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Drama

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A drama in time – 1

May 3, 2016 in Life in BC | Permalink

Image from Pixabay“But a city is more than a place in space, it is a drama in time.”

Patrick Geddes

It was some time ago now – back in February in fact – that I posted a missive to this journal entitled Youth Theatre Dreaming in which I declared my intention of starting something along the lines of a youth theatre here in Victoria. You may have been wondering what has become of that purpose, particularly given that I wrote at the time that “things have been set in motion”.

Though I feel it probable that the gentle reader has grown somewhat weary over the years of being informed just how long it takes for this, that and the other to come to pass in our lives (which dilatory state of affairs seems to have been our lot for some considerable time now) in this case things actually have been happening… albeit – slowly!

In keeping with the ponderous nature of the progress this will not be the post that gives you all the details of the project. That will be the next one (or maybe the one after that!). This one will give some essential background and reflects the fact that one of the things that we were briefed to do by those with whom we intend to work was to carry out some research into the current dramatic provision for young people in and around Greater Victoria.

This is what we found.

Across the high schools of Greater Victoria the provision of drama teaching is – to put it mildly – mixed! Some schools have extensive offerings – such as the excellent Claremont Secondary in Cordova Bay which has a fully fledged Fine Arts programme running across the whole school. In other secondary schools drama is taught by whoever can be prevailed upon to pick it up – often someone from the English department. The content is then based upon whatever knowledge happens to be available. There is no common curriculum and drama would seem to be one of those subjects the timetabling of which has, of late, been squeezed.

One thing is, however, common to practically all schools – music theatre! I have never encountered such a plethora of music theatre courses and musical shows. It would seem that, even if no other offering for drama study is available, there is always the music theatre option.

Now – having written a number of musicals myself back in my youth theatre days I am not opposed to the form per se, but I was startled to discover that these shows are a very different proposition. These are based on hit shows from Broadway and the like, but stripped down for school use and with the entire production offered as a package – pre-recorded music, choreography, costume and set design and so forth.

Hmmm!

Outside school there are – as one would expect – other possibilities. Full details on these must, however, needs wait for the second part of this missive.

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Going home star

April 9, 2016 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

Image from PixabayLast week the Kickass Canada Girl and I attended the Royal Theatre in Victoria for one of two performances by the Royal Winnipeg Ballet of a new piece – ‘Going home Star – Truth and Reconciliation‘ – which was commissioned for the Ballet by Artistic Director André Lewis and presented with the support of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada.

The subject matter of this ambitious work – concerning the residential schools programme controversy and its effect on those of First Nations’ descent – attracted a heavyweight artistic team. Joseph Boyden – award winning Canadian author of ‘Three Day Road‘ and ‘Through Black Spruce‘ – provided the story. Mark Godden – whose list of credits and awards throughout North America is too impressively extensive to list here – choreographed. The excellent music was by Christos Hatzis – two time Juno award winner.

Those without Canada may not be familiar with the background of the residential schools programme. Herewith for your benefit (should you be at all interested) is a brief history lesson.

An amendment to the Indian Act of 1876 – intended to remove First Nations’ children from the influence of their families and culture to assimilate them into the dominant ‘Canadian’ culture – made attendance compulsory at day, industrial or residential schools. By 1931 there were 80 of these residential schools across Canada. The numbers declined thereafter, with the last federally operated school closing in 1996, but by then some 150,000 (around 30%) First Nations children had passed through the system. More than 6,000 did not survive the experience, dying whilst yet in attendance.

A new consensus emerged in the early 21st century that these residential schools had done significant harm to the Aboriginal children who attended them by removing them from their families, depriving them of their ancestral languages, through sterilization, and by exposing many of them to sexual abuse by staff members and other students. In June 2008 a public apology was offered by the then Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, on behalf of the Government of Canada. At around the same time the Indian Residential Schools Truth and Reconciliation Commission was established to uncover the truth about the schools.

As might be gathered from the weighty subject matter, experiencing a work of conscience and of art such as this was no walk in the park. Though the music set the tone masterfully – being a highly intelligent blend of European classical, contemporary stylings, Inuit throat singing and traditional drumming – and the movement was both highly imaginative and at times exquisitely beautiful, the work was also inevitably harrowing at times. The Girl – whose grandmother and two of whose aunts were survivors of the residential schools – not surprisingly found it particularly difficult.

I think that it is fair to say that not everything came off – and the fact that the Royal Winnipeg Ballet includes not one dancer of Aboriginal origin left this attendee at least feeling distinctly ambivalent – but in general the avoidance of the obvious pitfalls and the bravery of the conception and the execution should be – and was – applauded unreservedly.

It is right that art should be able take such risks and sometime to make us feel less than comfortable by so doing. Long may it continue to do so.

Kudos to all concerned.

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The Night Manager

March 26, 2016 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

Free image from PexelsThose familiar with my oeuvre may perhaps be accustomed to my occasion panegyrics in praise of one or other of the BBC’s splendid drama productions – ‘Parade’s End‘ back in 2012 for example – or the more recent ‘River‘ of last year. Should you be one such you may be wondering (if you have nothing considerably better to do with your time) why I have not likewise registered my approval of the wondrous adaptation of John Le Carré’s ‘The Night Manager‘ which approaches its culmination this Easter weekend on BBC1.

I has indeed been remiss of me not so to do.

It would be fair to say that the show is in need of no such puffery from me or – apparently – from anyone else. Viewing figures started high and went up from there. This is one of those occasions on which both the BBC and the viewing public get it splendidly right. This is one classy production – based on a typically strong Le Carré novel but given an update and polish that not only takes nothing away (something of a rarity in itself) but in fact adds quite considerably.

Money has clearly been spent on this Anglo/American co-production – and spent in a way that makes this viewer at any rate purr with pleasure. The writing is precise and spare, the direction and camerawork would not be out of place on the big screen and the acting is sublime.

There is no getting away from the fact that the English public school thespist ‘mafia’ – out here yet again in force in the shape of not one but two Old Etonians – currently appears to pretty much have the monopoly on the cream of the TV and film roles going. Many commentators see Tom Hiddleston’s expertly judged performance as the brooding hero Jonathan Pine as nothing less than a Bond audition. He is – however – given a serious run for his money by Hugh Laurie’s ‘worst man in the world’ – Richard Onslow Roper – from whom it is difficult to drag one’s gaze. Add the wonderful Tom Hollander and Olivia Coleman to the mix and one is blessed with a heady brew of a cast.

It can only be a sad indictment of the failure to invest adequately in the state secondary education sector in the UK – not to mention the ideological interference in the running thereof – that so many of the new breed of actors have as their backgrounds the rarefied atmosphere of the public (UK sense here) schools. Eddie Redmayne, Tom Hiddleston, Harry Lloyd, Rory Kinnear, Henry Lloyd-Hughes, Benedict Cumberbatch, Damian Lewis, Dominic West, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Rosamund Pike, Rebecca Hall, Emily Blunt… the list goes on. Of course these schools have wonderful facilities and can recruit teaching staff from the top drawer, but there is more to it than that. Whatever the reason, the top independent schools in the UK (as most likely in Canada and elsewhere also) ascribe an importance to the arts that is no longer the case in other parts of the ‘system’.

Flame off!

Anyway – though it may seem a little late to be recommending ‘The Night Manager‘ at this juncture do remember that it is an Anglo/American production that has to date been only seen in the UK. It will doubtless be appearing on a streaming service near you ere long.

Don’t miss it!

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Youth theatre dreaming

February 26, 2016 in Life as we know it | Permalink

Image from PixabayThose gentle readers who have become accustomed to my – er – ‘style’ will doubtless already have gathered that the recent ‘nostalgic’ post concerning my youth theatre past was an essential part of the extended meditation on the subjects of home-sickness and significance with which I have of late been grappling. Big topics both!

You will probably also have figured – had you been of a mind to plough through those tracts – that the object of my cogitation whilst beset by that malaise in the run up to Christmas was indeed that very period in my life. For reasons that I could not immediately determine I found myself exhaustively replaying memories of the several decades and more from the early 70s to the mid 90s during which I helped to run a local authority youth theatre in the south east of England.

When I was but a young man I desperately wished to become a professional musician. Others with whom I played did achieve this – some to great success – but it became clear pretty early on that I was not sufficiently gifted to belong amongst their number. When I got involved with the youth theatre and began to write musicals for them I took that very seriously as well, hoping – with my co-writers – that we might at some point merit a professional performance of one of these works. That didn’t happen either. Now that I write plays – having run out of partners with whom to write musicals – I still harbour hopes that I might eventually get one published. The odds are long, I know – but this is a dream that I still cherish.

Through my great fortune in having being given the chance to work with the drama departments of two of the UK’s greatest schools – each of which has more than played its part in the generation of the new wave of brilliantly talented young thespists – I have slowly come to the realisation that my true role lies in the encouragement and promotion of a passion for creativity in young people.

I am not qualified to teach in BC and I would not in any case wish to go back to work in education. It became very clear to me during my pre-Christmas funk, however, that my true role is in doing almost exactly that which I was doing more than two decades previously. I should be involved in youth theatre. I determined there and then that, should I not be able to find a suitable venture with which to become involved, I would just have to start something myself.

Things have been set in motion, about which much more anon. They best thing – from my point of view – is that I am once again beginning to get a sense of what I am here for…

…and that is a very good thing!

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Other days

February 18, 2016 in Life as we know it | Permalink

2006-07-26 - 28 - Road Trip - Day 03 - United States - Iowa - Dyersville - Field of Dreams“You know we just don’t recognize the most significant moments of our lives while they’re happening. Back then I thought, well, there’ll be other days. I didn’t realize that that was the only day.”

‘Moonlight’ Graham – Field of Dreams

One moment in time…

Back in the late 70s – maybe 1977 – or even 1978…

It is late summer – towards the end of August. The location is Edinburgh – somewhere on the south side of the city… a city that is buzzing because it is festival time and the official festival, the fringe, the book festival, the television festival and the film festival are all in full swing.

More specifically the location is the kitchen of a rented apartment, perhaps somewhere off the Lothian Road. During term time this is student accommodation and the space bears the scars accordingly. For the three weeks of the festival it is rented at a wincingly inflated rate to groups of young hopefuls – performers, actors, musicians, jugglers, acrobats, technicians… wannabees… all itching to make their mark on this most public of stages. They dream of discovery – though the chances of so being are little higher than of winning the yet-to-be created lottery.

This particular group of young thespists and musicians hails from the south east of England and they are all associated with a local authority youth theatre from somewhere not far outside London. Aged variously between 16 and 25 they have made the long trek up to Edinburgh largely at their own expense because… because… well… that really is the question. Why are they here – so full of passion and energy and ambition?

They are doing a show – of course – but why have they gone to all the trouble and expense of bringing it to the Edinburgh fringe where – no matter how hard they work on publicity, pounding the granite cobbles thrusting flyers into reluctant hands – they will be lucky to play to a few hundred souls in a week.

The kitchen is awash with excited chatter – of shows seen – clubs visited – contacts made – exotic beverages imbibed. Summer nights north of the border hold the light longer than they do down south and the evening has only just entered the gloaming. As more youngsters arrive back from their latest adventures mugs of coffee are concocted from a large tin of cheap ‘instant’ and endless rounds of toast and marmalade are churned out by willing volunteers. This – along with the baked tatties from the local ‘Spud-U-Like’ – comprise the essential diet for this week of living wildly.

Why are they here? There are many reasons. Some are just here for the adventure – some to escape home for a while. Some are here because it is a chance to explore the festival – some because they love performing… acting or making music. Some just want to be with their friends.

Some of them are serious in their intentions concerning their art. They are hoping to get into drama school or music college and will then to try to carve a career from these most fickle of occupations. Some of them will succeed – in some cases only until they grow weary of the constant rejection, or perhaps on discovering that this was not after all for them – but others will enjoy long and rewarding careers in music, TV or the theatre.

But how can they tell – crowded expectantly into this clammy kitchen with its hot sweet coffee, its toast and conserves – what might be the true significance of this moment in time? Their conversations are full of plans and dreams, of crazy inspirations, of ambitions and desires. They have not yet drunk of the well of cynicism and regret. For them this is but a staging post on the road to the dazzling future.

‘Moonlight’ Graham was right, though. As we look back now on our younger selves from some four decades on, might it be – for some of us at least – that we suddenly see clearly that what we once thought to be just an impatient foothill at the start of our ascent was in fact the summit itself – and that that night would turn out to be the truly significant one?

…that night and a hundred others like it…

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River running deep

November 22, 2015 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

Image from Public Domain Images“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”

Heraclitus

Long serving followers of these ramblings (and if such you be then you deserve some sort of special prize, though you may have to make do with my grateful thanks) will be aware that I have – on occasion – enthused over some artistic venture or other that has taken my fancy – be it on stage, screen or television. Close observers will also note that there have not exactly been a plethora of such instances, for I am what the Girl describes as a ‘picky customer’.

As the more astute reader will by now have gathered this is by way of a preamble for one of those infrequent occurrences.

We have this week just finished watching the sixth and final episode of the BBC drama – “River“. Should you throw up your hands in exasperation and enquire as to why I am writing about it now – when it is over and done – then you should be aware that the rights have been acquired by Netflix and you can thus catch up with this splendid production at your leisure – the which I wholeheartedly recommend.

“River” was – I repeat – shown first on the BBC. Most of what the Girl and I watch here in Canada is from the BBC and if our viewing thereof be not strictly legitimate then that is simply a sad indictment of the fact that – even in this age of global communication – there isn’t a way of paying to be able to stream the service that we really want – even though we would be delighted so to do if we could.

At a first glance “River” might have given the impression that it was just another police procedural. At the start of the first episode curmudgeonly detective John River (the excellent Stellan Skarsgard) and his longtime sidekick ‘Stevie’ Stevenson (the equally excellent Nichola Walker) are in their car on night duty. She is teasing him playfully, trying to get him to engage in karaoke renditions of seventies disco hits – he pretending that he disapproves of her attentions.

River sees a car that is clearly under suspicion and they give chase. The pursuit culminates in River following the young male driver into a housing estate and thence to the second floor of a tower block from which the young man jumps to his death.

Cut to River – with Stevie in the background – being chewed out at the scene by his boss. “You can’t bring her back” – she tells him unexpectedly, and as River stalks away and Stevie turns to join him we see that there is a hole the size of a fist in the back of her head! Yes – River sees dead people – in this instance his recently murdered sidekick, whose killer he is now endeavouring to find.

The show proves to be not really a murder mystery at all but rather a deeply moving study of the effects of mental instability on a man under pressure.

The writing – by the annoyingly wonderful Abi Morgan (dammit!) – is really quite exquisite. Morgan has reached the level at which she apparently has no fear and can thus do things at which mere mortal writers will balk. The closing scenes of the finale – six episodes down the line – would certainly have appeared mawkish or clumsy in the hands of a lesser writer. Morgan’s judgement is assured – treading that fine line with élan, remembering that less is always more and leaving us all in floods of tears. As River finally dances with the manifestation of Stevie that only he can see – on the spot at which she was killed – he is interrupted by his new partner, the splendidly lugubrious Ira King (Adeel AKhtar). Ira watches River for a brief moment and then simply says: “Alright?”. Perfect!

The actors to a man (and woman) – knowing a good thing when they see it – rise to the occasion and are uniformly splendid. The entire piece is given air to breathe by director Richard Laxton and allowed to unfold at an appropriately thoughtful pace. All is good.

So – should you already have caught it – congratulations. If not – consider the series recommended.

 

As a footnote – and I don’t mean to be unduly pessimistic – it seems to me a good idea to grab as many quality offerings from the BBC as possible before politicians of all hues – believing that they know better than anyone else – finally get their long-cherished way and emasculate the corporation entirely…

…and what a piss-poor (pardon my French) ambition that is!

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Heroes and villains

June 22, 2015 in Life as we know it | Permalink

skull-308551_640I’ve been in this town so long
So long to the city
I’m fit with the stuff
To ride in the rough
And sunny down snuff I’m alright
By the heroes and…

Van Dyke Parks, Brian Wilson

They say that you shouldn’t meet your heroes. Now – as it happens I have some small experience in this regard, having several decades ago been introduced to one of mine…

…and it turns out that ‘they’ are right.

Finding myself face to face with one of the most brilliant, erudite and talented playwrights working today (subsequently to be knighted for his services to the Theatre) I could think of nothing of any intelligence with which to engage him concerning the play that I had just experienced, instead merely burbling inanely some incoherence about his genius which probably embarrassed him as much as it did me.

Ouch!

Well – as part of what is quite clearly an ongoing education I now discover that one should not ‘meet‘ one’s villains either!

My antipathy towards the current Chancellor of the Exchequer will not come as news to those who have been subjected to the occasional political rants within these postings (examples – should you need them – here and here). Perhaps the most galling aspect – to my mind anyway – is that he is a Old Boy of the School. Given that he has, I am reliably informed, spoken in less than complimentary terms concerning his own schooldays it is perhaps mildly surprising that he has placed his son at the School.

Last week saw the final drama production of the school year. Long standing readers may recall that, two years ago, my own production of Parzifal featured in this slot. This year it was the turn of an excellently realised production of Beowulf featuring a cast of more than thirty – amongst which number was the aforementioned progeny.

Having volunteered my services Front of House on the Friday I almost inevitably found myself checking the ticket of the man himself. He had clearly brought his entire clan along to witness the adolescent’s senior school drama debut. To make matters worse he did not rush off afterwards, but joined the throng outside the Drama Centre in partaking of some liquid refreshment.

It is profoundly uncomfortable to find oneself sequestered for any period within a few yards of someone whose every public pronouncement incites one to near incandescent rage only to observe that, in close proximity, he is after all but a man – and one who is clearly extremely proud of his son. Yes – if one looked there were flashes of the arrogance, of the sense of entitlement, that have been so widely publicised (and criticised – not only by me!), but on another level this was simply a parent in an off-duty moment supporting his child…

…which is not at all how I want to think of him!

Bah!

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Skylight

August 11, 2014 in Life in England | Permalink

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidTo Wyndhams Theatre in the West End last Friday eve to catch the revival of David Hare’s 1995 masterpiece – ‘Skylight‘ – starring Bill Nighy and Carey Mulligan.

As Canadians would say – but as Brits would mean… “Awesome“!

The Kickass Canada Girl and I found ourselves earlier that evening – as we journeyed into town prior to the performance – discussing the fact that it has been some considerable time since we have truly had a five-star theatrical experience.

Come to think of it – and we did – there has also been a lengthy lacuna since we last saw a five-star movie. And as for television! Well – the fact that we are spending a considerable chunk of our current down-time (such as it is) either re-playing (in the case of the Girl) or mostly viewing for the first time (in mine) the complete cycle of Aaron Sorkin’s wonderful ‘The West Wing‘ courtesy of LoveFilm – says pretty much all that need be said about the current state of television drama.

I digress…

For those who know him not Sir David Hare is one of the great knights of the English theatre – playwright, screenwriter and director. He is perhaps best known for his trilogy of ‘state of the nation’ plays for the Royal National Theatre in the early 90s – ‘Racing Demon‘, ‘Murmuring Judges‘ and ‘Absence of War‘ – as well as for his earlier play, ‘Plenty‘ – his own screen adaptation of which starred Meryl Streep. Streep featured again in the movie of his 2002 screenplay of Michael Cunningham’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel – ‘The Hours‘ – the which was directed by Stephen Daldry, who also does the honours for this revival of ‘Skylight‘. Hare’s 2011 one act play ‘South Downs‘ – based on his school days in Sussex and written to be played as a double bill with Terrence Rattigan’s ‘The Browning Version‘ for the centenary of the latter’s birth – is one of my favourite scripts of recent years.

Most recently Hare has turned his hand to writing and directing for television, producing a trilogy of dramas based on his long-serving MI5 character – Johnny Worricker. The ‘Worricker Trilogy‘ – comprising ‘Page Eight‘, ‘Turks and Caicos‘ and ‘Salting the Battlefield‘ features in the lead role no less than the estimable Bill Nighy. See above!

Hare is understandably widely regarded as a political writer – his work clearly reflecting his left of centre credentials. ‘Skylight‘ – written whilst the UK yet reverberated to the shrill cacophony of the Thatcher years – makes central the abyss between that era’s capitalist high-achievers and those left as human wreckage in their wake. Nighy’s driven and hugely successful alpha-manhood is pitted against Mulligan’s born-again social conscience. Not too difficult to imagine where Hare’s sympathies lie.

‘Skylight‘ is – praise be – much more nuanced than this, and considerably more complex and layered than first impressions might suggest. The play is in truth about these two engaging, much flawed and totally believable characters and their sad, funny, exasperating and moving relationship history with each other. Exquisitely written, Hare’s script eschews easy answers and ensures that should we as onlookers ever feel that we have enough of a handle on matters to form a judgement, we are rapidly disabused of the notion and forced to dig deeper.

One could posit that given such wonderful material all a decent actor need do is to hit the mark and to recite the lines. To suggest such in this case would be to damn Nighy and Mulligan with faint praise. I can’t recall when I last saw two thespists inhabit their characters as completely as do these two. This is acting of the very highest order.

But enough of my babbling. Instead of perusing my prattlings you should be online at once scrabbling to acquire a ticket for the last few weeks during which this wonderful show will be on the London stage. Such treasures are – by all accounts – yet to be had… though I doubt that they will remain so for long.

There are rumours of a Broadway transfer in the spring of 2015 – should you hail from across the pond or be feeling particularly flush – but who knows.

Don’t take the chance. Catch it now!

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Vorsprung durch Technik

April 10, 2014 in Flotsam and Jetsam, Photos | Permalink

The building that houses the Institute of the Arts, Barcelona (which is actually a short journey down the coast in Sitges) was in a former life an Audi design centre.

It shows…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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All change

April 5, 2014 in Life in England | Permalink

Photo by Ian Britton at www.freefoto.comThe rule of thumb regarding survival of the first three bitter months of the year is to ensure that the Christmas/New Year spirit lasts as long as possible, before hunkering down and digging in for the long haul through to spring – pausing only to offer a grateful prayer of thanks that – as winter months go – irksome February is at least numerically challenged!

And then – all of a sudden – everything changes!

These are amongst the happenings that occur over a relatively short interval:

  • March finally limps to a close and we find ourselves on the threshold of the spring.
  • In the UK the clocks go forward to British Summer Time, thus ensuring that – for the first time in the year – my journeys both to and from work are accomplished in daylight.
  • The spring term at the School comes to an end and we are suddenly two thirds of the way through the academic year.
  • The sun puts in a proper appearance and nature starts to awake. Those bright munchy greens presage my favourite time of the year.

Following last year’s ridiculously early Easter, this year’s is nearly as late as it can be. Before that feast is upon us The Girl and I are heading to Barcelona (leaving – in fact – on the morrow) accompanying the A level Theatre Studies boys on their field trip to the Institute of the Arts in Sitges.

The Fuji x10 and the School’s iTablet will – naturally – be accompanying us.

Expect pictures!

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