Footprints - Director Alastair Whatley talks Touring Theatre over the centuries.

Over the years, how much has Touring Theatre changed? How much remains the same? This week, we have been in the buzzing hub that is Bromley and Alastair Whatley, our Producer/Director/Understudy/Assistant Company Manager, has been kind enough to write a guest blog about his rather extensive experiences of touring...

If you had enough time and sufficient inclination, it is possible to hunt out various things I have written about; not only the shows we have done, but the vagaries of a life touring the country as part of a fledgling theatre company.

I have some strong recollections of writing, rather poorly no doubt, about the process of putting together one of our earliest touring productions of Shakespeare’s R&J…in fact hold on…

I’ll dig it out for you…

Here you are…

http://rjontour.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/welcome.html

You have to search quite hard to find that on google these days. It is no great work of literature, bombastic, impassioned, clichéd even. Yet it does at least reveal a slightly naïve charm and enthusiasm for producing and touring theatre.

People often ask me what it is that appeals about spending the vast majority of your time living out of a suitcase. Often it entails some rather desultory, less than lugubrious accommodation in the clutches of Mrs Biggs-Kynaston with a stodgy mattress and a shower descendent out of Livingstone’s experience at The Victoria Falls. It entails long nights in dodgy cars, nights in terrible pubs, awful Indian meals and days whiled away in endless Costa Coffee’s (Liam Mc Cormick).

Yet that blog written now over 6 years ago reveals something of the hidden delights of touring a particular brand of theatre across the length and breadth of the UK. At that time our shows were still playing various grassy knolls, hotel receptions and outdoor playing fields- anywhere that would take us basically. Today, our shows have found themselves gracing some of our more illustrious and delightful theatres- yet strangely despite this slight upscaling, the actual day to day experience itself has not changed.

In fact I don’t really believe that the experience of touring theatre companies has changed that greatly in over 500 years. Our means of transport have changed (not horses anymore), the plays we perform have changed (…well in many cases they haven’t), of the complexion of our towns and villages has changed hugely, yet strip all the detritus of modern living away- the iphones, the cars, and the endless cups of Costa Coffee (Liam Mc Cormick) and I think what you are left with is at heart, an experience that directly connects the actors of today with the likes of Irving, Woolfit, Shakespeare and Kemble. 

So what is it that connects our motley team on Birdsong whose experience, or part of it, has been recounted to you on this blog, with the illustrious names conjured above? I think the answer is possibly to be found in the unorthodox routine and relationships that we strike up as we chart our journey across the country. Routines and relationships that can only change so far as the world has changed and changes around us.

There are certain constants to an actor's life on a tour of Britain that stand as firmly today, as I write this in the cavernous corridors of Bromley’s Churchill Theatre, as they would when Irving took his company on the road in the 19^th century. 

Firstly, performance times have always been pretty solidly fixed- this means that we have much time during the waking hours to spend idly in various cities. This has always been the case, meaning the theatrical fraternity can often be found perched looking for sustenance both spiritual and alimentary at coffee houses, on benches, in churches and in many cases (not on this tour I hasten to add) in public houses (Tim Treloar). In short, we have time to spare and not much money to burn- an immutable and incontestable fact that spans the centuries.

Secondly, as performances invariably occur as the sun charts its weary course into the horizon, we exit the theatre as the rest of the town tends to be falling asleep. We exit high on the adrenaline of a good performance (here’s hoping) and for many, time is needed to unwind. Alas, as many coffee houses spurn our money in the nether hours and refuse to accommodate us, the theatrical fraternity has little choice but to frequent a local, friendly (…) and well stocked hostelry for cheer and merriment. In short, actors like to go to the pub. Always have done, always will.

Thirdly, our relationship with the towns we play is unchanged, even as the towns themselves mutate and grow and prosper (Bath, Canterbury anyone?) or decline (…too many to mention). We arrive bright eyed and slightly resentful of being cast off from our cosy homes and the bright lights of London to an outpost of the British Isles where six days must be endured come what may. We bring with us a suitcase (or twelve…Polly Hughes) and all the emotional baggage a company carries from one town to another. Gradually, through a process of osmosis, the town and people come out from the blurry soft focus of a late night after the obligatory first night company management drinks; and as the week progresses, what at first glance seemed a rather bland concrete jungle, begins to show itself as a living community. Write off a town at your peril, England has never ceased to surprise me. If you arrive at a town with your heart open and your wallet in the hotel safe, you are likely to have good time.

Hold on tightly and let go lightly- let that be the axiom. Arrive, fall in love and then depart. You like to think that Basingstoke will miss you, that you have brought with you a touch of bonhomie and bohemia maybe even as far as the air of the sophisticate dandy to the bright lights and throbbing bass tones of ‘Lucky’s’ in Scarborough as you spin, twist and writhe along with 4 others at 2am on a Wednesday night.

In truth, our footprint is not as heavy as we would hope and our temporal moment on the stage at the Theatre Royal is readily forgotten and left as a simple inky footnote in the visitor's book. Yet for centuries we have done the same thing- audiences have come, they have clapped and they have left. Plays have come and gone with the actors they support, life has passed. Yet the stages we play I think hold a certain residual memory and up in the fly towers, on the velvet seats, in the hempen rope, down the back stage corridors, and in the floor itself, an imprint is always left. Ask any actor who has had the pleasure of gracing a Frank Matcham Stage- well some of them- they might tell you about a special connection that is felt on those stages between the buildings, the audience and themselves, however ineffable that may prove be. To my money (and I haven’t much left) it is a connection with a direct line, not just those luminous dignitaries of our theatrical heritage, but much more tantalising link to the thousands of unknown and unremembered actors who trod the weary path around Britain earning a crust and spending it in the pub next door. The actor whose performance drew cheers and was forgotton, who never climbed the dizzying heights of ambition but who worked, gave pleasure and died singing and broke at Denville Hall. It is the connection to these little known, oft forgotton jobbing actors that is the real constant. They are the unsung heroes who have bowed into the twilight and who have charted their journey into the undiscovered country on a road that most of us are likely destined to follow. 

Which brings me squarely and firmly to Bromley. As regular readers to Polly’s blog will know, we have had some wonderful weeks on this tour seeing some of Britain’s most beautiful places and meeting a wide selection of her more eccentric peoples- Bath, Dublin and Canterbury have all been memorable weeks on stage and off. Which brings me back to Bromley.

For many of our esteemed company, Bromley provided a welcome respite allowing some much needed time nesting away in their various homes across the capital, not Liam, he lives in the North. Commuting was to be the order of the week as would the oft heard adage, "I’ve got people in," echoed down the backstage corridors (Tim T)- as friends, family, agents and other ‘industry’ bodies took the chance of a short journey to catch the show.

What was great about our week in Bromley, genuinely great, was that we had quite a few large school groups come and watch the show. Schools audiences can send paroxysms of fear into the hearts of even the most experienced actors- unruly phones, chatting and a host of other distractions that can throw even the most finely wrought performance off key. 

Yet these school groups are our most crucial audiences. The young people who came and watched this week are the theatre go-ers of tomorrow. If we got it right, there is a chance they may come back and that this has started a lifetime of theatre going. A chance to watch and meet Hamlet, to die with Hecuba, to laugh with Jonny Rooster Byron, to witness the alcoholic brilliance of O’Neil, the passion of O’Casey, the wit of Wilde, the sexual politics of Caryl Churchill, the sheer hybrid genius madness of Becket- it is like finding out that you have the keys to the best never ending box set which can accompany you for your entire life. 

With all the budget cuts to schools and theatres across the country, just getting students into the theatre is becoming harder and harder to organise- the cost, the paper work and the endless forms. So it is a real testament to the teachers who persevered this week and gave many of their students their first theatre experience. I, for one, am indebted.

Those of us who go regularly, forget how intimidating a trip to a theatre can be. There is still the (mis??) conception that the theatre remains a pretty elitist place. The basic conventions are not exactly inviting to the uninitiated. Sitting still, in the dark, for hours, in silence, amongst older people smartly dressed. Watching. Just watching. It is intimidating.

I hope that the experience we provided this week on stage, in the auditorium and at the workshops which Liam, myself, Polly and Tim T ran were able to dispel some of these myths. On Thursday morning, Tim T had done a sterling job (no commission alas) and managed to get 147 young people in for a morning workshop before the matinee.

We had a great time introducing the play but also exploring the endless possibilities a director and his/her actors have when approaching any given scene. To this end we looked at three scenes and got our assembled directorial body of 147 girls from South London to come up with different ways of staging each scene- everything from changing the location, the environment, the circumstances, even the furniture. It was fascinating to watch the scenes which have played consistently in one form for over 150 shows, suddenly transform into something else entirely. Tim T, for example, loved playing war (his words) with Liam when he was asked to move a scene from a 'boring' fire step to the middle of an open battlefield. 

What we tried to impart through all this is that you don’t need complicated scenery to transport an audience into the deep tunnels that ran under no-mans land. All you really need is an empty space and some imagination- from the actors but crucially, from the audience. It is an oft worn cliché but it really is a shared experience and the relationship between the audience and the actors totally shape each and every performance- so although sat quietly, the contribution made by our audiences, young and old alike, does shape and change the show on a nightly basis. I think that is something audiences might not fully appreciate- as Polly said during the workshop- it isn’t just when the audience laugh but when they don’t, when the silences ring so heavily you can almost touch the stillness of the air- that you can feel they are with you.

It is important that with all the cuts and indeed the talk of further cuts to so many arts budgets that our young people are given the chance to flex and continue to flex their theatrical imaginations. It is simply not a luxury. It is our cultural DNA. You need only sit on a tube during the commuter rush, something we all did much of this week, to see our increasing dependence on visual imagery at the expense of imagination. People just don’t look up anymore. We seem to walk heads down locked in own worlds attached intravenously to iPhones, pads, tablets and blackberries- feeding on a diet of movies, TV shows, films, communication and strange farming games (Charlie/Liam) whenever and wherever we are. Everything we need (and don't need) seems now to be found on a little screen on which we are increasingly dependent. There is a great danger that we are, all of us, sleepwalking into a virtual reality.

The theatre requires you to turn off (please) and switch on. It brings people together and it will, if you let it, take you anywhere. Literally anywhere- emotionally and physically. I have had the great good fortune of being offered a pretty unique perspective in that I can watch our show in the auditorium or the wings. In the auditorium I experience the play in all its power and passion, but in the wings I am party to a unique transformation.  As an actor walks into the footlights, suddenly in some small but very tangible way they are transported and with them, the audience. It is in its own way time travel as the world of pre-war Amiens is conjured quite literally from thin air. It is magical. 

Sometimes I need to remind myself of this. As I stood trying to explain the play and why and how we staged it, I realised that what I was saying was perhaps as much for my benefit as theirs. In a week when our ‘magical’ job felt maybe somewhat less than magical and more- well, like a job- it was maybe important to remember what it is we were doing and why we were doing it. Like the commuters who populate the tubes and trains and streets of London we, all of us, myself included, could be reminded to look up and see the wider perspective- whether it be when walking down the streets of Bromley up beyond the façade of New Look and M&S to the Victorian architecture above, or stood watching the show in the wings and heeding the words of Dame Maggie Smith who once said,

 “I like the ephemeral thing about theatre, every performance is like a ghost - it's there and then it's gone.”

…a bit like life really. So we had better appreciate it whilst it’s here, even if we are commuting, even if we are in Bromley- no, in fact because we are in Bromley- because as I watched the end of the Thursday matinee I watched the schools audience leave, chatting excitedly and heatedly about what they had just seen. It wasn’t what they saying that was important, but the fact that we had even, if only briefly, got them talking and engaging with our play and that simple act was enough to make this the best week we have had on tour...(ok, tied equal with Dublin.)

And I didn’t think I’d be saying that on Monday morning.

During World War II, Britain's finance minister recommended to Winston Churchill that they cut arts funding in order to better support the war effort. Churchill's reply was, "Then what are we fighting for?"

SOME THINGS THAT HAPPENED IN BROMLEY:

• Liam stayed at his friend's who lived near, but not that near. Somewhere near Penge.

• Sarah Jayne Dunn appeared rather brilliantly on the Wright stuff and was made to talk about everything from advertising alcohol to parenting to Birdsong. She was great.

Liam watching Sarah with...admiration.

• Liam and I went on a trip to Ilford to run a workshop. We learnt all about the etymology of well worn phrases- ‘toe the line’ anyone?

Yes, they were actually allowed in.

• Charlotte Peters, our lovely associate, came and ran an understudy rehearsal and we all got excited when Jonathan Smith came and read in- small pleasures.

• Arthur shot into action when my bag of toiletries got abandoned en route to the house of Liam’s chum, somewhere near Penge. With a brave and selfless dive he threw the items from the train as the doors shut behind him. A noble act.

• Arthur also witnessed the sighting of a ghost at Sydenham station of a large man. He was confident there was no rational explanation as the man vanished into a wall. Spooky.
• Arthur informed us the next day that actually it wasn’t a ghost after all, it was another exit. Which he used to get home to his caravan in Crystal Palace.
• Tim T had a chum come and see him from his days at the RSC. He was jolly nice and knew lots about bikes. His name is Bill Nash and he has written the most fabulous book all about Secret London…not sure Bromley got a mention though…
• In the company management dressing room on Tuesday night Tim S and his trusty second had a thai take-away. Crackers, pad-thai and spicy beef salad. Tim S really liked the crackers.
• Lucie Pankhurst our movement director and all round lady of loveliness came and re-visited us on Saturday night. She made an announcement over the tannoy after the show. Friendly.
• Charlie stayed at Frog Manner all week and awarded it 10 points.