Rehearsals Week Two And A Half: THE SUIT

I promised an update on the suit. It's amazing. Ossie Clark eat your flipping heart out.

OK here's the thing: Imagine an intricate paisley pattern on a fabric that wouldn't look out of place on a sofa. I'm not really selling it, am I? Bear with me. Then imagine this fabric in a suit so beautifully cut it makes you want to weep. Jennie, our wardrobe mistress is a genius. Her pattern matching skills are second to none. She's even been considerate enough to avoid placing the more... erm... vulvaic elements of the pattern in my groin area.

The jacket is long-line double breasted but fitted, the trousers are high-waisted and boot cut (flares are so much more flattering when given a modern twist) and the waistcoat is delightfully trim. OMG, happy? I think this is possibly the most fabulous costume I have ever had in my entire stage career. And so perfectly apt! I scream 1970s when I make my entrance. Not literally of course. That would be silly and anyway it's not in the script.

Vivian, my character, is a writer. She has her own career, is successful, articulate, yet she chooses to drop everything to come and be with this capricious old bag who is twice her age and treats her like a servant. Yesterday in rehearsals we were finding the graph of how she comes to recognise this but actually doesn't care. Marlene says:

I ask all the time favours from loving slaves

Vivian is a loving slave, but there's more to it than that. Marlene needs someone like her, she can't have strangers in the dressing room but she doesn't suffer fools. Vivian's role in Marlene's life jumps between protegée and dogsbody, but she never knows which she is at any given moment.

Vivian is an amalgam of various female personal assistants Marlene had in her life. Marlene collects writers and intellectuals, and the assistants fit into these categories. Vivian aspires to becoming a permanent fixture in the mould of Ginette Vachon, a Canadian writer and sometime olympic champion who was Marlene's 'companion' for quite some time. She's even prepared to give up her work, abandon her new play that is due to open on Broadway in 6 months.

What kind of person would do that? More importantly, how compelling must Marlene be to inspire that kind of love and devotion from a woman half her age?

Damn I love my job!

Rehearsals Week Two And A Half

It has just occurred to me that I have posted nothing about how rehearsals are going since my somewhat melodramatic post on the weekend terrors a week and a half ago. For those of you unfamiliar with actors, I'd just like to point out that it was an exercise in exorcism. Not to be taken entirely seriously.

For the record: It's not disaster, I've been rather well cast in the role, my American accent is perfectly fine and as for my portrayal of an intellectual lesbian writer... Come and see the show. Leave your expectations at the door. I'm not wearing dungarees and sensible shoes. In fact, I'll update you on the suit situation when I've had my costume fitting today.

So given that I'm not (and never was) about to be fired, what else has been happening in rehearsals?

We are starting to pull a story from the words on the page and bring it to life. Lucky that really, given that we open a week tomorrow! We are at that lovely stage in rehearsals where we know who we are, what we are doing and why we are doing it and can just get on with the business of communicating and reacting.

The music is starting to sound like... well... music, as opposed to a cacophony of wrong notes interspersed with "fuck","sorry" and "bollocks!". That's a very myopic view, obviously. Richard NEVER makes an unintentional mistake and whatever Rebecca plays sounds gorgeous to me, but I'm in awe of anyone who can make a pleasing sound from a wooden box and 4 lengths of cat gut. However, we are starting to sound like a band. Which given that there are only three of us is a testament to our skill and Richard's clever arrangements.

I love love love the trumpet parts, which are at times subtle and at times 'poco grandioso', which in the musical world is Italian for playing loudly and showing off quite a bit. A lot of the 'poco grandioso' sections are quite high and they need to soar. I'm practising my 'whisper tones'. This is an exercise where you blow so gently that the metal only just vibrates creating a sound not unlike a glass vibrating when you run your wet finger round the rim. It's a very good exercise for building stamina and high notes. So says Wynton Marsalis. If he's wrong, it could end up being 'poco flatuoso'

Meanwhile, on stage, Parksy is giving it the full-on Marlene. Since my last post we've been joined by Bev the choreographer and between them they have brought Marlene's last concert to life. Not that I have much time to pay too much attention. I have to concentrate on the conductor. If my gaze wanders, Richard is liable to bring me off without me even realising. Quelle horreur!

On a more serious note, we had some very sad news this week. Our author, playwright Pam Gems died on May 13th. I guess that solves the question of whether or not she's coming to see our show.

I was in two minds about whether or not to point you towards the obituary in the Guardian as Lynn Gardner (affectionately referred to by some directors I know as Osama Lynn Gardner) dismisses 'Marlene' as being among Pam Gems' least convincing plays: "no more than biopics for the stage that provided star turns for star actors".

Now she tells me! And I thought it was a love story about Marlene and a woman half her age. But hey, it's a free world and one thing you've got to say about Lynn Gardner is, she calls it as she sees it. However painful it may be being on the sharp end of her pencil, you've got to respect her for that.

So: Pam Gems RIP and Lynn, if you come to Scarborough, feel free to be as brutal as you see fit. That is your job after all.

Weekend Terrors

It's all a disaster. I've been hopelessly miscast in the show. My American accent is terrible. My portrayal of an intellectual lesbian writer unconvincing and sometime today, or tomorrow, or even Monday morning, I'm going to get a call from the director (he's a nice man, he'll do his own dirty work) saying that they're really sorry but they've made a mistake and they'll pay me to the end of the week but they'd like me to leave now as my replacement will be arriving to be measured to see if she fits the fabulous Ossie Clark suit they've found on ebay for tuppence.

Can they do that? Can they only pay me til the end of the week? I reckon they can, but they'll have to bypass the equity agreement and go straight for trade misdescriptions: Your agent said you were good and you're so not. "Excuse me m'lud, this actress is blatantly not fit for purpose..."

I won't be able to pay the mortgage, the Little House will be re-possessed and will stand empty for 25 years until the xylophene protection wears off and then it will be eaten alive by capricorn beetles and woodworm.

I dreamed last night that it had a huge swimming pool and I was tying myself in knots over how to maintain it. Won't be my problem now though, will it? All my teeth are going to fall out so I can't even play the trumpet, my family friends and agent will all disown me for being useless and I will end up sad and lonely in the workhouse.

Or I could just get over myself, take the dog to the park and learn some lines. Hmmmm.