Glad Tidings

I received two wonderful bits of news yesterday.

Firstly, formal notification by letter of an unconditional offer of a place on the MA Contemporary and Classical Text (Acting) course at the RSAMD, starting in September!!

It's not really hit home yet. Karen opened the envelope while I was scoffing my egg and cress sandwiches on yesterday's lunch break, and read me the contents of the letter over the phone. It's strange, but I wasn't anywhere near as jubilant as I thought I'd be. Of course it was a relief that I will not have to endure months of waiting to find out, but when I received the news I did so completely impassively. I'm still at a loss to understand why. Maybe because it all had a whiff of destiny about it- as pompous and arrogant as that might sound. I somehow knew in my heart I would get in. Or maybe it's the thought of the £9450 we will have to find in order to finance my studies, as well as feeding and housing ourselves on thin air for a year. On Tuesady this week we had been informed by Scottish Gas we'd need to fork out £600 on repairing our central heating system. It couldn't have come at a worse time.

We just have to continue to trust that things will work out for us. And I have to stay sensible. And so I am being uncharacteristically dispassionate and somewhat decorous about the whole thing. I've been beseiged by good wishes from friends, family and colleagues- who are all so much more excited about this news than I- an avalanche of congratualtions and well dones! Maybe that's because they're not the ones who'll end up paying for it! I opened a bottle of Becks when I got home from the voice workshop at 11pm, but couldn't even finish it before I fell asleep.

I guess I'm not what you might call a party animal.

Today I drafted and then submitted my request to the head teacher and South Lanarkshire Council for a one-year career break from teaching starting the end of September. The authority and Calderside Academy have promised to keep my job for me, but I secretly hope that by the end of my time at RSAMD I can safely leave it all behind and survive as a fully professional actor again. Please God...

And the second exciting bit of news...?

Before going along to Hilary Jones' excellent voice workshop at Giffnock last night (which offered me a tantalising taster of the Nadine George techniques I will be taught next year) I went along to audition for the Ramshorn Theatre's production of Titus Andronicus. Because the director, Peter, knew my work- having directed me in King Lear and also as Spooner in No Man's Land - as well as acting alongside me over the years in such productions as Glengarry Glen Ross, The Homecoming and 12 Angry Men- he didn't ask to hear my audition piece (I'd actually gone to the trouble of learning a speech from The Orestia), or even get me to read from the play in the end. I thought he was then just going to say sorry, but that because my availability was in question, directing The House of Bernarda Alba until the end of April, that he couldn't really take the risk of casting me. You can imagine how stunned and delighted I was when he asked straight out if I'd accept the lead role!

"Well let me think. Yes."

I feel enormously grateful for the opportunity to revisit the challenges of a role I first played nearly a decade ago in the Botanic Gardens. My acting then was necessarily forced and hammy given the outdoor setting, the promenade staging and the ill-judged direction, and I think that the opportunity to try it again- in the intimacy of a small, atmospheric studio space, and with just a little more experience under my belt (especially having since played Lear- a very similar character in some respects)- will help me to play Titus with a bit more economy, truthfulness and integrity this time.

But what a joy! After a year's hiatus I am acting in the theatre again! And you know what...? Right now it's this which gladdens my heart more than anything, including the news I have been accepted into drama school.

But you have much to be grateful for and plenty to look forward to in the coming months, Mark.

So I thank you, Lord! Just keep looking out for Karen and me, Big Man, eh?

Not Dead Time: LIVING Time!!!

with Karen Coleman & Charlie Donnelly in The Browning Version (Arches, 1998)

Mr Crocker Harris is 'retired' from teaching

“Patience is not passive; on the contrary, it is active; it is concentrated strength.”

Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton

Waiting has always been difficult for me. But rather than chewing the furniture and tying myself in knots, I need to see the next 6 months as a chance to learn to become excited by whatever lies ahead. The audition went well I think but now that it is done, whether I get into the RSAMD or not is in a sense irrelevant, as the time has come for me to make profound changes in how I live my life anyway, and how I approach my art. I cannot continue to hibernate or tread water. I cannot continue teaching in secondary school kids simply to pay off the mortgage. It’s a waste of my gifts, of my life. Putting financial security at the top of the agenda is no longer tenable. Increasingly over the past couple of years it is spiritual congruence and living authentically, -adventurously- which has taken on greater and greater value and importance for me. Sacrifices have to be made. Whatever should occur, whatever the Academy may decide, I am resolved: I cannot afford to forget to keep evolving, emerging.

One thing's for sure... This is not dead time; it’s living time!

Decisions about who I want to become can and indeed should be made NOW- quite independently of whether I end up going to drama school or not. I will become an actor again whatever happens, I know this. But what kind of actor?… Who for? And why? Answering those questions is what this life phase is really for.

In fact this spring can actually be one of the best times for self-awareness and real growth to take place. To get myself focused on planning how I want to spend the second half of my life; deciding what is most important to me and how those realisations are going to affect my connection and relationship with the world. The journey, this waiting, may have a more significant impact than the end result. Impatience may keep me from gaining from this present experience. Whereas calm patience can be the ideal catalyst for soul growth to occur.

There’s a real art in being patient, which involves surrendering and simply trusting that God knows what He’s up to. I am not used to this. I have to learn how to wait on Him and trust that He is making me bide my time for good reason. My own lower ego must not try to force things to flower before they are mature enough to be uprooted. He has the best in mind for me, and I am going to have to accept that whatever occurs will be for the best. And so I surrender because He knows what He is doing for my highest good.

That said I woke up from a nightmare last night. My car ran away down University Avenue after I left the handbrake off. I chased it, panicking and screaming for people to get out of the way as it rolled down the hill. It ran over a woman who quick-wittedly lay down in the middle of the road and let the vehicle pass over the top of her and her terrier dog (was it Jill Ridderford? Morna Burdon?) By the time I had got to Byres Rd there was no sign of any accident but the car had disappeared.

As soon as I awoke I knew his was about going to drama school, and my fear of making the wrong decision about my life. Things being out of my control and the fear that I am required to relinquish my car and the security of other possessions and trust that God will permit nothing disastrous to happen. It feels very scary but in the end there is precious little I can do about the consequences. I have to trust that others will just get out of my way and notice when my car comes hurtling towards them!

Meanwhile I have decided to audition for Peter Lamb’s production of Titus Andronicus. Again, if I don’t get it, that’s fine-; after all I can at least say I have played the part before in the botanic gardens ten years ago. The thing is I haven’t acted for 10 months- since Tango in fact- and I am scared I have gotten out of shape. If you don't use it you lose it, isn't that what they say...? I hope though that long enough has elapsed though for me to come back to it afresh, and with a rejuvenated sense of purpose. I am setting myself the target of being more authentic and fully connected this time. To resist cheating. And to be more loving.

I have also agreed to direct another show for Giffnock next January- and the fee should go towards my college fund if it should go ahead. I have some other ideas for making a bit more money using my acting skills- more of which in future posts.

Exciting times.

Nae Pressure Then...?

As Larry (with Susan Worsfold as Alice) in Patrick Marber's Closer (2002)

Those of you who are also followers of my Facebook page will already know that tomorrow is- not to put too fine a point on it- one of the most important days of my life. At the grand old age of 48 I'm auditioning for drama school. After 30 odd years of treading the boards I guess I am probably just about as prepared as I can possibly be, and all that remains is for me to get a good night's sleep, stay cool, calm and collected, taking everything in my stride and simply enjoy the experience. There's no point caring about the outcome as I won't know for another 4 months if I'm successful. I simply plan to be myself and to answer their questions as honestly and as calmly as I can. At least I'm likely to know one, perhaps even two of the people sitting on the audition panel- Maggie Kinloch whom I've auditioned for once before (I seem to remember she offered me the job even though I ended up being too busy to do it) when she was Artistic Director at the Byre in St Andrews; or Hugh Hodgart who enjoyed my production of A Hard Heart two or three years ago and with whom I spoke at Howard Barker's lecture last year; and perhaps one of my good pals Bill Wright or Jill Ridderford.

Taking my new acting coach friend Mark Westbrook's advice I intend to do my audition pieces with Michael Chekhov's feeling of ease. Last night I performed my speeches for some of the cast of The House of Bernarda Alba who mostly know me only as a director of course, but they were falling about when I did my Teddy, and were in raptures afterwards over my Prospero speech. :-) That really boosted my self-confidence. I've been receiving many good luck messages this past week from friends, family and colleagues. Many have said I shouldn't be a student at the Academy but teaching there, but it's a moot point.

I know I have the chops.

I know I have the talent.

I know I have the experience.

I even bought a lovely new pink shirt...

What more could the bastards possibly require of me?

We'll just have to wait and see...

Q

Chaliapin from The Adventures of Don Quixote (1933)

I often think of the work to which I devote my life as quintessentially Quixotic.



Mine is an absurd tragicomic quest. Tilting at windmills, challenging imaginary giants to duels.



I am exploring the interstitial richness contained in the silences between what is false, what is true and what is real...

Acting, like life, consists of a series of questions with no real answers. Of course, put like that I set myself up as a posturing and pretentiousness prat. People will queue up to prick and pop bombastic balloons.

We actors must ask ourselves the question, “Is that why we will always have an audience?!”


Probably.



After all, such pompous–sounding philosophising is so easily lampooned and ridiculed by persiflage. And the masses have always adored sacrifices and public executions. Actors are variously labelled as luvvies, fakes, wankers, etc.

“Show us the results!” they cry?

“What exactly are you FOR??”

-when all secretly KNOW exactly what we are for.

We take on their sins and are crucified for them.

As mountebanks we often end up retreating behind the invisible shield of arcane mysticism (and sometimes its opposite- a feigned Christ-like “meekness” and humble “servitude”)- both postures reserved for the initiated- as if I, (-the Act-orrr!) were draped in the invisible garb that conferred membership of an ancient and elite cabal. Ah, the emperor’s clothes!! :-)



It is difficult, if not downright impossible, to produce irrefutable evidence of salvation when pursuing the ineffable and the unknown.

People go away feeling better sometimes.
That’s it.
It can’t be proved.

But I fail.

So often the audience do not get what they needed from me.

My response is to keep up the pretence of self-assurance, adopting a secret smile of knowingness- a defensive strategy.

A clique of one!

It is impossible to speak of the work except in terms of metaphor anyway- and so it becomes shrouded in romanticised poeticism that obscures a botched life with impressive pretension. (I think of Spooner’s bombast in No Man’s Land.) Part of me wants to resist allying myself with the cult of Artist as it’s so often associated with the affected, the preposterously pompous- But what else do I have to shield myself from their slings and arrows? The only alternative is ripping away the mask and declaring it’s all just storytelling, ladies and gentlemen! Mere chicanery and imitation! Silly masks and funny voices…! Only a story. All bollocks.

So how do I preserve my dignity…?

The simple answer:-

I don’t.

The arcane investigation of the soul, and the pursuit of the puissant creative potential of the Higher I, is actually made even more heroic because on the stage the Hero treads the same path as the Fool. Both are pelted with rotten fruit as they stride off to transcendent self-martyrdom. Pilloried and denounced for daring to live and think authentically without the protection of their own ego.

We will always be seen to be tilting at windmills, because the work is about making the imagined life real.

And hey, how stupid is that!

(Actually that isn't a rhetorical question.

How stupid IS that???)

And I find myself asking another question: Who is the child here? Is the child the one who thinks it’s cool to knock others off their pedestals ‘cos he’s jealous he can’t play the game properly. Or the child who tries to play the game? It’s a game whichever way you play it.

A cruel and complicated game.



Somebody has to suffer.

What kind of world is it that will only applaud success, and never heroic failure?



It remains my contention that this ‘foolishness’, the world of the “Imagined”, is not the same thing as “untrue”. ‘Fictional’ does NOT equal ‘fallacious’. Fairy tales are NOT false. In the post-modern world such an idea is seen to be- at best- child-like; at worst, utterly crazy. Art is dismissed as “a lie”; a bauble, a distraction from what is actual. Inessential. The world of science and logical empiricism vilifies such vain shadow-chasing. “Give us the facts,” it demands.

The 21st century paradigm dismisses the delusions of the dramatic artist for not being more grounded, practical, and down-to-earth. “Get real!” - by which they mean of course, “Buy OUR lie instead!”)

But the artist chooses to believe that myths are NEVER mere falsehoods.



Far from it! Myths are infinitely truer and more substantial than everyday life according to the rules of the actor’s universe. The actor understands that the notion of character and the actor’s process of role-play and characterisation are a very powerful means for gaining purchase in our understanding of ourselves, our lives- of clarifying who and where we are, why we’re here, how we fulfil our destinies. He reminds us that we are not who we think we are.



Art is NOT founded on self-deception or artifice; the “fiction” is only a camouflage for the real alchemy-, which has the power to distil the clarity of Beauty and Truth (capital B, capital T) from the muddled morass of existence. Drama is a very potent remedial corrective to uncomplicated Gradgrindism and empiricism. Drama reminds us that the world of spirit is infinitely more real and substantial than the so-called ‘facts’ of everyday life.

It gives us a route out of despair.

It gets us out of our heads.



As Rex Ambler says: "I think therefore I'm a long way from where I am"!!!!

And, as dear Oscar says, "The truth is rarely pure and never simple."

The actor is a practical philosopher.







Never let anybody else decide for you.



Go to drama school.

12th March 2009, 13.55

The date and time of my audition for RSAMD.

I was never any good at keeping secrets about myself, even though in this case it might be more politic to keep shtum and so avoid the embarrassment afterwards of having to tell everyone I didn't get in. But that's me.

It'll be a very important day; not just because a part of me still craves endorsement and validation (I fervently pray I was more secure and confident about what I do), but because I have for all my adult life harboured ambitions of receiving formal practical training. My untutored talents, such as they are, deserve critical attention and proper training. Looking to the Academy for these things- especially at my age and CV- is a bit pathetic, a measure of my neediness perhaps, but that's what crave. I can't deny it. My confidence has always been low (It's been VERY low of late.) I feel neglected-stuck and left behind somehow. I want to prove to myself and the rest of the world that I and my gfts are worthy of attention.

I really need to get my head sorted, and stop beating myself up for all my failings- both real and imagined.