Dickie Beau. Blackouts.

I enter a waiting room full of beautiful exquisite hip dressed men. There is a smattering of New York cool.  Girls I’d never dare to say “Hello” to as “Hello” seems too mundane. There is a gay culture, an arts culture, I am an outsider too. A small poorly dressed hair falling out Chinese looking Brit. I am here to watch Dickie Beau Blackouts: Twilight of the Idols.

My dress sense is consistently forward. It almost never fits. Curiously awkwardly off-centre.

I am not unwelcome. And as Andrew Solomon has helped me understand, this horizontal identity amongst the LBGT is to be cherished perhaps how I cherish the autistic experience.

Still.  How I ache to be a beautiful man amongst beautiful men, confident in my beauty. It is not to be.  

There is a cabaret tradition. There is a lip synch tradition. There is a physical drag tradition. That sits squarely in this culture.

It crosses geographies. The lip synching lady-boys of Thailand impressed me over 30 years ago, another half world away. Funny, poignant, sharp - it echoes from a 7 year old mind to a middle aged man.

There are other roots. The female icons of Judy Garland and Marilyn Monroe. The verbatim tradition (no intentional reference, I don’t sense, to Charles Reznikoff in poetry or My name  is Rachel Corrie in theatre) but ringing to my ears, sensitive to the found work of the visual artists and sculptors (Du Champ to Andre to Rauschenberg) and the verbatim work in theatre.

In the jittery walks, and white painted face, I even have a sense of Noh and a nod to Jacques Lecoq and the clowns. The tragic clowns.

All this swirls in my mind, as I walk into a theatre I have never seen, with a beautiful people I am not part of, in a city which is not mine.

The box office desk declares: “You have a cushion seat.” “What’s that?” “You will see.” I hardly know any thing in any case, another unknown hardly weighs a feather.

And why does everyone have such exquisite shoes? Somehow unique but hip. Proclaiming, I am full of character yet mysterious and delightful.  Huh. Maybe, I have to buy more than one pair of shoes every 12 months.

We are ushered backstage. I do not fully appreciate this, never having been to this theatre. The back may as well be the front. But it does at the end of the performance provide one of the most dramatic theatrical reveals of place, that I have experienced. Perhaps, better for not knowing where I am or what I am doing.

I take a cushion seat. Between a beautiful man, and a beautiful woman. Of course.  Here my tiny threads to Gideon Lester and Coney save me and place me. Next to a producer:

-Gideon taught me dramaturgy 20 years ago.

-Gideon’s husband taught me dramaturgy. (Artistole links us) I know Coney. I’m interested in their work.

And I know Under the Radar, and I don’t feel quite so strange.

The performance starts.

Dickie Beau has an astonishing visceral physicality. It is mercurial as it shifts character so smoothly. Yet very present, and barely surpasses as if an inner spirit could break out at any time.  This is heightened by the lip-synch technique. It seems to channel the spirit of the original words through the physicality of Beau.

If you look at Francis Bacon’s work and read his conversations with David Sylvester (and in Brutality of Fact), you can sense that through his paintings, Bacon - when successful (and he destroyed so much of his work) - comes closer to the truth by transforming surface reality into something deeper that hits at a visceral essence while bypassing the exact surface portrayal.

At its best, Beau hits these notes where although he is a man with a painted white face, his transformed physicality lip-synched to an ethereal verbatim voice bypasses the surface qualities and engages a deeper visceral sense of being.

This is at times funny, awkward, painful, poignant and never less than astonishing.  The transformations seen in real time are beguiling and extraordinary. I party wished that some of the seamless theatrical blackout-type transitions did not occur, so I could always watch the real transformation of Beau as they occurred in front of me.

The characters portrayed are icons. Are gay icons. They are also lost and damaged goods. They are impossible to figure out truthfully. I liked that.

Nevertheless, I did overhear some audience be lost over the lack of narrative thread. 

I doubt you can have a classic narrative and achieve the same mercurial, visceral yet true effects. Perhaps. 

On the work itself, the central parts are recordings Dickie Beau took of his conversations with Richard Meryman, the last journalist to have interviewed Marilyn Monroe before her death.  This is framework with additional archival recordings from Judy Garland and Marilyn Monroe. Some of the recordings, I think Beau may have had almost unique access to.

There were clever touches of light and direction. Sound most obviously used astutely. But also, a scrim, for light and lighted-word effects, a spotlight on words and a type writer; splashes of red evoking slippers and Judy Garland; a heart stopping piece of theatre as a paper-scroll-noodle is regurgitated in a splayed splintered jerky fashion from Beau’s mouth for what seems a small eternity;  a knife wielded, teetering on the edge of violence.

Then the end. Where Beau faces the auditorium, finally revealed. It strikes you that you are back stage, an interloper and a voyeur. Privy to a dark secret. Yet, the whole auditorium, the fantasy audience faces Beau, faces you as we fade to the sounds of the imaginary audience clapping.

Here more from Beau in this interview below. It also gives a better sense of his work, where I have only given the impressions it has left on me.

Time for more?  Here’s a short post on 5 things autism has taught me.  Here is   JK Rowling on the benefits of failure.

Serendipity Gods

Funky glamourous off-amber-red glasses. Should I tell her they look great? Nah. After 8 hours stuck in a cabin, everyone is weary and no one likes small talk.

Waiting. The transit skyway is having a slow molasses day.

She brings out a book to read. “The Empty Space”

Serious? These are the serendipity gods directing me to say something. In short:

-Peter Brook was just in London, speaking about his new book.

-Seems like it was written yesterday.

-You direct?

-Yes. I will be rehearsing in London at the end of the year. A Tina Turner show.

-I write plays. I chaired Talawa, now Coney,

-What’s your name?

-Ben Yeoh. You won’t have heard of me. And you?

-Phyllida Lloyd.

Wow! I wrote to you about 10 years ago and we had a short correspondence about my play at the Gate Theatre.

I’ve seen her work, and she is an impressive director.

I think those gods are telling me something, am I listening?

(Are they telling me to put those skates and write plays again)

Lloyd is known for her work on Mama Mia, and I’ve known her Royal Court work and some opera work. I had the sense that her all female Shakespeare work is forefront in her oeuvre at the moment. Her wiki here. I will be looking forward to more of that.

Peter Brook’s Empty Space considered seminal theatre book. Amazon link here http://amzn.to/2fJJczh  and his latest book Tip of the Tongue here http://amzn.to/2fKOeLI  Anyone interested in theatre should read Brook's book.

Fancy thinking about writing craft - see writing tool tips post here. Or  Neil Gaiman on making wonderful, fabulous, brilliant mistakes.

Hideously White. Adds Splash of Colour. Young Vic.

The London theatre world is buzzing with the news that the new Young Vic theatre Artistic Director is Kwame Kwei-Armah.

Gentle Reader, a test: name one other person of colour who is Artistic Director of a major UK theatre building? (answers at end).

I found it notable that in the Evening Standard’s reporting, it failed to mention this aspect of his appointment. I dislike the term “white”. White does not indicate race. It indicates purity. Anything mixed with white equals non-white. White is not a race but a purity indicator.

“Playwrights don't give answers they ask questions”  Britain’s greatest living female playwright has said (test two: who’s she?).  Surely, a less diverse system is less resilient, less interesting, less human than a more diverse one? It’s more fragile, not anti-fragile.

In the investment world, diversification is as close to a fundamental rule as fund managers could agree upon. In the business world, 12 people in a committee - if all 12 think the same, and agree the same, then 11 of those people are unnecessary. There is a thread of complexity to be followed here.

How do businesses, arts eco-systems and committee decision makers ensure diversity of thinking?

Quotas through the lens of race or gender are a blunt tool, constantly argued over.  Still, ignoring race (which the Evening Standard did) does not make it go away. Andrew Lloyd Webber has described theatre as “hideously white”. Kwei-Armah comes from leading Baltimore's Center Stage in the US. He is the only black artistic director in the League of Resident Theatres. The largest US professional theatre association of 70 venues. Kwei-Armah has spoke in favour of quotas suggesting his own work and career was helped by former culture secretary Chris Smith's policy and the Culture Diversity Network.

I’ve seen Kwei-Armah’s work and heard his passion in conversation. I’m convinced he will be a superb leader for the Young Vic. He will also bring much needed diversity to the theatre eco-system making it more resilient, more representative and more interesting in its humanity.

Business can learn from the arts. Diversity of thinking and inclusion lead to better decision making and more engaged employees. Company managements know this. Old white man group-think is prevalent at the top of companies.

There is a wider debate and belief in equality of opportunity.  Playwrights and investment managers tend to call it as they see it. We have more to do. Shareholders should be holding boards accountable to ensure diversity and inclusion happens to create more resilient, better companies.

Playwrights ask questions. Perhaps Robert Kennedy had an answer:

“America’s answer to the intolerant man is diversity”

Answers: Madani Younis at the Bush Theatre and  Indhu Rubasingham at the Tricycle.  Kully Thiarai at National Theatre Wales is non-building (thanks Dawn Walton for pointing that out)  so not sure it counts the same.  Dawn also points out Nadia Fall recently to Theatre Royal Stratford East (appointed summer 2017).  Michael Buffong at Talawa (where I was Chair) also does not count as Talawa has no building. I’ll accept Jatinder Verma at Tara Arts, recently in a building, and Mehmet Ergen at Arcola, though some consider both Fringe.   Mehmet is of Turkish origins and I've heard some suggest that's not BAME (ii) Caryl Churchill is Britain’s greatest living female playwright considering her entire oeuvre of work which is unmatched by most living playwrights of any gender or colour.

Half Breed. Natasha Marshall.

Half Breed by Natasha Marshall. Runs until 30 Sep 2017 at Soho Theatre.

Natasha, or Tash, Marshall is talented. In Half-Breed, she fizzes with energy and bursts from character to character exuding a visceral physicality that pulls you in and spits you out.

At turns frenetic and always at high octane, her performance is still precise and engaging. This is helped by an unadorned set, a complementary sound track and by direction that focuses word play, character shifts and brings out Marshall’s physical presence. It is a virtuoso performance. Fierce. Not little but Talawa (who are co-producers and creatively nurtured Marshall)

Yet for all its 110% energy always fully committed, I found myself longing for the few moments of Marshall’s softer voice. The quieter moments of reflection and realisation. The gentle rhymes and chimes of an intriguing word cascade, the unusual catches of phrase and thought. 

She spits out racial slurs with the best of them. Audience wincing as the bullets hit. The casual racism reminding the London crowd that perhaps London is really another country (pro-Other, pro-difference, pro-immigration, a city in constant practice and fight to be woke and woke against its great city Frenemies such as New York).

I liked the soft moments best. At its gentle heart, I thought I heard Marshall’s voice the clearest and at its most original. The observations of a life long childhood friendship fraying under the weight of stones and dreams and trees. The pieces of poetry which could jar but seem to me to slip through on a sharpened heightened plane. The fond characterisation of Gran.

“We sat on the kitchen floor once and we dreamed about this.

I’m sorry, Jaz, I’m holding you back.

You’re not Gran, I’m here with you now, can’t you see me [...]

She’s the only face I see,

As I’m staring at her and she’s staring at me."

All the misfits can identify. The middle of Soho has to be the heart of getting knocked down and standing up stronger. Perhaps the play’s true performance home is a Wiltshire village. The points of racism, otherness and outsiderness are well made but, to my ear, not as universally-unique as the Brog-Jaz friendship.

Maybe I don’t look - I don’t see - I don’t really look enough; because how many plays for mixed raced women are there? Count them for me. That didn’t take long, did it?

She’s just stood there just staring at me.

And I’m staring at her like “Brog help”

But she’s watching me,

Like I watched her,

And didn’t help.

And I’m staring at her,

And she’s staring at me,

And the whole room’s laughing.

Except for she

And I.

Half Breed runs until 30 Sep at Soho Theatre. It runs 60 minutes and is a fizzing way to spend an hour, you can even get home to help the children to bed.

Thank you, Gideon.

I’d like to thank Gideon Lester. Gideon was my first dramaturgy teacher. While I have failed to stay in close touch over the years, his influence has been profound and lingering. Many teachers fail to discover the impact they have on their students. We, pupils, seldom have the chance to tell our mentors with enough space, time and experience to acknowledge our teachers’ significance. Perhaps, we fall shy as I have done. I have 20 letters or fragments of letters I started to pen to John Berger. I failed to send any. Now John Berger can not read any of them. That realisation, along with my re-emergence into arts, has tipped me over into writing a note on this.

A 20 year old boy steeped in science but with a fascination with theatre arrives at Harvard. The boy knows few to no people. He has directed a few plays, at the level of a student. He has read a fair amount of drama and poetry, considering his academic science studies. The boy knows enough to know he really doesn’t know an awful lot. About anything. Anything at all.

There’s an energy. There’s an hole. There’s an hunger. A father recently died. A restlessness needed to fill a grief.

The boy sits with Gideon. On Brattle Street, a hot chocolate is sipped, they talk theatre. And talk. Their lives have a loosely entangled tapestry from a shared London teenage experience, although a small generation apart. Large enough for the boy to consider Gideon an elder and mentor.

The boy takes Gideon’s dramaturgy course. It starts with Aristotle's Poetics.

Galaxies explode into life.

Casting back over 2000 years, we have a treatise on dramatic structure. Still relevant today, it catapults the boy’s understanding into another plane. The work provides an outline of rules to be followed, to be bent and to be broken. All the while with Gideon’s guiding light.

Gideon saunters us through plays, playwrights and thinkers. It is brilliant.

A steady Arts drum beat is sounding from various Harvard teachers, hopefully some future posts on this (Marcus Stern on directing - find the character’s intention - Adrienne Kennedy on play writing, Chris Kilip on photography - ways of seeing, Patrick Strzelec on sculpture - the visceral and seeing truth abstractly, and Forrest Gander on poetry - life, language and so much more).

The exact learnings from Gideon’s teaching, I am unable to pinpoint today. Nevertheless, the profound sense I had at the time lingers with me. The ideas of structure, what to follow, what to bend and possibly what to break have deeply embedded into my theatre writing. How to read dramatic works, how to think about theatre, and even how to enjoy plays, all of that enhanced by Gideon over the years.  Nothing specific but without Gideon I doubt I would have created the handful of works that I have to my name, several performed and of moderate success. I’ve taught, helped and dramaturged others; and as a pebble thrown in a pond, the waves rippling, the influence echoes on.

I’ve mainly been helping others for the last eight years. Crafting little of my own writing. Family, autism and other life priorities have absorbed me. But I am emerging. I believe I will write again.

If I do and how I write will surely still be marked by that hot chocolate on Brattle Street and the ensuing Poetics.  Thank you, Gideon.

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If you'd like to feel inspired by commencement addresses and life lessons try: Ursula K Le Guin on literature as an operating manual for life;  Neil Gaiman on making wonderful, fabulous, brilliant mistakes; or Nassim Taleb's commencement address; or JK Rowling on the benefits of failure.  Or Charlie Munger on always inverting.

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I hope to make a series thanking many of the influential mentors and teachers I have had over the years. The Gideon post is the first. I’d like to one day thank Miss Bradley (now Mrs James) for my introduction to clay amongst other things when I was 7. Many of my teachers from that time do resonate, but Miss Bradley echoed first and perhaps loudest. There are a whole host from high school but Mr Davies (maths and more), Dr Bevan (chemistry, learn to learn and the rubiayat of Omar Khayyam), Dr Katz (life), Mr Bateman (art practice and seeing) ring loud but most of my teachers at Westminster provoked lasting and memorable thoughts and experiences on a regular basis.  At  Cambridge University, Dr McLaren influenced me greatly and there is a part of me which still thinks I ought to have developed in acedemia as a neuroscientist or experimental psychologist.    At Harvard University, perhaps partly driven by being on a scholarship and partly by my father’s recent death, I went into learning overdrive and had several mentors of note.  Gideon Lester, as mentioned in this post, Marcus Stern (directing), Adrienne Kennedy (play writing), Chris Kilip (photography), Patrick Strzelec (sculpture) and Forrest Gander in poetry. That so many of my Harvard teachers were in the arts was perhaps telling on why I left academia to pursue multiple interests across arts, business and investing.  Post institutional teaching, I count Jane Bodie (via Royal Court)  on writing and dramatic structure as most influential (and still to this day) although I think I did learn from Lisa Goldman on dramaturgy too in my early twenties.

Incomplete and Random

The title itself is suggestive. It's on the longer side of titles, but "incomplete" hints at the short and splintered scenes to come.

The first scene is two lines, and two single words. It suggests a writer who knows what they are about.  You're going to be in for a supremely confident ride (or maybe a complete disaster). 

The second scene already seems to hint at sub text and potentially conflicting intentions. Again establishing a notion of "drama" / conflict as opposed to any (unnecessary) exposition.

Michael Billington review in the Guardian in 2005.  

"...Ten years ago, the Royal Court was the focus for what became known as "in-yer-face" theatre. Now it seems to be encouraging what I can only call "behind-your-back" drama: elliptical, oblique, non-linear plays that leave the audience to piece together narrative and meaning...."

David Eldridge has a new play coming to the National Theatre in October 2017.  It's called Beginning - "Tender and funny, it’s an intimate look at the first fragile moments of risking your heart and taking a chance." Eldridge is in conversation with director Polly Findlay  6pm 19 Oct.

Part of an intermittant series looking at the beginnings of plays. Click here to see a few more like dirty butterfly and Gertrude Stein's Mexico,

Cross fertilise. Read about the autistic mind here and ideas on the arts here. On investing try a thought on stock valuations.  Or Ray Dalio on populism and risk.

If you'd like to feel inspired by other addresses and life lessons try: Ursula K Le Guin on literature as an operating manual for life;  Neil Gaiman on making wonderful, fabulous, brilliant mistakes; or Nassim Taleb's commencement address; or JK Rowling on the benefits of failure.

Mexico. Gertrude Stein.

Mexico - a play by Gertrude Stein.

Part of a series looking at the beginning of plays.

When does a poem know it is a play? When does a play forget and become a poem?

The layout of the text immediately grabs you. It predates Sarah Kane, but perhaps both writers have more in common than might be thought (I'm sure I will write more on Kane later, I wrote about her in 2005 on Cleansed  and how her path helped me with Lost In Peru).  No set division of dialogue, a lack of stage directions adds to a poetical, elliptical and dream-like nature.  I'm not sure it is getting through a reader at a modern theatre today, but perhaps if enough confidence in language is displayed...

wiki on Gertrude Stein.   Review on Mexico based on Curious Theatre Branch 2011 Chicago production. 

"...coworkers caught in a humdrum cycle, the monotony reinforced by Stein’s famed use of repetition. Given their heavy outerwear, wherever they are, it is cold. They come and go. They recite seemingly random facts. Occasionally, they talk of exotic locations, or of boats that travel the open sea. Occasionally, someone will mention Mexico. Mexico is certainly far away from this unnamed place. Mexico is a fantasy built out of potential reality, the kind of fantasy that can keep a person slogging forward when they have nothing else.

After this group of three has cycled through their business together for a time, Matt Test is added to the mix — the interloper, the newb. Test’s character, strangely Vincent Price-like, does not understand the call and response of mundane day-to-day life in this community. He does not understand the importance of the fantasy of Mexico to the functioning of these three. Will he assimilate into the group? Will he irreparably damage the dynamics?..."

See debbie tucker green and other Beginnings    Cross fertilise. Read about the autistic mind here and ideas on the arts here. On investing try a thought on stock valuations. 

Trustees Wanted

Yellow Earth Theatre (YET) are looking for Trustees for their board. As are Company Three and Kali.

It's a wonderful opportunity to help a small charitable arts company. You will pick up non-executive boards skills as well as expertise in working on strategic matters and under a charitable framework.

Most suited for those with a London base or regularly access to London. Woman, BME and other diversity actively encouraged to apply. YET is a theatre company with an East Asian focus.

If interested, best next step is to have an informal chat with Artistic Director Kumiko Mendl  (Kumiko at yellowearth.org)  and, or, the Chair Wai Yun Moon (or even me!)

YET have recently been given core funding (National Portfolio Organisation funding, NPO) from the Arts Council of England (ACE). It's a great moment to help YET scale and leverage to the next level. If that doesn't too much like business consultant speak gone through a mangle (am not feeling sharp enough to express it better).

Please share for those who might be interested. Further information can be found here.

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Company Three creates a space in which young people can talk to adults, and in which adults will really listen. Originally formed as Islington Community Theatre in 2008, we are a company of 75 young people aged 11-19.  We make theatre through long-term, intensive collaboration between our members and professional theatre-makers.  They are also looking for trustees (deadline 18 Sep)

dirty butterfly. debbie tucker green.

dirty butterfly by debbie tucker green  

Part of an ongoing series examining the beginnings of plays.

Modern playscripts typically start fairly differently from other writing art forms.

Today, the play has to grab a reader (to bother reading on, probably a director or aspiring director before you find an artistic director or producer) but also an audience.  A bad start is hard to recover from.

While a good start is important in the poem, pop song, journal article, novel etc. I think a play has a unique challenge matched only by its sibling the film script.

Review (Lyn Gardner, Guardian) of dirty butterfly.  The wiki on debbie tucker green.   

You know the playwright is making a confident statement straight up by her use of lower case, where one might expect upper case letters. There's an immediate sense of rhythm and an ear for language, out of the ordinary.

From the review: " Debbie Tucker Green's debut play will not suit everybody, especially when the playwright has a distinct way of saying things. In particular this play will not suit those who are weary of tales of urban fragmentation, think that dramas using monologue and giving voice to the internal should be restricted to radio, and get irritated when characters stand around discussing their relationship rather than dialling 999 for the ambulance that is so clearly and urgently required.

For the rest of us, this play, set in an all-too-familiar world, in which lives interlock but never connect, will do just fine. I cannot say that I enjoyed it very much, but I liked it a great deal. And now I cannot get it out of my head."

Brexit. Pina Bausch. Cafe Müller.

Brexit struggles reminded me of Pina Bausch's Cafe Müller. I saw Cafe Müller when her company came to London in 2008. It echoes in my memory today.

Three men and three women. Two men in suits. Third wears a loose white shirt tucked into trousers and is barefoot. Two of the women, (one Bausch herself, while alive and dancing) wear white dresses, barefeet; the third wears a dress, overcoat, and heels. 

At various moments, one or more dance with eyes closed, rushing across the stage strewn with chairs while the other dancers rush about them moving furniture out of the way. The dancers rely on each other to clear their paths as they dance with their eyes shut.

The movement is often frantic and repetitive, halting with a feeling of exhaustion. There are themes of manipulation and dependence throughout the dance, which are realized through intense repetition as well as trust between dancers that they will keep each other safe on stage in varying states of awareness.

“The Tanztheater Wuppertal Pina Bausch...has stood for wildness, wisdom, creative exploration and dedication combined with passion. Never tired of questioning, and continually demanding more freedom, I associate its tradition with unwavering curiosity and courage.”

— Adolphe Binder, Intendant and Artistic Director

Link to full piece on youtube here.  Link to her Tanztheater Wuppertal Pina Bausch

Pina Bausch, in my mind, is with Caryl Churchill as one of our greatest theatre creators. Perhaps, Bausch is more internationally known.  She could be credited of starting out a whole movement of "Dance-Theatre" (at least in parallel with the dance language coming from the US via Martha Graham and Merce Cunningham) and certainly, I do not think her work was well understood at its beginning.

Still, her work is awkward and difficult to convey with words.  I wrote in 2008: "  the story seems to be on the edge of your mind. You can’t complete the narrative in any straightforward way, some of the dance, physicality and atmosphere has to complete it for you. And so, the pieces becomes highly personal as the work only makes sense in your head...but yet somehow quite deep and universal as everyone grasps the themes: alienation, love, patterns of history, stress, confinement, rushing through life half-blind, hoping trusting that some persons you can't see will make your journey OK..." and that feels still somewhat glancing at it.

"If you have been exhilarated, stirred and moved by what her dancers do, then you too are an expert. You get it. And it's this ability to speak directly to an audience, to pierce right through whatever critical apparatus they arm themselves with, that is at the heart of her unique genius. She offers big, complicated truths without footnotes; it's high art without homework. And she has changed for ever my sense of what can be achieved inside a theatre. " wrote Helen Hawkins, Culture Editor, Sunday Times in 2008 and perhaps she has it right.