Goodwill and Mince Pies

Perhaps everyone is nice at Christmas as they are so full of food they don't have the energy to be awful.

Conductors vs Directors

Well there is something to be said for being left alone during a performance. Or at least there is if the alternative is to be glared at and scowled at throughout the whole thing. I love playing in orchestras. I think I have chosen the French Horn because it is unique amongst the rest of the orchestra. Not only are you playing an individual part all on your own, you are also playing as a section, there are usually another 3 horns, all playing different parts and yet all playing together, and all this in the framework of the whole orchestra. This layering of responsibility, of teamwork and of individuality suits very specific people. There is no feeling I have ever experienced that matches playing Berlioz Symphonie Fantastique with tubas, harps and masses of percussion and trombones along with a full orchestra creating an immense wall of sound that fills an entire hall, and blocks out all other thought. Amazing. This only happens when everyone is working together, when everyone wants the same goal, which is for the whole orchestra to play well and create something beautiful. The conductor has a major role in this. He can see everyone and everyone can see him. If we get lost, or make a mistake or need reassurance that the difficult but we just played sounded ok then it is to the conductor we look. Usually we are rewarded with a smile, or a signal marking where we should come in, a nod that means you're doing well. If this seems like a lot of reassurance well, it is, but then sitting at the back of the strings, next to the percussion with your sound heading off behind you and bounding off walls before mixing with the rest and flowing out to the audience, it can be difficult to know how the final thing is sounding. The reciprocal gesture is to play as well as you can and follow the conductor wherever he takes the music, faster, quieter, or even silence, whenever asked for.

That is how it usually goes, anyhow. Last week was an exception. A conductor who makes the entire orchestra accompany him. He shouts and insults the players, rehearses them too hard and for too long in the afternoon, and then scowls throughout the performance whenever a wrong note, or a wobble is heard, thus shattering the confidence of all the players. We are constantly reminded that he is conductor purely for his career. We are a stepping stone, and any mistake we make will be the cause of his downfall. We are not a team. We are not even a group. We are merely there to serve. To make this point absolutely clear, he announces that during the concert he will be making a "very private recording" of himself conducting.

I have never had to control the inner child so much. Never have I wanted to sabotage something that other people are paying to hear and see. It is all about respect. The interesting thing about the experience is that it made me examine and question after 25 years what I like about playing, and why I chose the french horn, discarding recorder, clarinet, piano, and tenor horn along the way.

You will have to excuse the rant, and by way of apology I offer the following light relief about respect and being nice to each other. It is also rather long, but perhaps you only need to watch the first few minutes to get the point...

What happens if they die before then?

Two lots of tickets bought this week: very exciting ones for April 2009 - Waiting for Godot with Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellan; and a rather early Seasons Greetings by St Andrews Play Club at the Byre - this I saw last night.

I am always impressed by amateur dramatics. Not necessarily by any artistic merit, but always by the fact that these people give up their free time to rehearse and then perform daily for almost 2 weeks. I would be terrified. None of them are paid and all of them are very brave. Last night there were some half decent actors on stage. The script, Alan Ayckbourn, was quite funny, and the set was very detailed and very well made. That said, what could have been a passable performance was sadly let down by a very very bad actor. He grinned the whole time (even when faced with a potentially murdered house guest), left massive pauses before saying his lines as though he was trying to remember them, and his threats were so very unthreatening that by the end of the play everytime he spoke he was laughed at because it was so very very bad. Still, I think M & D just about forgave me for making them come with me!

As D said - lets hope that Messers Stewart and McKellan don't die before April.

(oh - as for the shoe saga - it's over. I have reclaimed my dancing shoes and will be whirling like a dervish all through Christmas)

Heigh ho heigh ho it's back to work I go...

Haven't seen much theatre recently. Trying to change this state of affairs but it all costs so much money... As does heating and eating and these unfortunately have to come first despite loving the stage.

To make matters worse I received a text from a "friend" telling me they were standing outside the National Theatre in London in line for tickets to go see War Horse. I was in the supermarket standing in line for some milk. I did go and see lots of good stuff whilst I lived down there - stuff by Improbable, Complicite and others - but it doesn't make me feel any better about being so far away now.

The current National season is fantastic - along with War Horse, I also wish I could get to see Fiennes in Oedipus.



I saw him earlier this year in God of Carnage, along with Ken Stott, Tamsin Greig and Janet McTeer. Regardless of the play itself (which was pretty good) the acting was pretty amazing.

I'm off to try and find something within a 30 mile radius that looks like it might be worth seeing...

Rainy day blues

The weekend has been spent trying to scare people with Call of Cthulhu. Despite using a few technical tricks of interference, impressive power point trickery and some dodgy lighting, the scariest points were the basic real happenings. Expectations of clever tricks blind people to the corporeal - banging on the windows and doors by several people outside was by far the most effective way of making the audience shriek. They were also totally unprepared for the audience member to stand up at the end and shoot the actor. Horrific, but not supernatural. Brilliant. I am mainly impressed by this production because of its meta-theatricality. The audience are ushered out of the theatre via the fire escape by shocked and panicked security guards. They are chased away from the theatre. Some stopped in the street and waited for more action. The lines of where the piece ended, of what was real and what was theatre were blurred. The Estates van driving in just as people were leaving confused even the actors, who thought that this was arranged by the director. It wasn't.






Anyone interested in the continuing saga of the shoes - I have yet to pick them up. I have lost the ticket. I'm not sure the cobbler will let me have them. I'm rather scared to go and ask...

I would rather be doing this...

Bookshop

There is a whole section within the book department in WHSmith called "tragic life stories".

This morning I found a picture I took over Summer in the Botanical Gardens. Everything seems to be in season now and once again, despite starting the year with my own patch of land to grow things on, I end the year without it. This will not happen again! All contributions of wellingtons and other containers will be greatfully received and this time my garden will be portable.




Another play last night - outdoors in Fife in October. Some would say this was foolhardy but it turned out to be a very good idea indeed. Two short plays by Alan Ayckbourn meaning minimal set was required and the audience just about escaped hypothermia. The piece was funny and the outdoor garden setting meant it was all about the dialogue, which as usual with Ayckbourn was witty and comic but above all realistic. Acting was excellent and understated. In fact all in all the production has been quiet and quick in being set up - 3 weeks from audition to performance and hardly any fuss. Well executed, well acted, well done.

Taken

To the cinema! I saw Taken, a film with Liam Neeson last night. It was very bad. I spend this morning listening to 70's Bowie to counteract the rubbish.



Oh and the name for the festival has been solved. St Andrews is On the Rocks (and it won't know what's hit it).

Big shoes. Small town.

A cobbler refused to fix my shoes because I had got them reheeled somewhere else. Apparently the inferior shoe repair man shouldn't call himself a "master cobbler" if he can't fix all damage to shoes. There is only one master cobbler in this small town.

I persuaded him with an understanding nod and a five pound note.

Create your own festival

Five plays and 1 concert in a week. Some people would suggest this constitutes a festival in itself. This morning discussions about staging an actual official arts festival. A plan which seems to mainly rest on finding a name for the venture. Just as difficult as it sounds.

Main theme running through all performances this week is communication when words fail us. In Something Wicked a technician counter balances the flying swooping witch so his movements are slightly ahead of hers and in the opposite direction. He watches her closely and intently; she trusts him completely. There is no shadow of fear as she flies headlong towards the floor and only soars skyward again at the last possible moment. It is the most fascinating part of the whole show. The story I find trite and contradictory, M agrees. There is no conviction in the ending - we'll fight evil, violence and misery with laughter and love, but just for good measure we'll also use guns. I am trying to ignore anti-Americanism but this seems to reflect the general attitude to violence, death and retribution exemplified by selling guns in supermarkets and refusing to let go of the death penalty. It would seem I am almost alone in this - it is universally applauded in the press, although M was also bored and unimpressed.

Cherry Blossom with C at the Traverse, Edinburgh. The play is performed in two languages - Polish and English. Sometimes, but crucially not always, there are subtitles projected onto the stark and puzzle like set. The most moving parts of the play are found in the absence of translation. Movement, tone and expression communicate emotion and plot. It forces the audience to observe, watch and focus closely. This is no time to sit back and let the plot wash over you. It seems more of a Brechtian call to arms than Mother Courage, which I saw only a few weeks ago at the rep. C is less than impressed - hunger gets the better of him.

Friends are spending the day watching work in progress at the Byre. The outside world has sidled in and I'm suddenly aware how much I am out of the loop. I don't make theatre anymore. Not even obliquely.