Our main concern at the runthrough yesterday was the pace that was needed. Obviously, we're getting to the stage where we need an audience - the occasional giggle from our director, crew or fellow actors, who have seen it all before, isn't really enough; and working 'in the space' was obviously going to slow things down too. However, it's also true that hesitancy on some lines and cues will sometimes reduce us to the 'wading through mud' feeling.
Finally, it's undoubtedly true that it can be a danger with a Northern accent. Because of the relaxed drawl (just listen to Last of the Summer Wine), it's all too easy to relax so far into it that we drag our vocal heels, as it were. Not only that, but the authoritative, controlled, possibly pompous nature of our three couples (to varying degrees) means that a measured tread is completely appropriate to character. The challenge is to keep that steadiness and authority without sending the audience to sleep.
Tonight's rehearsal, therefore, was a 'line run' - sitting in a circle on stage, acting with voice and face but not body. Genevieve stopped us, or we stopped ourselves, when it became clear that we were 'stuck in the mud' - or that an alternative approach was required. Where a faster pickup of cues was required, or line delivery needed to be faster (or, indeed, slower) we went back and tried it out again.
A fascinating, and successful, gambit was to have our 'figures of authority' - particularly Councillor Parker and Alderman Helliwell - lose their measured tread as they lost control of the situation. As panic sets in at the realisation of just what has happened (or rather, in the case of their marriage, what hasn't happened), we tried hastening their speeches - while slowing down those of Gerald, who is relishing his new-found power as he tells the tale. The switch between the two was highly effective, and did as much for the integrity of the characters as it did for the theatrical effect. Likewise, when we three ladies were already at sixes-and-sevens over the matter of Mrs Northrop, our reaction to the arrival of the reporter and photographer from the Yorkshire Argus was explosive. Lines overlapped, pitch of voice was raised: panic stations.
This was a very useful and encouraging exercise. Now, of course, our next two rehearsals are technicals: which, based on previous experience, will be taken at a very slow pace indeed...
Friday, 13 July 2012
Thursday, 12 July 2012
It's a show? Corset is...
(You can tell when I've been borrowing my jokes from a certain Maddermarket wordsmith.)
Our first full runthrough on the stage, with yet more bits of costume, props and a continually grown set (Maria's drawing room is now a rather fetching shade of blue). Not surprisingly, the pace was well down; we had rather a lot to think about. Negotiating doors (two people managed to get their fingers caught), a gravel path (nice and noisy), the framework of a conservatory; Harry Potter style glasses for Robin; rehearsal skirts for the girls (actually, I love my polka-dot-hemmed creation. Very Carmen Miranda).
I also had a Brooke-like episode (ref: Noises Off). Lost contact lens while sitting in the stalls watching before my next entrance. With only one working eye, unable to find missing lens, so performed next scene half-blind. Summoned help as we got the the interval, and hugely grateful to the lovely Kiera who took a torch and searched diligently until it was found. Phew.
Oh, and for Kiera and myself, there were corsets. Forgive the earthiness of the comment, but I have to say that my rack suffered from vertigo: it hasn't been elevated to such heights for some considerable time. It also meant that the simple action of sitting on the sofa could result in asphyxiation.
Our first full runthrough on the stage, with yet more bits of costume, props and a continually grown set (Maria's drawing room is now a rather fetching shade of blue). Not surprisingly, the pace was well down; we had rather a lot to think about. Negotiating doors (two people managed to get their fingers caught), a gravel path (nice and noisy), the framework of a conservatory; Harry Potter style glasses for Robin; rehearsal skirts for the girls (actually, I love my polka-dot-hemmed creation. Very Carmen Miranda).
I also had a Brooke-like episode (ref: Noises Off). Lost contact lens while sitting in the stalls watching before my next entrance. With only one working eye, unable to find missing lens, so performed next scene half-blind. Summoned help as we got the the interval, and hugely grateful to the lovely Kiera who took a torch and searched diligently until it was found. Phew.
Oh, and for Kiera and myself, there were corsets. Forgive the earthiness of the comment, but I have to say that my rack suffered from vertigo: it hasn't been elevated to such heights for some considerable time. It also meant that the simple action of sitting on the sofa could result in asphyxiation.
Tuesday, 10 July 2012
Building from the shoes up
On stage, with the shell of a set starting to appear around us, and the odd bit of costume. Genevieve asks us to wear our costume shoes to start to give us the right 'feel' - working from the bottom of the costume upwards. Unfortunately I can't comply, as mine are half a size too small and crippling... but my fellow wives have theirs (understated light brown for Annie, black with statement buckles for Clara).
We work through the slightly neglected Act III, getting this final bit of the jigsaw in place ready for our first on-stage run-through on Thursday. My first attempt is disastrous: those oh-so-perfect lines in the car on the way to rehearsal desert me completely, resulting in a lot of very un-Maria-ish Anglo-Saxon language. Judi and James are very good to me (and I've no doubt at all that they would be very reassuring and supportive on-stage companions if it happened for real), but I'm seriously annoyed with myself.
However, second time through it's a lot better. The three 'encounters' between the husband-wife partnerships are gaining momentum, and lead us through convincingly to the final moments of the play.
Barry has taken some excellent new photos; you can see some of the cast on the beginnings of our lovely set here (and linked from the Rehearsal Photos page of this blog). And no, I'm not going to explain why the lovely Helen is waving her legs in the air. You'll just have to come to the show.
We work through the slightly neglected Act III, getting this final bit of the jigsaw in place ready for our first on-stage run-through on Thursday. My first attempt is disastrous: those oh-so-perfect lines in the car on the way to rehearsal desert me completely, resulting in a lot of very un-Maria-ish Anglo-Saxon language. Judi and James are very good to me (and I've no doubt at all that they would be very reassuring and supportive on-stage companions if it happened for real), but I'm seriously annoyed with myself.
However, second time through it's a lot better. The three 'encounters' between the husband-wife partnerships are gaining momentum, and lead us through convincingly to the final moments of the play.
Barry has taken some excellent new photos; you can see some of the cast on the beginnings of our lovely set here (and linked from the Rehearsal Photos page of this blog). And no, I'm not going to explain why the lovely Helen is waving her legs in the air. You'll just have to come to the show.
Monday, 9 July 2012
Sewing it together
Gracious me. The whole show. In one long tapestry (OK, with a teabreak-interval). To be fair, some of the embroidery in this particular Bayeux creation is more like tacking stitches at the moment, but with ten days to go before opening night that's no bad thing: if we'd all been word perfect right now, what on earth would we do for the next week and a half? (That is said, of course, to appease my own conscience at being one of the worst offenders for - if I may labour the comparison - dropping stitches.)
Using the Rehearsal Room for the last time, we were generally pretty pleased with the overall shape of the show. We can see where we need to speed up - or, indeed, slow down; where we've forgotten the physical construction of a scene (because it feels like ages since we last worked it), or where it doesn't look quite right in the context of the whole; we can enjoy our fellow performers' scenes, invisible to the rest of us until now.
Tomorrow's rehearsal will focus on the slightly neglected Act III, then a break on Wednesday to gather our thoughts, our lines and our concentration, and then our first full run on the partly-constructed set on Thursday.
We're getting there.
Using the Rehearsal Room for the last time, we were generally pretty pleased with the overall shape of the show. We can see where we need to speed up - or, indeed, slow down; where we've forgotten the physical construction of a scene (because it feels like ages since we last worked it), or where it doesn't look quite right in the context of the whole; we can enjoy our fellow performers' scenes, invisible to the rest of us until now.
Tomorrow's rehearsal will focus on the slightly neglected Act III, then a break on Wednesday to gather our thoughts, our lines and our concentration, and then our first full run on the partly-constructed set on Thursday.
We're getting there.
Friday, 6 July 2012
Photocall
There will be many more photographs, of course, of the dress rehearsals; but in the meantime, images are required for the programme and for the press. Our very own Reverend Mercer, Barry Parsons, provides the necessary expertise, and we spend a highly entertaining hour or two enacting key moments (some of which don't actually happen in the play) for the purpose.
This means being costumed for the first time, and dealing with present deficiencies as best we can. The wigs, for example, will be hired for the run of the show (my own short-cropped hair fails dismally to convince for 1908 merchant-class Edwardian lady); but good wigs are expensive to hire, so for the moment it's time for severe combing-back and hair-spraying, and a small hairpiece tucked on the back, like a blonde doughnut. OK, so perhaps that's a description of me, before you say it.
Looking at the images as they appear on Barry's laptop, we realise that the three ladies make a patriotic picture. Kiera is pale and understated in cream; Julie strong and loud in vivid deep red; and I am delighted with the sort of grey-bluebell colour which suits me very well. The corseting is vital, in my case, but raises certain of my features to hitherto unknown heights. However, it's very plain why these ladies couldn't have managed without a maid; even with modern velcro additions, getting into the outfit alone is nigh on impossible.
There are more giggles, of course, especially as Kiera and Matthew are required, once more, to enact their 'intimate moment'; each blames the other. The rest of us simply enjoy the spectacle - except, of course, poor Barry, who is trying to get a sensible photograph! (You can view a few more of my images here. The results of Barry's far more expert work will, hopefully, appear in local newspapers before long.)
This means being costumed for the first time, and dealing with present deficiencies as best we can. The wigs, for example, will be hired for the run of the show (my own short-cropped hair fails dismally to convince for 1908 merchant-class Edwardian lady); but good wigs are expensive to hire, so for the moment it's time for severe combing-back and hair-spraying, and a small hairpiece tucked on the back, like a blonde doughnut. OK, so perhaps that's a description of me, before you say it.
Looking at the images as they appear on Barry's laptop, we realise that the three ladies make a patriotic picture. Kiera is pale and understated in cream; Julie strong and loud in vivid deep red; and I am delighted with the sort of grey-bluebell colour which suits me very well. The corseting is vital, in my case, but raises certain of my features to hitherto unknown heights. However, it's very plain why these ladies couldn't have managed without a maid; even with modern velcro additions, getting into the outfit alone is nigh on impossible.
There are more giggles, of course, especially as Kiera and Matthew are required, once more, to enact their 'intimate moment'; each blames the other. The rest of us simply enjoy the spectacle - except, of course, poor Barry, who is trying to get a sensible photograph! (You can view a few more of my images here. The results of Barry's far more expert work will, hopefully, appear in local newspapers before long.)
Thursday, 5 July 2012
Happy ever after?
And so we face the final curtain. The situation is finally resolved, we all know where we stand, and we're set to wander off into the sunset, hand in hand.
Each of the three couples reacts differently to the final revelations, and to be honest, we're still experimenting with what, exactly, those reactions will be. A 'happy ending' is one thing, but there's always the potential that the fairytale finish might not be quite as planned, or wanted.
Did you ever see Sondheim's (overlong, but splendid) Into the Woods? The first half of the show concludes with 'happy ever after'; the second half shows what really happened next when the characters 'got what they wanted', and it isn't always quite as they imagined. Cinderella's and Rapunzel's princes are quickly bored with domesticity, and are drawn to seeking more exciting, unattainable women, for example (the Sleeping Beauty and Snow White, if you were wondering). The show's primary message is 'Be careful what you wish for - you might get it'; and indeed, the very final moments involve Cinderella blurting out her opening lines from the show - "I wish" - only to be stopped, with a hand over the mouth, by the other characters.
I was also reminded of a recent production of Measure for Measure at the Maddermarket. When the lovely Jo Sessions, as Isabella, was 'given' to the Duke in marriage, we realised - from the look of blank horror on her face - that her vocation as a nun, the most precious thing in her life, has been taken away from her. It was a startling change from the usual glow of happiness when she is led away by her husband-to-be. Jo made it very clear that Isabella's own dreams had been crushed, not realised.
Here, with our three couples, we are still finding how they resolve matters, in their lives and in their hearts. And that's the delight of experimenting with a theatrical experience: it's up to the actors and the directors to convey what the characters want. What they really, really want.
Each of the three couples reacts differently to the final revelations, and to be honest, we're still experimenting with what, exactly, those reactions will be. A 'happy ending' is one thing, but there's always the potential that the fairytale finish might not be quite as planned, or wanted.
Did you ever see Sondheim's (overlong, but splendid) Into the Woods? The first half of the show concludes with 'happy ever after'; the second half shows what really happened next when the characters 'got what they wanted', and it isn't always quite as they imagined. Cinderella's and Rapunzel's princes are quickly bored with domesticity, and are drawn to seeking more exciting, unattainable women, for example (the Sleeping Beauty and Snow White, if you were wondering). The show's primary message is 'Be careful what you wish for - you might get it'; and indeed, the very final moments involve Cinderella blurting out her opening lines from the show - "I wish" - only to be stopped, with a hand over the mouth, by the other characters.
I was also reminded of a recent production of Measure for Measure at the Maddermarket. When the lovely Jo Sessions, as Isabella, was 'given' to the Duke in marriage, we realised - from the look of blank horror on her face - that her vocation as a nun, the most precious thing in her life, has been taken away from her. It was a startling change from the usual glow of happiness when she is led away by her husband-to-be. Jo made it very clear that Isabella's own dreams had been crushed, not realised.
Here, with our three couples, we are still finding how they resolve matters, in their lives and in their hearts. And that's the delight of experimenting with a theatrical experience: it's up to the actors and the directors to convey what the characters want. What they really, really want.
Wednesday, 4 July 2012
Echoes of Tevye and Golde
The end of the play is in sight. After tomorrow night's rehearsal we'll be ready to work in broader brush-strokes on the whole show.
The tiny section we worked on this evening brings into sharp focus each of the three marriages and the way the husbands and wives have had to revisit their feelings for each other. Maria confronts Joe: "Joe Helliwell, I want you to answer one question. Do you love me?" Joe, of course, is hugely embarrassed to be asked such a thing in public.
Even today, never mind a century ago, how many people actually hear those three little words after many years of marriage? Hopefully many (I'm fortunate enough to be among those who do). However, it's so easy to take it for granted; to assume that, once the initial commitment has been made, that the feelings will stay the same.
One of my favourite songs in musical theatre - which, I have to say, I've performed with my own husband on more than one occasion - is sung by Tevye & Golde as they sit and reflect on all the changes that have happened as their daughters grow up and fall in love. In this case, it's the husband who starts the song: "Do you love me?" "Do I what?" retorts Golde, completely taken aback. After spending the rest of the song establishing that they do things for each other ("for twenty-five years I've washed your clothes, cooked your meals, cleaned your house..."), Golde finally admits "I suppose I do" - to which Tevye replies "And I suppose I love you too."
And, as they both conclude the song:
"It doesn't change a thing; but, even so,
After twenty-five years -
it's nice to know."
For the original and best, see the YouTube video of the inestimable Topol and Norma Crane at the foot of this posting; for a really sentimental rendition, the link to SoundCloud below is a recording made in a concert back in 2004 of Selwyn and myself (we'd only been married for 9 years at that point).
The tiny section we worked on this evening brings into sharp focus each of the three marriages and the way the husbands and wives have had to revisit their feelings for each other. Maria confronts Joe: "Joe Helliwell, I want you to answer one question. Do you love me?" Joe, of course, is hugely embarrassed to be asked such a thing in public.
Even today, never mind a century ago, how many people actually hear those three little words after many years of marriage? Hopefully many (I'm fortunate enough to be among those who do). However, it's so easy to take it for granted; to assume that, once the initial commitment has been made, that the feelings will stay the same.
One of my favourite songs in musical theatre - which, I have to say, I've performed with my own husband on more than one occasion - is sung by Tevye & Golde as they sit and reflect on all the changes that have happened as their daughters grow up and fall in love. In this case, it's the husband who starts the song: "Do you love me?" "Do I what?" retorts Golde, completely taken aback. After spending the rest of the song establishing that they do things for each other ("for twenty-five years I've washed your clothes, cooked your meals, cleaned your house..."), Golde finally admits "I suppose I do" - to which Tevye replies "And I suppose I love you too."
And, as they both conclude the song:
"It doesn't change a thing; but, even so,
After twenty-five years -
it's nice to know."
For the original and best, see the YouTube video of the inestimable Topol and Norma Crane at the foot of this posting; for a really sentimental rendition, the link to SoundCloud below is a recording made in a concert back in 2004 of Selwyn and myself (we'd only been married for 9 years at that point).
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