Approaching the end of Week 3 of rehearsals. The first (preview) night is two weeks today. It feels surreal writing these words. Enormous, unfamiliar, extraordinary, sad.
Documenting random stuff is probably easier than trying to make sense of it.
The script. A whole new world of different folders/formats. How do you physically hold the myriad pages of scribbled over text that will dominate your working life for the next few weeks or months? Ring binders, folio type holders, free style and held together pretty much with a ring tag. Script pages were the glue the two days I was in the rehearsal room in Week 1. My copy was held together with the same metal slider gizmo my dad used to make our homemade childhood holiday scrapbooks (pale grey textured soft card cover, a mix of plain and lined paper with dividers for each day). My over zealous page seeking in the script editing sessions soon dented the flat slide mechanism and I tumbled back into a holiday cottage in the Yorkshire Dales, carefully detailing in giant letters what I’d eaten/done that day.
Scampi And Chips. Ice cream. Sweets. Bed.
Work on the script is an exemplar in collaboration. Everyone in the room involved in poring over a bumpy line, thinking about meaning, language, context and how it may be understood by the audience. Is it even necessary? Cut.
Beautifully forensic scrutiny.
The people. It’s hard to describe the atmosphere of the Rehearsal Room. There’s a cast of seven actors, the director, two associate directors, video, set and music designers, stage manager and more. The first morning there I answered a series of cheerful and curious questions with laborious answers that I’d forgotten were all in the script. I literally recounted the script to a room of quiet respectfulness.
Then there was a read through of the script. Sitting on chairs and acting, not reading. Eh? Where did that come from? My ignorance was hitting the high ceiling of the room, trying to bounce into the Lion King rehearsal next door while I sat tight. And listened.
It’s off the scale of weird to watch your life being played by a group of people you’ve just met. That they are such a likeable, sensitive, committed, thoughtful and laugh out loud funny bunch was something else. Connor palpably mattered in that room.
The next day. Owen and Tom came along. They had plans to graze record shops after dipping into the rehearsal for a couple of hours. Mid afternoon, after more script revisions, a full read through of the script and lunch, they were also cheerfully and curiously questioned about their childhood, Connor, and what happened. The cast sat around on chairs, laying or sitting on the floor while Owen and Tom chatted about funny and joyous memories, moments. And more. The quiet respectfulness I’d experienced the day before was energised with laughter, life and stories. Stories that sat outside of the script. Life from a sibling perspective.
Now. I get daily rehearsal reports I’m going to miss. Glimpses of the magic of play production and development, hints of the brilliance, the labour, the love and the care. The opening night is too enormous to think about. The production is a joy.
Further info and tickets https://www.jermynstreettheatre.co.uk/show/laughing-boy/
mydaftlife 