So yeah, there was no drama offered as an option at school, and to be honest I was an entirely medicore student while I was at school, so by the time my Real Life (tm) began, I wasn't really clear about what I wanted to do with my real life. School had given me neither qualifications worth talking about or a degree of confidence that was in any way useful, so I was pretty much screwed: I wasn't going to university, and there was no money coming in from anywhere (this probably deserves a longer post all of its own when I've managed to formulate the relevant thoughts, but I often forget - or, to be more accurate, do not feel that I can honestly claim to have been - working class. I think a lot of this is because I'm typical coffee drinking Guardian reading boy who likes cinema and books (and hell, who works in theatre), but it's clear that I was working class from a Croydon housing estate, and that's certainly going to have cut me into the shape of certain templates quite early on.
I do have a vague memory of going to a careers interview. Not only was I 16, but I was a very gauche 16. So, read - 12 year old. And not a 12 year old in today's language: the fierceness, ferocity and confidence from some kids today never fails to awe me. But, despite my shyness and awkwardness and not wanting to take up any space whatsoever, when they asked me what I wanted to do, I said that I wanted to act. Outside of a few school productions, I'd never acted before, and I genuinely have no idea what the hell I was on about. I certainly was not any kind of show off, or someone who craved affirmation (shut up at the back there). Because Job Centres and Career Advice are historically the worst places to find a) jobs, and b) careers advice, the only suggestion offered to this would-be actor was to become an usher at the local cinema. That was too obviously ironically an Ealing Comedy plot line for my liking, and I wanted to know if there was ever going to be an opportunity to actually, you know, act. Whoever it was that I was talking to shrugged, and found a list of local amdram / youth theatres. Some of them had weekly drop-in acting classes. There were only three that really suited my purposes. I can't really remember why; I suspect it was that there were only three that had the classes (top tip: if your amdram/youth theatre can have acting classes, it absolutely should have acting classes: you have no idea just how many people - talented, valuable people - are steering away from your group just because they don't want an audition to be the way they first rock up and meet new people). I'd like to be able to tell you all manner of reasons why, out of the three possible choices, I went along to the Croydon Youth Theatre Organisation, reasons that make me look cooler, and speak volumes about the reputation that CYTO had at the time. But I'm fairly certain that the main thing that swung it was the fact that the other group did their workshops on a Wednesday, and Wednesday was the night Channel 4 showed The Golden Girls. Yeah, I'm that Ross Geller joke. I was a .. somewhat shy kid. I turned up to the Acting Class at CYTO unannounced, and alone, not really certain who to talk to. I do remember that it was reasonably busy, and I probably went there at the very latest 1990, but possibly as early as 1988 (it's weird to compare photographs of my time and the time just before I went to CYTO - anything before is peak eighties - big hair, shoulderpads - so much so, I was convinced for a while that some photos I was looking at were costumes rather than real life). The workshop was fine, in fact it was fun, and then - Nothing. Because I'd assumed something about the workshop, and I guess whoever was running the workshop had assumed something about me: assumed I was reasonably confident (I imagine that once I was in the zone, I played well with others, and was able to read scripts in something other than a monotone), and that I knew how things worked around here. And for my part, I'd assumed just one thing: that the workshop I'd attended was some kind of audition. I mean, they weren't going to let just anyone in, were they? (I was very new to the world of am dram and youth theatre). So I went home, and waited for a phone call to tell me if they liked me enough to join, or not. And waited. And waited. It wasn't an audition, they likely promptly forgot that I existed, and I didn't hear anything back. Not their fault (why would they have phoned a random kid after he wandered, once, into a workshop?), but I think it probably took me the best part of a year to even contemplate the possibility that I could simply just turn up to another workshop. So I did. And two hours later, got cast in a two-hander play. But that's a story for next time.
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As we move on throughout the year, I'll speak about my experiences and opinions about amateur theatre, and also youth theatre, and specifically what I think some of the pitfalls are, and where stuff can really work. Obviously, my way is not necessarily other people's way, I'm very far from perfect, and what works for me may not work for you. However, I've never been particularly interested in simply doing things a certain way because that's the way they've always been done before. Don't get me wrong: I'm equally bored by the idea of shaking things up just for the sake of it. I think avoiding complacency is key.
To begin with, let's put stuff - or more specifically, me - into some kind of context. I don't think Drama was an option when I went to school. That may sound weird, to literally not remember if I did Drama as an option, but let's face it, that was coughcough some time ago, and anyway I remember so little about school, it's like I'm actively repressing the memories of some horrific experiences. There might not have been a drama lesson, but there was an annual school play, and I found myself in that. I have literally no idea why. I don't have the traditional joining-my-tribe story to tell you: I didn't do impersonations of the teachers to amuse the other kids, I was not the school clown. As a student, I was horrifically average, which is a fatal spot to be: if you're brilliant, the school is designed to carry you through your exams. If you're smashing desks, or - bluntly - not that smart - a school has a journey designed for that, too. If you're reasonably smart, but are not working that hard, not causing that much fuss, not creating too much aggro - then you disappear. I strongly suspect that the system is much the same way nowadays. So, I was the invisible kid. I did get picked on, but I don't think I can claim that I was systematically bullied (although, y'know: repression). I certainly wasn't confident. and had no look-at-me tendencies. Why the hell I walked into the school play, I have no idea. It's possible, of course, that a teacher simply sent me there, but I have no idea why or how they'd have seen something in me. Oh, actually: one of the first plays I was in was A Christmas Carol. I was always very small for my age, and so you'll have already worked out by the time you get to the end of this sentence that the part I was cast in was Tiny Tim. Actually, it was split casting: there was another kid playing Tiny Tim on alternate nights. I have every confidence that I (we) were cast because we were, in real terms, tiny. I also have every confidence that I wasn't exactly the best actor on stage. But I have just remembered in the writing of this that I was somewhat better regarded than the other Tiny Tim, if only because he kept drooling. Yes, my acting career largely started because I was able to retain spit. (I also have a few things to say about split casting, but that will be a muttered rant, and probably best left for another journal entry). I was in a production of Aladdin, which I will come back and talk about another time, if only because it contained my first attempt at improv, the giddy heights of which I've quite possibly never reached again. But in my final year of school, all the 'best' (read: older) actors had left. There were just kids left. I mean, the average age was 15, but not only was 15 then a lot younger than 15 now, but I think I at 15 was a lot younger. Which was why it was somewhat startling to get cast in the lead role in a part originated by Laurence Oliver. The play was Journey's End , and what I remember about it now (although not in any detail) was the review the local newspaper gave me, which was pleasingly good. I've long since lost it, but it was good. For a less-than-confident kid, this was a nice bit of validation. I had been a mediocre student: I didn't know maths, and I got confused by physics. Any cross country lesson would end with the other boys returning to school, meeting me just as I finally managed to leave the gates (I was sllloooow). I had (and often still do) what we now refer to as impostor syndrome, and I tried never to call attention to myself. It's probably the main reason I didn't get too bullied: I simply hid. But then with these plays, seeing other actors, learning lines, seeing someone direct, knowing where to place myself on stage, understanding that the audience could see that plotline loom into view, that line land … all of this was the first time that I could let my instincts take over. All of us are massively unconfident in all manner of things, largely because we haven't done it before, or we haven't had the training. Sometimes the thing is a demonstrably easy thing, it's just that we can't get our head round it. But on the flipside, most of us have at least one thing where it feels like we were born with the muscle memory: that we can go into a room with no prep, no ideas, and let the instincts take over. To not be scared by the darkness, but to dive into it. For me, that was drama, and story. I'm not making any great claims to be the finest actor, or writer, or director (after all, have you heard of me?) , but what I am suggesting is that theatre - both in concept and as a physical space - is where I felt at home, and if not actually confident, then the space where I felt that I had a voice, and that that voice was sane. Now, I'm aware that there are elements of the am-dram world that are over-filled with the confidence of mediocre middle-aged white men (indeed, it's one of the main reasons why I started this blog, despite *checks notes in slowly dawning horror* being myself a mediocre middle aged white man) who fill the stage with a vacuum of imagination, but it was - and still is - tremendously exciting for me to find a space at the end of my school life that meant that I finally understood how life worked. But, school was over. My results were not going to be impressive. I had neither the grades or the money to go to uni. I had no idea what to do next, and whatever it was, it very likely involved working in retail for the next 48 years. If I didn't suddenly discover an amazing youth theatre practically on my doorstep, my rebirth was going to be over before it began ... Please consider throwing the price of a coffee to keep this struggling artist in the manner to which he hopes to become caffeinated. Thanks! There's a strong tradition of amateur theatre - or 'am-dram', as it's often referred to, in the UK. In this blog I want to start a conversation about what am-dram means to us, what purpose it serves, and how we can do it better. There are already plenty of excellent books out there that talk about things like performance rights, hiring out halls, and the correct names for various stage lights, etc. These are obviously all important points, but I don't intend to repeat those details here (although obviously as time goes on, we may find that we have space and reason to chat about such things). No, in this blog, I'm going to assume that you already know that in order to put on a production of an already existing famous play, you will have to pay for the privilege, and that you know about such things as safety regulations (and even if you don't know what the regulations are, then you at the very least understand that such things exist and you'll be having conversations with the people who can help you).
Instead, what this blog is largely going to be about is the day-to-today experience of operating within a amateur theatre company, and how best to enjoy that once you're through the doors. As I'm a director, actor, writer and workshop leader, my focus will generally be on those aspects, and I'll be talking more about what has worked for me best in rehearsals, about how to approach a script, and how to make an acting class or workshop fresh and useful, particularly if the aspects of the workshop are perhaps the same as the one you were teaching / taking part of five, even ten years ago. In light of this, I'll also be speaking about what I have found has worked best for me working in youth theatre, which has its own unique challenges. My ways are not always the ways that will work for you, and it should be acknowledged that my experience is mostly within the amateur sector - or to put it at is most basic and banal level, we won't be discussing simple three week rehearsal periods where everybody works for five days a week and then puts on a show. We're talking about those rehearsal processes that are closer to eight or more weeks, but it's just two nights a week (at two hours each) where there's always a cast member missing. Is it, I want to ask (and obviously I've already decided that the answer is yes), possible to create a decent, moving piece of drama when the full amount of rehearsal time stacks up to slightly less than thirty hours, everyone was tired at rehearsals after a full shift at the day job, nobody was getting paid, and there was never any coffee? I'll also say something about the term 'amateur' itself, the horrors of pre-casting, the low levels of new writing within this sector, the best way to grow your audiences (and new members), and no doubt much more. I'd obviously also be very interested to hear your thoughts and experiences on working within am-dram. Keep in touch! |
AuthorAndrew Allen is a writer, actor, and director based in Brighton. His writing website can be found here. There's another blog chatting about almost anything else here, and finally a website with details about upcoming classes, shows etc here ArchivesCategories |