Writing for the theatre: The Traverse Fifty

A few months ago the Traverse Theatre in Edinburgh launched a writing competition as part of its plans for celebrating 50 long years of producing bad-ass plays in that fair city. I have a long-standing love of theatre, and, coupled with one of my other long-held loves - writing - you probably wouldn't be too surprised to learn that I've got a dozen or so finished or nearly finished pieces of writing for the theatre kicking about in the darker regions of my filing cabinet.

I have always, always wanted to write something for the theatre (lots of somethings, really) and have come pretty close on a couple of occasions. But then, the timings never worked out or all the funding fell through at the last minute and so those scripts sit around while other projects take precedence.

When I saw the Traverse Fifty announcement, I thought it would be a great opportunity, should I wind up amongst the selected fifty, to not only produce a piece of writing for the theatre, but to learn as much as I could about theatrical writing over the course of the year-long attachment. The Traverse have concocted one of the most generous and genuinely exciting anniversary projects I've ever come across: 50 winning writers selected from among competition entries will all be attached to the theatre for the entire year, with a small number of writers from this larger pool given the opportunity to create full-length pieces for production the following year. In January, each of the 50 chosen writers will have their winning entries performed as read-throughs at the Traverse.  Brilliant, right? The other thing that I enjoyed about the submission process was that each play could be no more than 500 words. A play in 500 words? What fun! 

So I wrote a little something, tenuously related to the theme of "a play for Edinburgh", and sent it off to the wizards at the Traverse. I got an email last night (incidentally, while I working my first service in the kitchen of House of Wolf for Blanch & Shock) from the Traverse saying that, while I made it to the later stages of the selection and "demonstrated real craft and a compelling theatrical voice", I didn't make the cut.

Of course, I'm bummed to have missed out on such a wonderful opportunity and a chance to finally do some writing for the stage, but I was so busy during service last night that I literally didn't have the chance to feel even a twinge of disappointment. Also, the Traverse ran the competition so professionally that it's impossible to feel let down or cheesed off. For all people running competitions out there, a bit of courtesy, punctuality and kindness really does go a long way.

I don't usually put any kind of creative writing out in the public sphere because, well, I don't know why, really, but I thought I'd post my 500 word play about Edinburgh for the Traverse here because if I ever want to get a piece of writing for the theatre produced, I suppose it'll help if people know I want to do it...

Anyway, here's my 500 word play for Edinburgh. There are numbers at each line instead of character names as each of the 50 lines is intended to be read by a different actor.

London --> Edinburgh

1.    I don't have to get out of bed to see the sky in the morning. 
2.    Lying back, my head on the pillows, I can see London’s umbrella.
3.    It’s usually grey. But not today.
4.    Today, it’s just beautiful. So blue.
5.    An unreal blue; a blue only seen in cities.
6.    Or maybe, a blue like people who live in cities can only dream of.
7.    There're lots of things that people who live in cities can only dream of.  
8.    Last week, I went to a talk about cities at the London School of Economics.
9.    By 2050, the professor said, of 9 billion people on the planet,
10.  The majority will live in cities. I can't get my head around this.
11.  The thing no one ever tells you about cities
12.  Is that nothing much happens when you live in one.
13.  It only looks like things happen in cities, but
14.  Most days I wake up, look at the sky,
15.  Go to work, go to the shop, make dinner, go to bed.
16.  “Metro-boulot-dodo”, as the French say.
17.  Some days I'll watch a cooking programme on TV,
18.  Or catch an art exhibition in town.
19.  When you’ve lived in a city like London for a while,
20.  You become part of this weird hive mind.
21.  Things start to drive you crazy that never did before.
22.  Like, tourists walking too slowly on the tube.
23.  I kick the back of their shoes to get them moving.
24.  Why does it make me so angry?
25.  On the flip side, when people are screaming at each other
26.  Outside my windows - shouting like they're gonna kill each other
27.  I don't do anything other than press my face to the glass
28.  And look and listen and shake my head and go back to the TV.
29.  Because that's what cities are like. The people who do nice things,
30.  They're not locals. They don't understand the code of anonymity that brings us here.
31.  They say people come to cities for opportunities, but where else would we go?
32.  The internet means we're all born in cities now.
33.  What would my parents say if, after all that, I told them
34.  I want to go live in a little house outside of Edinburgh.
35.  To get away from these people, with their crazy ambitions,
36.  Their desires to be famous no matter what cost.
37.  These days, people don't even care what they're famous for.
38.  Used to be they wanted to write literary masterpieces,
39.  Symphonies so glorious people wept in dimmed auditoriums.
40.  Now, people just want to be on telly.
41.  Talking about other people on telly.
42.  That's why I'll leave London for Scotland.
43.  Today, from my window, I watched two men smash up
44.  A perfectly serviceable brick wall and put it together again.
45.  Why did they chip away at the old brick?
46.  Only to make new cement and pile up new bricks?
47.  I'm still trying to figure out the answers to my questions.
48.  This is what happens when you live in a city like London.
49.  There are always questions.
50.  And never any answers.

The Misanthrope

Having kissed and made up, The Philosopher and I went to see the new production of Martin Crimp's The Misanthrope on Monday eve. I should be up front and say that Crimp's popularity is a complete mystery to me. His much lauded The City (on earlier this year at the Royal Court) was possibly the worst play I've ever seen. I mean walk out bad and I NEVER walk out of the theatre. I tried to forget that Molière's play had been translated by Crimp and just sit back and enjoy the show. But, yep, you guessed it: I just couldn't do it.

It should also be said, in case you're as yet unaware, that this production marks the stage debut of none other than Keira Knightley and also stars Damian Lewis. I gather Damian Lewis is rather famous for being someone or other in Band of Brothers, but I've only ever seen him reading Auden at the Josephine Hart poetry event, of which I am a regular attendee. Thankfully, for me at least, I'm rather a fan of Keira Knightley so at least I didn't start off on the wrong foot with her at least.



So why didn't I like the play. There were solid performances from everyone, a nice tightly knit ensemble cast, and considering we saw the show on it's opening night, that's no small feat. And while the translation wasn't an abomination, it wasn't great either. First of all, French 17th-century verse poetry does not translate very well into English so why bother, especially when a director is going to let the actors run all over the rhyming couplets anyway. Secondly, there's too much wink-wink-nod-nod meta-theatricality stuffed into the play for one to get a sense of anything other than how damn clever Mr Crimp appears to think he is. Plus he takes a swipe at Stoppard, which in my mind, is completely unsupportable especially as Stoppard is twice the playwright Crimp will EVER be. Ugh. Annoying. So maybe the blame here really lies with Molière. The Misanthrope just isn't that great of a play - or maybe it was in the 17th century when it was truly provocative and satirical - but it isn't now. Sure it has the minor moral point to make that the middle ground is the ideal place to inhabit when it comes to frankness versus insincerity but Alceste, the pseudo-hero, is tedious and Jennifer (i.e. love interest Celimene) is vain and ridiculous.



Like the whole beauty in art thing which seems to have kicked off anew recently, the application of the concept of truth in real life is far more complicated than Alceste and Jennifer and Crimp and Molière would have us believe. I can't think of anyone who practices a kind of absolute truth in their dealings in everyday life and most of us know that a white lie here or there can go a long way to lubricate social situations. In revivals of older theatrical productions, the first question everyone asks is whether the themes still strike a chord: I don't think in this case they do. There are plenty of other plays which expose the hypocrisy of human behaviour far more powerfully and beautifully than Molière's ridiculous play (there, I said it) and Crimp's reliance on self-indulgent meta-theatrical references is not enough to make this play anything other than a fairly enjoyable way to pass a few hours.

Duck Fat in the Holy Land

Two cultural highlights this week. I took the Boy to lunch at the Fat Duck for his birthday and The Philosopher and I went to see Jerusalem at the Royal Court. I've been thinking a lot about the function of reviewing lately and this week has clinched it: reading reviews prior to experiencing the subject of the review is a bad, bad idea.

Yes, Fat Duck is fantastic and it's distinctly different from any other restaurant in the UK, but a life changing experience it is not. The best I can think to equate it to is a surprising and rather fun one night stand. You're not having the kind of sex that's going to ruin you from ever wanting to have sex with anyone else ever again, but it's definitely enjoyable. However, if you have to pay £400 for the pleasure of having sex that doesn't rock your world, you're probably not going to rush back anytime soon.

I love food, but I don't cook. This is heresy to lots of foodie people, but I'm not that fussed. I love eating out. It's what I do. So for me the idea of a restaurant whose raison d'etre seems to be to establish yourself as the kind of restaurant people come to once, maybe twice in their lives is completely inane. I don't know if my expectations were too high or whether I had read too many reviews and knew what was coming, but I just expected more. The other problem is that I recently went to a foodie evening at The White Swan, a pub in Clerkenwell. I live practically around the corner and had never heard of this place. The Philosopher found out about an evening they run about once a month - a fine food and wine evening - so along we went. It was absolutely fantastic: delicious food, divine wines, a jaunty sommelier chatted about our wines, and our hosts were angels. I'm sure it has something to do with expectations, given that mine were sub zero going to The White Swan and through the roof at The Fat Duck. Hand on heart, if you handed me a cheque for £500 and said I could pick between the two places for dinner tomorrow night, I'd high tail it straight back to The White Swan.

Heston's gaff is, for me, exactly the opposite of what dining out should be. Going to a restaurant is not first and foremost about the food. It's about the experience and here's where I think The Fat Duck gets it wrong. Heston thinks food is about memories, which is certainly true in many cases. The problem with this is that there should be no place for reminiscing and reliving one's memories in a restaurant. Unless, of course, you're on your own, eating out is above all a shared experience: it's about creating new memories, not reliving old ones. At The Fat Duck, yes the food is delicious, but it should be a restaurant full of tables for one. What's the point of going out to eat with anyone else if you're only interacting with the plate of food in front of you and not your company? Inward looking eating is just plain creepy and it's certainly not the thing for me. I'd take a convivial table full of laughing and conversing friends over a table full of serious-faced sullen cows, ears plugged up with headphones, (yes! headphones! at the table!) any day of the week.

I feel like I've finally learned my lesson. The Philosopher and I went to see Jez Butterworth's Jerusalem at the Royal Court. We bought our tickets ages ago, which was clever going on our part, as the run has been sold out for weeks. I knew it was going to be good: Lloyd Evans doesn't say that a show is among the very best, after having reviewed more than 700 shows for the Speccie, and not mean it. Apart from his review, which gives nothing away, I read nothing else. I wanted the experience of seeing the show to hit me with the full force of its amazingness. And boy did it.

It's not often that I say this, but there is some truly terrific theatre on in London at the minute: Acordia at The Duke's, Phèdre at the National, Winter's Tale at the Old Vic, even Helen at the Globe is pretty fun. Jerusalem wipes the floor with all of them. Do whatever you have to do to get a ticket, this is that good. At 3 hours and 10 minutes, this is one of the longest plays I've ever seen, but perhaps one of the only shows I've ever seen where my attention never wavered. Not once was I aware of time outside the world created by this play. And it is an incredible world, by turns hilarious and witty, yet terrible and cruel. The performances are breath-taking. Mark Rylance in the lead is like no one I've ever seen. Typically, when the lead is so strong the rest of the ensemble pales in comparison, but this cast seems better for having Rylance in their midst and, though I don't often say so, the entire cast are equally sublime.

I wish I could write what the play was about and what I felt about it, but that would be unfair. You need to experience this play. It's the most important thing on stage at the moment. This play is a revelation. It's theatre in its most perfected form and you'd be a fool to miss it.

et in Arcadia ego

At last some proper theatre! After the mild disappointment of Hamlet and Godot, David Leveaux's staging of Tom Stoppard's Arcadia at the Duke of York's theatre is the best production I've seen on the London stage all year.

I'll have to admit a slight, ok an extreme bias, toward Tom Stoppard, who I think I prefer even to Shakespeare or to Beckett. A bit of provocation on this Thursday morning. He's one of those writers who, especially given that I hadn't seen or read any of his work until an impulse purchase of Rosencrantz last summer, I wonder how I ever managed to live without in my ignorance. Stoppard loves words, loves meaning, loves poetry, loves learning and wisdom - in a way that makes most scholars and poets look near numb by comparison.

This should in no way, however, diminish from the extraordinary effort of the team involved in the production of the staging: the cast is absolutely fantastic, a brilliant ensemble with nary a weak link in sight. Even the tortoise puts on a splendid show. The set is marvellously conceived and the transitions between the characters in the 19th century seamlessly converge with the modern-day story line.

This is a 'big ideas' comedy, taking on collisions between science and literature, classicism and romanticism, deterministic and unpredictable theories of the universe - but don't let that put you off, for all of these great debates are elegantly played out between character relationships across the past and present.You might also suppose that a play centred around such complex ideas as iterative algorithms might alienate the audience. You would be wrong, of course, as Stoppard's characters are so roguishly lovable that one cannot help but become emotionally entangled in their successes and failures. A play that engages on an emotional level and titillates intellectually is such a rare treat. If you see nothing else this year on the stage, see this play.

And so you don't think I'm only out for high culture, I'll also mention Sister Act the musical, which I went to see with friends last night. It's thoroughly entertaining, if a little less mentally stimulating than Arcadia. If you can believe it, by the end I was standing up, clapping, dancing and singing along with the rest of the theatre. It's very good fun and definitely worth a view.

the three englishmen wait for godot

Busy, busy bee am I.

Had a lovely weekend. Went to see Waiting for Godot at the Haymarket with friends on Friday (more on that in a moment) then went to see those same friends perform their own brand of comedy on Sunday. A bit of Tea Smith and scriptwriting in between and voila: le weekend parfait!

So. Godot. Like Hamlet last week, I have mixed feelings about this production. I first read Beckett's play my freshman year of University - taught to me by a professor I adored - it's one of my favourite pieces of theatre, let alone one of my favourite pieces of writing. I know of few other works open to such multitudinous interpretations as Godot; it truly is a work defined by the maxim, "make of it what you will". The difficulties we may have in defining precisely what Godot is all about (in a way, a pointless exercise, as the play's meaning must be constructed through each individual's meaning) is what makes the play such a marvel.

So Sean Mathias's production, while enormously entertaining in its own right, strips the elegiac beauty and philosophic discomfort from Beckett's text and replaces it with a sort of slapstick, light-hearted humour. I'm just not sure what the point of this production was. Why didn't Mathias get Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen to do proper farce a la Noises Off or even something like The Producers? You know when Hollywood makes a dreadful film out of an amazing book? That's sort of the way I felt about this production of Godot, only the amazing book provides fairly precise blueprints for a great film. What I don't understand is how Mathias managed to strip the profundity of Beckett's undertones of the sad state of humanity and replace it with a few happy little jigs. Maybe I just need to stop going to the theatre when a big name has the staring role. Though a week later, I'm still defending my criticism of the Donmar's Hamlet, which was essentially: Jude Law; pretty good, everyone else; pretty bad. So maybe it isn't the big stars who are the problem, but the directors who let them get away with indulgent and self-regarding performances...

I'm pleased to say self-indulgent direction wasn't the case at all with my mates, The Three Englishmen. They performed their hilarious and completely innovative torch lit play, The Lighthouse Keepers, which I've seen once before performed in the round. I can't fawn overly, otherwise I'll be accused of cronyism so I'll just say that it's a delightful piece of work, very funny and truly original - a rare thing these days. My only criticism is that the space in the Wilmington Arms doesn't really lend itself to torch lit and highly physical theatre. Next time, chaps, find a bigger space!

I'm off to see Tom Stoppard's Arcadia this evening and very much looking forward to it - Stoppard's a huge favourite of mine and I've never seen Arcadia performed before so much excitement all round.

More matter with less art: Jude Law as Hamlet

Went to see Hamlet at the Donmar on Friday. Yes, that Hamlet - the Jude Law as Hamlet, Hamlet. I think this is the only play I've ever seen where I've had the tickets for over a year in advance. I haven't seen any reviews of the show yet, I'm assuming that's because it's still in previews, but I'll be interested to see what the reviewers say. Given that I was incredibly apprehensive about the theatrical talents of our Mr. Law, I was pleasantly surprised. But that's also a good summation of my overall attitude toward this production - pleasant, not a disappointment, but nowhere near the realm of stratospheric. Production quality was high, as it always is at the Donmar - the only theatre in London that always seems to have cash in hand - but there's always going to be the problem that you're never really getting into Hamlet the character as you're too struck by his resemblance to Jude Law.

To his credit, he's obviously worked hard and has done a respectable job in making the character his own. Law's Hamlet is funnier, dirtier, and more knowing than many other actors I've seen who get too carried away with playing Hamlet as a freakishly serious emo. One of the production's biggest problems was that in casting a superstar as his lead, Grandage was a bit screwed in finding a cast that wasn't drowned out. Apart from Ron Cook, who shines as Polonius, the rest of the cast are adequate, but no one shines - Ophelia is practically lifeless and for some reason the King reminded me of a priest - this is not an ensemble piece by any measure.

Hamlet's chock full of some of Shakespeare's most well-known lines and I think Grandage and his designer, Christopher Oram, put a lot of thought into making these well-worn lines feel fresh and distinct. The "to be or not to be" monologue was a particularly inspired piece of directing/design with Law slumped down against an exterior brick wall, snow falling from the sky. For a piece of theatre normally delivered in a no-holds-barred style of declamation, this quietly poignant delivery was one moment where you really forgot about Jude Law and really felt the pull of the beauty of the language. This isn't the best piece of theatre I've ever seen, but it has its moments of beauty and despite the rest of the production's flaws, Law is mesmerising as Hamlet. I'm not saying he's a truly great Hamlet, but it's certainly hard to take your eyes off him.

creating dystopia

One of the more tortuously embarrassing moments of my University life occurred early on. First semester, first year of Uni I had torrid, but thankfully brief, almost-kind-of-fling with an older man (who happened to have a pregnant on-again-off-again girlfriend). In a last ditch attempt to get my man I went over to his flat to argue my case. He pulled out the pregnant girlfriend card and that was that. In some ridiculous act of self-flagellation I accidentally locked my keys in my truck and so had to face the further humiliation of spending the night in said man's flat. He slept on the floor. I slept in his bed. Not how I originally intended the evening to pan out.

The next morning, walking back to my flat to pick up a spare set of keys, I rang my mother. I didn't tell her what had happened the night before and I don't remember most of the conversation, but I do remember telling her that I wanted to drop out of Uni, that I was being suffocated by the constriction of only being able to look at things in books that I wanted to see first hand. I told her that I was fed up and that I wanted to travel - to get away from everything. She said, as only one's mother can, that I was being an idealistic dreamer and that once I had finished my degree I could go and travel until I died. And finish I did, though I managed to make it to Europe and quite a few other places before I finished my degree.

Last night I went to an interesting theatrical phenomenon called Theatre in the Pound. The point of TITP is that it's a night of first come, first served performances. Each group performing pays £10, each attendee pays £1 and you get to experience a gaggle of interesting, if a bit rough around the edges, theatrical works in progress. I went to see The Boy and his merry band of men perform in their first gig in nearly a year. Of about six performances, The Boy's crazy George Orwell meets Jacques Tati performed entirely in the dark (with torches) sketchy play called "Dystopiary" was far and away the most interesting (and best performed - nicely done, chaps). Not to belittle their achievement, but considering they were in the company of an awful lot of students, two guys who had written a musical called "Motherland" set during "the epic battle of Stalingrad," and some poor chap who only had nine hours to rehearse his monologue, it might not be a fair comparison. Part of the point about TITP is that the audience is asked to provide feedback about the performances in an attempt to help the actors/writers/directors perfect their piece. This is how I know so many of the writers and actors were students - they volunteered the information.

I'm certainly not the first person to wonder whether art school or film school or any other creative education programme is worth it. If you want to make connections, get feedback, or have constant and regular incentive to practice or create, I can see how these reasons might justify spending the time and money. But wasn't it Epictetus who first said, "if you want to be a writer, write." Yes, some very talented and creative people have been nurtured through art schools or creative writing programmes, but it you want to be a writer, playwright, filmmaker, cellist etcetera, then write, make films, play the cello, take photographs, whatever. I also can't help but wonder whether someone like The Boy, who has a very unique and absurd sense of humour, might not have been discouraged rather than nurtured had he done a "comedy writing" course. I don't know. I don't really have a definite view on the issue - it was just sparked by the contrast in performances last night. The people who are a part of the school machine seem to be stilted and even a bit machine like themselves, while people outside the fold are maybe more able to develop truly original and innovative creativity. I think everyone needs support and maybe structure, but can you really be a true original if you're constantly surrounded by people all trying to do the same thing? Education or experience? No easy answers indeed...

Every Good Boy Deserves Favour

Just been from the National Theatre after seeing Tom Stoppard's Every Good Boy Deserves Favour. If you studied music at school, you'll immediately recognise the mnemonic... Now, for a change, I'm not going to do what I normally do and write an essay about the damn play. Instead I am merely going to tell you to get your little bum bum down to the NT and see this show.

Though the drama had its premiere in 1977, the difficulties in staging a play that require a full orchestra (on stage!) in addition to the cast of actors means that it is rarely performed.

It was the composer Andre Previn (he also scored the music for the play) who put it to Stopard that he ought to write a play for a symphony orchestra. So Stoppard created a play which didn't simply have an orchestra around to play some music, but to perform a function absolutely essential to the narrative of the drama - all I will say is that the play takes place in an insane asylum (in the Soviet Union, of course) and one of the crazies has an illness which takes the form of him imagining that he "has an orchestra." You can imagine how this plays out with a full orchestra on stage.

It's pure brilliance and an absolute one of a kind. Funny, charming, disturbing, thoughtful, and provocative. Do yourself a favour and get a ticket - it's on until the end of February and since it's one of the shows with a corporate sponsor you can get a ticket for only ten quid!

And oh yeah, what instrument do you play?