Today was the first day of rehearsals for Dance The Colour Blue. This is possibly the calmest sentence I’ll write…for it went as well as anyone could’ve hoped for!
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If dramaturgy is a ‘mode of looking’, then Stephen Daldry’s production of JB Priestley’s An Inspector Calls invites us to look at the house of the Birling family as a gothic dystopia of privileged victorian living. The house on stilts tilts towards its audience with the threat that it may well fall on them. It is a manifestation of the grotesque - potted with the barnacles of laissez-faire capitalism. That this looms behind a curtain is simultaneously absurd and impressive.
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A few days ago, we held another read-through of Dance The Colour Blue. I’m pleased to report that the new version of the play read well and got positive feedback from the readers. It is always satisfying (as well as something of a relief) to hear the script as you had intended it when written. A couple of edits here and there were required to tighten some dialogue…and that is now done.
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Body shaming is such an ever present feature of modern day society it’s surprising that it retains any remnants of power to surprise yet further…and then you discover, as a man, the extent to which 51% of society are shamed: women.
The Vagina Monologues has been a presence in theatres ever since creator V’s (formerly Eve Ensler) performance off-Broadway in 1996. 27 years later it is still finding new audiences - this one in Dundee - and still has the power to shock.
27 years later it is still finding new audiences - this one in Dundee - and still has the power to shock.
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The rotating stage at Manchester’s Royal Exchange Theatre moves to the slow rhythmic climes of the Deep South. Maggie, played by Ntombizodwa Ndlovu, enters like she owns the place - and for the first half hour, she does. Regaling Brick (Bayo Gbadamosi) with her half-formed thoughts and remnants of gossip. Gossip, it so transpires, with which she has more than a passing relationship. Her partner, Brick, has little room for manoeuvre figuratively or literally (having recently broken his leg) and can do little but to lie around on bed and listen. It is better than risking the alternative
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A new edit of Dance is complete. Which is great! I never take it for granted that there is another edit to be had. I considered the feedback from the last read-through and I think I have made a pretty decent fist of addressing all the points made during that session. I’m pretty pleased with the result. Naturally, I think it is the best edit to date (which is a good sign). I even wrote a document to reflect on the feedback: the points I took on board and the differences they made; and the points I did not take on board, and why not. It will act as a polaroid of my thinking at that time.
A second read-through beckons!
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The script’s perfect! Of course it is. Why would it not be? It’s the best version of it there’s been. Until you reach the Read Through session, that is. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a wonderful opportunity to have professional actors read your work, bring life and nuance to your words. And that’s when it hits you: the script is not perfect. It’s far from perfect. Pass the binoculars…we’ve some distance yet to go.
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Dance The Colour Blue is a play with a strong female presence. 5 of the 8 characters are female. And of the 4 major characters, 3 are female. So, I am really delighted to announce that Olivia Ross will direct. Olivia is a theatre director and actor. She is currently assistant director of the upcoming post-punk fever dream Sugar Coat which runs 29 March - 22 April at Southwark Playhouse.
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This week we kicked-off on the Creative Scotland project Dance The Colour Blue. A 6 month project between Acting Coach Scotland, me and a host of actors yet to be identified (hopefully alumni too) which will culminate in a performance during the 3rd week of June.
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Time appears sometimes to sit on two different planes, connected orthogonally to one another. On one, it travels so fast so as to seem wired to the energy meter. On the other, sloth-like: easy to forget we were in lockdown at the start of the year.
Every year, I try to make the most of January and February: the sleeper months where the world feels like a town called ‘Sunday’. Prepare then, and you are able to bolt from the hatches in March. By the end of February, I had completed two read-throughs of two new plays. By March, I was once again editing when I decided to do something I had not done before: apply for funding to put on a play.
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More often than not, it happens that I am involved in a project and wonder “how did I end up doing this?"
A couple of years ago between lockdowns, me, Jill Korn and Lorenzo Novani had an idea about developing a filmed theatre event. The idea arose in response to what seemed then a plethora of online theatre events. The ones I saw had suffered due to the medium in which they were presented: online buffering (and any piece which starts with “can you hear me?” loses a lot of the magic of theatre).
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Anarchic talent, stuffy TV execs, pleading intermediaries,Spike trods the well-worn turbulent path of unchecked ambition brought before an establishment clique who like to tell their charges ‘the war is over’ whilst simultaneously not having noticed the world has moved on. The set up to the play is readily familiar - a little known but talented man, surrounded by bigger names - AKA The Goons - has ideas his superiors think are above his station and nigh impossible to execute with any measure of success. What ensues is the classic ebb and flow of advance, retreat and entrenchment. A handy juxtaposition, as it happens, to Milligan’s time in the war where the intransigence of his erstwhile military high command perfectly mirrors his experience within the light entertainment department at the BBC. Robert Wilfort effortlessly captures the garrulous energy of Spike Milligan; refusing to buckle before the lethargic behemoth. He corrals his better-paid peers Peter Sellers (Patrick Warner) and Harry Secombe (Jeremy Lloyd) to contribute towards a vehicle of explosive post-dadaist humour. Much to the chagrin of his BBC betters.
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“I don’t know anything about this history”
As the most frequent words heard by Rona Munro about the James Plays, the playwright pursues an admirable ambition to dramatise Scotland’s history by writing plays covering the entirety of the Stewart rule in Scotland…to replicate what Shakespeare did for England: make invisible history visible.
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‘Donald’ from Clackmannanshire does not go gentle into the night…he rages as he watches the dying light of his telly having just gored it quite literally with a spear. Who amongst us has not felt the same urge? Have you seen whats on your shiny two-grand 7680×4320 pixelated box?
When daily life gets you down: daydream. That’s the message of this modern-day take on Cervantes’ classic novel. Let your inner life take control. And so ‘Donald’ dons his rusty chain-mail, a helmet, and mounts an easy chair to loudly declare his quest for god and valour. All before breakfast. It’s a disturbing sight for the home-help who is due at Barbara’s in ten minutes. ‘Donald’ has no time for such frivolities. He mounts his trusty steed - a mobility scooter - and embarks upon a journey (“there’ll be no tears!”).
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If suddenly you found yourself involved in immersive theatre, which play might you choose? The Cherry Orchard? Into The Woods? You’d probably avoid Medea and steer well clear of Titus Andronicus. You might also want to put Trainspotting Live into the latter group. That is not a reflection on the sheer dynamic tour-de-force of the production. Just, if you’ve read the book…
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Be careful what you wish for: a scarecrow so successful in their endeavour…may scare the birds away forever…yet rue the reverb of redundancy. Perhaps not their doing. Who knows? Certainly not the scarecrows.
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Crocodile Rock, by Andy McGregor, is the story of a teenager who, uncomfortable in his own skin, escapes to a world where he can breathe more comfortably and be more himself. We first meet Steven in his bedroom, Millport - population: 1500. His life seems all but mapped out by his father who wants nothing more than for his son to learn the tricks of the trade at the Pier Inn. Steven lacks the confidence and communication skills to banter freely with the regulars…an awkwardness stemming from somewhere deeper within. Running a guest-house, his mother is constantly busy cooking meals and cleaning, so Steven mucks in at ‘reception’ from time to time. During one such occasion, he checks in a guest like no other: exotic and disturbingly exquisite in his eyes. And so the world of drag lays bare its charms and dreams and possibilities, and also a route out from the claustrophobic confines of Millport. A route littered with pitfalls and danger around its glossy edges.
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With the proliferation of venues dedicated to or giving up space for drag queens (UK is on its 4th season of Rupaul’s UK Drag Race), it is refreshing to see the emergence of the drag king scene in Scotland. On Friday night, Shut Up & King with support from Creative Scotland presented its annual showcase Scotland’s New Kings On The Block at Drygate (near Dennistoun). Over a period of 3 hours, 12 kings ruled the stage and served us pure, unadulterated, concentrated musky masculinity. From toxic tories and serial lovers through to self-absorbed rockers and dreamers. It was a beautiful sordid mess - a reflection of a world grinning back at you; not a tenth as pretty as it likes to think it is.
Read MoreThere is always a tendency in my writing to give agency to those who seemingly have none. My play Dance The Colour Blue is about loss: of companionship, of love, of identity. What does it mean to be so absorbed by another that you can become as easily subsumed as the air that they breathe? You become a void: a repository into which any hint of a notion or scintilla of an idea can be tossed. All of it equally able to stick. Not a single joule of resistive energy anywhere to be found. Literature is littered with such examples - and they are overwhelmingly women. Take Shakespeare’s Cordelia in King Lear, or Ophelia in Hamlet, or so many supporting females in contemporary dramas able be replaced by a ‘sexy lamp’ without impacting the narrative. Or Penelope in Homer’s The Odyssey. Often seen as enigmatic, Penelope is the centre of the mythological strand of Dance The Colour Blue,
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Rabbie Burns often feels like an elusive character - sinusoidally ephemeral, not with respect to content, but in prominence. You think you’ll get a better sense of him next time around. But if the last decade is anything to go by, turning up the frequency merely turns up the translucency but at the expense of ambiguity. Despite multiple versions of this man, the more you try to delineate the one and true Burns, the more frustratingly opaque he becomes.
Burn by Alan Cumming is a one-man tour-de-force; a packet of energy to burn the surface of the facade in the hope of laying bare the man below. Whether it succeeds depends entirely on the knowledge and relationship you have with Burns as you take your seat.
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