WEEK SEVEN IN THE ACTORS' STUDIO

Okay, so it’s seven weeks into the course and you realise you should have read the course outline. I’m supposed to be writing a 10,000 word portfolio about my ‘learning journey’ of this term. WHATTHEFUCK. Sorry, for that undignified outburst. But why didn’t anyone tell me about this at the beginning (actually they did). I’m struggling enough with writing my ‘actors’ studio diary’. The Keen Beans have already written most of it no doubt, peppered with witticisms from their tutors, to impress their tutors. Always a good trick that one. Ten thousand words seems a bit steep I must say. It can be creative and apparently people sometimes submit video diaries, which seems a bit of a wheeze to me – question is do you have to count the words that you say? Hmmm. Think I wont go down that path. Someone also once submitted 10,000 words of emails between him and his ex-wife about his ‘journey’. That guy failed though, so I’ll bin that idea too! I think I’d find it less of a millstone if the title wasn’t ‘learning journey’. It sounds like some new-Labour education document for the dimmos at the back of the class. “So, how was your learning journey this week little Timmy?” Pow! Right in the kisser! – at a guess.

I’m wondering if I should invent Grotowskiesque antics of having spent my weekends running through woods to exhaustion and nearly flaying myself alive in the name of theatre. He sounds like an absolute maniac by all accounts; pushed people to the limits but they loved it. Bloody actors, never know when to stop: such vanity. He didn’t even seem to care that much about the audience which strikes me as rather remiss. No Christmas pantos for him then. However, I think the viva with my tutors, whilst they gaze on my paunch wouldn’t really cut it – the austerity and starvation of absolute poor theatre doesn’t hang easily round my bourgeois wine soaked velvet jacket wearing shoulders. So, best not fib then.

Oh, talking of paunch, went to see Forced Entertainment’s ‘Spectacular’ last night. The most un-spectacular show you’ve ever seen – see how they did that. Now that’s dramatic irony! What a fucking yawn. An intellectual discussion about the nature of theatre and death except it wasn’t that intellectual - for 1 hour 20 minutes from a fat man in a skeleton suit. A sure case of substance over style. A one trick pony. They could just have got away with it in 45 minutes, but the bar was calling after that point. Jesus, anything was calling.

Anyway, I’m a miserable old fart aren’t I? I’m even the only person bar Jonno McCain and his chip empire, who is irritated that Obama has been elected purely because it means the yanks I have to work with are even more smug and excited about being American than they were before. I know what you are thinking: what am I doing in theatre? I don’t like anything I see. I’m too lazy to write about my ‘learning journey’ and the only thing I’ve auditioned for so far has been a Christmas panto. But I feel I ought to prove to you that I am not a total cynic. William Forsythe. A man of genius. Now that’s a reason to be in theatre, or possibly, in my case a reason to give up now and go home realising you’ll never be more than an audience member. Impressing the Csar. Sadler’s Wells. This week. Extraordinary. Funny. Beautiful. Clever. Yes we can!