24-7 Flashback

Hard to believe that the 24-7 Festival is eight years old this week. Brilliant of course, because it's now one of the highlights of the theatre calendar. But flashback to 2004, and nobody really believed that Manchester needed a fringe theatre festival - particularly one devoted to new writing. How wrong we were. 

During the very first festival, I wrote and appeared in 'Detox Mansion', a black comedy about a Hollywood actor who accidentally kills a prostitute, and gets involved in a cover-up, orchestrated by his slimy agent. The play was loosely inspired by the self-destructive life of trashy Hollywood producer Don Simpson, as revealed in the jaw-dropping tome 'High Concept.' The play was intended as a stupid romp - nothing more - and there wasn't much in the way of depth. That said, a lot of people thought it hilarious, it was brilliantly directed (by Ian Townsend), and featured some killer one-liners: I recall one particular zinger about a porn film called 'Amish Gang Bang', which still makes me laugh. Well, you had to be there.

In those days, 24-7 revolved around the gruesome Printworks, one of the most soulless places in Manchester. Let's be honest, the Printworks - with its blaring music, crap food outlets, plastic bars and plastic people - was not designed as a theatre venue. 'Detox Mansion' was staged in a defunct night-club called Babushka (ay-ay). During one performance, some hateful oaf and his tarty, fake tanned girlfriend talked throughout, smoked a few fags, and then left early. Both seemed utterly bewildered by what was happening on stage; I'm guessing they had stumbled in by accident (and I bet they went to Nando's afterwards).

On Thursday night, Babushka (ay-ay) went into liquidation: There was still one performance left. On the Friday afternoon, I received a phone call from Amanda Hennessy, informing us that we would have to perform in the Tiger Tiger nightclub instead. We had forty minutes to re-block the play. Talk about living on nervous energy. That particular space had an industrial sized air vent in the ceiling which couldn't be switched off. 'Blow wind and crack your cheeks!' Ironically, in spite of the difficult conditions, it turned out to be the best performance of the week - though the sheer stress of the production served to drain any enjoyment I might otherwise have experienced.

Obviously I'm a glutton for punishment because in 2005 I submitted another play, 'Lovesick', in which I played a wife beating psychotherapist. In all honesty, it was the worst theatrical experience of my life. The Midland Hotel was used that year - a much nicer venue - though the problems lay elsewhere. Through a circuitous series of links, I managed to get a director on board; the chief drawback was that he was moving to Paris, and could only part commit to the project (and he was directing another play alongside). On the plus side, he knew an actress who would be perfect to play the lead role. I won't reveal her name though I will call her Mrs Rubbish. She was more than up for acting in the play - so much that she was even prepared to cancel her pre-booked holiday to Ibiza. Liar! At the last minute, she decided to go anyway, arriving back in England a week before opening night. Mrs Rubbish had promised she would be word perfect upon return. Liar 2! She only knew about half the script.  

Opening night. I still have flashbacks. Industry people call it 'the loop'; that moment when an actor repeats an earlier line, and drags the rest of the cast back to the start of the scene. Which is what Mrs Rubbish did. A decade long pause followed, and she looked at me like the proverbial rabbit trapped in headlights. Somehow, I managed to get us back on track, resisting my instincts to strangle her in front of an audience. As the week dragged on, relations between Mrs Rubbish and the rest of the cast deteriorated to the point where, off stage, we hardly spoke to one another. It was clear she regretted committing to the project, and couldn't wait to leave after the curtain call; towards the end of one performance, she was in such a hurry, she accidentally pulled down a curtain rail. So unprofessional dahlink!

Some new writing big-wigs (including the jolly old BBC) came to watch the Thursday matinee. This was the one where technical problems kept the audience waiting in the dark (literally) for 15 minutes before the start (the director had left for France by this time). Halfway through, a spotlight blew and Mrs Rubbish delivered her big monologue in silhouette. Deservedly so. What else? The main technician somehow succeeded in playing the music cues at the wrong tempo; it was as if the venue had been taken over by Alvin and the Chipmunks.

In his annual theatre review, Giles Haworth had this to say: 'I had no idea where it was going or how it got there.' I should put that one on my CV.  

In the two years afterwards, I gave 24-7 a wide berth. I've only just finished therapy. Teething problems aside, I'm glad 24-7 has found its feet. Now that it's here, we all know how much we would miss if it disappeared. Next year I'm going to submit Lovesick 2. You have been warned ...

Take This Job and Shove It

'How can you live without working? You can only live without working.'
- Raoul Vaneigem, philosopher

Trouble at mill? There has been trouble in almost every job I have ever had. During the bewildering mess that I class as my 'working life', I have received numerous bollockings and 'tickings off', and heard the same criticisms time and again: 'You're not a team player'; 'You live in a world of your own'; 'You have a lasse faire attitude' (that last one is my personal favourite). There have been several cautions, disciplinaries and even sackings. And now I'm back where I started, out of a job, and looking to re-enter the world of casual work, because in the current economic climate, those are the only sorts of jobs available. Irony! The author of Temp/Casual is back temping!

Only now can I see why this keeps happening; I'm batting for the wrong team and doing the wrong sort of work. Doh! How can I be passionate about a job that involves 7 hours of data entry each day? In 2006 I was desperate and unemployed, and took a job in a call centre. During the interview, I became possessed by a corporate incubus, and heard myself spouting the sort of clap-trap which managers love to hear: 'I'm target driven ... blah blah ... I have excellent customer service skills ... blah blah ... I'm looking to work in a challenging, high pressure environment blah blah ...'  My soul briefly left my body, and for a
few seconds, I actually died. The job was in the car insurance department of a successful financial services organisation. Hateful doesn't even come near.

TANGENT ALERT!
Coincidentally, the staff website was called L.I.L.Y. This stood for 'LIVING IT, LOVING IT.' Jesus. Think about that. Someone somewhere has actually sat down and created that acronym. What's more, they  believe it, to. The 'living it' part seems to suggest some sort of dream. As if working in a call centre could actually be the life you had always wanted. Not only living the dream but loving it as well! It frightens me that a concept such as this could actually exist. Who thought of it? And how do they sleep at night? In a posh, comfy bed with crisp, perfumed, cotton sheets, probably.

Where was I? After struggling through two weeks of brain-frazzling training, a manager asked if I was ready to 'hit the ground running.' See, I have a problem with people who use phrases like that; it seems an incongruous fit with life in an office environment. How do you hit the ground running in a swivel chair? Not a physics major, obviously. After two days on the phones, it was clear I was unsuitable for this sort of work. I resigned. Yes, this has happened before.


SOME OTHER CRAP JOBS THAT I HAVE HATED

TRAFFIC ADMINISTRATOR. Logging post-codes for the M60 ring road survey, 1991. Temp contract, 8 weeks. Manager kept a log book containing a list of people who talked too much. My name was included.

SALES ASSISTANT. WH Smith, Manchester Airport, 2006. Summer job, 3 months. Duties included restocking the Haribo fruit and wine gum stand at 2-hourly intervals. Verbal warning for reading the newspapers when things were quiet. The Manager who did this watched me whilst hiding behind a plastic palm tree. I kid you not.

BOX OFFICE ASSISTANT. Taking phone bookings for gigs and concerts, 1997. Rolling contract dependent on 'needs of business'. Minus-benefits included no holiday or sick pay. Verbal warning for making personal phonecalls longer than 3 minutes duration.

TELEPHONE OPERATOR. BT Directory Enquiries, 1996. Temp to perm contract. Walked out after 4 days. Why? It was rubbish

SALES ASSISTANT. Pen Shop, 1992. Selling expensive pens to posh customers. Manager: 'You have to make the customers believe they are special. These are more than pens - they are lifestyle accessories.' Resigned after 1 week.

TOUR GUIDE. Granada Studio Tours, 1994. Summer job. Selling tour tickets at the Primark version of Disneyland. Verbal warning for leaving post unmanned during toilet break. This from a supervisor with a cocaine habit.

SALES ASSISTANT. Book shop, Oldham, 1997-1999. Books on shelves, books in bags. Shop had creaky floorboards and was understaffed. Disciplinary hearing for being late three days in a row. Left to pursue other options.

You get the idea. Is it me or them? Both, probably. I'm a dreamer, a storyteller, a poet (so I have been told). My mind is filled with stories, thoughts and ideas. I'm happiest lying on a hay-stack staring into the middle distance (though they're a bit hard to come by in North Manchester). How does office work make me feel? Trapped and caged. The soul needs to fly, the heart needs to sing. We are all spiritual beings having a human experience. Yet the world is run by soulless, money grubbing drones whose only belief is in worshipping the Gods of profit and expansion. Governments want people to work. They want people to consume (maybe I got it wrong; are we spiritual beings having a consumer experience, perhaps?)Governments want people to struggle, to be in debt. People in debt are full of fear. And people who are afraid do as they're told. The perfect system.

Is it possible to earn a living doing something I love? This is the question I am forever asking. The excellent website Anxiety Culture (http://www.anxietyculture.com/) includes a feature on identifying your life purpose. In order to do this, we first need to bypass the critical, fear-hectoring voices in our heads: the politicians, the media, the bosses, the teachers who always told us to stop dreaming. Give it a try now. Turn off the static and then:

1.		Identify what you like about yourself.
2.		Identify how you most like spending your time.
3.		Imagine your idea of a perfect world.

Sounds simple. Of course you then have to figure out how to put this plan into action. At least it's a start! Anyway, I'm going to look for a haystack, stare into the distance and ruminate. Yes, ruminate. The world of temping will still be there when I get back. I want more than a life of data entry. Why? Because I'm a spiritual being having a human experience. I deserve better.

We all do.

Welcome to the Post Grad Party

'Best days of your life at University. But enjoy it while it lasts. Come the post-grad party, the bank start gluing the Black Spot to your statements.' - Adam Mackie

On the last night of Temp/Casual, I enjoyed a reunion with some old university friends plus our Theatre Studies lecturer. From left, Chris Meredith, Andy Cupples, me, Richard Oberg, Julian Morris. In fact, one of the highlights of my life was acting in a production of August Strindberg's totally bonkers but brilliant play To Damascus, directed by Chris and starring the other three. Over 15 years ago. Big blast from the past. Chris paid me the ultimate compliment by saying he had walked out of the Royal Exchange's recent Five at Fifty saying it was bloody awful. Temp/Casual he loved. Thanks Chris!


Already the production of Temp/Casual feels a long time ago; five performances is not much really, particularly for the actors who are just hitting their stride and then it's all over. But given the acclaim the play has received, hopefully it will return at a later date somewhere else. Watch. This. Space.


As for me, I have to return to the real world. This I find difficult. No, impossible. Actress Julie Chapman-Lavelle said I had a poet's soul. This is true but in the harsh modern world, there isn't much call for poets and dreamers. I've been dismissed from several jobs over the years, and the same thing looks like it's happening again. The criticism I keep hearing is this: 'Steve, you live in your own world.' Yes, and it's a damn sight better than the one everybody else lives in. Creativity is the umbilical which keeps me alive. But sadly, I can't swap poetry for fruit, veg or bus tickets (though in my head, that sort of thing happens every day).


Come the inevitable Re-Start interview, I will certainly be asked the question 'What sort of work are you willing to accept?' Not what sort of work are you looking for? Because under the Con-Dems, choice has been photo-shopped out of the equation. If Tom Paulin was on his uppers, the DSS would simply stop his benefits if he refused to accept that gig stamping invoices in a drain-pipe factory. End of. Which reminds me: I was on holiday in Italy several years ago, and a bar tender - upon discovering I was English - asked the question - 'You English ... why do you work so hard?' I didn't have an answer


But I have a dream. Several actually but this one is uppermost at the moment. That one day, being bored shitless will be sufficient grounds for medical retirement. Yes! Or admitting that some jobs are 'injurious to the soul' will be accepted with an agreeable smile rather than an arched, dismissive eyebrow. As George Formby sang - 'You Can't Stop Me From Dreaming.'    


Interestingly, a lot of people responded to the poem 'Temporary' (supposedly written by the character Martin Coverdale) that features throughout the play, and said they would love a copy - presumably to stick on the fridge door. Well, here it is. Thanks for listening.




TEMPORARY  
After the matey snaps, warm handshakes   

and Harvey’s Cream reception

comes the mourning.

The bright robes of academia

exchanged for sackcloth and ashes.

And warm memories

of daytime soaps and lectures

viewed through hazy, alcohol heavy eyes,

fade like burnt diary pages.

Ambition folds in on itself

like a collapsed star.

Drudgery becomes our buzz word,

a smoking tattoo, iron branded

onto our once hungry skins.

But there is unity in disillusionment.

We are Godzilla, they are Japan.

They’ll never win.

Not as long as we have the mind to daydream,

And the breath to tell them - ‘Shove it.’

Q&A

The feedback to Temp/Casual has been pretty amazing, and the majority of people I've spoken with have praised the emotional honesty of the piece. Last night, after the show, there was a Q&A in the theatre foyer with myself, Ben the director, and the cast. I approached this with some reluctance; having attended such events as a theatregoer in the past, I was expecting half a dozen people to turn up. Astonishingly, about 30 people hung around to listen. They seemed very interested in the themes of the play, and us as a company. Somebody asked the question how much of it was based upon personal experience, and which character was closest to myself; I replied that Martin, the sensitive poet, is the once closest to my own personality but in effect, all of these characters represent different facets of me (with the possible exception of the lap dancer, Vicky.)

One young girl asked the question whether or not this play was a fair representation of women. It was inevitable someone was going to raise the issue, given two of the women end up working in the sex industry. But this is simply one dramatic strand of several in the play; Temp/Casual acknowledges that this world exists, and that some people chose to enter it. There simply isn't the space to explore that world in more detail - though maybe I will in another play. In the debate that followed, one man said that some women work in the sex industry because they enjoy it. I am not qualified to answer that question and I wondered how he could be so sure. Actress Julie Chapman-Lavelle was rather irked by his attitude but thankfully reigned in her anger before the question hijacked the proceedings. Hopefully, from my point of view, I think there are enough positive female characters in the play to offer some sort of balance. But then I chose to see these characters as individuals first, and men and women second.

Coincidentally, the best comment I received this week came from Marilyn Chapman, Julie's mum. She is a remarkable woman, and currently in remission from breast cancer. I have never met her before but after the Q&A, she came over to give me a massive hug, and praised my emotional honesty. Marilyn said she could tell I was a deeply sensitive and emotional person - well, it takes one to know one, and she is exactly the same as me. She was very moved by the play, and loved how it had been developed from the original 24:7 production. She told me that I have to keep writing, because the world needs plays like this one. Wow! I couldn't have come up with higher praise if I had written it myself.

But artists have to take the smooth with the rough, and the What's on Stage review damned me with faint praise, labelling me a 'competent writer', questioning the structure of the piece, and wondering what the point to all of this was. I thought that was pretty clear but it's unrealistic to expect everyone to be on my wavelength (though the reviewer did begrudgingly acknowledge my ear for realistic dialogue that was funny and moving.) Actually, I might even agree with some of that; structure has never been my strong point but I personally think it's overrated. I write from an emotional perspective, less an intellectual one. Why? Because I think it's more interesting. No, it feels more interesting. Besides, Marilyn's comments carry far more weight and meaning. If you're reading this Mrs Chapman, thankyou so much; I will remember your words for a long time to come.

First Night Nerves

Tree of Life, the new film from enigmatic director Terrence Mallick, recently got booed at the Cannes Film Festival. Terrence Mallick is famously reclusive, and doesn't do interviews, nor opening nights. Star Brad Pitt leapt to his director's defense (naturally, Mallick was absent from the Festival), and said that arists shouldn't have to be salesmen as well. Good point.

I'm guessing Mallick (who has made a meagre five films in almost forty years) is someone who finds being in the spotlight incredibly uncomfortable. He wants his films to speak for themselves; his loathing of Hollywood bullshit is the reason he took twenty years off (from the late 70's to the late 90's, when he came out of the wilderness to make The Thin Red Line.) I can relate. BUT when you're on the bottom rung of the ladder, you don't have the luxury of behaving in that way. You HAVE to be a salesman. You want people to be aware of your product, and that means being dragged to do interviews. Kicking and screaming.

Admittedly, I was only on Radio Manchester but I still felt sick with nerves. I appeared on the Becky Want show on Monday, talking about Temp/Casual. Becky was very nice, asked some interesting questions, and I did my best, even though the 'inner critic' kept getting in the way. Really, it's my lack of belief in myself which holds me back. The truth is ... I'm pretty clueless most of the time. Okay, I'll try and be kinder - 'some of the time.' What's the answer? Well, it's a spiritual Elastoplast. A wise man once told me to act 'as if'; i.e., act as if you what you're doing and defy anyone to spot the difference. You know what? That's pretty much what everybody else does. Welcome to the human race!

Tonight was opening night. It went like a bomb! In a good way, obviously. The cast gave 100% commited performances, the technical aspects of the show were slick and polished, and the audience (almost a full house) were incredibly engaged and responsive. Lots of very positive comments on the feedback sheets; I'll add a few on here next time. My friend Rebecca told me it was a fantastic play, and that she was genuinely moved by the experiences of the characters. Quite a few other people said the same, and praised the grittiness and emotional honesty of my writing. Even better, they said they would recommend the play to their friends.

So why do I find it so hard to believe them?

When I was at Junior School, a teacher used to pick on me. Not only was he a bully, he was a ginger. Once he told me that I was stupid and would never amount to anything. Mr Quinn (that was his name) is dead and buried now but his words still sting. Yes, the inner critic has ginger hair! How do I remove his voice from my head? Pay a visit to the cemetary, find his grave and tell him what I needed to say 35 years ago: 'You're wrong. Fuck you!'

Is there a point to all this? Maybe Terrence Mallick's problem is actually the same as mine. Maybe he avoids the spotlight because he doesn't feel that he deserves to be in it in the first place. If you're reading Terry, give me a call - we should talk.

Until next time ...

'Why Can't We Share Our Pain?'

This is a photograph from the 24:7 production of Temp/Casual, featuring the original Stick, Karl Dobby (on the left).

Karl recently left the acting profession to become an agent. I was curious as to why and e-mailed him to ask. This is what he said:

"Right, there were lots of reasons why I knocked acting on the head. None of them being the main one but all being a big contribution to the decision. There were things like... my heart not being 100% in it, not getting excited when I was offered jobs, the unreliability of it all, never seeing my girlfriend. Along with a hundred more.

It was a really hard decision because it was all I'd ever known as an adult. All I had ever done was go from acting job to acting job to bar job to acting job. My life always had an unpredictability and no guarantee that I was going to be able to pay next months rent. Don't get me wrong, it was really exciting and a lot of fun but I felt like it had a limited shelf life. Especially when you add all the other reasons I talked about to it as well.

When I started thinking about my future too I wanted a bit more stability. Which was quite a confusing thought purely because every one always talks about getting away from the boring structure and rigidity of a job and for me it was the exact opposite. I just wanted some formality to my life. I found it really exciting because it was a complete flip on all I knew.

Although I knew I wanted to leave the performing world I knew I didn't want to leave the business behind. Working out what I was going to do took about a year of thinking and trying. I tried being a PA, a researcher and a few others in between but once I landed on Agenting it was like the idea was made for me. It was the only job that excited me, challenged me and kept me inside the industry to the level I wanted. It also gave me the best opportunity to keep seeing as much theatre as I like to.

I've been at it for 8 months now and I've worked for 3 different companies. Representing big names and some even bigger personalities. I've been offered 5 different jobs and I got head-hunted once. I'm still loving it just as much as I did at the start. It gets harder each day but also gets more rewarding."

So there you have it. Anyway, that's enough about Karl, it's time to talk about me. Recently, lots of people have asked me the question - 'Steve, where do you get your ideas from?' Actually, that's complete bollocks; nobody has ever asked me that question, but for the purposes of this piece, I'm going to pretend otherwise (pretend you didn't read the last bit.)

'We're all in pain - why can't we share our pain?'

That line comes from Mike Leigh's film Secrets & Lies. If there's one connecting thread between all the plays I've written, then it's that the characters are in pain - struggling, and desperate to reach out. I'm not talking about physical pain here but emotional pain; hurt, shame, grief, fear. All those difficult emotions which society tells us to suppress because if we display them publicly, then we risk mockery and ridicule. So we block and hide our pain, became addicts of different sorts (if nothing else we're a nation of workaholics - surely the most pernicious addiction of all), and go out into the world with a smiley mask fastened to our face, a mask which betrays our true feelings. What would happen if we took the mask off? Would society fall apart? I don't think so. The world might become a kinder, more benevolent place. 

I speak from experience. Over the last few years I've been forced to deal with some painful emotions, and on occasion have genuinely feared for my sanity. The German philosopher Nietsche believed his suffering had made him a much deeper person (though he never had a girlfriend and for the last few years of his life lived with his mum - loser!). Yes, suffering is the touchstone of spiritual growth and my own misery has made me a much more empathic person. As a writer, this has helped me get into the head space of characters who are literally going through the depths of despair. If nothing else, I want audiences to be moved by the experience of Temp/Casual; if they are then I've done my job.

'We're all in pain ...'

 

Recently I watched a documentary called Shed Your Tears and Walk Away, which is about addiction and suicide in Hebden Bridge. Yes, pretty little Hebden Bridge, the West Yorkshire village with its quirky craft shops, artist studios and boho cafes. To say this film paints a bleak picture is an understatement: it makes Nil By Mouth look like Wall-E. Over the 18 months this film was shot, there were appriximately 15 deaths in the town, most of them people under 40, and all related to booze or drugs; many of these people were friends of the director (I think 5 of them were suicides). It's almost like a plague is sweeping through the town. Some scenes are dificult to watch but it's a moving experience. And in spite of their behaviour, these people are very honest in articulating the causes of their unhappiness. This is most apparent in a man nicknamed 'Silly' (which is short for Silcock or something); for reasons never explained, he had left Hebden Bridge in his twenties, joined the Foreign Legion and later served in Rwanda, where he has seen some horrific sights. Back in Hebden Bridge, he's now a binge drinker, spiralling into self destruction to numb his pain and stop the nightmares.        

Again, I've gone off at a tangent but you'll get used to it. 'Where do you get your ideas from?' Well, there's too much suffering in the world and stories like the one I've just mentioned need to be heard. Writers don't need to look very far for inspiration - all I have to do is step outside the front door. What's the last line of Chekhov's Three Sisters? 'Will we ever know why we suffer so much?' It's a question I keep asking. Well, somebody has to.

Time to do the weekly shopping. Even tortured artists need to eat.
      

Musings on the Nature of Being an Actor

This is a publicity photo from the original production of Temp/Casual.

Sadly, two of these actors dropped out of the new production. The actor at the back is Marlon Solomon, who's on tour, drumming for his band Bugs in Amber. The guy in the middle is Karl Dobby. As well as looking a bit like former tennis player Boris Becker (sorry Karl), he's done some high profile acting gigs in the past: he toured Germany as a member of the Blue Man group, and played 'Mr Gap Year' in a series of adverts for Kenco Coffee, opposite actor Don Warrington (I'm old enough to remember Rising Damp). Surprisingly, Karl has jacked in acting to pursue a new career as an agent. I really need to ask him why. 

So say hello to the two new members of the cast, Curtis Cole (as Stick) and Joel Parry (as Martin). They both gave brilliant auditions. But casting is about more than being brilliant - it's about chemistry. Will Actor B work well with Actor C? Is Actor X too tall to do a kissing scene with Actress Z? Complicated.

Thinking of auditions, I'm reminded of a play by Brad Fraser called Unidentified Human Remains & The  True Nature of Love. I appeared in a student production, as a gay out-of-work actor who waited tables. But David MacMillan waited tables out of choice because, as much as he loved acting, he hated auditions. I'm in awe of people who can go through that process over and over again, and retain their sanity (and dignity). Acting is probably the noblest of all the arts; the 'business' of being an actor is borderline disgusting. In order to act, one needs to have sensitivity and emotional insight: in order to survive the process of auditioning, one needs to possess the skin of a rhino. That's a contradiction I just can't get my head around.

When I left university, I tried to be an actor but had the same problem as David MacMillan - I hated auditions. Mostly because I was rubbish at them. I remember my first ever audition for a TIE company in Huddersfield. I was nervous and ill at ease but a fellow auditionee took me under his wing and gave me some kind words. The man was called Omar, and he told me that he had just appeared in the Bruce Willis film The Fifth Element; his big scene was inside a spaceship, playing a sort of space-age radio controller (having watched the film recently, I saw that his contribution had been edited down to one line). Omar went on to tell me that he was thinking of giving up acting in favour of another line of work. I asked why. Predictably, he said he was tired of auditions, and fed up of having no control over his career. Two years later, Omar left the world of acting to become a hardcore porn star. Omar? Oh my!

You may want to read that last paragraph again. Take your time .... okay? Ready to continue? Yes, it's a big jump (no pun itended). Now, I guess Omar feels more in control of his career. Some might argue that the porn industry is no less undignified than going to audition for the role of a crap astronaut in a Go Compare advert,  or a co-starring role in a new series for Nick Berry. Apparently he's blessed with a 12 inch penis. Omar, not Nick Berry. I hope he's happy in his work. 

In the late 90's, I continued to go to auditions, with varying degrees of success. In 1997, I was offered a summer season job dressing up as a pirate at Alton Towers. The contract involved telling pirate stories to children for 8 hours a day, 6 days a week. I would have lived in a caravan. Naturally, I said no. After that, I was offered another job for a TIE company in Birmingham, doing 3 shows a day. Three! It sounded too much like hard work. Again, I said no. 

My greatest ever TIE audition was for a company in Coventry. The Artistic Director had learning difficulties, and had set up the company via a government scheme. He'd also taken control of his career by giving himself the lead role in this particular project. I was asked to do a song. Hopelessly unprepared, I chose the theme from The Flintstones. I was brilliant, even if I say so myself. But I didn't get the job. Casting, after all, is about chemistry - even if it's a road-safety drama for 12-14 year olds. That was the last audition I attended. 

TIE is the bread and butter of the acting profession, and in order to survive, actors can't afford to be too choosy. What's my point? In an ideal world, actors would be able to act for their soul rather than their accountant. We don't live in an ideal world. What's the opposite of ideal? Deficient. At the end of the day, I was not only rubbish at auditions, I was too choosy. And lazy.

I'm happier behind the scenes.

Thanks for listening. Call again.

Welcome to the World of Spent Ambition

Hello, thanks for stopping by. My name is Steve Timms, and I'm one of the co-founders (with Ben Power) of a new, Manchester based theatre company, Spent Ambition. I am also the writer of Temp/Casual. Temp/Casual was first staged at the 24:7 Festival in July 2009. The play had been around - in different guises - for several years. Entering it into the festival was a last throw of the creative dice. If nothing happened this time, I mused, then I'll just file this one away in a box under the bed. Surprisingly, it was chosen, the production was a sell-out, and got excellent reviews. More interestingly, the themes of the piece seemed to strike a chord with a lot of people - particularly those trapped in badly paid, tedious employment. We are now staging an expanded version of the play at the Contact Theatre, beginning on May 18th 2011 for five performances (including a matinee). For those who don't know, or are not from Manchester, I should explain a little about the 24:7 Festival itself. Now in its 8th year, 24:7 is a grass-roots theatre festival, with the focus on new writing. The festival was founded by local actors David Slack and Amanda Hennessy and in its early days, the  aim was to stage 24 new plays over the course of a single week. Recently, this has been reduced to a more manageable figure of 10. Much of the work shown goes on to be developed and produced elsewhere. If it wasn't for the festival, I probably wouldn't be sat here typing this blog. In life, I do have a tendency to go off at tangents, so I might as well continue the tradition here. Recently, I created an album and uploaded some old university photos onto Facebook. I was seized by a mania to share these memories with anyone who might be vaguely interested, and spent hours scanning my pre-digital snaps. Over the next few days, a wave of nostalgia swept through Facebook; a small one but a wave nontheless. Suddenly, I was in contact with people I hadn't spoken to in 15 years - albeit in the manner of abbreviated comments posted on one anothers walls. Fifteen years! Is it really that long? Suddenly it seemed very recent. I remember the last night of my degree, a farewell Communication Arts party at a club called Beyond Beach Babylon. It was a wild crazy night, great fun, but incredibly sad. The last photograph in the Facebook album features myself and a friend smiling for the camera; an hour after this was taken, I was in a taxi, and then back home to my rented student accomodation. My housemate was so drunk, he had been forced to leave the party early. The details are still vivid, I can even remember the unreadable note he had left for me, written in the fit of an alcoholic stupor; it looked like a spider had fallen in an ink well and danced across the paper. So there was nobody for me to speak with, nobody to ask the question - 'Do you feel as sad as I do?' I remember sitting on the sofa, and crying hysterically.  Grief  bubbled out of me. It was years later before I understood what exactly I had experienced - it was the pain of loss. University had been the best three years of my life, and suddenly it was over. What was I going to do now? Would I  lose touch with my friends? Why could I not go back and start again? Nothing lasts forever, sadly; we are all Temp/Casual ... I had been involved the first two festivals (2004 & 2005). To be honest, in those days, it was a more shambolic affair. I still have flashbacks about the play Lovesick, when the spotlight blew mid-performance, and one of actors had to deliver a monologue in the dark (and the technician blunderingly played the music cues on fast forward, so it sounded like Alvin & the Chipmunks). But in 2011, 24:7 has morphed into a cooler, slicker, better organised affair, and one of the key events of the theatre calendar. One of the rules is that plays must be no longer than sixty minutes. Temp/Casual was originally written as a full length play and had to be radically condensed to fulfill the criteria of the festival; with the new production, we have the luxury of putting back all those missing scenes. The pain of loss ...  what happens after university? After graduation, I spent several years aimlessly drifting. I had hopes and dreams but was no closer to achieving them. I wanted to be an actor, I wanted to write plays, stories, screenplays. I had a thousand ideas buzzing around my head. Where was I? In 1997 I had won a prestigious journalism competition; I thought the phone would ring and doors would open. Wrong.  I was working in an Oldham book shop with creaky floorboards. Some people might think this sounds interesting but at the end of the day, I was stacking shelves and standing behind a till, spitting sarcasm at the customers, and plagued by a sense of failure and frustration - that my life was going absolutely nowhere. This I found frightening. I have a talent for self pity and displayed it regularly during this period. Yes, I was  a moaning sod but the emotions were real. Surely I could not be the only one to feel this way ...? All good art is created from suffering and I'm glad I went through these wilderness years. This is where Temp/Casual was born. The play is about four friends and media studies graduates - Adam, Martin, Susan and Stick - who are hungry for fame and success. Three years after graduation, their collective ambition has begun to wane, and the quartet find themselves adrift in a world of drugs, debt and soul destroying employment. Even worse, the friendships they once shared slowly begin to fracture. I chose the name Spent Ambition for a reason. Once I was  ambitious, a classic over-achiever, driven by a need for  success. Why? Because I thought this would fill the emptiness inside. I thought it would impress people. That it would boost my non-existent self esteem. Bullshit of course. Today I care less. I still care but I'm no longer driven in the same way. What a relief!  Ambition has become a sort of short hand for 'no-talent.' The evidence is everywhere - check out all the wannabes on Big Brother, X-Factor, The Apprentice, The Only Way is Essex. They contribute nothing of value to this world but oh, how they want to own it. The epitome of this peculiar phenomenon is Katie Price. The woman is ambition made flesh (or silicon).  Her empire is forever expanding but her range of products - cheap perfume, illiterature novels, garish kiddy books - are so hideously naff, they wouldn't even be allowed entry into a land-fill site ('Your name's not down, you're not coming in.') But that's not the point. What is the point? The fact that we all know who she is. And all of us means everyone on this planet. Like a shark, Katie's restless, hungry, never satisfied. But look at her eyes - dead inside. Shark's eyes. Ambition? It's not worth the bother. That was a big tangent. Apologies. At the end, Temp/Casual poses the question 'If you had to chose between love and success - which would it be?' Some people might want both. Isn't one enough? Come and see the play and decide for yourself. Thanks for listening. Call again some time.

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10/04/2011

by Steve Timms

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