LET'S HEAR IT FOR ACTORS!
Finally, I'm writing for the stage
I’ve always regarded actors as exotic, mythic creatures, distant and strange. They represented an unobtainable, poetic dynamic, compared to the largely plodding, pedestrian world that I and my kind inhabited. And I only encountered them when they were on stage. I was in awe.
It’s not that that image has faded. Far from it. It’s because, late in life, I have knocked on their door and been persuaded to step inside. Hardly anything in my life has matched this eureka moment. I am still in awe, but I’ve edged a little closer to that magic.
Ever since I started frequenting Fringe theatres about nine months ago, I have had the privilege of mixing with this loose-knit community of optimists and hopefuls. It has been a truly inspirational experience. Invariably, these actors don’t have a penny to their name, yet they remain starry-eyed with ambition, enthusiastic and welcoming to outsiders.
What does this kind of actor – and indeed the dramaturgs, directors, producers and readers of scripts – represent? Firstly, they are unashamedly serious in a very un-English way. In social gatherings I have been lucky enough to attend, seldom is there that annoying quality of gushing self-effacement. They are too driven to explain their vision to bother with that. They know they are in the company of others who need to articulate the tenor of their dreams in the same way. It’ll be their turn next. A democracy of the creative spirit operates.
They embrace ambiguity and revel in complexity. It is their modus operandi. Nor are they afraid of difficult thought. They look askance at reality, knowing instinctively that it is deceptive and that there is another dimension under the surface. They look on life in terms of metaphor. And, of course, they are emotionally highly intelligent.
They are the antidote to the unremarkable. There is magic – or, at least, the potential for magic – in their eyes. They have the ability to transform the normal into something interesting. And if they need to cast doubt, they cast doubt. They are experimenters by temperament. They inhabit the world lurking behind the playwright’s words. That script is an open door to wonder.
Just as they are unashamedly serious, so they are naturally humorous. A group of actors are invariably up for a laugh, often anarchic and other-worldly. The comedic is never far away. And they get irony. It’s a vital part of their equipment.
What I don’t include in this are screen actors or London’s established West End luvvies. Not because these traits don’t apply to them; it’s just that their high-flying world is beyond my reach. I just don’t know it. I’m talking about the wannabes of the Fringe. Those raw, open-minded stage actors and theatricals for whom experimentation is the norm.
I am on the edge of this community of communicators because I have written a play, which is about to get a rehearsed reading at a London theatre. In order to get it put on, I contacted and attended numerous Fringe theatres and it is here where I met these amazing people. Even if my play wasn’t going to be put on, it would all have been worthwhile just to experience this exciting mindset. But, as it is, I would like to be part of it for the rest of my life. In other words, I want to carry on writing plays. I want to try to continue to create that unique sense of electricity between performers and audience. This is far removed from the comparatively ‘flat’, two-dimensional world of journalism, which has been my sphere of operation for 30 years or more.
Why has it taken me so long to enter this brave new world? Temperamentally, it seems to be my natural metier. Yet, for decades I have laboured under the illusion that, in order to earn a living and reach a level of understanding, I had to humbly embrace objectivity – the twists and turns of the pluralist world and the machinations of politics and human affairs. It is frightening to contemplate why this realisation has taken me such a long time. I should have made the break earlier, even if it meant having less money.
I am still the new kid on the block and have much of the untutored apprentice about me. At a recent gathering, I met lots of these young creatives and we were getting on like a house on fire. And then it was time to say goodbye. ‘Good luck,’ I said. I had forgotten that you never say that to actors. It can bring bad luck. They stared at me with an actor’s searching eye to see if I was being ironical. It was probably why their farewells were slightly muted! I should have said: ‘Break a leg.’ But surely that would have sounded pretentious. As I said, I still have much to learn.