These last few months have been busy ones. Writing a play is often a process of discovery. You have the map of your previous navigation, but it is rarely of much use. And sometimes the things you discover are not immediately apparent from the content on the pages…
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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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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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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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Life is different on the 17th floor. The elasticity of the building fabric feels quite unlike that experienced on the 1st or 2nd floors. At this height, it bleeds into daily existence. It facilitates views normally afforded only to gulls but at the parallel 55.8 and the meridian -4.2 (an intersection better known as Glasgow) the proximity to an unleavened sky bows heads and lies heavy on souls. Its deleterious effects, imperceptible by all but the newly arrived, is worn as a coat amongst locals for whom this is but the tapestry of life. Indeed, if gravitational extremities connote any religious sense of place at all, then it is observed…this heaven rains. Heavily. Some bear crosses. Glaswegians bear clouds…a spritz of water enough to dampen (but not snuff out) the joy of life. These are the perfect conditions for black humour. The oil to grease the grinding day. The genius of Vlad Butucea’s Silkworm is we see the genesis of that.
Read MoreA few years ago, I wrote a play that never saw the light of day. It was… not intentional, utterly frustrating and entirely enlightening. As I tend to write with a theme in mind, I conduct a considerable amount of research which often is more enjoyable than it sounds. However, it is always a job to ensure any research does not extrude from the narrative. The analogy of a double decker bus works best: top deck travels the story; inside travels the message. On this occasion, it didn't work: the play upon reflection didn't seem to hang.
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