Extraordinarily, Phenomenally Late Review

I was at an event last night for the company of theatre that I belong to. Of course, "event" makes it sound exciting - something with a glitterball perhaps (I discovered this week that I am in fact a camp gay man. Somewhere MuleBoy is nodding his head, "I told her she was camp, I told her". I never realised it was possible for a woman to be camp before but it is true, it has been confirmed. I should have guessed however, I watched Seven Brides for Seven Brothers again the other night and was again captivated by the splendour of the singing and dancing hot men in matching coloured shirts (I have a particular thing for Ben at the moment but it is changeable). I'm also particularly obsessed with one of the brides, Dorcas, who Big Sis and I worship and have patented Dorcas impressions. On looking at the credits I discovered that the actress was Julie Newmeier, who later changed her name to Julie Newmar, aka Catwoman. It's difficult to be more camp, lets face it.)

At this point I realise that I abuse the humble parentheses on a regular basis and decide to return to my original point before being arrested for crimes against punctuation marks. What was my original point? Oh yes, so I am at this event which is dull, no glitterballs and both Big Blue and I had attended the preliminary meeting on Sunday so it was basically a load of stuff we'd heard before. As I am no longer in a position of responsibility, I felt it was my prerogative to sit at the back and be cheeky. Dad was in a heckling-type mood and although Mum asked me to keep him in check, I was more inclined to see what would happen if I encouraged him. Unfortunately he got interested and serious so I got him more wine. Anywho, serious meeting over, we had a chance to look over some archives. I grew up with these and it always feels a little bit like meeting old friends, the plays I wish I'd seen, the plays I saw and loved, the stories I remember and revel in. There's several of my Mum looking beautiful (again I bemoan the cruel twist of fate that caused me to take after my Dad (love you, Dad but you are less pretty)) and one where she looks very cute and tiny but is pregnant with me. I am the only Bench member who can claim to having been on stage pre-natally - in your face, Big Sis. But when I get to modern day stuff, I start getting annoyed at things like press coverage. Mainly because it involves me and I'm selfish that way, although I did get annoyed at a terrible, terrible headline on a glowing review for The Accrington Pals which is one of the many reasons to hate sub-editors. But, although actor me is precious and egotistical enough, director me was annoyed at the lack of credit given to a wonderful cast in the play I directed last year. I didn't cover it in my blog at the time, which I regret, although have mentioned it peripherally. The review focusses on the reviewer's dislike of Ibsen, which seems to be less than the point. So I elect to write my feelings on the play with distance providing a smidge of objectivity.

Being a director is a different beast entirely to being an actor. It is hugely difficult and the two occasions I have directed have caused me to adamantly state that I will never do it again. You never have that feeling of bonding with a group of people because you're never properly part of the team and you just don't get that adrenalin buzz that makes acting my personal drug of choice. There's a hell of a lot of organisation that goes into making a play and although there is a team to help you do it a lot of the time it is the drive to make things happen that has to come from the director that I really struggle with. I'm not a "make things happen" kind of gal. However, The Wild Duck is probably one of the achievements that I am proudest of. I properly, properly loved it. The play itself is beautiful. I understand people's reservations towards Ibsen, it is difficult to really understand the restrictions imposed on characters by society as it was in the late 19th century and the language is different to modern, entirely naturalistic, drama. However, the language in the new adaptation is very melodic, characters are well-defined and plot is pared down from early versions where it is fussy and over-burdened with characters.

The actors mentioned in the review, stalwarts such as Dad, Penfold and Upstage Eyebrow, were all excellent and deserved to have a positive mention. I was glad that Penfold got recognition as I felt that he was pitch perfect as Relling, particularly in the scene with Mrs Sorby and his final fight with Gregers. But I was disappointed that other actors were criticised or not mentioned at all. Mr McB was described as being too mannered and not emotional enough, which was exactly my intention as it worked for the character. As a man who has reentered his family home after years of being away, and having spent the greater portion of that time alone without friends or family, I felt that his inability to relax was appropriate. McB's control over his physicality reflected Greger's control over the situation and his need to suppress himself and his real feelings, which he keeps obscured throughout. I thought McB was remarkable. He changed his voice, the way that he looked and worked so incredibly hard to constrain his normal way of moving that he was almost unrecognisable. Every tiny intonation and gesture meant something and he was fascinating to watch, particularly as he fell apart at the end, clenched fists and wild-eyed as he strives, still, to keep a check on his feelings and bend the world around his ideas.

Beanie was not mentioned at all in the review. Like McB, he was forced to play against type as Hjalmar and, like McB, worked tirelessly to fit into my vision (I slap myself for sounding like a twat). At one stage, trying desperately to communicate what I wanted and failing, he asked whether what I wanted was for him to not sound like him and I was like "yes! That's exactly what I want". Beanie eventually created the perfect Hjalmar: A character who, in his head, is a hero in a melodrama and cuts out anything from his life that doesn't fit with the self-glorifying narrative. Capable of mind-blowing selfishness, leading to negligence and cruelty, he can be unpleasant yet Beanie made him both funny and real and I think it was one of his best performances to date.

The final cast member whose omission from the review caused me pain was McFarley. Her Hedvig was a beautiful creation, and a testament to how hard and good-naturedly McFarley worked. I believe that McFarley was the element of magic that really lifted the production and was shocked that this wasn't recognised.

Everyone did so much to make this production something special, even the actors who only appeared in one scene, and everything that contributed to the overall look and feel of the production was just right. The set (oh, the set! My favourite set), lighting and sound were perfect and the backstage team were kept very busy and have probably been put off herring salad for life.

This has taken most of a day to write and is probably straining your eyeballs. Kudos to anyone who has got this far. I must go, got an evening of camp to look forward to. "Good morning Baltimore..."