“When are you next putting a play on?”
That’s a question I must get asked on average at least once
a week. It’s not necessarily a question I dread answering but it’s so difficult
to form a response in a positive manner. In an ideal world, my answer would be oh, there’s another show this weekend. But
this isn’t an ideal world. I work full time. Forty hours a week. I leave the
house at eight o’clock in the morning and I’m home every evening at six. All
the usual things build up on a weekly basis – doctors appointments, picking up
prescriptions, buying birthday presents, wrapping them, visiting the army of
children I have somehow acquired over the years – all the normal day to day
things that sit in the back of your mind all day and you put them off again and
again until you have no choice but to waste your day off trying to sort them
out. Before you know it, it’s Monday morning again and although you’ve ticked
everything off your mental to-do list, you’ve had absolutely no chill time.
It sucks. But it’s the life I chose. I made a conscious
decision three years ago to work full time and do all my creative malarkey on
top of that. It’s tiring but this way, I learnt to drive. I bought a car. I
have enough money to live quite comfortably. As much as I adored working as a
hit and miss actor, it was a bit of a threadbare existence. I loved performing
and I loved touring but I didn’t love having next to no money and having to
rely on people for lifts everywhere. That was fine for the first year or so
after graduating but there’s only so many times you can drag your sorry arse to
the job centre in between tours.
I got thinking about it, though. When are you next putting a play on? What normally happens is I’m
approached by a theatre company – sometimes I approach them – and they secure the
rights to my script for a specific period of time, meaning no other theatre
company can perform that particular play until their run is over. It’s done on
a profit share basis, which means the more bums on seats there are, the more
the actors and the writer get paid. When working as an actor for profit share,
the sum of money I would end up with as a wage was pitiful. When working as a
writer for profit share, it was even less. And sometimes I didn’t receive any
payment at all. Which is fine because, as I say, I work full time. It’s never
been a career for those who love money. I remember telling someone I was a
writer and he smiled and said, “so are
you a waitress as well then?”
It was my mum who first gave me the idea. I was lounging
around the living room, sprawled across the sofa, probably still in my pyjamas.
I was moaning that I was bored. I hadn’t done a play in months. She was barely
even listening to me as she was sewing name tags into my nephews’ school
uniforms. “Why don’t you just do it
yourself?” she muttered and immediately, I snorted with laughter. Yes.
Because I can really produce a script, hold auditions, direct actors, secure a
venue, get an audience and actually produce a play, I thought. I dismissed her
idea with nothing more than a laugh.
Only it planted a seed in my mind. Without really thinking
about it, I began gathering ideas and making mental notes of different plays,
possible venues, willing actors. Then I shook some sense into my head. No, Emily. You work five days a week. You
don’t have enough time to do all of this. No but if you got some help with
it, you’d be fine. This could be something brilliant. Or it could be dreadful and you’ll be a laughing stock. Or it could
be everything you’ve wanted for the past twenty five years.
I ran the idea past a few friends and family members, all of
whom were massively encouraging and supportive. Before I knew it, I’d spoken to
the owners of the Kings Club; a charming little venue which holds 100 people
and just so happens to be directly across the road from my house. I threw
around a few ideas, enquired about prices and left the conversation feeling
daunted. Excited but daunted.
After a few conversations with a fellow drama graduate, we
decided to go for it with a script I had written for my university
dissertation: A Walk in the Park. I
put down the deposit on the venue and secured two nights in November. This was
in June. I remember feeling like it was ages away. In fact, I felt quite smug
about the fact that I had plenty of
time.
A few weeks later, I was advertising for actors. The power
of social media came into play and I was inundated with emails from budding
young actors wanting to audition for the roles. Some familiar faces cropped up.
I’ve said this before but I always remember a face and a name. People I’d
worked with on various other productions popped up and it was a pleasure to
speak to them again. I paid another deposit to the venue and hired out the
building from 9:30am until 5pm one Saturday. My only day off that week. In the
back of my mind, I started to doubt myself again. Wouldn’t I be shattered
spending my only day off doing audition after audition?
The answer was yes. I was knackered. Particularly because
three days before the auditions were held, the other two ladies who had agreed
to help with the production decided they didn’t want to be involved anymore. I
had a mad panic for about a day – “I can’t
do this on my own. I’ve got to pull the auditions. Why did I decide to do this?”
- followed by the voice of reason
aka my mum drilling some sense into me. I could
do it. I had to do it. I didn’t have a choice. Actors were coming from as
far as London to audition. Pulling the auditions made no sense. So, ever the
supportive mother, she volunteered to help me audition. She’s a teacher so she’s
sat in on more than her fair share of auditions. In fact, she was far more experienced
in that sector than I was.
Audition day came and I was wide awake before my alarm went
off, my stomach writhing with nerves. It was almost laughable. Actors would
have been sat in their kitchens panic muttering their lines and hoping that
they came across well and there I was, so nervous that I couldn’t even be
coaxed into eating my breakfast.
My first audition of the day was a tiny little female. A
whirlwind of pinafore and bobbly tights. She came running into the room,
chatting ten to the dozen and making me laugh. She immediately put me at ease.
She auditioned for the role of Wendy – a lady in her late 40s/early 50s - which
initially took me by surprise as she was so tiny and cute that I thought she
was younger than me. Her name was Elizabeth Gorman. I didn’t know it then but
she would turn out to be my absolute lifeline in the coming months.
By ten thirty, I’d auditioned five or six people. One of
them was Craig Sharkey, a cheeky Scouse lad who I’d had the pleasure of working
with at Black Box Theatre Company back in the day. He was auditioning for the
role of Hanson – a filthy minded hilarious individual – and as soon as he’d
left the room, I looked at my mum and grinned. He was absolutely perfect for
the role. The audition after Craig was with an actor I’d never heard of and
didn’t know too much about. His name was Conor Burns and he was auditioning for
the main role of Jack. He walked in and straight away came over and shook both
of our hands. He was polite, courteous and smelt wonderfully clean. I took an
instant liking to him. Then he opened his mouth and this fabulous Irish accent
came out.
“Is it going to be a problem? My accent?” he asked us and of
course, we said no straight away. In fact, I cracked a little joke along the
lines of well it would make me a racist
if I said yes, wouldn’t it? And although he laughed, I could see how
nervous he was. His audition was wonderful. So wonderful that my mind flitted
to the script. How could I change it to explain why Jack had an Irish accent
and why – presumably – the rest of the cast wouldn’t? Could I get him to change
the accent? Would it be believable? He didn’t have as much previous acting experience
as most of the other auditionees and the role of Jack is such a huge part. Was
that a bad thing? Or did it mean he would take it more seriously than say,
someone who had just done a six month stint on the West End?
He walked out after his audition and I struggled to speak.
What I wanted to say was let’s stop
auditioning for Jacks now. I’ve found my Jack. But that would be
horrendously unfair. There was always the possibility that someone else would
be better than him. Except I knew in my heart of hearts that they wouldn’t.
It’s safe to say the most popular character people were
auditioning for was for the role of Kate. There were just over thirty auditions
for Kate. Some of the girls auditioning were fantastic. There was one very
memorable actor who, during a scene about a miscarriage, burst out laughing,
rolling her eyes and went wah-wah-wah impersonating
a very fake sob. It didn’t sit well with me for obvious reasons and she
immediately got a strike across her name. One girl came in quite confidently
and introduced herself as “My name’s Eva,
it’s pronounced Ava but it’s actually Katy”. I absolutely roared with
laughter. What an introduction! And what a memorable audition. She was without
a doubt the best audition overall in terms of learning the script. Her name was
Eva McKenna and she didn’t know it then but she was my Kate.
The day went on and I barely had enough time to go for a wee
or have anything to eat. During the afternoon, I got to meet the lovely Sheila
Jones, who was auditioning for Wendy and gave a memorable cracking performance.
I also got to meet Phil Champagne, who had auditioned for the role of Dave. By
the time we finished up, we’d had a tiring but wonderful day and I was fairly
certain that I had my cast.
Two days later, I rang Conor and offered him the role of
Jack. I could hear him bouncing around the room on the other end of the phone
and he kept saying thank you over and over like he couldn’t believe his luck. I
remember telling him we’d find a way to make the Irish accent work. I didn’t want
to take it out of the performance as I felt it added an element of natural
charm to the character. Before I let him accept the offer, I had to tell him
the twist in the story. I won’t go into detail here (you should’ve come to see
the play if you didn’t!) but I wasn’t sure if he would accept the role as it is
so challenging. I needn’t have worried however, as Conor was still running
around saying thank you and promising me he’d work hard.
After six phone calls, I had myself a cast and a very
enthusiastic director in the form of Elizabeth. After a brief holiday to Sharm
el Sheikh, I was back and ready to rock and roll. For the first time, I felt a
thrill of excitement. Could we really do this? We had ten weeks to rehearse and
our rehearsals consisted of three hour blocks in the Kings Club. At £15 per
rehearsal out of my own money, it wasn’t cheap but I didn’t want to take the
money out of the profit when we hadn’t even sold a single ticket.
All the while, I kept thinking about my experience of
previous profit share productions. What worked well? What didn’t? Well, for
starters, public transport was so expensive that ferrying myself back and forth
to rehearsals two or three times a week meant a serious dint in my purse.
Bearing that in mind, I decided to provide food for the actors where possible.
If we were having an afternoon rehearsal, I’d buy their lunch. If we were
rehearsing for six hours, my lovely mum would rustle us up a buffet. Little
things to boost morale and keep the actors happy. I remember someone I worked
with years ago talking about employers doing little things which make people gratefully
want to work harder. Happy chickens lay
happy eggs. That’s what she said and it’s stayed with me for years.
The months turned into weeks, the weeks flittered into days
and before I knew what was happening, we were performing our amazing play.
Unbelievably, we sold out both nights. In fact, on the Friday night
performance, we were over capacity with people stood in the aisles and crammed
into every little nook and cranny with a small stampede for the bar during the
interval. The play went down a storm. There were moments and jokes throughout
the performance which we had completely overlooked due to the amount of times
we’d rehearsed it. Certain parts had become words which simply came to life
when the audience were laughing.
The actors were unbelievably brilliant. I know that sounds a
bit twee and cliché but it’s also the truth. There were certain moments during
their performances when I would genuinely think what did I do to deserve these guys?
Sadly, one of the actors dropped out after the first night’s
performance which shook our confidence, however we were saved by a very brave
actor called Tim Paley who stepped in to save the day. What had consisted of a
broken night’s sleep, zero food and my brain working overtime had ended up with
a terrific performance from a very gifted actor. For someone to meet a cast,
get given a script and perform in a piece of professional theatre within twenty
four hours is incredibly brave. As I say, I never forget a name or a face and I
know if the opportunity ever arose in the future, I would jump at the chance of
hiring Tim again. What a guy.
So, at the beginning of this blog I talked about working
full time and struggling to find the balance between work and theatre. I lost
count of the amount of times I got in from work and went without food so I could
put together programmes and trek to the library in the rain to print them off
or the sheer amount of tickets I had to sit and cut out and post to people or
the amount of times I’ve ran to the Co-op in the rain to withdraw money to pay
the venue for a rehearsal.
On top of all of this, I actually got a new job at work –
still working for the same company, just in the other office which is slightly
further away and much harder work. At times, I would get in from work, my head
buzzing from all the new information I had absorbed and I would think of how
much I needed to do for the play before I could go to bed. I would lie on the
sofa sobbing from exhaustion. Most of my days were fuelled by caffeine and
chocolate. Of course I began to panic that I would balloon – I’ve had no time to exercise. In fact, I got an
email from the gym last week saying Don’t
forget about us, Emily! – but I needn’t have worried. It turns out stress
is the best method of weight loss.
Was it hard? Yes.
Was it tiring? Definitely.
Would I do it again?
