Wanting to be the villain

In which I want to play the bad boy.

Being a somewhat occasional amatuer thespian (not to the point where I am out every night as once a week rehearsals are my limit, I like to see my family from time to time) there are a number of juicy roles to be trod on the boards.

All the roles I covet have something similar about them, the first being their musical roles. For all the will in the world I am never going to be a singer, I am more deaftone than baritone, so why would I want to play I role I can never do justice to?

It may be due to wanting to play the crazy, mad, and bad guy.

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Prince of Denmark

In which I ask questions of skulls regarding the number of buzzing insects.

I hail from Shakespeare country, yet my total knowledge of the Bard’s work only really consists of Macbeth and Romeo & Juliet (and they were only because they were the choices at GCSE English). To me Othello is a game played with black and white counters and the Tempest is an arcade game by Atari. Didn’t Iambic Pentameter play Rugby for Wales?

So recently when it was suggested that I should read Hamlet I thought why not, I’d heard The Lion King was loosely based on the play and I love that film. So off to a bookshop to find a copy of the tragic tale of the Prince of Denmark.

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Do you hear the people sing?

In which we will live one day more at these barricades of freedom.

Once a year we have to make sure Mrs G goes and sees the longest running musical in the West End. For as many years as she has lived she has seen Les Miserables.

Les Miserables Students take over a funeral
So that would be a small number of times then, eh Enjolras?

So once a year I get to go to New York, and I also get to see Les Mis but not necessarily in New York. This now means a trip down to Lahndan and pay half of the mortgage for a seat in the heavens behind a column.

It’s also my favourite piece of musical theatre and I was pretty happy with the movie version, not that Liam Neeson one as they didn’t even include “Do you hear the people sing”. Instead it seemed to be 19th Century version of ‘The Fugitive’ where some guy is on the run from the police but decides to hide by making a lot of money, becoming a politician and then being an adoptive dad. A bit like ‘Diff’rent Strokes’ but with urchins instead of Gary Coleman and no Marius screaming “What’chu talkin’ ’bout, Enjolras?”

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Childhood : Pantomime

In which I’m behind you, oh no I’m not.

Christmas in a bi-national home is pretty standard. Many of the traditions from either side of the Atlantic cross over with very little difference. There are few little touches that don’t make the transition (like specific TV Christmas special episodes) but the baubles, food and events are the same. There is only one major difference.

It involves crossdressing, same-sex couples and furries and seems pretty unique to this island (with some seepage to the fair flung corners of the Commenwealth)

That’s right, it’s Christmas and that can mean only one thing…Panto!  Continue reading “Childhood : Pantomime”

Tempest Tossed

In which I rave about Mrs G’s play.

I’m not keen on “feels” in my media, I’m looking to be entertained like a Roman emperor watching a gladiator fight for vengeance. So watching the latest (and first) play by Caroline C Chattaway which talks about how it feels to be an immigrant I should be a bit wary.

We all know the story of the Titanic, and although the sinking of the great liner features on the poster this isn’t about the night with the iceberg. Instead this play is about the kind of person who would have been on that fateful voyage, those who left their lives in Europe to start anew in America. Tempest Tossed is about the people who did arrive, and how the dream turned out.

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Learning my lines

In which I struggle to remember to exit pursued by a bear.

Just before I got on the plane I agreed to be in a play, despite the fact I am terrible at learning my lines and the rehearsals are already in the “no scripts stage”. I have the script in the suitcase I just need to find the time to go through my highlights and commit them to memory.

I seem to have problem with remembering stuff that isn’t in front of my face. I’ll look at the words in the script and of course I remember what I’m meant to say and where my cue lines are. Take that piece of paper from me in mid sentence and “poof” it’s gone.

I find that when learning my lines I have to memorise the whole play rather than just my part, and act it out in part silent monologue. I say my lines out loud and, even when my fellow actors are reciting their’s, go through the other parts in my mind.

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