17/4/09
Thursday 16th 11.30pm
En tonces. My job is done. of course, its never completely done, but there shall be no more rehearsal. Which implies that this journal too has reached some kind of conclusion.
I remember, many years ago in England, perhaps around the last time I directed properly, talking to my friend, the one who's a successful theatre director, about production week. I explained how stressful I found it, generally finding myself painting walls or doors or fixing problems up to the very last minute. He said, having always worked at a more elevated level than myself, words to the effect of 'I love production week. You can put your feet up whilst everyone else is running around doing all the work.' The culture gap was vast. But this week, in spite of my inclination to fret, it has not been so different to his experience of things. I have been able to oversee, my mind reasonably free to focus on the things a director should be thinking about. It has been, more than I should ever have expected, enjoyable.
Tonight was the dress rehearsal. There were only two mishaps. One was that the lights cut out too early at the very end. After the first gracias rather than the second. Which shall not happen again. And the other is that, in scene 1, after making her first, false exit, Ana forgot to come back for her second. I'd guessed what was happening and was laughing as F sat solo on stage for far too long. In the end it was Miguel, the taciturn stage manager, who professes not to like theatre, who hissed at her to bring her running back. She's never done it before and I'm sure she'll never do it again, but rather than stressing me out, it made me laugh.
I guess in part that's in the knowledge that the play is robust. Things always go wrong in theatre, its part of its charm, but whereas before it used to freak me, I feel more relaxed about it now.
After the run I gave some notes. Then everyone went their separate ways. I ran into Carlos in a bar. He bought me a couple of whiskeys and we chatted about cinema for half an hour or so. His favourite film is Amarcord.
This time tomorrow the show will have ended, and I shall be feeling a mixture of relief, sorrow, imminent drunkeness, pleasure at being amongst friends and the inevitable tristesa that goes with the coming to an end of a little dream that has been lived for the past eight weeks.
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I remember, many years ago in England, perhaps around the last time I directed properly, talking to my friend, the one who's a successful theatre director, about production week. I explained how stressful I found it, generally finding myself painting walls or doors or fixing problems up to the very last minute. He said, having always worked at a more elevated level than myself, words to the effect of 'I love production week. You can put your feet up whilst everyone else is running around doing all the work.' The culture gap was vast. But this week, in spite of my inclination to fret, it has not been so different to his experience of things. I have been able to oversee, my mind reasonably free to focus on the things a director should be thinking about. It has been, more than I should ever have expected, enjoyable.
Tonight was the dress rehearsal. There were only two mishaps. One was that the lights cut out too early at the very end. After the first gracias rather than the second. Which shall not happen again. And the other is that, in scene 1, after making her first, false exit, Ana forgot to come back for her second. I'd guessed what was happening and was laughing as F sat solo on stage for far too long. In the end it was Miguel, the taciturn stage manager, who professes not to like theatre, who hissed at her to bring her running back. She's never done it before and I'm sure she'll never do it again, but rather than stressing me out, it made me laugh.
I guess in part that's in the knowledge that the play is robust. Things always go wrong in theatre, its part of its charm, but whereas before it used to freak me, I feel more relaxed about it now.
After the run I gave some notes. Then everyone went their separate ways. I ran into Carlos in a bar. He bought me a couple of whiskeys and we chatted about cinema for half an hour or so. His favourite film is Amarcord.
This time tomorrow the show will have ended, and I shall be feeling a mixture of relief, sorrow, imminent drunkeness, pleasure at being amongst friends and the inevitable tristesa that goes with the coming to an end of a little dream that has been lived for the past eight weeks.
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Wednesday Night 11.15pm
Back in the dung beetle bar. This time they’re playing football on the TV. Which implies an improvement. Today was better. We had from 2 until 8 to fix things. Omar arrived with all his technical stuff. The LED lights, projections for the wall, strange objects created by Gustavo, who has become the company artist, another of Omar’s team. Because Omar knows everyone.
I drifted around keeping an eye on things. At 5 the actors arrived and hung around for a while in the café before we did some work at 6. We began the run around 8. There was a small audience, which helped. The actors finally got some laughter feedback.
The run was technically fine. Hopefully they will continue to get better, day by day. So much of the actor’s work doesn’t begin until they get an audience. Thankfully it feels as though they’re in a strong enough position to be able to enjoy it. After seven weeks, as I told them, they should be.
A big steak has arrived. It’s Universidad de Chile 0, Gremio 1.
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When I lived here 15 years ago, I didn’t like the typical Uruguayan bars. With the bright neon lights and the dull laminate tables and none of the energy of a British pub. But now I’ve kind of fallen in love with them. A place you can wander into at anytime of the night, and know it will be three quarters empty, if not more; somewhere you can order a beer and a steak and chips for a fiver.
There’s five other customers here. An old guy with a tie reading the paper, and two couples, one of which just sent back their pizza because it didn’t have enough sauce. It’s now a quarter to twelve and there’s still four people working behind the counter, even if we’re down to the last mozo. I could stay here as long as I wanted, writing or reading or just observing, and no one would care.
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I drifted around keeping an eye on things. At 5 the actors arrived and hung around for a while in the café before we did some work at 6. We began the run around 8. There was a small audience, which helped. The actors finally got some laughter feedback.
The run was technically fine. Hopefully they will continue to get better, day by day. So much of the actor’s work doesn’t begin until they get an audience. Thankfully it feels as though they’re in a strong enough position to be able to enjoy it. After seven weeks, as I told them, they should be.
A big steak has arrived. It’s Universidad de Chile 0, Gremio 1.
+++
When I lived here 15 years ago, I didn’t like the typical Uruguayan bars. With the bright neon lights and the dull laminate tables and none of the energy of a British pub. But now I’ve kind of fallen in love with them. A place you can wander into at anytime of the night, and know it will be three quarters empty, if not more; somewhere you can order a beer and a steak and chips for a fiver.
There’s five other customers here. An old guy with a tie reading the paper, and two couples, one of which just sent back their pizza because it didn’t have enough sauce. It’s now a quarter to twelve and there’s still four people working behind the counter, even if we’re down to the last mozo. I could stay here as long as I wanted, writing or reading or just observing, and no one would care.
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Tuesday 14th
Slowly things come together. Ideally I would have liked to have done the play with three actors in the round and no more than 30 in the audience. But for all kinds of reasons, that has happened. So the design is being integrated, Omar’s touches and Claudia’s lights. Today people were wiring LED lamps and coming up with objects and I fear the play will not be as minimalist as I would wish, but that’s probably for the best as my tastes in theatre sometimes veer on the Spartan. Once again there was very little time with the actors – V arrived at 5.45, with the run starting at 6. Not even time to work through the thankfully limited entrances and exits properly. Still, we have two more runs before Friday, and today’s was a big improvement on yesterday’s. I still have no idea how an audience will react to such a wordy, static piece… But if there isn’t an element of risk, what’s the point?
As the technical team did their thing this afternoon, I popped out when I could to watch the Chelsea Liverpool match playing live in the café. Me and F gave each other regular updates on the score. It’s all v relaxed, rather too relaxed for my liking, but what shall be shall be. Talked to the actors after the run and they all seemed upbeat, willing the play over these final hurdles.
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As the technical team did their thing this afternoon, I popped out when I could to watch the Chelsea Liverpool match playing live in the café. Me and F gave each other regular updates on the score. It’s all v relaxed, rather too relaxed for my liking, but what shall be shall be. Talked to the actors after the run and they all seemed upbeat, willing the play over these final hurdles.
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16/4/09
Monday 13th April Bartolomé Mitre
Tonight I stopped off in a bar on my way home, ordering steak and chips and a beer, all good and much needed after not having eaten properly since Friday. The bar was simple and pleasant, with the inevitable TV. Which happened to be showing a natural history program giving a ‘top ten’ breakdown of the most disgusting creatures on the planet. The flies section was accompanied by an animation of a morph like figure vomiting. Followed by a section on dung beetles. Followed by a weird bird that scavenges off giraffe dung, and feeds off giraffe blood. I fled before the program got to number one.
It’s been that sort of a day and, as I feared, it looks like being that sort of a week. Omar appeared with tables and chairs, which are functional but scarcely dazzling. Around 5pm, as I was trying to run through 4 in the space, Karina called to say they had had a row about money and Omar had threatened to take the chair which he hadn’t brought yet home with him. Something of course he’d never do, which she should have realised, it was just a gambit, but she was not in control of things. Needless to say Omar appeared 20 minutes later, with the missing chair. However he then went through the slightly melodramatic process of calling everyone together to explain how he was now subsidising the design budget. Karina arrived and I left them to talk it through and 15 minutes later peace had broken out, some kind of solution achieved.
We did a run at 8, and had to be out of the theatre at 10. Everything felt chaotic, with no time to make adjustments or even give proper notes. F was preoccupied, and all three actors were adjusting to the chairs, the lights, the music. As is normal, but the chaos is sharpened by the lack of time to acclimatise. Like turning up in La Paz on the same day you’re going to play Bolivia…Maradona can testify to the results. Thankfully the piece has shape, and that seems robust, but it lacked life. Not entirely surprisingly, but it is frustrating that we cannot work through things in a sensible and effective fashion.
Before letting people leave I called them together and explained that, in spite of the fact we’re working around a fucked-up timetable, we had to remain focussed and concentrated, in order for the play not to go backwards. Omar promised to have all the design elements ready for tomorrow evening. Tomorrow Claudia and I will work more on the lighting states. Claudia is a pleasure to work with, but I’m not entirely convinced by the laid-back approach to the incorporation of technical elements. I chatted briefly to Ana after everyone had left. Ana said that technical weeks were always like this, and of course they are, but it’s frustrating and dissatisfying that the rigorous approach the actors and I have taken over the past 7 weeks is not replicated now. I fear the whole week will be like this. Minor chaos and dung beetles.
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It’s been that sort of a day and, as I feared, it looks like being that sort of a week. Omar appeared with tables and chairs, which are functional but scarcely dazzling. Around 5pm, as I was trying to run through 4 in the space, Karina called to say they had had a row about money and Omar had threatened to take the chair which he hadn’t brought yet home with him. Something of course he’d never do, which she should have realised, it was just a gambit, but she was not in control of things. Needless to say Omar appeared 20 minutes later, with the missing chair. However he then went through the slightly melodramatic process of calling everyone together to explain how he was now subsidising the design budget. Karina arrived and I left them to talk it through and 15 minutes later peace had broken out, some kind of solution achieved.
We did a run at 8, and had to be out of the theatre at 10. Everything felt chaotic, with no time to make adjustments or even give proper notes. F was preoccupied, and all three actors were adjusting to the chairs, the lights, the music. As is normal, but the chaos is sharpened by the lack of time to acclimatise. Like turning up in La Paz on the same day you’re going to play Bolivia…Maradona can testify to the results. Thankfully the piece has shape, and that seems robust, but it lacked life. Not entirely surprisingly, but it is frustrating that we cannot work through things in a sensible and effective fashion.
Before letting people leave I called them together and explained that, in spite of the fact we’re working around a fucked-up timetable, we had to remain focussed and concentrated, in order for the play not to go backwards. Omar promised to have all the design elements ready for tomorrow evening. Tomorrow Claudia and I will work more on the lighting states. Claudia is a pleasure to work with, but I’m not entirely convinced by the laid-back approach to the incorporation of technical elements. I chatted briefly to Ana after everyone had left. Ana said that technical weeks were always like this, and of course they are, but it’s frustrating and dissatisfying that the rigorous approach the actors and I have taken over the past 7 weeks is not replicated now. I fear the whole week will be like this. Minor chaos and dung beetles.
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Sunday Night
It was a glorious day. It’s mid-Autumn here, but today was like a day in high Summer in England. I spent as much of it as possible asleep. Seemed the most useful thing to do.
This evening I went to see the play Segio, the actor from my short, is in. By a German writer called Dea Loher. Apparently the play, The Last Fire, has been very successful there, a dense piece of 33 fluid scenes, so Segio told me, which reminded me of both Wilder’s Our Town and Von Trier’s Dogville. Which, Sergio told me later over coffee, was the model adopted by the director, making the cast watch Kidman, Bacall and co doing their thespian stuff. However, as the actor observed, Dogville is film and this is theatre. The play runs at two hours twenty minutes, without an interval. I didn’t get bored, but there were moments which seemed more obscure than they should have done, and this wasn’t just down to the language. Interestingly the translation was done by a Chilean, which means that parts don’t work that well for a Uruguayan audience.
Mid way through, the play suffered from an explosion of candombé outside, a cacophony of drumming like a thunderstorm invading the space. One of the actresses had a line which went something like: ‘The killer could have been anyone, you [said to the Englishman in the front row], me, or one of those people drumming outside; a dash of improvisation always welcome.
Afterwards Sergio invited me for coffee in his high rise flat, which reminded me of Polesworth House, except for his has a view of the sea. We talked theatre and all that jazz.
I walked back to Anibal’s along the Rambla. It was midnight. The night was warm. People were fishing or jogging or hanging out, watching the night water. Kids played on swings on the last day of the Easter holidays. Todo tranquilo en la ciudad.
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Sat 11th April 09
It’s 9.30. An hour when most civilised Uruguayans are planning what to do for their Saturday night. I’m going to bed.
Contentedly so. My whole body feels exhausted. Everything feels elongated, stretched to the nth degree. It seems like a month since I was at Jorge’s, though it’s only a week. 3 months since I was staying at the flat in San Jose, though it’s only a fortnight.
We rehearsed, for the last time, in the Parking. 4, the last scene that wasn’t quite ready, is now done. The breakthrough came on Wednesday, when V abruptly decided to start the scene with her hands behind her back. Like all Uruguayan actors, she’s very expressive. The hands are used emphatically. Removing them from the scene, she was suddenly showing far less, and the emotion was kept in check. This was all polished today. Changing the nature of her madness at the end, making it more introspective.
There was both a bus strike and a taxi strike today, as a taxi driver was murdered last night. As a result, Ana arrived late, which seemed to help her. (Her opening lines are, I’m late, I’m late again, I’m always late, or words to that effect, I forget the English). The run was good. If the actors aren’t ready now they probably never will be. On Monday we’re in the theatre and the countdown to Friday begins.
Anibal is out, with the new girl. Leandro, Anibal’s lodger, has gone away for the weekend. I am alone in a house of a night for the first time since I left London. A few minutes a candombé parade passed down the street, 20 kids banging drums in intricate rhythmic patterns. Now it’s quiet.
I’m two thirds of the way through my stay. I don’t quite know how I feel. The weather is blissful, warm but not hot, and still. I walked along the sea tonight, with the moon, which goes the other way here, flattering the water. I attempt to work out my feelings towards Uruguay, which is far more than just a place to me, it’s like a second home. Only I’m not sure you can really have two homes. Maybe, but if so I suspect it’s a permanently dissatisfactory arrangement. In the end, so much comes down to work, doing the work you want to do. Still, whilst I have had this here, I know my exhaustion is also caused by the absence of my other home, the actual physical space, and the city. Or maybe it’s just old age.
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Contentedly so. My whole body feels exhausted. Everything feels elongated, stretched to the nth degree. It seems like a month since I was at Jorge’s, though it’s only a week. 3 months since I was staying at the flat in San Jose, though it’s only a fortnight.
We rehearsed, for the last time, in the Parking. 4, the last scene that wasn’t quite ready, is now done. The breakthrough came on Wednesday, when V abruptly decided to start the scene with her hands behind her back. Like all Uruguayan actors, she’s very expressive. The hands are used emphatically. Removing them from the scene, she was suddenly showing far less, and the emotion was kept in check. This was all polished today. Changing the nature of her madness at the end, making it more introspective.
There was both a bus strike and a taxi strike today, as a taxi driver was murdered last night. As a result, Ana arrived late, which seemed to help her. (Her opening lines are, I’m late, I’m late again, I’m always late, or words to that effect, I forget the English). The run was good. If the actors aren’t ready now they probably never will be. On Monday we’re in the theatre and the countdown to Friday begins.
Anibal is out, with the new girl. Leandro, Anibal’s lodger, has gone away for the weekend. I am alone in a house of a night for the first time since I left London. A few minutes a candombé parade passed down the street, 20 kids banging drums in intricate rhythmic patterns. Now it’s quiet.
I’m two thirds of the way through my stay. I don’t quite know how I feel. The weather is blissful, warm but not hot, and still. I walked along the sea tonight, with the moon, which goes the other way here, flattering the water. I attempt to work out my feelings towards Uruguay, which is far more than just a place to me, it’s like a second home. Only I’m not sure you can really have two homes. Maybe, but if so I suspect it’s a permanently dissatisfactory arrangement. In the end, so much comes down to work, doing the work you want to do. Still, whilst I have had this here, I know my exhaustion is also caused by the absence of my other home, the actual physical space, and the city. Or maybe it’s just old age.
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13/4/09
Late on Good Friday
A second, albeit unplanned, day off. V called early to say both Tiago and Ramiro are very ill, and she couldn’t find anyone to look after them, so today’s rehearsal was cancelled. It’s the first rehearsal we’ve missed in 7 weeks, and all in all is probably for the best that people get to rest as much as possible this week.
Tonight I cooked for the cast. V obviously couldn’t come, so it was just Ana and Fernando, who came with his partner Marianella. Anibal and Leandro joined us. The meal seemed to be a success. I cooked chicken stuffed with ricotta and chives, which just about worked, potato salad, roasted vegetables and a tomato salad. The oven ran out of gas right at the end. Fifteen minutes earlier and it would have been a disaster. Many topics were discussed, including commuting; the fate of Rocha; insomnia; culminating in a discussion of to what extent Uruguay was a spiritual country or not. Despite my playing devil’s advocate, and despite the acknowledged differences between Uruguay and a country like Mexico, a clear consensus emerged that Uruguay is indeed a spiritual country, perhaps more so than is generally acknowledged.
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Tonight I cooked for the cast. V obviously couldn’t come, so it was just Ana and Fernando, who came with his partner Marianella. Anibal and Leandro joined us. The meal seemed to be a success. I cooked chicken stuffed with ricotta and chives, which just about worked, potato salad, roasted vegetables and a tomato salad. The oven ran out of gas right at the end. Fifteen minutes earlier and it would have been a disaster. Many topics were discussed, including commuting; the fate of Rocha; insomnia; culminating in a discussion of to what extent Uruguay was a spiritual country or not. Despite my playing devil’s advocate, and despite the acknowledged differences between Uruguay and a country like Mexico, a clear consensus emerged that Uruguay is indeed a spiritual country, perhaps more so than is generally acknowledged.
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Thursday 9th April
Two days to catch up. But not much to say. Wednesday we did a run, some of which was working, some of which wasn’t. Afterwards went out with Ana. Ate meat. As you do.
Today was busier. Had two radio interviews this morning. Fernando accompanied me. The first was with an old fellow who spoke ten to the dozen. I worked hard to keep up. He called me Fletcher, and talked about seeing Glenda Jackson on stage in London, in the House Of Bernando Alba. He wasn’t impressed by her. The second was more urbane. A bearded fifty year old chatted to us for about half an hour about this that and the other. At one point he asked what made the difference between a good play and a not-so-good play. Try answering that in English, let alone Spanish. I said ‘Que tipo de preguntar es esto?’ (What kind of a question is that?) I wonder what I sound like on the radio. If indeed I come across as an Anglo Saxon version of Jan Molby. or Leanardo, for those of a footballing bent.
Rehearsed 1 and 3 in the afternoon, probably working on these scenes for the last time. Changed a whole section in 3. The task now is to maintain the connections between the characters, avoid any tendencies the actors might have to say the lines to themselves, or the audience, rather that the other character. Then we did another run, the penultimate in the ‘parking’.
Anibal has come back from the coast to go on a date. Leandro and I gave him wardrobe advice. It’s 10.30. I’m in bed, listening to Barbarossa as I write. Its tempting to get maudling at this time of night, at this stage of the process, which, no matter how much of a co-operative the company is, is also lonely. But I have to fight that temptation. Hope I sleep well and look forward to the final week, for in a week’s time, at long last, we shall be on the eve of opening.
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Carlos came round at 9.30 with the first draft of the music. He’s been working through various nights with the musicians. He seemed wiped out, and only stayed 15 minutes to play it to me. No whiskey tonight. It sounds great, powerful, drums and guitar and the sounds of bears fighting.
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Today was busier. Had two radio interviews this morning. Fernando accompanied me. The first was with an old fellow who spoke ten to the dozen. I worked hard to keep up. He called me Fletcher, and talked about seeing Glenda Jackson on stage in London, in the House Of Bernando Alba. He wasn’t impressed by her. The second was more urbane. A bearded fifty year old chatted to us for about half an hour about this that and the other. At one point he asked what made the difference between a good play and a not-so-good play. Try answering that in English, let alone Spanish. I said ‘Que tipo de preguntar es esto?’ (What kind of a question is that?) I wonder what I sound like on the radio. If indeed I come across as an Anglo Saxon version of Jan Molby. or Leanardo, for those of a footballing bent.
Rehearsed 1 and 3 in the afternoon, probably working on these scenes for the last time. Changed a whole section in 3. The task now is to maintain the connections between the characters, avoid any tendencies the actors might have to say the lines to themselves, or the audience, rather that the other character. Then we did another run, the penultimate in the ‘parking’.
Anibal has come back from the coast to go on a date. Leandro and I gave him wardrobe advice. It’s 10.30. I’m in bed, listening to Barbarossa as I write. Its tempting to get maudling at this time of night, at this stage of the process, which, no matter how much of a co-operative the company is, is also lonely. But I have to fight that temptation. Hope I sleep well and look forward to the final week, for in a week’s time, at long last, we shall be on the eve of opening.
+++
Carlos came round at 9.30 with the first draft of the music. He’s been working through various nights with the musicians. He seemed wiped out, and only stayed 15 minutes to play it to me. No whiskey tonight. It sounds great, powerful, drums and guitar and the sounds of bears fighting.
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Tuesday Night
Its 10pm and I’m in bed. Weird. There was no rehearsal today. A day off from the Pelea. Blissful. We made the short film instead.
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Tuesday 7th April Chez Anibal
Everything feeling more than a little manic. In a slightly unfocussed way. Am making a short with Ana, La Cuenta, which we rehearsed yesterday afternoon. Then had another run, back in the ‘Parking’. Felt a bit blue, for the first time really a smidgeon of homesickness, which is the counterpart to a feeling of not quite belonging. Went to Anibal’s to collect a key, as am house sitting for him this week. We went out and drank some beer, I ate a milanesa, then we went to another bar and drank a couple of grappa miels. At the second bar we met a Cameroonian musician, a couple of Swiss girls, the man who wrote the song for Uruguay when they won the Copa America in 1916, and has since turned (or tried to turn) himself into a pseudo national icon, although he lives in Paris, the most far out political journalist I’ve ever come across, long hair, goatee, completely trolleyed, a similarly trolleyed female culture journalist, and other tipos. Walked back to Anibal’s, on a night as still as a still life, the Ciudad Vieja frozen by moonlight, slept like a baby.
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8/4/09
Monday 6th April, 2009
After all the above, the run yesterday was the best yet, and somewhat restored my faith. Which is all you can have.
Afterwards we had a meeting with the actors, Claudia and Karina, to talk about the structure of the co-operative, now that it has some money. There was a lot of talking, some heated discussion, and almost all of it done by the Uruguayas. Neither Fernando nor I could get a word in sideways. The meeting went on for ages, but I figured it’s all good. Better to talk things through, get it all out, then have things stew. Another beguiling English expression.
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Footnote: Carlos sent me the following text message today which seems fairly self explanatory in any language:
MUY.ALLUCINANTE.LA.GRABACION.AYER.MUY.BUENOS.MUSICOS! GRABAMOS.10 HORAS!!
Why Carlos’ messages come out underlined and in capitals I have no idea (they all do) but it seems entirely appropriate.
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Afterwards we had a meeting with the actors, Claudia and Karina, to talk about the structure of the co-operative, now that it has some money. There was a lot of talking, some heated discussion, and almost all of it done by the Uruguayas. Neither Fernando nor I could get a word in sideways. The meeting went on for ages, but I figured it’s all good. Better to talk things through, get it all out, then have things stew. Another beguiling English expression.
+++
Footnote: Carlos sent me the following text message today which seems fairly self explanatory in any language:
MUY.ALLUCINANTE.LA.GRABACION.AYER.MUY.BUENOS.MUSICOS! GRABAMOS.10 HORAS!!
Why Carlos’ messages come out underlined and in capitals I have no idea (they all do) but it seems entirely appropriate.
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La Rambla Sunday afternoon
I think I’ve reached that stage where I’m just about sick of the play. (English phrases become more interesting when you spend most of your life speaking Spanish). I want it to open now, not in another ten days. The actors know what they’re doing. I don’t want to alter things much because I don’t want to upset their rhythm, but at the same time I do want to alter it, because otherwise the process of discovery, the work, dries up. Running the play is necessary, but we don’t have sufficient time to do a run and then work later. Maybe we shall next week. And it’s now that my lack of practice as a director seems to feel more of a handicap. I’m not used to this stage, the final part of the process when you have to ready the ship before launching it.
Actors-wise, it seems to me that what all three need now is an audience, the oxygen of the moment. There was talk the other day of getting a group of 30 people or so to come and watch a preview, but I’m not keen on the idea, which seems like neither one thing nor another. The actors want to run the play and run it again, but this seems in part a symptom of cautiousness, wanting to feel secure. I don’t know. I’m hungover and a bit jaded today. It’s beautiful, the sky sheer blue, the temperature in the mid twenties. As I write I’m looking out at the Rio Plata, a queue of ships lined up on the horizon, waiting to come into port. People promenading, sun-bathing, generally chilling out. Claudia is rigging lights in the theatre, and I am due to go back there in an hour or so.
Yesterday we did a run mid-afternoon, with most of the technical team in attendance. I’m going to get fed up of writing ‘the run was OK’. It was, but it gave me little pleasure. Or rather, I can barely remember it now, 24 hours later. It was a run. Es todo.
Earlier in the day I gave the last of the four workshops. We improvised three playlets from the Anglo-Uruguayan theatre of cruelty. The last of the three, a sordid tale of familial disintegration, was great.
On which note, I went last night to see Ramiro’s play, Mi Munequita (My Little Doll) at the Solis. Written again by Gabriel Calderon, who was also acting in it. It’s a high tempo, vividly theatrical tale, also dealing with familial disintegration. Ramiro’s direction was assured, precise, and so full of life the play was almost bursting at the seams. The play itself, only an hour long, had a wicked sense of humour and a chaotic dexterity.
Afterwards I joined Ramiro and his cast at Santa Catalina, my favourite bar, seated outside, the sea a block away, the place itself a sea of energetic sociability, attended to by two middle aged but hyperactive mozos. (The night Anibal and I went there, the two mozos, one of whom wears black, the other white, got into a fight.) I spoke to Gabriel, who has been invited by the Royal Court to write a play for them in July. He told me about his dealings with their literary department. The play he wants to write mixes up Extra Terrestrials with the dictatorship, a premise which appealed to me. The Court are all for the Dictatorship, but less keen on the aliens. Gabriel pointed out to them that there have been at least 20 Uruguayan plays dealing solely with the Dictatorship, and it’s no longer the most exciting topic for a young writer. Someone at the Court expressed surprise there had been so many, and that none had come to their attention, so he sent them a list of 20 plays for their information. He is the prodigy of Uruguayan drama, and acted beautifully in his play to boot.
The night passed by with actors telling me about their film scripts, a young sociologist with an American accent talking to me about life in Denver, and a host of actors, writers etc coming and going. It gradually disintegrated a process enhanced by Ramiro and I, for the second night running, moving on to grappa and limon at some undefined moment. Most of the crowd had left by 3, although the bar was still heaving, but Ramiro and I ploughed on until 5. These things happen. When you get past three in the morning, five comes round before you’ve barely had time to blink.
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Saturday morning before the last workshop
Finally we did go out. It was a night of two halves and much Montevideana.
Before that had a day which was, to use local parlance, medio complicado. At 1.30 I was interviewed by a journalist who arrived 20 minutes late, and then suffered technology problems with her Dictaphone and asked me what I expected of Uruguayan audiences, to which I replied nothing, not being able to think of anything I expected of Uruguayan audiences. I fled as soon as I could, walking through Barrio Sur to meet Omar, who was lunching with a man, although his wispy beard made him look not much more than 20, who used to work for the ministry and now makes a living ‘selling ideas’. I offered him 20 pesos and asked what I could get for that, but he said with 20 pesos I couldn’t even buy an idea for an idea. Fair enough, as 20 pesos is about 60p. Omar and I went and bought some chairs, which he’s going to customise, before I went for my second interview of the day, this one with Martin Amis’s wife’s aunt, who I met in 2004. This was a radio interview and I tried not to sound too stupid in Spanish.
We rehearsed from 5 until 10, running scenes before doing a run. Everything seemed OK, 4 the best it’s been.
Then we went out for supper. F is both ill and impoverished. He ate chips whilst V, Claudia and I ate meat. Tried to inflict as much meat as I could on him, but he wasn’t having it. When we popped out for a cigarette, a man pulled up in a car, coming to take away from the restaurant, something which is common here, and of course, Claudia knew him. Earlier with Omar, we couldn’t go five minutes without running into someone he knew, as thought the city were a village.
Fernando left early and the meal wrapped up early, around 12.30, with much talk of shoes and clothes. Claudia, V and I walked no more than 2 blocks before we ran into Ramiro with a pair of writers, one of whom I’d read and liked one of his plays. The night restarted. V hadn’t planned to meet Ramiro, it was pure Montevidean laws of probability. We drank more beer, before moving onto grappa con limon. Around 2am the thunderstorm, or tormenta as its called here, arrived, with rain bouncing back off the pavement. We moved indoors, watching the square lashed by the storm. Pablo, one of the writers, talked about Eugenio Barba, who he’s going to Italy to study later in the year. I realised I am remarkably ignorant on the subject of Eugenio Barba. We proceeded to talk about the anthropology of theatre, the semiotics of theatre, the theatre of theatre, before finally, around 3, during a break in squalls, heading off. I only got partially drenched on the 25 minute walk home. The crowds in Ciudad Vieja were once again out in force, undeterred by the tormenta. As I turned the key to enter the lobby of Jorge’s block of flats, I ran into Ernesto. Who had played Prospero, in my version of The Tempest, 15 years ago. His boyfriend lives in the block of flats. By this stage co-incidence had become the norm and we greeted each other with not even a suggestion that it was surprising we should run into each other at 3.30 in the morning, not having met for over a decade. Tan chico, la ciudad, they say, and Montevideo often feels more like a small town than a big city. Perhaps to someone who doesn’t come from a place the size of London, none of this is surprising, but to me it’s a constant source of wonder and/or trepidation.
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The first journalist asked me how the ‘crisis’ would affect the arts in the UK. Everyone here is fascinated by the ‘crisis’. However, the big news from the G20 summit here is that Uruguay has been put on some kind of putative black list as a tax haven (un paraiso fiscal). Something the Uruguayans suspect is due to Argentinean (aided by Brazilian) skulduggery.
Before that had a day which was, to use local parlance, medio complicado. At 1.30 I was interviewed by a journalist who arrived 20 minutes late, and then suffered technology problems with her Dictaphone and asked me what I expected of Uruguayan audiences, to which I replied nothing, not being able to think of anything I expected of Uruguayan audiences. I fled as soon as I could, walking through Barrio Sur to meet Omar, who was lunching with a man, although his wispy beard made him look not much more than 20, who used to work for the ministry and now makes a living ‘selling ideas’. I offered him 20 pesos and asked what I could get for that, but he said with 20 pesos I couldn’t even buy an idea for an idea. Fair enough, as 20 pesos is about 60p. Omar and I went and bought some chairs, which he’s going to customise, before I went for my second interview of the day, this one with Martin Amis’s wife’s aunt, who I met in 2004. This was a radio interview and I tried not to sound too stupid in Spanish.
We rehearsed from 5 until 10, running scenes before doing a run. Everything seemed OK, 4 the best it’s been.
Then we went out for supper. F is both ill and impoverished. He ate chips whilst V, Claudia and I ate meat. Tried to inflict as much meat as I could on him, but he wasn’t having it. When we popped out for a cigarette, a man pulled up in a car, coming to take away from the restaurant, something which is common here, and of course, Claudia knew him. Earlier with Omar, we couldn’t go five minutes without running into someone he knew, as thought the city were a village.
Fernando left early and the meal wrapped up early, around 12.30, with much talk of shoes and clothes. Claudia, V and I walked no more than 2 blocks before we ran into Ramiro with a pair of writers, one of whom I’d read and liked one of his plays. The night restarted. V hadn’t planned to meet Ramiro, it was pure Montevidean laws of probability. We drank more beer, before moving onto grappa con limon. Around 2am the thunderstorm, or tormenta as its called here, arrived, with rain bouncing back off the pavement. We moved indoors, watching the square lashed by the storm. Pablo, one of the writers, talked about Eugenio Barba, who he’s going to Italy to study later in the year. I realised I am remarkably ignorant on the subject of Eugenio Barba. We proceeded to talk about the anthropology of theatre, the semiotics of theatre, the theatre of theatre, before finally, around 3, during a break in squalls, heading off. I only got partially drenched on the 25 minute walk home. The crowds in Ciudad Vieja were once again out in force, undeterred by the tormenta. As I turned the key to enter the lobby of Jorge’s block of flats, I ran into Ernesto. Who had played Prospero, in my version of The Tempest, 15 years ago. His boyfriend lives in the block of flats. By this stage co-incidence had become the norm and we greeted each other with not even a suggestion that it was surprising we should run into each other at 3.30 in the morning, not having met for over a decade. Tan chico, la ciudad, they say, and Montevideo often feels more like a small town than a big city. Perhaps to someone who doesn’t come from a place the size of London, none of this is surprising, but to me it’s a constant source of wonder and/or trepidation.
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The first journalist asked me how the ‘crisis’ would affect the arts in the UK. Everyone here is fascinated by the ‘crisis’. However, the big news from the G20 summit here is that Uruguay has been put on some kind of putative black list as a tax haven (un paraiso fiscal). Something the Uruguayans suspect is due to Argentinean (aided by Brazilian) skulduggery.
6/4/09
Thursday 2nd April
Sometimes you work with people and its intense but you get the chance to let off steam. Other times, you don’t. The thought comes to mind as a result of persuading Fernando to come out for a beer with me tonight, even if he drank tea whilst I drank beer. But for the first time in what might be a month, I went out after rehearsals. (With the exception of F’s birthday.) It is the nature of my cast, V is a mother, A feels as though she has too much work, and Fernando has a reclusive streak, but has been a little strange for me. Twas only tonight, when I finally did go out, that I realised how hard it is not to have downtime, to not be the director for a while. I’m not sure how much more than six weeks in a row I can take being a director 6 days a week (7 this week). Not because I don’t enjoy the work, I love, but because I need to take a break, to be on the same level as everyone else, to get out of my director skin every now and again.
Anyhow. Today we were in the theatre for the first time. A theatre I knew well, fifteen years ago. Spent an hour working with V on her state of mind at the opening of 4, doing a chaotic exercise involving 20 chairs and some clothes. Think it helped. We worked on her speech for a while. Cecilia arrived with costumes. Earlier I had met with Claudia and Omar. Omar told me a long story about the witch (male) who worked on the Macbeth he was designing, who told him he was a (non practicing) witch, too. Among other prescient prophesies. Claudia had a clear plan for the lights and insisted it was all under control. All the clothes Cecilia brought except for one outfit worked. Omar thinks he has chairs and a table with concealed lights and all kind of tricks. Finally Karina arrived to say we had, as Omar had informed, got the cash from Montevideo Teatral. 85 000 pesos. About 3000UKP. Which solves any money problems.
When everyone had left I worked with Ana and Fer. Not sure what I think. In theory the bi-frontal space should work perfectly, but in practice I’m not sure. The acoustics seemed odd and everything felt out of kilter. In spite of the fact the actors are doing the scene fine. Does it work in the space? For now, I’m not sure. Time will tell.
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Anyhow. Today we were in the theatre for the first time. A theatre I knew well, fifteen years ago. Spent an hour working with V on her state of mind at the opening of 4, doing a chaotic exercise involving 20 chairs and some clothes. Think it helped. We worked on her speech for a while. Cecilia arrived with costumes. Earlier I had met with Claudia and Omar. Omar told me a long story about the witch (male) who worked on the Macbeth he was designing, who told him he was a (non practicing) witch, too. Among other prescient prophesies. Claudia had a clear plan for the lights and insisted it was all under control. All the clothes Cecilia brought except for one outfit worked. Omar thinks he has chairs and a table with concealed lights and all kind of tricks. Finally Karina arrived to say we had, as Omar had informed, got the cash from Montevideo Teatral. 85 000 pesos. About 3000UKP. Which solves any money problems.
When everyone had left I worked with Ana and Fer. Not sure what I think. In theory the bi-frontal space should work perfectly, but in practice I’m not sure. The acoustics seemed odd and everything felt out of kilter. In spite of the fact the actors are doing the scene fine. Does it work in the space? For now, I’m not sure. Time will tell.
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Thursday 2nd April
Two weeks left. My concerns are all surrounding design and the tech week. Design because we still don’t have two chairs and a table. Tech week because I thought I’d have the actors for most of the week but I won’t. The bittiness, as someone in my family might say, was manageable during rehearsals, but in the tech week I had hoped to have us all together, running the play as much as possible, ironing out any obstacles. I fear the lead-up to opening night will not be as smooth as I’d hoped.
Yesterday was our last in the garage this week. We have the theatre for four days, then during Easter week we’re back in the lovely Parking. I started work with F at 5, working on the end of his big speech, where he usually slips up on the lines. Discovered a mistranslation which had been missed earlier, changed it, and this helped. From then on it was bits and pieces from every scene as V&A arrived. Cleaning things up. This part of the process is very much like writing… you locate parts which aren’t quite right, change them, hope it doesn’t unbalance the whole, plough on…
Yesterday was the first day the temperature dropped and I was back wearing socks. Not cold, but a slight chill in the evening, pullover weather. We finished around 10.30, and I had a yearning to go for a drink with the cast, to be with them in another space. But this isn’t much of a drinking cast, which has probably been for the best, all in all, and I caught the bus home and chatted to Jorge for an hour or so about the G20, who was seated where, Jorge offering me the Guardian’s take on things, before going to bed and reading an article on Bolaño before sleep.
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Yesterday was our last in the garage this week. We have the theatre for four days, then during Easter week we’re back in the lovely Parking. I started work with F at 5, working on the end of his big speech, where he usually slips up on the lines. Discovered a mistranslation which had been missed earlier, changed it, and this helped. From then on it was bits and pieces from every scene as V&A arrived. Cleaning things up. This part of the process is very much like writing… you locate parts which aren’t quite right, change them, hope it doesn’t unbalance the whole, plough on…
Yesterday was the first day the temperature dropped and I was back wearing socks. Not cold, but a slight chill in the evening, pullover weather. We finished around 10.30, and I had a yearning to go for a drink with the cast, to be with them in another space. But this isn’t much of a drinking cast, which has probably been for the best, all in all, and I caught the bus home and chatted to Jorge for an hour or so about the G20, who was seated where, Jorge offering me the Guardian’s take on things, before going to bed and reading an article on Bolaño before sleep.
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oscar wilde
Long day at the office. It had felt like. He walked towards home down Diesyocho, with a slightly leaden step. Near the Plaza Entrevera, he heard music. A band was playing in front of the café there. Fully amped up. Playing to the café and a few people, maybe thirty, who’d gathered too watch. He stopped. A couple of drunks, one seemingly Peruvian, were dancing. Then a couple of short-haired girls turned up and joined in, dancing with mochillas on their backs. An older man and his stout partner appeared, and danced a fluid neo-salsa, their grace belying their age. The ragged company smiled at the dancers. A few kids couldn’t help bopping. The band played songs which the crowd knew. He recognised one by Charly Garcia. El Fantasma de Canterville. More drunken men appeared, middle aged, absurd, parodies of Hunter S Thompson, doing dance moves they should not have been capable of. In the bar, a dozen affluent looking girls, hair singing, sang along. Outside the crowd smiled. They appreciated the dancers. The effort they made. The night was young. Too young for most to dance. But those that did were appreciated. His heart smiled.
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Tuesday
My lightest day of rehearsal in 6 weeks. A day which ended with me playing three games of chess with Anibal’s nine year old twins. The father went to bed at 11.15 when we began the last game.
Rehearsed at midday. More work on 4 which is now my favourite scene, if only because it’s the most chaotic, and requires the most direction. V starting to find its shape, espero, before applying the madness.
In the afternoon I went hunting for furniture with Omar. He has expensive tastes, and we visited a whole host of places the play could not afford. Still, he said it helped. Omar charming the assistants along the way. He told me about his business, and how he’s doing adverts for politicians and for Lynx. He also told me more on his theories on chicas. Also how he persuaded a politician who hadn’t paid to pay up, a story which is so wonderful it doesn’t bear repeating. However, the other thing he told me was about the money. He asked if we’d received the cash from the Intendencia, the Montevideo Teatral. I said the results weren’t due until Thursday. Then he leaned forward and said, we have. We’ve won. Not quite following I said, What? He said, we’ve got the money. It’s all done and dusted. He knows three of the judges, who have all told him it’s in the bag. They’ve read the play, they like it, they like the project. Only he can’t tell anyone we’ve got it and neither can I, until it’ official. So I shan’t tell anyone. Menos vos. Always assuming that Omar’s got it right…
No matter what, it’s good to know people are reading the play, taking it in. The show goes on whether we get the money or not. Only, assuming we do, as Omar assumes we will, he’ll have rather more efectivo to play with. Though not much time to do so.
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Rehearsed at midday. More work on 4 which is now my favourite scene, if only because it’s the most chaotic, and requires the most direction. V starting to find its shape, espero, before applying the madness.
In the afternoon I went hunting for furniture with Omar. He has expensive tastes, and we visited a whole host of places the play could not afford. Still, he said it helped. Omar charming the assistants along the way. He told me about his business, and how he’s doing adverts for politicians and for Lynx. He also told me more on his theories on chicas. Also how he persuaded a politician who hadn’t paid to pay up, a story which is so wonderful it doesn’t bear repeating. However, the other thing he told me was about the money. He asked if we’d received the cash from the Intendencia, the Montevideo Teatral. I said the results weren’t due until Thursday. Then he leaned forward and said, we have. We’ve won. Not quite following I said, What? He said, we’ve got the money. It’s all done and dusted. He knows three of the judges, who have all told him it’s in the bag. They’ve read the play, they like it, they like the project. Only he can’t tell anyone we’ve got it and neither can I, until it’ official. So I shan’t tell anyone. Menos vos. Always assuming that Omar’s got it right…
No matter what, it’s good to know people are reading the play, taking it in. The show goes on whether we get the money or not. Only, assuming we do, as Omar assumes we will, he’ll have rather more efectivo to play with. Though not much time to do so.
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3/4/09
Monday Night
Thunderstorm brewing. Did a run tonight. Went OK. 4 not really working. Actors wise, F seems to be growing into the part, V struggling with 4 but otherwise solid, A fretting a bit, but that’s part of her process. Quite glad we’re not having another run until Saturday, giving a week to work on things before it really unfolds.
A minorly heated discussion about the actors’ timetable in the week we open. We open on a Friday, and we have the theatre all week. I wanted to be in there as much as possible, however, the actors have jobs, and we have to work around them. My fear is the tech rehearsal and all that. (perhaps heightened by the complexity of the last full length play I directed when I remember setting states and cues one day only to find that the lighting designer hadn’t written them down, so we had to start all over again the next day.) I’ve also experienced tech week as a time where the whole company is hanging out together, and now I’m having to work around little three hour slots, which barely give time to run the play, let alone tweak.
In the end we reached some kind of compromise. I get mildly put out when I’m told how much harder things are here, wanting to point out that I’ve scarcely ever been paid a proper salary for anything I’ve done in the theatre, including now, but succeeded in steering clear of a theatre of poverty debate. The actors seem to think that the lighting etc shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to set up. Whilst the play is relatively simple, I’m not convinced it will be quite as easy as all that. Will all come out in the last week’s wash.
The other issue is that Carlos, the composer, who came to watch the run tonight, has put forward a figure of 17 000 pesos for his budget (for studio/ musicians etc) which is way out of the play’s range (about 500 UKP). He’s completely enamoured of the play, wants to do it justice, but is living in advertising world. Tomorrow Karina has to tell him his cap is 10 000 pesos, which still seems a relatively large figure. If we don’t get the money we might get from the Intendencia, (Montevideo City), he’s not going to have any budget at all.
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A minorly heated discussion about the actors’ timetable in the week we open. We open on a Friday, and we have the theatre all week. I wanted to be in there as much as possible, however, the actors have jobs, and we have to work around them. My fear is the tech rehearsal and all that. (perhaps heightened by the complexity of the last full length play I directed when I remember setting states and cues one day only to find that the lighting designer hadn’t written them down, so we had to start all over again the next day.) I’ve also experienced tech week as a time where the whole company is hanging out together, and now I’m having to work around little three hour slots, which barely give time to run the play, let alone tweak.
In the end we reached some kind of compromise. I get mildly put out when I’m told how much harder things are here, wanting to point out that I’ve scarcely ever been paid a proper salary for anything I’ve done in the theatre, including now, but succeeded in steering clear of a theatre of poverty debate. The actors seem to think that the lighting etc shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to set up. Whilst the play is relatively simple, I’m not convinced it will be quite as easy as all that. Will all come out in the last week’s wash.
The other issue is that Carlos, the composer, who came to watch the run tonight, has put forward a figure of 17 000 pesos for his budget (for studio/ musicians etc) which is way out of the play’s range (about 500 UKP). He’s completely enamoured of the play, wants to do it justice, but is living in advertising world. Tomorrow Karina has to tell him his cap is 10 000 pesos, which still seems a relatively large figure. If we don’t get the money we might get from the Intendencia, (Montevideo City), he’s not going to have any budget at all.
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1/4/09
Saturday 28th March Bartolome Mitre
Have moved into Jorge’s. The neighbourhood has changed. I knew it had changed, but didn’t realise quite how much. Last night, after a long 2am walk, I reached Plaza Independencia, the gateway to the Ciudad Vieja, my new and former home. Back in the day, the Plaza by night was pretty much deserted. There was a stray dog which would faithfully accompany me across the square as I weaved my way home. Last night it was like Piccadilly Circus. Or the Ramblas in Barcelona, the only equivalent I can think of. The old town itself, once you’d crossed the square, was a riot. Queues of up to a hundred waiting to get into the clubs or the ‘disco bars’. Streets overrun with careering youth. Had to fight my way through in order to get down Bartolome Mitre and find my way to my bed.
On Friday we did our third run, which was a big improvement on the second. Omar and Karina watched and seemed reasonably impressed. It came in at under two hours, which seems OK to me. Fernando still struggling a little with 1, and 4 still rough, but considerably better all in all.
Friday night I went out drinking with Anibal and Leandro until 4am, a session which included a Quixotic search for a party, Anibal driving along the Rambla and then down some weird, rutted track, all to no avail, before abandoning the quest and returning for a last beer and a grappa.
Then, after five hours sleep, I had the Blasted workshop at 11. The group has halved in size, not a bad thing when you’re getting people to perform oral sex, or gay rape, or the removal of eyes, first thing in the morning. The students impressed with their lack of inhibition, and their search to locate the tenderness which lurks alongside the savagery, and which, it seemed to me, is the key to the work. That single workshop alone was worth the trip.
In the afternoon I moved, then returned with Anibal to the strange strip of land near Punta Carretas we’d visited in the middle of the night. He took me to a little restaurant there, in an old Club de Pesca. I ate fish for lunch sitting on the terrace surrounded by boats.
In the rehearsal we worked through notes from the run. It’s all cleaning and tidying now, taking little sections and tweaking them. Though I did get V&A to play a game of blind man’s buff at one point, a game which V had never played before, to my surprise, having always suspected it was basically universal.
On Friday we did our third run, which was a big improvement on the second. Omar and Karina watched and seemed reasonably impressed. It came in at under two hours, which seems OK to me. Fernando still struggling a little with 1, and 4 still rough, but considerably better all in all.
Friday night I went out drinking with Anibal and Leandro until 4am, a session which included a Quixotic search for a party, Anibal driving along the Rambla and then down some weird, rutted track, all to no avail, before abandoning the quest and returning for a last beer and a grappa.
Then, after five hours sleep, I had the Blasted workshop at 11. The group has halved in size, not a bad thing when you’re getting people to perform oral sex, or gay rape, or the removal of eyes, first thing in the morning. The students impressed with their lack of inhibition, and their search to locate the tenderness which lurks alongside the savagery, and which, it seemed to me, is the key to the work. That single workshop alone was worth the trip.
In the afternoon I moved, then returned with Anibal to the strange strip of land near Punta Carretas we’d visited in the middle of the night. He took me to a little restaurant there, in an old Club de Pesca. I ate fish for lunch sitting on the terrace surrounded by boats.
In the rehearsal we worked through notes from the run. It’s all cleaning and tidying now, taking little sections and tweaking them. Though I did get V&A to play a game of blind man’s buff at one point, a game which V had never played before, to my surprise, having always suspected it was basically universal.
30/3/09
Friday 26th March
Schizophrenic rehearsal on 1. Worked through the scene, everything seemingly getting better, then we went to run the scene at the end, F seemed to seize up, all twitchiness and no fluency. He enjoys taking control of a scene, as he does in 2, but he can’t really do that in this one, so he struggles. The scene is functioning on a technical level, but if he isn’t ‘it it’, it’s kind of dry and flat. And if he starts on the wrong foot, he’s not in it.
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Bar Hispano Wed night
Die Hard 77 on TV. The Senate has just been blown up.
Have come from a satisfying rehearsal, continuing the work we were doing on 4, with the scene now transformed entirely, far more about CG’s journey into some kind of locura.
Had two extra curricular activities today with Karina. The first was the launch of the Iberohispanico fund/ project at midday, full of the great and the good of Montevideo theatre. The correlations between this event and a similar one in London were evident. People spending their time checking each other out, mingling and greeting with interest in the speakers apparently secondary.
Later we went to a wine club on Bulevar Espana. Its owned by a Spaniard, and they ‘support the arts’. They will supply wine for the opening and we can have meetings with the press in their building, which is beautiful: giant art noveau doors and stained glass windows in the atrium, a vine frieze in the mouldings around the high ceiling. I was asked what kind of wine I liked at the end of the meeting. The most celebrated Uruguayan wine is the Tannat, but I generally find it a bit heavy and said as much. I was told I probably hadn’t been drinking the good stuff, and was given a bottle to take away and sample.
Bruce Willis is saving the world.
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Have come from a satisfying rehearsal, continuing the work we were doing on 4, with the scene now transformed entirely, far more about CG’s journey into some kind of locura.
Had two extra curricular activities today with Karina. The first was the launch of the Iberohispanico fund/ project at midday, full of the great and the good of Montevideo theatre. The correlations between this event and a similar one in London were evident. People spending their time checking each other out, mingling and greeting with interest in the speakers apparently secondary.
Later we went to a wine club on Bulevar Espana. Its owned by a Spaniard, and they ‘support the arts’. They will supply wine for the opening and we can have meetings with the press in their building, which is beautiful: giant art noveau doors and stained glass windows in the atrium, a vine frieze in the mouldings around the high ceiling. I was asked what kind of wine I liked at the end of the meeting. The most celebrated Uruguayan wine is the Tannat, but I generally find it a bit heavy and said as much. I was told I probably hadn’t been drinking the good stuff, and was given a bottle to take away and sample.
Bruce Willis is saving the world.
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Tuesday 24th/ 25th two in the morning
Today was one of those days when loads of things appeared to go right, and did go right, but all the same at the time of writing it feels a little flat. These things happen.
Two things in particular have gone well. Firstly the play has been moved from the 11.30 slot to the 9pm slot, un horario central. Which is better for all concerned, from the point of view of audiences, actors and the director not having to wait until 1 in the morning to have a drink. The news came through this evening and the whole company is delighted.
Secondly, I’m moving. Furthermore there’s action on the workshops, so maybe I’ll get to do some more. As for the rest, will save for the morning. If 2am is not late here, neither is it early, and it is, as a friend might say, a school night.
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Wednesday morning. Five weeks in. During the rehearsal last night we worked on 4, then did a run. The run was technically OK, but lifeless. I was a bit disappointed, but better to happen now than later.
However the rehearsal of 4 was one of those rare rehearsals. Where you’ve worked something out, something that appears to be functioning, and yet it still it feels as though the scene is lacking something. CG returns to confront JR two years after it appears MC has disappeared. To begin with the scene feels like a repetition of the three previous conflicts. But this time there’s a difference, as the therapist/ patient scenario does not apply. We’d worked on V finding ways to communicate her anxiety to JR, and it was all fine, but never convinced. Then, working the scene again, not really knowing what the answer was, it started to become clear that, as opposed to the three other scenes, the less eye contact there is, the more CG is in her own head, the more dramatic it becomes. In classical terms, the conflict of this scene is no longer between therapist and patient, but the patient and herself. We did the scene with V never looking JR in the eye, reversing everything, and suddenly it was transformed.
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Two things in particular have gone well. Firstly the play has been moved from the 11.30 slot to the 9pm slot, un horario central. Which is better for all concerned, from the point of view of audiences, actors and the director not having to wait until 1 in the morning to have a drink. The news came through this evening and the whole company is delighted.
Secondly, I’m moving. Furthermore there’s action on the workshops, so maybe I’ll get to do some more. As for the rest, will save for the morning. If 2am is not late here, neither is it early, and it is, as a friend might say, a school night.
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Wednesday morning. Five weeks in. During the rehearsal last night we worked on 4, then did a run. The run was technically OK, but lifeless. I was a bit disappointed, but better to happen now than later.
However the rehearsal of 4 was one of those rare rehearsals. Where you’ve worked something out, something that appears to be functioning, and yet it still it feels as though the scene is lacking something. CG returns to confront JR two years after it appears MC has disappeared. To begin with the scene feels like a repetition of the three previous conflicts. But this time there’s a difference, as the therapist/ patient scenario does not apply. We’d worked on V finding ways to communicate her anxiety to JR, and it was all fine, but never convinced. Then, working the scene again, not really knowing what the answer was, it started to become clear that, as opposed to the three other scenes, the less eye contact there is, the more CG is in her own head, the more dramatic it becomes. In classical terms, the conflict of this scene is no longer between therapist and patient, but the patient and herself. We did the scene with V never looking JR in the eye, reversing everything, and suddenly it was transformed.
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26/3/09
Monday 23rd March
The working week really began last night, when Carlos, the composer, picked me up at 8 and drove me to this house. He’s a slightly shambling figure, who makes a good living from advertising, working all over Latin America. He’d enjoyed the run on Saturday, saying that after seeing it he had to go and have a whisky to recover, which I took as a good sign.
Thereafter it had been his partner’s 40th Birthday, and he’d been up until 8.30 in the morning, before going to another birthday party in the afternoon. There was a host of CD’s scattered around on his table. We listened to some of them, particularly Tom Verlaine, Brian Eno, Miles Davis and Prokofiev, all of which he felt had some bearing on what he was planning to compose.
Before we got down to business, Carlos asked if I wanted a whisky. I decided I was probably well enough to give it a shot. Half an hour later he served whisky #2. His partner arrived fresh from the play she’s performing in, and joined us. The whisky was having no obvious ill-effects, so I figured I was on the mend and had another. By half past midnight we were most of the way through the bottle, having covered everything from the sources of Beethoven’s inspiration to Carlos’ trip to Loch Ness to see Jimmy Page’s castle. He offered to drive me home, and I sort of suggested I could get a bus, but Carlos was having none of it. So we careered down the Rambla, Carlos talking non stop, the river-sea which is the Plate, looming to our left. He dropped me off safely amd vanished into the night. That’s the way to have your creative meetings.
This afternoon I went and drank maté with Anibal, before going to rehearsal. Valentina, Ana and I worked on 3, all detail and precision now as they’re getting to the point where they’re starting to play with the text more, satisfying for all concerned. V is younger that A, and had to work hard to front up to her, without appearing to work hard. (The truth is that I never had the ages of the characters particularly fixed in my mind, but this combination seems to work, although I could see it functioning with their ages reversed.) At the scene’s conclusion, when MC leaves, and CG is left alone, Valentina said that for the first time she realised that what really upsets CG is not the fact of MC’s departure, but that she has ‘lost’ this round. Gradually more things click into place, and more and more these things are discoveries of the actors, rather than the director.
We finished at 11.30, and I apologised for keeping them so late. They were like – this is normal for us. No-one bats an eyelash working until whenever. I explained that if you were to finish rehearsing at 11.30pm in London, the pubs are shut and even if you found a pub that was open, you’d be going home on the night bus.
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Thereafter it had been his partner’s 40th Birthday, and he’d been up until 8.30 in the morning, before going to another birthday party in the afternoon. There was a host of CD’s scattered around on his table. We listened to some of them, particularly Tom Verlaine, Brian Eno, Miles Davis and Prokofiev, all of which he felt had some bearing on what he was planning to compose.
Before we got down to business, Carlos asked if I wanted a whisky. I decided I was probably well enough to give it a shot. Half an hour later he served whisky #2. His partner arrived fresh from the play she’s performing in, and joined us. The whisky was having no obvious ill-effects, so I figured I was on the mend and had another. By half past midnight we were most of the way through the bottle, having covered everything from the sources of Beethoven’s inspiration to Carlos’ trip to Loch Ness to see Jimmy Page’s castle. He offered to drive me home, and I sort of suggested I could get a bus, but Carlos was having none of it. So we careered down the Rambla, Carlos talking non stop, the river-sea which is the Plate, looming to our left. He dropped me off safely amd vanished into the night. That’s the way to have your creative meetings.
This afternoon I went and drank maté with Anibal, before going to rehearsal. Valentina, Ana and I worked on 3, all detail and precision now as they’re getting to the point where they’re starting to play with the text more, satisfying for all concerned. V is younger that A, and had to work hard to front up to her, without appearing to work hard. (The truth is that I never had the ages of the characters particularly fixed in my mind, but this combination seems to work, although I could see it functioning with their ages reversed.) At the scene’s conclusion, when MC leaves, and CG is left alone, Valentina said that for the first time she realised that what really upsets CG is not the fact of MC’s departure, but that she has ‘lost’ this round. Gradually more things click into place, and more and more these things are discoveries of the actors, rather than the director.
We finished at 11.30, and I apologised for keeping them so late. They were like – this is normal for us. No-one bats an eyelash working until whenever. I explained that if you were to finish rehearsing at 11.30pm in London, the pubs are shut and even if you found a pub that was open, you’d be going home on the night bus.
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Sat night/ Sunday morning
Watched Gran Torino with Ana. The 10.45 showing. Packed out. It was good to get my head out of everything for a while with Clint.
After the Pinter workshop, which was fascinating in itself, met F at 2. We did some work on his speeches before everyone else turned up at 4. Then we did the first full run. 2 was good, 1 iffy, 3 staggered as it reached the finishing line, and 4 needs more direction. The composer, Carlos, came to watch and am meeting him tomorrow. After the run we had a general company meeting with Karina and Claudia also present. Which got a bit heated at one point. But was fascinating to watch the the highly democratised way people like to work, everyone contributing to a debate about posters, publicity etc. With myself the least interested party perhaps. However, it all makes sense. Theatre is never going to provide a livelihood, so everyone’s involvement is conditioned by their desire to participate in the project, and this generates an enthusiasm for its overall success which is perhaps not always shared when the primary motivation is a financial remuneration (or even, to be fairer to the more developed world, the secondary or tertiary motivation.)
I feel a bit better although poor. The workshops I’m doing are all going towards paying my rent, a cost I’d kind of forgotten about, and the other planned workshops seem to have stalled, which means the cash I’d hoped to earn to cover my costs isn’t currently there, and I’m counting my pennies. Somewhat ironic when everyone assumes a European is automatically going to be wealthier than everyone else. Maybe of the world keeps changing it will become the norm one day… That and being ill and kind of wanting to move but not knowing anywhere to move to, and mosquitoes and being unable to consume beer was all conspiring to get to me a bit so even though this is par for the course on occasions when you’re away for so long, was good to spend some time with Ana and catch Clint’s particular take on masculinity and Western Values.
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After the Pinter workshop, which was fascinating in itself, met F at 2. We did some work on his speeches before everyone else turned up at 4. Then we did the first full run. 2 was good, 1 iffy, 3 staggered as it reached the finishing line, and 4 needs more direction. The composer, Carlos, came to watch and am meeting him tomorrow. After the run we had a general company meeting with Karina and Claudia also present. Which got a bit heated at one point. But was fascinating to watch the the highly democratised way people like to work, everyone contributing to a debate about posters, publicity etc. With myself the least interested party perhaps. However, it all makes sense. Theatre is never going to provide a livelihood, so everyone’s involvement is conditioned by their desire to participate in the project, and this generates an enthusiasm for its overall success which is perhaps not always shared when the primary motivation is a financial remuneration (or even, to be fairer to the more developed world, the secondary or tertiary motivation.)
I feel a bit better although poor. The workshops I’m doing are all going towards paying my rent, a cost I’d kind of forgotten about, and the other planned workshops seem to have stalled, which means the cash I’d hoped to earn to cover my costs isn’t currently there, and I’m counting my pennies. Somewhat ironic when everyone assumes a European is automatically going to be wealthier than everyone else. Maybe of the world keeps changing it will become the norm one day… That and being ill and kind of wanting to move but not knowing anywhere to move to, and mosquitoes and being unable to consume beer was all conspiring to get to me a bit so even though this is par for the course on occasions when you’re away for so long, was good to spend some time with Ana and catch Clint’s particular take on masculinity and Western Values.
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Saturday 21st, before Pinter workshop
Was ill again yesterday. Constant stomach cramps. Tried to bulldoze my way through it last night. Fernando was going out for drinks with Ana, his girlfriend and some other friends. I drank beer and ate milanesa (a thin steak in breadcrumbs), with chips, but my effort was a failure and had to admit defeat, leaving early. At midnight. Long night of stomach cramps and mosquito attacks and feeing rough and dispirited followed. That, after a long day of much the same. The good bit of the day was the bit in the middle, between 7 and 10.30, when we worked on 1. Every time Fernando thinks he’s got it, he discovers there’s another level he needs to integrate. Which fries his brain, but that’s his process. Yesterday he arrived full of relish for the fight, and then had to discover the times when he masks JR’s relish, pretending to be disinterested, unable to give too much away. Still, we made progress, actors starting to take control of the scene. Am off to give my second workshop now. Slightly apprehensive, given my poor health, but have to trust am getting better, just taking time.
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23/3/09
22/3/09
Thursday 19th 11.30pm
This evening, for the first time in a couple of days, started feeling better, so hope am over the flu hump. Felt rough this afternoon, but went round to my friend Patricia’s flat and drank herbal tea. Talking about Blasted, parts of which she’s translated for the workshop, and the curious quantity of things she’s crammed into the last ten years of life. She and her husband Ron, who’s currently in England, run a language school. At the age of 15, when I first met her, she already spoke English like a native speaker – when I first met her I thought she was British, although I was the first English person she’d ever met. Now she has two kids and enough history to last a lifetime. She’s also broke. Her phone’s cut off, Ron can’t afford to fly back to Uruguay, but she doesn’t seem overly concerned, saying she’s a bit stressed, but confident it will be OK, having been through far worse.
Didn’t start rehearsing until 7.30 and for the first half an hour Ana and I just chatted and caught up, which was good as we’ve hardly actually talked to one another about anything apart from the play for weeks. At 8 V arrived and we did work on 3, then ran the scene. Felt as though the 40 second pause they were taking at the front of the scene was perhaps a little indulgent. At the end of rehearsal, Ana and I had a slight misunderstanding about whether we’d ever do a full run of the play before production week, but it resolved itself. I blamed her lack of clarity… with her and V noting that of course it had nothing to do with my still faulty Spanish…
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Thursday morning
Arrived at rehearsal half dead with my cold, after foolishly walking there, a half hour walk along Dies Y Ocho. Took me a while to recover. Did writing exercise with F – I like the writing exercises – and then did some work with him on 1, looking at his posture, before V arrived. We ran 4, now fully operational before working on 2. Ana arrived around 9, followed by Karina and Omar, clutching a large bad of Macdonalds, and we ran the last two scenes together.
The run was fine. F sometimes tenses up a bit, but its part of his process. Relaxing into the part, not acting according to a pre-determined thesis (derived either from a rehearsal orthodoxy or the actor’s habitual working practices) is the hardest thing for an actor; that and being given license to play.
Afterwards Karina, Omar and I went to a bar to talk design. Omar sat up and said, in a slightly roundabout, Hispanic fashion – We have to be realistic. I wasn’t entirely sure what ‘realistic’ means in Omar world, and waited to see what would ensue. He said the production didn’t have three pesos to rub together, so we had to abandon fancy ideas of moving screens and rain on a skylight. Stick to the basic necessities which are two chairs and a table. All reasonable. Then he threw in the idea of a kind of magic lantern, which could project a single, changeable image, throughout each scene. This struck everyone as a simple yet beautiful idea, achieving the same thing as the magic panels he’s talked about before without the cost or the stress. As we all went our separate ways Karina told me she and Omar had, after yesterday’s meeting, gone for a coffee, where she’d told him that there wasn’t really a design budget at all. Omar had got feisty, understandably, and she’d gone home regretting she’d ever taken on the role of producer. But now he’d taken it on board, come back with a new approach, and she was happy oncemore.
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The run was fine. F sometimes tenses up a bit, but its part of his process. Relaxing into the part, not acting according to a pre-determined thesis (derived either from a rehearsal orthodoxy or the actor’s habitual working practices) is the hardest thing for an actor; that and being given license to play.
Afterwards Karina, Omar and I went to a bar to talk design. Omar sat up and said, in a slightly roundabout, Hispanic fashion – We have to be realistic. I wasn’t entirely sure what ‘realistic’ means in Omar world, and waited to see what would ensue. He said the production didn’t have three pesos to rub together, so we had to abandon fancy ideas of moving screens and rain on a skylight. Stick to the basic necessities which are two chairs and a table. All reasonable. Then he threw in the idea of a kind of magic lantern, which could project a single, changeable image, throughout each scene. This struck everyone as a simple yet beautiful idea, achieving the same thing as the magic panels he’s talked about before without the cost or the stress. As we all went our separate ways Karina told me she and Omar had, after yesterday’s meeting, gone for a coffee, where she’d told him that there wasn’t really a design budget at all. Omar had got feisty, understandably, and she’d gone home regretting she’d ever taken on the role of producer. But now he’d taken it on board, come back with a new approach, and she was happy oncemore.
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Wednesday 18th Morning in Bed
Am in the grip of what my dad might call a filthy cold: sore throat, nose runny, and sneezing for England. I am not though, the only one. People going down like flies. Had the following homeopathic flu remedy recommended by my youngest actor last night: peel an onion, remove the inner bulb to leave a kind of cup. Fill this with honey. Place a clove of garlic in the honey. Leave overnight. Eat garlic clove in morning. Drink honey. If you have the guts, eat the onion, which tastes like death but does the world of good. If my cold does not improve today might try it tonight.
At 5.30 we had a meeting of the tecnicos. There’s not much money and Karina is concerned about managing it, with Omar her wild card. Cecilia has to create 8 costumes (one for each character in each different scene.) Which will take a large chunk of budget. Omar arrived half an hour late. He’d been swimming in the sea. Karina and I tried to pin him down to concept and budget. Omar got spikey, for the first time. Saying this wasn’t the way to do things, he couldn’t be rushed. An entertaining stand-off ensued. Of course, Omar is laid back and confident in his abilities, but he doesn’t like being under pressure, which is what has to happen now.
They left after an hour. V&F&I worked on the last scene. Did the final section with V whispering in order to explore intensity. Unfortunately, for the first time, the guys in the garage had really cranked up the volume of the cumbia they sometimes play. The quieter the scene became, the louder the music became. An exercise predicated on the quality of the silence surrounding the words was rather undermined. Nevertheless we worked through it, working out a rough blocking for the only scene which needs it.
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When I suggested the time for an interval, the technical team, and Karina, seemed a bit perturbed. I am not a fan of intervals, but this play is so damned wordy, and the middle scenes so long, that it needs one, if only of ten minutes. Karina said that only ‘los gran mega-shows’ have intervals. She asked what happened if people left at half time, to which both myself and Fernando, who’d arrived by that time, said fine, let them go. The play should run at about 1 hour 50 mins, mas o menos, which is not exactly an epic, but is apparently pushing it a bit here.
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Learnt an important technical term today. The Spanish for cue is ‘al pie’. Told V she had to be quicker on her al pies.
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At 5.30 we had a meeting of the tecnicos. There’s not much money and Karina is concerned about managing it, with Omar her wild card. Cecilia has to create 8 costumes (one for each character in each different scene.) Which will take a large chunk of budget. Omar arrived half an hour late. He’d been swimming in the sea. Karina and I tried to pin him down to concept and budget. Omar got spikey, for the first time. Saying this wasn’t the way to do things, he couldn’t be rushed. An entertaining stand-off ensued. Of course, Omar is laid back and confident in his abilities, but he doesn’t like being under pressure, which is what has to happen now.
They left after an hour. V&F&I worked on the last scene. Did the final section with V whispering in order to explore intensity. Unfortunately, for the first time, the guys in the garage had really cranked up the volume of the cumbia they sometimes play. The quieter the scene became, the louder the music became. An exercise predicated on the quality of the silence surrounding the words was rather undermined. Nevertheless we worked through it, working out a rough blocking for the only scene which needs it.
+++
When I suggested the time for an interval, the technical team, and Karina, seemed a bit perturbed. I am not a fan of intervals, but this play is so damned wordy, and the middle scenes so long, that it needs one, if only of ten minutes. Karina said that only ‘los gran mega-shows’ have intervals. She asked what happened if people left at half time, to which both myself and Fernando, who’d arrived by that time, said fine, let them go. The play should run at about 1 hour 50 mins, mas o menos, which is not exactly an epic, but is apparently pushing it a bit here.
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Learnt an important technical term today. The Spanish for cue is ‘al pie’. Told V she had to be quicker on her al pies.
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Mon 16th March
Started working week at 4pm. Met v to talk through CG’s patients. All 12 of them, with all of their problems. Then looked at her lines in 3, before Ana arrived at 6pm. Did some tweaking, then ran the scene with MC’s objective being to get CG to leave with her for the cafeteria at the end. Worked fine until Ana’s 6 minute Fritz Alomar speech, which was good, but thereafter she got stuck with the lines. Which makes sense, as she’s using her energy to get through speech, and that which follows is likely to suffer for a while. We worked through it and ran the scene at 9.30pm. After I’d played my intitial music suggestions including Animal Collective, Bert Jansch, Augustus Pablo and Vetiver. One or two of which choices appeared to throw some somewhat. Nevertheless we ran scene, and it went well, por suerte. Wrapped up around 10.30, with V having to hurry off to pick up Tiago, who was in a meeting with Ramiro. I went with her on the bus, and it started pouring with rain the moment we got off. On the way into town she asked about the tube, and told her it’s a joy not to have take it, even if it does have theoretical advantages. Is there any more dehumanised, joyless form of travel than the tube? A journey with nothing to see? Might be quick, but I don’t miss it. They should make cities smaller. Either that or employ the Wuppertal monorail on a mandatory basis.
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Sunday 15th early morning (too early)
The moment the reading started, the storm arrived, so loud that it drowned out the actors’ voices.
The kid sucked Gloucester’s eyes out. Without the slightest awareness of the reference to Blasted. A few moments later he left, feeling dizzy.
The lightning ripped the sky to the East. In the West the sun announced its intention to set. He watched it all from the safety of the sea, treading water as the heavens did battle.
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Saturday was a long day, which began at 11 with the Lear workshop, looking at Gloucester’s blinding and finding of sight. Two fairly enjoyable hours, with 25 seemingly enthusiastic students, and my Spanish bearing up. Including in one of three groups an improbably sexy Gloucester, maintaining his/ her dignity as his/her eyes were stamped out in spite of flimsy defences.
After the workshop, F, A, Karina and I all made our way to V’s. I spoke briefly to V’s architect father about the building of Barrio Sur after the abolition of slavery, as well as the Moorish influences on Uruguayan architecture, and would have happily stayed chatting but we had to leave for Omar’s house in El Pinar, a 45 minute drive away.
Omar’s house is everything you’d expect. A beautiful modernist box, made out of breeze blocks and wood. High ceilings, a big stove, and one of the most comfortable sofas in the world. He said he also had remote controlled central heating, which he could switch on when he was half an hour away to ensure the place was warm when he arrived home in the Winter. He has a big hound of a dog, and the house is two minutes walk from the beach.
We did a bit of work on 4, but there wasn’t time for much rehearsal, before we began the reading of 1,2, and 3. On the drive down it had been fiercely sunny, the temperature in the 30s. But a storm was building and almost immediately we began the reading it broke. Lashings of hysterical rain repeatedly savaged Omar’s cube, the din peppering the reading. Omar and Karina returned from the supermarket on O’s Harley half way through 1. In spite of external sound effects, 1&2 went well, running at just over an hour. The whole team (Claudia, Cecilia, Omar, Francisco and Karina) watched and were enjoying it. Until we got to the third act, when everything fell to pieces, both V&A losing their lines, the scene feeling like it would never end.
After the reading, Omar took me to the beach and we went for a swim. The storm had passed over, but it was still going for it over to the East. Francisco took photos of the actors for the poster, which we discussed afterwards. Omar got the asado using whole trees for wood. We ate salad, roasted peppers stuffed with two types of cheese, chorizo, morcilla dulce and morcilla salada, and, of course, asado. At one point, later, I lay on the hammock on the porch, watching the stars and the wind in the trees. Omar told me there was a plot of land for sale next door – why didn’t I buy it and he’d help me build the house. I’d never need to get out of the hammock ever again.
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In the Spring and Summer, Omar wakes up in the morning, puts on some trunks, jogs down to the sea, goes for a leisurely swim, comes back, showers, gets dressed, has his café con leche, smokes a joint, and – ¡Pah! – he’s ready for the day.
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The kid sucked Gloucester’s eyes out. Without the slightest awareness of the reference to Blasted. A few moments later he left, feeling dizzy.
The lightning ripped the sky to the East. In the West the sun announced its intention to set. He watched it all from the safety of the sea, treading water as the heavens did battle.
+++
Saturday was a long day, which began at 11 with the Lear workshop, looking at Gloucester’s blinding and finding of sight. Two fairly enjoyable hours, with 25 seemingly enthusiastic students, and my Spanish bearing up. Including in one of three groups an improbably sexy Gloucester, maintaining his/ her dignity as his/her eyes were stamped out in spite of flimsy defences.
After the workshop, F, A, Karina and I all made our way to V’s. I spoke briefly to V’s architect father about the building of Barrio Sur after the abolition of slavery, as well as the Moorish influences on Uruguayan architecture, and would have happily stayed chatting but we had to leave for Omar’s house in El Pinar, a 45 minute drive away.
Omar’s house is everything you’d expect. A beautiful modernist box, made out of breeze blocks and wood. High ceilings, a big stove, and one of the most comfortable sofas in the world. He said he also had remote controlled central heating, which he could switch on when he was half an hour away to ensure the place was warm when he arrived home in the Winter. He has a big hound of a dog, and the house is two minutes walk from the beach.
We did a bit of work on 4, but there wasn’t time for much rehearsal, before we began the reading of 1,2, and 3. On the drive down it had been fiercely sunny, the temperature in the 30s. But a storm was building and almost immediately we began the reading it broke. Lashings of hysterical rain repeatedly savaged Omar’s cube, the din peppering the reading. Omar and Karina returned from the supermarket on O’s Harley half way through 1. In spite of external sound effects, 1&2 went well, running at just over an hour. The whole team (Claudia, Cecilia, Omar, Francisco and Karina) watched and were enjoying it. Until we got to the third act, when everything fell to pieces, both V&A losing their lines, the scene feeling like it would never end.
After the reading, Omar took me to the beach and we went for a swim. The storm had passed over, but it was still going for it over to the East. Francisco took photos of the actors for the poster, which we discussed afterwards. Omar got the asado using whole trees for wood. We ate salad, roasted peppers stuffed with two types of cheese, chorizo, morcilla dulce and morcilla salada, and, of course, asado. At one point, later, I lay on the hammock on the porch, watching the stars and the wind in the trees. Omar told me there was a plot of land for sale next door – why didn’t I buy it and he’d help me build the house. I’d never need to get out of the hammock ever again.
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In the Spring and Summer, Omar wakes up in the morning, puts on some trunks, jogs down to the sea, goes for a leisurely swim, comes back, showers, gets dressed, has his café con leche, smokes a joint, and – ¡Pah! – he’s ready for the day.
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18/3/09
March 13th Evening.
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For some reason which I don’t entirely understand today felt like the hardest day so far. The things that make my process hard are the things beyond the rehearsal room, not inside it. Where I live, the rehearsal hours, the loneliness, well, loneliness can occur anywhere, it’s in no way predicate on being here.
We rehearsed from 5.30. Before that, at 4, Karina, the producer, came to talk to me about the workshops I start tomorrow, and other stuff, and all of a sudden, speaking to her, I found myself babbling near incoherently in some kind of pre-adolescent Spanish. The words seemed to be running away, rather than coming towards me. Sitting outside the Parking with V, before rehearsal, enjoying the afternoon sun, I said that some days it felt like I was getting worse rather than better in the language.
The rehearsal was half on 2; half on 4. 2 was all fine. 4, which we hadn’t touched for a week, was ropey. We ran it once, then a second time, this time with V carrying a bag of secrets and F one of his own, in his pocket. He gave his away too soon at the end, and she didn’t use all of hers, so I cut the scene short. I think they were a bit taken aback, but once F had (literally) handed over his secret, the scene had died. It seemed more likely they’d learn from the scene being cut short that allowing it to run on.
It was far from the longest rehearsal, ending after 3 hours and pico. Which is again frustrating. It would have been good to take a break and return.
Anyway, I hope to sleep. Tomorrow I give a workshop on Lear, and then everyone drives to Omar’s, on the coast, where we rehearse for a bit, read scenes 1 to 3, eat meat, and doubtless I shall get drunk.
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March 13th
V and I started working at 12. Doing a lot of regulation background character work (Who are CG’s patients; what is her daily routine) which, for some reason, seems pertinent to CG, but of less import with the other 2 characters. When F arrived at 3 we tackled 2 again, including an engaging exercise, the idea for which came from 3.2 in The Tempest, wherein CG bashes JR with an empty plastic bottle every time he tells a lie or veers away from the truth. The exercise successfully brought the pelea to the foreground.
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16/3/09
Wed 11th Bar Las Delicias 11.30pm
An sitting outside. A group of guys have just left the table beside me. Big Latin hugs and cheek-kissing. Some girls from the flat across the road are calling out to them – ‘Che – con la bicycleta!’ The girls laugh at their cheek and the boys ignore them and walk off. My milanesa en dos panes arrives.
It’s a lovely night, but earlier it rained torrents. When F and I arrived at the rehearsal space, half the floor was flooded, rain dripping through the ceiling. Antonio, from the parking, had earlier told me that the weather was changing. Near where he lives the vineyards used to harvest the grapes in March. Now, because of the drier summers, they’re harvested in February. We watched the rain falling in torrents outside and he said it wouldn’t be enough.
F&I worked through his speeches. I asked him to do an exercise acting out the images in his speeches (processed cheese/ mutants etc) and it failed spectacularly, so I got him to draw them instead, an that worked better. As he drew I tried to sweep the water off the floor, a Sisyphean task which made him laugh. We worked for three hours then took a break, going to watch the second half of the Man U – Inter match at 6.
Ana arrived at 7. The rain had stopped. We spent a second day working on 1. Ana did the scene throwing objects at JR for him to catch, with JR trying to regain control. Helped to concretise the humour and the moments JR tries to reassert his authority. At 9pm Cecilia, who’s doing wardrobe, arrived. She watched a run of the scene, the actors by now more or less off book. The run went OK. I think they all think I’m far too laid back, what with my ‘It’s fine, we’ve still got 6 weeks’, but am so far don’t see that we could be moving any faster, though am sure that might come back to haunt me. We finished at 10.45, latest so far.
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Of marginal note: the bus fare went up today, unexpectedly as far as I’m concerned, from 14 pesos to 15. Ie from about 45p to about 48p.
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It’s a lovely night, but earlier it rained torrents. When F and I arrived at the rehearsal space, half the floor was flooded, rain dripping through the ceiling. Antonio, from the parking, had earlier told me that the weather was changing. Near where he lives the vineyards used to harvest the grapes in March. Now, because of the drier summers, they’re harvested in February. We watched the rain falling in torrents outside and he said it wouldn’t be enough.
F&I worked through his speeches. I asked him to do an exercise acting out the images in his speeches (processed cheese/ mutants etc) and it failed spectacularly, so I got him to draw them instead, an that worked better. As he drew I tried to sweep the water off the floor, a Sisyphean task which made him laugh. We worked for three hours then took a break, going to watch the second half of the Man U – Inter match at 6.
Ana arrived at 7. The rain had stopped. We spent a second day working on 1. Ana did the scene throwing objects at JR for him to catch, with JR trying to regain control. Helped to concretise the humour and the moments JR tries to reassert his authority. At 9pm Cecilia, who’s doing wardrobe, arrived. She watched a run of the scene, the actors by now more or less off book. The run went OK. I think they all think I’m far too laid back, what with my ‘It’s fine, we’ve still got 6 weeks’, but am so far don’t see that we could be moving any faster, though am sure that might come back to haunt me. We finished at 10.45, latest so far.
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Of marginal note: the bus fare went up today, unexpectedly as far as I’m concerned, from 14 pesos to 15. Ie from about 45p to about 48p.
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Tues 10th
Met A in a café at 4 to work through the difficult speech in Scene 3. Sound of traffic, media luna, café but still got things done. Her flat is being ripped to pieces, a new water pipe put in, new taps in the kitchen replacing the explosive system she had before which threatened to blow up every time you used hot water.
Had an hour to kill afterwards. Found a TV playing the Champions League. Watched Liverpool crush Real Madrid.
Rehearsed from 7. The man who works in the booth at the garage is a friendly fellow called Antonio. We talked politics, theatre and beaches. He said, with the air of a man who knew about these things, that to rehearse a play in 6 weeks would represent some kind of a Uruguayan record. The rehearsal of 1 with F and A went well. Ana growing in enthusiasm. Rehearsed until 10.30. Improvisation, caricature and theatricality. Got the bus home down 18 de Julio. Took ten minutes, back before 11. Takes a while to get the anticipation of London’s travelling distance out of the system.
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Had an hour to kill afterwards. Found a TV playing the Champions League. Watched Liverpool crush Real Madrid.
Rehearsed from 7. The man who works in the booth at the garage is a friendly fellow called Antonio. We talked politics, theatre and beaches. He said, with the air of a man who knew about these things, that to rehearse a play in 6 weeks would represent some kind of a Uruguayan record. The rehearsal of 1 with F and A went well. Ana growing in enthusiasm. Rehearsed until 10.30. Improvisation, caricature and theatricality. Got the bus home down 18 de Julio. Took ten minutes, back before 11. Takes a while to get the anticipation of London’s travelling distance out of the system.
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13/3/09
Monday 9th
We moved into our rehearsal space. It’s a room above a car park in what V says used to be the offices of coca-cola. To get to it you have to walk through the car park, though a secret passage way, up an unlit flight of stairs and along some empty corridors. In a side room there’s a heap of files, the oldest of which dated from 1966. The room itself has a large puddle which takes up about a quarter of the floor space. There are no chairs, and the loo, which has no light, is flushed using a bucket. It’s the most secretive, basic space you could imagine, but it gives us space to move.
Which probably lead to one of the most satisfying rehearsals in a while, the actors finally released from the chores of text work, meaning I could put my English version of the text aside for the first time. We used a fencing exercise and a kind of blind man’s buff to amplify the scene (3) which Ana has been struggling with. For the first time it contained the lightness or playfulness it requires. We worked from 7 until 10.30, which didn’t feel too debilitating, although the lead-up to the rehearsal, ie all day, felt a little gruelling.
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Which probably lead to one of the most satisfying rehearsals in a while, the actors finally released from the chores of text work, meaning I could put my English version of the text aside for the first time. We used a fencing exercise and a kind of blind man’s buff to amplify the scene (3) which Ana has been struggling with. For the first time it contained the lightness or playfulness it requires. We worked from 7 until 10.30, which didn’t feel too debilitating, although the lead-up to the rehearsal, ie all day, felt a little gruelling.
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Sat night Sun morning. In bed 2am
Met at Ana’s at 4. Read scenes 2&3 together. Then worked on 3. 2&3 both running 15 minutes longer than they probably should. Actors struggling for lines, (why they need to know the lines 6 weeks before opening is beyond me, but A is v concerned she still doesn’t know them). Then Omar came and we read 3 again for him. Think he enjoyed the sight of two women engaging in battle.I brought masitas, a kind of sweet pastry, for the cast. They hardly ate any.
Fernando invited me round to his to eat. He set up his parilla in the street and slung some meat and some chorizos on it. We sat outside, drinking wine, watching the meat cook. Neighbours walked past and saludared. Ate the meat inside then went back out. Got a cab at 1.30. Cost 3 UKP. Time to sleep now.
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10/3/09
Saturday Morning
A slightly caustic comment arrives from the UK, regarding this diary. Rather, this rehearsal journal. Suggesting that the rehearsal part of the journal could be done without. Of course, the description of the process, like the description of any process, veers towards tedium. However, in the end, it is for this, the process, that I am marooned here for 11 weeks. All the rest of it may be entertaining, but it’s not the raison d’etre. In some ways the rehearsal aspects of the journal put me in mind of the description of the crimes in the 4th part of 2666. Without the crimes, and they are manifold, there is no book.
Furthermore, the slight lunacy of the whole endeavour only makes sense in terms of the work. Last night, at a suitable moment in an old-fashioned rolling night of Uruguayan fiesta, Ramiro was talking about his relationship with the theatrical culture, and his position as an outsider. He’s recently been invited by the Solis (the Uruguayan equivalent of the National Theatre) to participate in one of 4 open-ended workshops. He’s been invited from his outsider position, and apart from the novelty of being paid to conduct an open-ended workshop, he’s proud of having insinuated himself from beyond the theatrical culture. However, it seems to me that La Pelea De Osos is coming from so far outside the system, it might as well be Martian. For myself and Ana there are ostensible reasons for our participation, but as for the rest, god knows. It’s a bit like they’ve seen an alien spaceship, considered the pros and cons, and decided to climb on board.
The fools! Anyway, the spaceship is, at least, moving. Acknowledging the fundamental dullness of the concept of a rehearsal journal, I shall, like the spaceship, and in spite of a masterly hangover, plough on regardless.
Furthermore, the slight lunacy of the whole endeavour only makes sense in terms of the work. Last night, at a suitable moment in an old-fashioned rolling night of Uruguayan fiesta, Ramiro was talking about his relationship with the theatrical culture, and his position as an outsider. He’s recently been invited by the Solis (the Uruguayan equivalent of the National Theatre) to participate in one of 4 open-ended workshops. He’s been invited from his outsider position, and apart from the novelty of being paid to conduct an open-ended workshop, he’s proud of having insinuated himself from beyond the theatrical culture. However, it seems to me that La Pelea De Osos is coming from so far outside the system, it might as well be Martian. For myself and Ana there are ostensible reasons for our participation, but as for the rest, god knows. It’s a bit like they’ve seen an alien spaceship, considered the pros and cons, and decided to climb on board.
The fools! Anyway, the spaceship is, at least, moving. Acknowledging the fundamental dullness of the concept of a rehearsal journal, I shall, like the spaceship, and in spite of a masterly hangover, plough on regardless.
Yesterday F+V rehearsed at mine. F called me at lunchtime to see whether we could meet earlier, so we did, and worked on his second large speech for an hour. V arrived at 4.30, and we attempted to complete going through the final act. It took forever, largely due to my end-of-week fastidiousness. I asked them to read it whilst playing an improvised game of draughts (using a table top, a Russian beer bottle cap, padlock, a Moroccan bracelet, an Ancel phonecard, etc). Playing the game changed the scene. The actors connect readily with emotion, they are over-blessed with emotional honesty, but I wanted them to play more. Measuring every line with a move in the game made them work twice as hard. The second time the scene was read it was twice as long, far duller in many ways, but far more gripping in other. Leaving us all exhausted at the end.
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Later all three of us strolled across Diez Y Ocho to the Teatro Circular, where 15 years ago I watched Horacio’s version of Pinter’s Betrayal. Something which lead to me vaguely translating Horacio’s plans to stage a rock ‘n roll version of Peer Gynt to Pinter himself, in his Notting Hill study. This evening we watched a production of Mas Vaca Sola, by Gabriel Calderon, directed by Ramiro Perdomo, V’s partner.
After the play, V, Ramiro, I and Ivan, the self-described biggest ‘DaQuin’ in Uruguay (– You what? – Da-Quin – Como? – Quin, like your Quin – Ah ‘Queen’ – Si – Da-Queen, mi encanta los Da-Queens – Ah, Drag Queen – Si, soy -) went to someone’s birthday party and drank the hind legs off the donkey. Ambled home at 4 following the appearance and consumption of birthday cake at 3.30, and have woken at 11, reasonably sane, looking to find my motivation for the next rehearsal. Which occurs in 4 hours time.
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Later all three of us strolled across Diez Y Ocho to the Teatro Circular, where 15 years ago I watched Horacio’s version of Pinter’s Betrayal. Something which lead to me vaguely translating Horacio’s plans to stage a rock ‘n roll version of Peer Gynt to Pinter himself, in his Notting Hill study. This evening we watched a production of Mas Vaca Sola, by Gabriel Calderon, directed by Ramiro Perdomo, V’s partner.
After the play, V, Ramiro, I and Ivan, the self-described biggest ‘DaQuin’ in Uruguay (– You what? – Da-Quin – Como? – Quin, like your Quin – Ah ‘Queen’ – Si – Da-Queen, mi encanta los Da-Queens – Ah, Drag Queen – Si, soy -) went to someone’s birthday party and drank the hind legs off the donkey. Ambled home at 4 following the appearance and consumption of birthday cake at 3.30, and have woken at 11, reasonably sane, looking to find my motivation for the next rehearsal. Which occurs in 4 hours time.
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5th March 2009
Am trying not to eat pizza in bars every night, for financial and soul reasons. All the people I knew once upon a time have grown up and had kids. Ich bin a glassy eyed writer sin compañeros de alcohol. But after all, Ich bin hier fur der arbeit!
I told V I’d try and give her a night off next week and she didn’t seem too impressed. Soon we shall move to night rehearsals, and not sure how that will affect progress. Meanwhile I attempt to squeeze every last drop out of the allocated hours.
Today we worked our way through to the end of Act 3, with V beginning to grasp the sadness of MC’s departure. Only one more session and we shall have finished the preliminary reconnoitre of text which has served three purposes: ensured the actors have a clear grasp of the whole piece and an understanding of meanings and semiotics; ensured that the translation is as perfect as we can make it (Baked beans had to go today, they have no role to play in a Uruguayan culture perception); finally its meant I have really had to grapple with and ‘know’ the Spanish text, something I could not have done on my own.
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I told V I’d try and give her a night off next week and she didn’t seem too impressed. Soon we shall move to night rehearsals, and not sure how that will affect progress. Meanwhile I attempt to squeeze every last drop out of the allocated hours.
Today we worked our way through to the end of Act 3, with V beginning to grasp the sadness of MC’s departure. Only one more session and we shall have finished the preliminary reconnoitre of text which has served three purposes: ensured the actors have a clear grasp of the whole piece and an understanding of meanings and semiotics; ensured that the translation is as perfect as we can make it (Baked beans had to go today, they have no role to play in a Uruguayan culture perception); finally its meant I have really had to grapple with and ‘know’ the Spanish text, something I could not have done on my own.
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9/3/09
Wednesday 4.3.9
Took the bus to Jacinto Vera and worked with F on his first big speech. Word by word, line by line, drinking maté all the way. Told him to use the other actor to arrive at wherever his character might be going. V arrived around 4.15. By 5 we moved back to the last scene. Kept going until 8.30. F’s head was clearly exploding. Called a halt. Even though I would have happily kept going until the cows came home.
My cast doesn’t really do drinking after rehearsals. Besides they’re probably desperate to escape the task master. Then again it’s a different rhythm. It’s drinking maté and smoking on the streets. Watching the world go by. Teaching me odd snippets of Uruguayan slang. Which I generally forget. Some of it will stick. We had an interesting discussion about how to translate the words: Fucked Up. One’s option is desquisiado, another enfermo, said with the stress on the middle syllable.
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My cast doesn’t really do drinking after rehearsals. Besides they’re probably desperate to escape the task master. Then again it’s a different rhythm. It’s drinking maté and smoking on the streets. Watching the world go by. Teaching me odd snippets of Uruguayan slang. Which I generally forget. Some of it will stick. We had an interesting discussion about how to translate the words: Fucked Up. One’s option is desquisiado, another enfermo, said with the stress on the middle syllable.
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On the bus, a kid got on and played a few songs, busking, him and his guitar. Blackbird by McCartney, then a song in Spanish punctuated by bursts of siritup, l’il daaliin, by Marley. The songs were more touching that they should have been. After the first, the bus clapped. The conductor gave the kid the nod to continue. All senses heightened just that fraction, emotions nearer the surface. The dangers were obvious. He wondered how many tweaks of the emotional volume would be needed before every time a busker sung a Beatles cover, the bus would flood with tears, passengers scooping themselves off the liquid floor. A society in total touch with its senses, destined to grind to a halt at any touching moment.
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