if overworked partner handling all that. If not, I suppose it just piles up until you can’t open the front door.

This is doubly true in production week on tour, and triply (if that’s a word) on tour in the Irish Republic. The keenest loss is the freedom to contact home at will, which is something we iPhoneys are all used to in the UK, but it’s a habit you have to break if you want to stay even remotely  solvent.

Anyway, update. The Everyman Palace is our first stop - in the gorgeous city of Cork. It’s a bit dilapidated backstage – but the staircase is papered with show posters going back decades, and they’re fantastic reading. Local heroes featured here include the legend Frank Kelly (Father Jack in “Father Ted”) and Anna Manahan, the Grande Dame of the theatre, for whom the part of Mag in “Beauty Queen of Leenane” was written.  There’s a velvet chair in the ladies’ dressing room with a tiny brass dedication plaque to her on it. There’s also this:

I was here with Jamie in “Abigail’s Party” in 2008, and Sean from the stage crew immediately recognises us and says how much he loved that show. There’s a framed poster in the corridor to the dressing rooms, too, and these combine to cause a small degree of pressure. I imagine Michael feels it, too. However, there’s no time for that as we’re called to stage and begin our first run under the horseheads since November. 

Gatwick Irony

Chiswick! Fresh Horses!

So on Monday "Equus" started rehearsal again with a partially new cast. With only a week it's going to be a tall order (for "Abigail's Party" in 2008 we rehearsed for three weeks) but with Fiz, Jo and Stuart largely off book already, things are looking very positive.
Recasting these roles was always going to be a challenge, and none more so than the stallion Nugget. Whereas Aidan was dance trained, and this largely informed his performance, Stuart has a puppetry background including playing Joey in "War Horse", and so brings a wholly different angle to the part than we're used to. Especially in the horse sounds, which are arresting and are beginning to have a real impact on the stable scene. Whether the rest of us old nags can keep up is another matter...

Beginners, please...

I had a meeting today in town - not exactly an audition, more a discussion about a possible project - and the text under consideration is "Still Life" by Noel Coward. And it's sort of polite to read it before you go, I find. Now, I have three Coward collections and several single plays, but with tedious inevitability I find I don't have this one.
Since, though, I live in a village with a very active amdram group (apparently - I mean I don't go or anything, darling...) I call a friend who recommends another friend who may have it. So I shoot round and ring his bell and the door opens.
It's an OMG moment. There stands Mr Lance Bassett, which is a name you won't know. If you grew up here, though, he's a legend. He's the Man Who Got To Unzip Mrs Wilcock's Dress Onstage when we were at school. And watching him do that (in "Plaza Suite" if memory serves) had a profound effect on my fifteen-year-old self. It was electric. It was all we talked about for the rest of the week, and on the Friday I had my careers interview and confidently said "Mr Ross, I'm not interested in  being a solicitor. I want to be an actor".

On such shaky, hormonally imbalanced platforms as these, careers are forged. And Mr Bassett? You know, even now he looks a teensy bit pleased with himself.

Winterval

Did that last post seemed odd? I'm always left with some oddball photos at the end of a tour, things which have caught my eye which, in the cold light of a month's furlough, don't seem quite so compelling as they were.  Anyway, if you visit often - welcome back after the break; and if you're reading this for the first time, then errr....welcome!
I've been writing this blog on and off since Spring 2008, when I was on the second leg of London Classic Theatre's "Abigail's Party", and now - as then - I'm in the position of knowing what I'm going to be doing professionally for the first part of the year. This is not a common state of affairs though - mostly the New Year arrives with the prospect of unemployment tagging along behind like a ugly friend.
The job - as you may have guessed from the last post - is "Equus" for London Classic. I'm playing Frank Strang and we open in the Everyman Palace Theatre in Cork on 6th February - a little over 4 weeks from now - and we'll be touring until early July. Which, as my missus will tell you, is a feckin' long time.
I never thought I'd be a touring actor, but that's pretty much how it's turned out. In fact my first year out, I made so many short films that I was sure I'd do loads of screen work, but in this dodge you tend to meet some key people who hugely influence the way your career progresses. People like Vicky Ireland and Michael Cabot.
But more of them later. I've gotta go look at some horses.

All Over The Shop

I don't know whether this is common, but whenever I'm involved with a project my surroundings seem to go all relevant on me. By which I mean I see coincidence everywhere. Like, I went for an audition for "The Importance of Being Earnest" once years ago, and on the way I saw a billboard for a property company called Merriman - which was the part I was up for. An obvious signal that the part was in the bag. Absolute cobblers, of course, but there was a spooky sychronicity about it.
Since I've been doing "Equus", though (from which I'm on a break until early February) the world seems full of horse-related coincidence. Here's an example of what I mean:

Oldham's centre of equine fashion

Now perhaps it's only because I'm doing "Equus" that I even noticed this shop. Possibly. I mean, I noticed a boutique in Brighton called "Doggy Fashion" once, but that was because of the double entendre rather than because I was doing "101 Dalmations". Anyway, it's not an isolated occurrence. Look at this gentleman's outfitters in ummmm, Lincoln, I think:

.

Bizarre. But not as bizarre as them leaving a mannequin in the street all day.

Buxton Autumn

Buxton, meanwhile, is an old friend. I spent a week here in 2005 staying in the house of a woman whose mood swings were so extreme she must have been on HRT. Because there's so much to see, I've been trying to spend more than a few hours here ever since, without success, but at least this time we're here for two nights.
It does seems to be the land of oddball landladies, though. I'm staying with Carol, Anna and Helen in a lodge - a stately, slightly tired house a few minutes out of town. Our landlady has cleared out of the house entirely and is living in the caravan in the drive, which (in a note) she assures us is fine for her because "I have facilities under the verandah". There is also a pungent and delicious smell of frying smoked bacon in the lounge, the origin of which is a mystery.
Anyway, the thing Buxton is famous for is the water, and one of the great delights is filling your bottle at the free fountain which flows directly from the spring - slightly warm because of its volcanic origin.

A Victorian BYOB

I reveal this fact to Malcolm but, tragically, only after he has been to the Co-op to buy some water which has been dragged all the way from Scotland or France or somewhere even more distant. Oops. Shut ma mouth.
The Opera House couldn't be more different from The Landmark. Classic Matcham design, Victorian dressing rooms with elaborate ironwork and thunderbox toilets; and a perpetually manned (or rather womanned) Stage Door, it's a very traditional experience. The rake makes it difficult to maintain your balance as a horse, though, and in the fight call Alan nearly ends up in the pit. We muster 200 on our opening night but that contrives to feel a little sparse, it's such a big room.

Landmark

Ilfracombe is - like Huddersfield, Worthing and a few others on our roster - not a place I've not visited before and of course I have preconceptions about it. I'm expecting Weston-Super-Mare but instead I'm delighted to find Padstow without Rick Stein - working harbour, clifftop walks and an absolutely typical and very slightly down-at-heel hotel called the Carlton.
There's nothing conventional about the theatre, though. It's an extraordinary construction, inspired by the bottle kilns which fired the pottery made from the local clay and has the most amazing acoustic I've ever heard;as if the words are being lifted and gently sprinkled around the auditorium.

Madonna's bra, North Devon Coast-style...

I understand it had a bit of a difficult conception, this building, but it really makes a graceful and surprisingly comfortable addition to the landscape. From the warmth of the cafe you can admire the churning Bristol Channel and precipitous cliffs which face it. If that all seems a little tame though, there's an uncomfortable sight a short walk up the cliffs, where this lonely little monument stands:

I'm ashamed to say I can't remember her name, but she was only 14 when she fell.

The Triumphant Return of Big Horse

Jamie's back at nearly full fitness. Our audience will therefore be split into those who saw Big Horse and those who saw the version post-injury-pre-recovery. Like Jeremy Northam taking over from Daniel Day-Lewis in "Hamlet", both good but different. The opinion of the cast is pretty united, although our chorus habits (which had developed during the absence) have needed more adjustment than expected. Still, it's good to have the big fella back again.
Since I last posted we've enjoyed some significant landmarks; our biggest audience (360 at Poole opening night) our biggest post-show audience (120 on the same evening) which was also our first one without Michael; and we could give out awards for most distracting ushers, loudest mobile etc but that would be cruel; not least because one venue sweeps the board in practically every category...