Parting is such sweet sorrow

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes and ships and sealing-wax.
Of cabbages and kings
And why the sea is boiling hot
And whether pigs have wings."

This is the end of An Actor's Journal as we know it. In fact, this is the end of my blogging project as I know it. I never say never, but for now I've decided to draw a definite line under everything. Considering I haven't written anything for nearly three months, this probably comes as no surprise, but I thought it fair to at least say a proper goodbye.

There aren't many reasons for this. I simply haven't the time, energy, authority or inclination to maintain a blog about acting or being an actor. Many experienced and successful directors and practitioners from Konstantin Stanislavsky and Bertolt Brecht to Declan Donnellan and Mike Alfreds have stressed that acting by its very nature is a process of doing first and foremost. Anything else - be that writing, discussing, eulogising etc - is just circumambulation or, as one of my teachers at drama school may endearingly put it, "bollocks". Over the past ten months I have been inspired, exhausted, terrified, relaxed, confirmed and sensitised to the fact that I have a very long way to go before I have enough experience or insight to even consider acting, let alone writing about it for a readership. Who do I think I am! My primary concern right now should be the process of acting and not any results, reception or reflection which may spring from it. I see that so clearly, now, that it's a wonder I had the gall to assume a blog on it in the first place.

Another fairly obvious reason is that, because of my training, I can't fully focus on both the day-to-day experience of training and the activity of recording it for posterity. As the saying goes, one cannot be a slave for two masters, and I know where my true allegiance lies. I enjoy the training so much I often feel too overwhelemed at the end of the week to even keep a comprehensive record of my own notes, let alone condense, edit and reshape them for a wider audience. There is a reason why training can often seem so elusive and private. That is because it is. Beyond the basic craft of vocal and physical ability to sustain a performance, the essence of acting exists outside of both objectivity and the capabilities of language. The experience is so much more profound, that I envy those who can even remotely describe it as recognisable to others. I'm not describing some form of magic, either. Try and accurately describe love, fear, grief, rage, or any other stong and deep emotion and you face the same problem. Drama, the theatre, acting, whatever you want to call it, is borne out of those emotions and includes an uncanny bond between the actors and audience. The effort of writing about this phenomenon is simply too great for my pretty little head.

Finally - and this is a question I ought to have asked myself long ago - who gives a damn? The majority of readers of this blog were kind enough to continue after an earlier blog I wrote. How many of these people actually want to read this stuff? It's a bit of a niche market, and though we all watch plays, films or television, few of us care enough to talk about it in detail. Those who have the spirit and the knowledge do a better job than I do, so why step on their toes? I'm not trying to be humble, I just know that I cannot devote as much time to this kind of work as many others do. My heart isn't really in the blog, though my enthusiasm for the work at school and future career has only increased.

So there you have it. I'm too lazy to maintain a blog, and not enough people I know necessarily need to read my opinions or even care about such matters. The only respectable option was to make a dignified exit. It has been fun, though, and I'm very grateful to all and any who stumbled across these pages and found something useful to take with them. As I've already said, I can't claim to never return; but for the forseeable future this is, as they say, it.

Thank you and goodbye!

Film Review: The King’s Speech

The King’s Speech, (Dir. Tom Hooper; Screenplay David Seidler; Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush, Helena Bonham-Carter)

This film will win Oscars. It is a British film about a British man who happens to be the second in line to the British throne. When unexpectedly cast into that throne, he must fulfil his role as symbolic figurehead of the nation, and when war is announced his must be the voice that reassures his peoples that this is the right course of action. There’s only one snag: he has a speech impediment so detrimental that it has the potential to destroy his confidence and self-worth. He sees an unconventional speech therapist, a retired Australian actor, who works hard to break through the stuffy and awkward exterior to get to the warm, family-loving, dutiful man beneath.

It is a British film with an almost entirely British cast holding a large amount of transatlantic respect and several awards and nominations among them. There is an Oscar-winning actor in the cast: the only non-Brit who plays his own nationality subtly and confidently in a film which touches on the end-of-empire attitude to its colonies. It is a British film telling a true story set in a period within living memory, yet long enough ago to have developed its own clichés. It is a British film which has clearly been given a budget equal to its scope and has invested every penny of that budget on ensuring high production values. It is a British film which British people, Americans and members of other nationalities will adore. It is a British film which has already received a large amount of critical praise. It is a British film which has taken millions of pounds at the Box Office in its first weekend. This film will win Oscars.

And yet...I left the cinema feeling unchanged. I enjoyed what I saw; I thought the acting was superb, the script excellently written, the shots beautiful and the soundtrack effective. And yet...I left the cinema feeling empty.

I’ve been wondering why I cared so little for the film despite having enjoyed watching it so much, and the answer came to me a few hours before writing this. I don’t like romanticism or sentimentality, and The King’s Speech slotted right into that bracket. I’m also not much of a fan of the Royal Family, and while not an anarchist yearning for the Republic, neither am I keen to see an institution which has symbolised a strict class, social, political and economic elitism for centuries be presented as a comfortable establishment with no consequence beyond being nice to look at. Perhaps I’m being unfair. There were moments of unexpected fun, danger, irony and even hints towards the deeper issues relating to the very specific case of the British Royalty of the last few generations. However, those moments were too few and far between for my liking, and I think that’s what it all came down to in the end. On the other hand, that wasn’t what the film was about, and so for me it was simply comfortable viewing.

Having said that, I ought to highlight what I did like. As I said, the acting was superb. Colin Firth skilfully towed the line between magisterial gravitas and inner desperation as George VI. You’d have to ask one of my voice teachers if the stuttering was technically accurate, but as an audience member I found it neither distracting nor pitiful and Firth clearly achieved the mark of making the characteristic an adjunct to the character. For me, though, Geoffrey Rush was the best thing about it. I could watch him do anything and find him compelling. Here, he gave Lionel Logue a mischievous quality which served to equalise both the actor and the character’s status in the film. Really, the relationship portrayed develops through Logue correcting not only George’s speech but also his soul. The link between the latter’s impediments and his fear of the situation in which he finds himself is a tried and tested “better yourself” device made all the more poignant and encouraging by it being the struggle of an unlikely monarch. What Rush does so well is to convince us that the philosophy of speech equals soul is not only that of his character but belongs to all of us, whether we are conscious of it or not. When Logue deliberately enrages the King while rehearsing for his coronation, he asks: “Why should I listen to you?” to which George responds furiously “Because I have a voice!” Not a head was in disagreement with Logue as he smiled and calmly agreed: “Yes, you do.” Of course, that is also a mark of a good screenplay, but for me, watching Firth and Rush develop the two men’s relationship was the most interesting aspect of the entire film.

Likewise, the rest of the supporting cast are fun to watch. Bonham-Carter provides a likeable and approachable Queen Elizabeth (a far cry from the “nation’s grandmother” image with which she became associated for so long), while Timothy Spall (a suitably jowelly Churchill), Michael Gambon (stifling and stoic George V), Guy Pearce (the profligate Edward VIII), and Jennifer Ehle (lovable Mrs Logue) are all effortlessly good. I cannot think of any particular reason for casting Derek Jacobi as the Archbishop of Canterbury beyond being a blatant nod to his legendary portrayal of that other famous stammering emperor, Claudius, but perhaps I’m being cruel again, since his performance is every bit as enjoyable as I’d expected it to be.

In reality, the film was great; it’s the subject matter which really wasn’t my cup of tea. My personal taste counts for very little in the long run. What does it matter? This film will win Oscars.

What Do You Mean You Haven't Seen...?!

In Bruges

(2009; Dir. and Screenplay Martin McDonagh)

Ever since 2003, when I saw the original production of The Pillowman on stage at the National Theatre, I have been a fan of Martin McDonagh's work. I had known about his first feature film, In Bruges, about a year before eventually seeing it. All I knew was that it had Colin Farrell, Brendan Gleeson and Ralph Fiennes in it: a cast which seemed intriguing not least for the very different kinds of actor I had thought of each of them to be.

Although the supporting cast is excellent – I’ve never seen a film in which I’ve laughed out loud to lines spoken by American dwarves and fat Belgians – the three principals are simply superb in their own charming ways. Farrell is surprisingly charming as the ingénue hit man (now there’s a juxtaposition), and Gleeson is wonderfully stoic as his older and more world-weary partner; but the award for sheer absurd fearsomeness goes undisputedly to Ralph Fiennes as Harry, a lyrical, witty, yet totally psychotic gang boss who turns up halfway through the story when his plan goes awry.

With the exception of Ben Kingsley’s turn as Don in Sexy Beast with Ray Winstone, I have never seen such a dangerous display of barely-controlled fury in a character in recent British film. Interestingly, both Fiennes and Kingsley are key names in that group of British actors who have made it in Hollywood for their ability to play calm, intelligent and above all philanthropic men on screen, specifically for such roles as Count László de Almássy in The English Patient and Mahatma Ghandi in Ghandi. These two actors are known and respected for such roles. However, true to their craft, they have stretched their ranges and challenged their audience’s expectations by playing loveable but ultimately nasty characters.

In Fiennes’ case, Harry is pretty much despicable. Nonetheless, he is so wonderfully petty and ridiculous that we feel safe laughing at him as an audience, even though one might consider it foolish to even look the character in the eye if encountering him in real life. And that is where the marriage of good character-based writing and acting works so well. McDonagh, known for his jet black, incisive humour, provides Fiennes with a fully-fledged psychopath who has no compunctions towards killing for a living, but will demand other characters not to insult his children and refuses to kill a friend even though the latter has disobeyed his orders (having said that, he does shoot his friend in the foot as opposed to the head, since he can’t let him get off completely).

The script in general is filled with witty one-liners, responses, exchanges and short monologues which tap deep into the darker recesses of humour. The characters solemnly discuss philosophy before embarking on acts of brutal violence in a manner which could so easily be clichéd were it not for McDonagh’s deft manipulation of the Irish and cockney speech rhythms and lyricism (no real surprise, since McDonagh grew up in London to Irish parents). I use the word manipulation precisely because the language is able to con its audience into a false sense of security with the simple suggestion that Irish people are just as capable as anyone else of violence, murder and brutality irrespective of the cheerful and harmless stereotype often portrayed in American movies.

Equally surprising is just how beautifully shot the film is, painting Bruges as grey and dull by day, conforming to Farrell’s character’s vision of the city, but coming alive with colour and warmth at night. The use of Belgian, Canadian and American actors is also effective, giving the film a feel of literally being on a touristic break while bumping into people of other nationalities along the way.

Funny, frightening and philosophical, this is the perfect film for anyone who wants to sit back and watch a decent story played out with relish and excitement. I can’t recommend In Bruges highly enough.

In Their Own Words

I was considering taking a portion of this - itself a segment of an entire lecture - and transcribing it, but this woman is so deft with her performance that I realised it would not have done her justice to simply copy and paste. Watch, listen, and enjoy.

With an explanation like that, why wouldn't you want to do theatre?

Patsy Rodenburg, British Acting Coach

What Do You Mean You Haven't Seen...?!

Glengarry Glen Ross
(1992; Dir: James Foley; Screenplay: David Mamet)

In my humble opinion, there are very few film adaptations which supercede the original texts. Although I have never read or seen the original stage play by David Mamet, I have it on good authority that the 1992 film version is made margianlly better by the exceptional performance of Alec Baldwin in a scene written expressly for him. More about that later.

Speaking as both an actor and an audience member, there is something very thrilling about ensemble casting. Not only does it give equal dramatic weight and power to every cast member, but the work itself often suits the issues dealt with great skill and efficacy. It doesn't necessarily have to have a large cast, like Pulp Fiction; it doesn't necessarily have to deal with hugely important political and social issues, like Twelve Angry Men.What it does need to do, though, is capture its audience by having a tightly bound cast with not a single weak link. A tall order for any dramatic work, certainly, but when it works, boy does it work.

The cast of Glengarry Glen Ross is spectacular, not least because of the star names: Jack Lemmon, Al Pacino, Ed Harris, Alan Arkin, Kevin Spacey, Alec Baldwin and Jonathan Pryce. Nevertheless, the celebrity factor does not come into play, merely because, as the story makes so tragically clear, no one man is greater than the company.

As the desperate characters are placed into a ruthless competition by their employers, a variety of underhand and dishonest methods are shown to be the tricks of the real estate salesman's trade. The fear of losing one's livelihood is expressed in suitably macho terms, the strong language making the film notable for being one of the most colourful out there. This office is definitely NSFW.

Below is the scene which almost won Baldwin an Oscar. Watch, enjoy, and if you haven't alread seen it, get yourself a copy of Glengarry Glen Ross.

Opulence, thy name is Woman!

 Sit back, turn the lights down low, the volume up high, and revel in the magnificent glory of Joseph L Mankiewicz's Cleopatra!

Video Nice, Video Nasty Special: The Noughties (According to Me)

Clips, Music, Miscellany from Everybody's Favourite Tube

Party like it's 2009!

2000

Ah! The new millennium! The beginning of a new chapter in the book of human history. Apart from my dad stocking up tins of food and water, I don't remember any real worries over the Millennium Bug; do you? I cared more about the election of an Idiot Cheating Warmonger as Leader of the Free World. I was right to be worried.

A shame the protesters didn't succeed, no? Having said that, he did manage to make himself the most unpopular president in modern history, so it just goes to show that some sayings can ring true: "Give him enough rope..." Meanwhile, a year earlier, Robbie Williams was revelling in the postmodern joy that was the oncoming turn of the century. Watch and see how many references you can pick out - both visually and from the lyrics - from his innovative masterpiece, helpfully titled Millennium, in case we didn't get it.

2001

Well, I think we all know which event dominated this year. I remember watching that second plane hit the tower. 'Nuff said, huh?

2001 was also the year I was introduced to Coldplay. This song takes me right back to that autumn.

2002

The only event I can remember of this year was the return of the Musical Movie in Chicago. Oh, I love this musical; and I loved the film!

All of this meaning, of course, that this year gets two songs thrown in. Ha! Good; the songs are easier to find. Who remembers this mix classic which brought Elvis back?

2003

While strange things were happening in world politics, as we embarked on an illegal war, television was becoming even stranger. I know the American soaps bring characters back from the dead all the time; but EastEnders? I couldn't believe it, but despite the plot stretching further than Dawn French's knickers, it was dealt with superbly - especially by Letitia Dean, the actress playing Den's daughter Sharon. The return was short-lived, though, due to Leslie Grantham's bad behaviour. Den was killed off for good only two years later.

The following song revived the term Diva to modern music. I'm not even a big fan of hers, but I can't ignore the fact that the woman can put on a show. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ms Beyonce Knowles

2004

Call me an old commie, but I couldn't help include the glorious victory of the Spanish Socialist Party in the general election held early this year. Sure, the victory could be atributed to the terrorist bombings in Madrid and the Conservative PP's lies about it a few days before the elections, but the Party has done a lot of good things for Spain ever since.

I have already professed my love for George Michael's Music, and I think he's amazing (poor segue, I know, but it's late and I need to get ready for the New Year party).

2005

Ridiculously, I cared about only one thing, this year. The return of my favourite television programme ever.

This was the song of my summer. I've loved Gorillaz ever since.

2006

A year after I come out - and nearly forty years after the decriminalisation of homosexuality in the country - gay people in the UK are finally able to have their relationships legally recognised via Civil Partnerships. Though full marriage equality is still yet to come to Britain. I don't know the men in the video below, but it's such a beautiful little snippet, wouldn't you agree?

I hate Justin Timberlake with an unrivalled passion, but I just couldn't get enough of this song, and it's haunted me ever since its release.

2007

We were all jumping for joy at the prospect of Tony Blair's exit from Downing Street. However, on the day, I almost began to miss him, as I realised who would be replacing him. Mr Brown promised a government of change. Well...

Before the whole world loved Amy Winehouse, I loved her. By the time the world did love Amy, she was a mess, but she still has the best voice our generation.

2008

We survived George W Bush. We welcomed Barack Obama into our consciousness. An historic win, and perhaps a dividing line in world political history. Time will tell. Too many clichés in that one, I think.

I exited the world of English-language music for a year and discovered Nena Daconte. When I arrived in Madrid in late September, every single club and bar was playing this song.

2009

The defining moment of the year? Well, I couldn't say. There are still three hours left. However - just as in 2001 - I think I will never forget the night I watched the rolling news coverage of Michael Jackson's death. The Last Great Superstar of the 20th Century had gone.

And finally, an unusual choice for the end of the decade, but with all the saturated, factory-produced pop being churned out of Simon Cowell's arsehole, I couldn't help but revel in Rage Against the Machine's Christmas Number One Single, having nothoing to do with Christmas. Wonderful! I don'teven like the song, but anything is better than yet another X Factor winner...

So, this is it, then. 2009 over. The noughties over. The beginnings of a new decade. But what will the new decade bring? Well, don't ask me, 'cos I don't flipping know: let's just enjoy the party!

Happy New Year!

¡Feliz Año Nuevo!