"It is not what it looks like...." Pascal inspects a dubious scene of moral outrage
On Saturday 24th March, the Steeple Aston Players performed the last of a three night run for my first ever full length play, Dating by the Book. Once the final curtain was pulled, the sets were dismantled and the hall went back to being an empty space, ready for the next organisation to use it. As the final light was flicked out and we left the hall pretty much as we found it ten weeks ago and there was a sense of completion. A satisfied feeling of a job well done.
The previous three nights hadn't been, of course, as stress free. Far from it. In fact the first night was pretty bad with a nervous cast forgetting lines and stage directions to the point where vast reams of dialog were left unsaid and some lines were repeated in what appeared to be a frightening never-ending-loop of the script. I should add that from the audiences point of view it probably wasn't that bad. After all they had no idea what the script contained, however, they could detect the action slowing to a dreadful snails pace as actors struggled to dig themselves out of the holes they were either planted in by others or had dug themselves.
The stuff of writers nightmares.
So what does a writer/director do at that point. Well first off, get a good breakfast, then go for a long open top drive in his sports car (don't get excited its a beat up old MX5) and then he looks at the various problems and tries to think of some solutions. After all, it's not him up on that
stage, its his actors and they are then ones taking it on the chin when things go wrong. And they take it in front of an audience that probably contains friends and family. The director? Oh he's safe in the light box, so don't feel too sorry for him.
Solutions to forgotten lines were easy. Analise why it was happening and devise a way to help the cast to remember their lines. In one case it proved advantageous to place a copy of the script inside a magazine so one actor could flick through it from time to time. That seemed to work out fine, in fact I don't think anyone in the audience noticed. Myself and the cast also worked on contingency plans to make sure that the pace did not falter even if a line was missed or forgotten. It was also recognised by one of the cast that Liz, playing Juliet, should be looked on as the main beat of the play, the drummer who keeps everything in time.
Juliet (Liz Bishop) & Tina (Deborah Dunn) discuss why most men are feckless idiots
The result was stunning. Juliet's character became unleashed and Liz threw everything she had at the performance. As a result the whole cast lifted their game and responded to her performance, and while Friday's performance wasn't perfect (again a lot of text was missed out) the pace was consistently much faster than Thursday. Saturday however rocked the audience with a combination of correctly said text and some wonderful pace. Deborah, playing Tina, started to shine on this night as her natural comic timing came to the fore. In fact everyone was up-to-speed, creating at last the version of the play I wanted to see.
I couldn't have asked for more from them. They were brilliant. The audience responded. It was great to watch, and fantastic to hear those rumbling belly laughs from the audience as the show moved with a new found confidence to it's frantic and farcical conclusion.People often say, in these types of situations, that they couldn't have done it without their team behind them. I now know what they mean. Without the help of the Steeple Aston Players, including many of the unsung heroes that are in the background doing all those invisible jobs that desperately need doing, I wouldn't have got this show to anywhere near a performance.
And the experience it has given me is invaluable, both as a writer and a director. I now understand the craft of stage writing so much better, and perhaps also a little more about diplomacy of coaxing the best from actors under stressful situations.I've also gained a great deal of respect for the Producers of this world. My aim was to bring this production in at a very low cost, to make sure that if it didn't make a profit, then it would at least avoid being a loss making venture. Making a loss in theatre is the equivalent of vanity publishing. If your play is not making a profit you have to consider why that's happening. In some cases it could be that you want to promote an idea or a concept that you feel is worthy, and making a loss is an okay thing to happen. In my case I was putting on a piece of pure entertainment. There's no real message in my play, but that doesn't mean the characters are uncomplicated, in fact after having lived with them for 10 weeks of rehearsals I am beginning to understand their true depth. But the play is still a farce and as such should make a profit to justify the effort.
Having spoken recently with the chairman I can reveal the play did achieve a modest profit. It attained an audience of around 75% each night and the bar profits alone were enough to cover many of the outgoing costs. In commercial terms it was a success. In experince terms it was unmissable.
I'm now ready to complete a final version of the script, which sounds odd considering I just produced the damn thing, but there was a lot to be learnt simply from listening to the audiences reaction. I now have a much better understanding of what needs to be cut, and in indeed what needs to be added. In writers terms nothing is ever really finished, I've always realised that, but now I am only just beginning to understand that the no being finished isn't always a criticism, sometimes its an opportunity to make things better.
Of everything that I have learnt over the last ten weeks, perhaps that is the most important.
Paul
