I'm sitting in our new digs in Adelaide whilst my erstwhile cast companions have gone to breakfast/for a run after I had what can only be described as a personal spaz out. As Phoebe has detailed in the previous post, we had an interesting day yesterday, dealing with a cockroach-ridden crisis which resulted in me watching my best friend sob with frustration while all I wanted to do was punch our 'landlord' in the face. Knowing that violence solves nothing I did nothing except metaphorically hold Phoebe's hand while she dealt admirably with the situation.
The Adelaide Fringe is special to me too, this being my third foray into the South Australian state for this festival. My first experience was difficult for a myriad of reasons I will not go into, my second experience was phenomenal due mainly to the excellence of the cast I was lucky enough to be hanging with, so my expectations for this trip were through the roof, given I was again with a bunch of people who are excelling in excellence and my best girl, who I have not had the chance to perform with since we graduated from the course where we met. Needless to say, when I rolled off the plane at 7.50am yesterday morning I was met with "So, the house is ... uh ... quirky."
And so began the adventure of yesterday. This is very much the adventure of art imitating life imitating art imitating ad nauseum. I am oftentimes bemused by the Universe's ability to orchestrate these moments, providing us actors with real life events to draw from, concurrently allowing us to deal with those real life happenings through what we learn in the theatre. I remarked to Phoebe last night that it was interesting that we were collectively undergoing the experience of being housemates dealing with a shitty situation during the time in which we're performing a play about housemates dealing with a shitty situation. Different shitty situations, yes, but we're pulling together in exactly the same way as our theatrical counterparts.
Until I woke up this morning after a crappy sleep filled with crappy dreams about the crappy things that are currently happening to someone I care about back in Melbourne, which put me in a crappy mood and I became a crappy person, as I am wont to do at times. My best friend left me with a kiss on the cheek and a whispered 'I love you' before she left for breakfast and I had a moment with a cigarette outside pondering the possibility that perhaps I am a complete wanker with moments of nicety rather than the other way around when I had the realisation that again, life is imitating art is imitating life etc. Thank fuck for theatre. It reminds us that we're not robots.
That's the beauty of Phoebe's writing and this piece particularly. She has an ability to capture the absolute humanness of her characters and exhibits that humanness with unapologetic poetry. I have moments of poetry in dealing with life's arse crack, as we all do. So it's no wonder that we, her actors who are giving these characters life, are experiencing that same life simultaneously.
Well, this is only day two for me. There's another week and a half to go of this particular Radelaidian exploit. Already, the kids are back from breakfast and we're laughing uproariously, so the wanker has been stuffed back into her tool box/bum bag/wanker pack until next time.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
The highs and lows...
I don't really even know how to encapsulate the last few days in words. But! Given I'm re-exploring the writerly side of me - here goes. This is a saga of a group of out-of-towners, trying to stay afloat despite a crap load of crap. Enjoy.
There's something incredible about Adelaide Fringe for me. I don't know what it is, but for me, there is a heart to this festival that I've never experienced anywhere else - there is support, fun, shenanigans, art, respect, new friendships, a city changed, (as cliche as it sounds) love, to name a few things that draw it to me as a very special time in the year. I believe firmly there is a reason I refuse to articulate anything about the Fringe without prefacing it with the word "Radelaide". This year, I was particularly excited to be able to share this with a group of people who are special and beautiful and all the sorts of creative bodies that I like to work with (both personally and collaboratively). There's also a kind of thing that's passed around that your first Fringe seems impossible, your second, you look back and despite things being hard, you wonder why you were so behind the eight-ball, and the third, you simply wonder what all the fuss was about. So far, I kinda feel I am totally on path with this trajectory.
My first experience in Adelaide, I didn't put too much emphasis on ticket sales and profit, I was lucky enough to be able to have the crew and cast I was touring with stay with me rent free with family… so while I was nutting out the pit falls and intricacies, I was also in a safe and supportive environment - made all the better by the family at Nexus, who made sure we at the very least were enjoying ourselves. While, at times it was totally disheartening to not know what the hell we were going to do to get more ticket sales or to raise our profile, I felt safe and nurtured in our venue and our work.
This, after a small hiatus, is my second pass… And, I've learnt some really good lessons - distribution of flyers and posters, central location, advertising, for example - and I also already know a few improvements. Given that we're touring with a group of six, it becomes rather difficult though (especially if you want the opportunity to stay together) to ask if you can rely on the kindness of a singular residential proprietor. So, I looked for accommodation early - again, something central, with the amenities of a house to make touring easier for everyone involved. And, I thought I'd hit a small fleck of gold, a quirky house with some character and nothing particularly fancy, but a place to anchor ourselves while away. I think this is kind of essential so that even if things are not going artistically/economically as you had hoped in your season, at least you have a place to come home to and relax and get away from those things that might be plaguing your active mind while producering and make that bottom line work out.
On Monday we drove up to visit our Northern neighbour (Adelaide) amongst a great uproar of road-time laughter and conversation. It is fair to say, we drove onto the street that we had booked accommodation and were struck by how cute the street was. Even the first view of the house filled us with hope. Set atop a set of high-riser slate steps, was a single fronted terrace with tiled veranda decked with couches overlooking an unkempt, but small garden. Dotted around the eclectic paraphernalia up front was a steel string guitar, an empty water cooler, a wine bottle filled with cigarette butts and stuffed shut with a candle, old deodorant rollers, a wire rack containing shoes filled with fine spun cobweb and a single cigarette butted in the middle of an instep. The keys were on top of the water cooler, and we stepped into what we were hoping would be our solace for the coming weeks.
We were not met by a picture of our expectations.
We made do, and settled in for the night. Ventured into the city, found some thai food, went back home, and tried to ignore some of the structural damage to the house.
Context. So, bed linens - despite being assured that these and towels would be provided - were not really clear as to whether they'd been used or not, half the beds did not have any blanket, pillows mouldering, mattress protectors with massive burn marks, a fridge that was melting itself, rubbish rotting out the back, laundry dissolving itself in its own filth, sinks in odd places, bathroom door falling off its hinges, rising damp, mould from the ceilings, ceilings falling down, old (and I do mean old) cobweb ropes, odd adornments on the wall (by far, the least offensive of offences).
The next morning, in the light of the day, I was less insecure about the whole thing, and we gambolled down to the city for morning coffee and breakfast - Lisa, usually up in spirit, declared that she hated a cafe because they asked us to pay as we ordered… it should have been a hint that things were not okay. When we headed home, we sat down to do some script work and problem solving craft-wise.
Playing in the street, retelling the plot of the Lion King, cracking each other up, specificity in word work and sources… just, actoring around, I guess. When, then it was discovered out in the back room there was a nest of cockroaches living in the wall butting onto the kitchen.
I let the dude know who we were renting from that this was a problem, and he said he'd look into it first thing in the morning, but for now it was probably best to keep the cupboard door closed. As I started cooking dinner, it was also clear that there were roaches in the kitchen too. For my Melbourne friends, Adelaide cockroaches are about 3 inches long and phat.
Somehow I made it through cooking. Uneaten.
Simply put, after conferencing over dinner, it became clear that we couldn't stay in this place. Around this time we started dissecting some of the stranger "features" of the property. We also touched base with the former tenants to see if they had had any issues while using the property - they had some interesting tidbits and details to start to round out our understanding of what was going on. We got in touch with our Adelaide friends to start asking for some local rental advice too. I was wholly underwhelmed by our 'landlord's' suggestions that he would sort the cockroach problem out in the morning and we could just continue living there if we closed the cupboard and pretended like they didn't exist… I think I learnt that this was not a good coping strategy when I was five. We talked over our talking points and what our bottom line in negotiation with this dude would be: We would pay for the two nights we stayed and make it clear that the house was in no condition to be rented by anyone until the structural problems were fixed.
I also want to make it clear that later I had one housemate saying that "it's hard to sleep when you're trying not to think about bedding touching your skin", and another sleeping on a tiny couch because it was preferable to being in a room where you could hear the cockroaches in the wall.
The dude comes over - and was not at all what I expected he would be - and asks me how it's going. So, we start talking over the condition of the place when we received it, the structural damage, the fact that we booked this a while ago to make sure that we had a house where we could use facilities - but if the facilities are damaged or broken, what's the point in paying for them? Lisa, in a stroke of genius pulled out a wonderful lost lamb routine saying that she didn't feel comfortable and didn't want to sleep here anymore. The dude was kind of sad to hear that, but said if there was no way he could help her that was okay… and then it must've hit him ten minutes later that, no, we were all on the same page. So, he apologised for not having the cleaners through before we got there, stopping short (just) of pinning the blame on the previous tenants about the cleanliness. At this point, I took him into the room I'd been using and pointed out the spider webs on the ceiling, "But, (name censored) look at this, those are not fresh spider webs… it takes months to get that way, how many months do you reckon it takes to get that way? Six… ei-"
He nods his head and says "Yeah, eight months, at least, easily."
And I tried to hammer home then that the house had not been properly cleaned for at least eight months.
We walked him through the house trying to point out the problems and how this house is untenable and should not be further rented until the problems were fixed. We showed him the fridge and he said that no one had ever complained before. Anyway, long story short, he said that he would get the cleaners in to do a proper clean which is what he wanted to do before we arrived and see if he could find any way to make us happy… He starts bombing cockroaches - and says "I don't think anyone is trying to rip anyone off here, so let's see if we can come up with a solution that makes us both happy".
We say firmly we're leaving, and he should do stuff to the property regardless of our plans.
We head off to rehearse in the space and get three really solid runs in. During this time he gets the "cleaners" in, he deals with the cockroaches, and when we get back he seems genuinely confused that the cleaning didn't make any difference to the status of our leaving. At which point he threatens to keep the bond, but he has to go to work and will call me later in his break.
When he did call me, he said that I was forfeiting my end of the agreement therefore he would be keeping my bond and three nights worth of pay including 24 hour cancellation (which was never stipulated in an agreement, let me add), which he estimated to be $1100 - which given our rent was $1400 for a week, I emphatically stated that he could have the bond which was $600 which would cover the three nights, and I demanded my remaining money to come back to me. He kept trying to argue that he cleaned the house (whereby, he vacuumed, there were some surfaces wiped… all cosmetic changes, but when you poked around a little further, not cleaned; shelves just above eye height not dusted; the vacuuming ended at the end of beds; some surfaces completely disregarded etc.) and that had been our only complaint so therein he had upheld his end of the agreement and by offering us more linen and towels he was going out of his way to make things better (despite me sending an email asking specifically as to whether linens and towels were provided). I once again reiterated that the structural damage to the house was unacceptable and therein the house should not be rented to anyone in this condition, including a whole bunch of things I was fairly unimpressed with that could not be fixed and the fact that we had found the filthy laundry in the washing machine so that we would have had to deal with that before we used that facility, and these continual half measures were unacceptable, and once again demanded a refund. He said I had reneged on my end of the deal, and I said that he had reneged on his end of the deal by not providing a rentable house in liveable condition. He promptly hung up on me because he had to go back to work.
He had this shitty plan that we would not pay for the first two nights given the condition of the house and he would only charge us six people's rent over the eight people we had initially booked - which I'd already asked him to do. So, not really a conciliatory gesture.
At this point, I'm so angry that I start sobbing uncontrollably. Like, livid furious. And Simon, who's been travelling with us comes and sits with me and said, "I think… if he calls again, you need to not answer it. I just think, he's not going to listen to you and go in cycles that won't achieve anything, and he's going to keep bullying you. That's my feeling." Everyone grabs their stuff and starts putting it in the car. I kick the concrete fence outside. As we're about to go, I ask about what photographic evidence we have of this place… And then we go through the house and catalogue everything. We leave three keys in the hall, and one in the mailbox and text that that's where they are.
I'm kinda worried about the money and if it were to go into legal proceedings and blah-blah-blah. We walk to the new digs we're staying in, and I get this message on the way:
There's something incredible about Adelaide Fringe for me. I don't know what it is, but for me, there is a heart to this festival that I've never experienced anywhere else - there is support, fun, shenanigans, art, respect, new friendships, a city changed, (as cliche as it sounds) love, to name a few things that draw it to me as a very special time in the year. I believe firmly there is a reason I refuse to articulate anything about the Fringe without prefacing it with the word "Radelaide". This year, I was particularly excited to be able to share this with a group of people who are special and beautiful and all the sorts of creative bodies that I like to work with (both personally and collaboratively). There's also a kind of thing that's passed around that your first Fringe seems impossible, your second, you look back and despite things being hard, you wonder why you were so behind the eight-ball, and the third, you simply wonder what all the fuss was about. So far, I kinda feel I am totally on path with this trajectory.
My first experience in Adelaide, I didn't put too much emphasis on ticket sales and profit, I was lucky enough to be able to have the crew and cast I was touring with stay with me rent free with family… so while I was nutting out the pit falls and intricacies, I was also in a safe and supportive environment - made all the better by the family at Nexus, who made sure we at the very least were enjoying ourselves. While, at times it was totally disheartening to not know what the hell we were going to do to get more ticket sales or to raise our profile, I felt safe and nurtured in our venue and our work.
This, after a small hiatus, is my second pass… And, I've learnt some really good lessons - distribution of flyers and posters, central location, advertising, for example - and I also already know a few improvements. Given that we're touring with a group of six, it becomes rather difficult though (especially if you want the opportunity to stay together) to ask if you can rely on the kindness of a singular residential proprietor. So, I looked for accommodation early - again, something central, with the amenities of a house to make touring easier for everyone involved. And, I thought I'd hit a small fleck of gold, a quirky house with some character and nothing particularly fancy, but a place to anchor ourselves while away. I think this is kind of essential so that even if things are not going artistically/economically as you had hoped in your season, at least you have a place to come home to and relax and get away from those things that might be plaguing your active mind while producering and make that bottom line work out.
On Monday we drove up to visit our Northern neighbour (Adelaide) amongst a great uproar of road-time laughter and conversation. It is fair to say, we drove onto the street that we had booked accommodation and were struck by how cute the street was. Even the first view of the house filled us with hope. Set atop a set of high-riser slate steps, was a single fronted terrace with tiled veranda decked with couches overlooking an unkempt, but small garden. Dotted around the eclectic paraphernalia up front was a steel string guitar, an empty water cooler, a wine bottle filled with cigarette butts and stuffed shut with a candle, old deodorant rollers, a wire rack containing shoes filled with fine spun cobweb and a single cigarette butted in the middle of an instep. The keys were on top of the water cooler, and we stepped into what we were hoping would be our solace for the coming weeks.
We were not met by a picture of our expectations.
We made do, and settled in for the night. Ventured into the city, found some thai food, went back home, and tried to ignore some of the structural damage to the house.
Context. So, bed linens - despite being assured that these and towels would be provided - were not really clear as to whether they'd been used or not, half the beds did not have any blanket, pillows mouldering, mattress protectors with massive burn marks, a fridge that was melting itself, rubbish rotting out the back, laundry dissolving itself in its own filth, sinks in odd places, bathroom door falling off its hinges, rising damp, mould from the ceilings, ceilings falling down, old (and I do mean old) cobweb ropes, odd adornments on the wall (by far, the least offensive of offences).
The next morning, in the light of the day, I was less insecure about the whole thing, and we gambolled down to the city for morning coffee and breakfast - Lisa, usually up in spirit, declared that she hated a cafe because they asked us to pay as we ordered… it should have been a hint that things were not okay. When we headed home, we sat down to do some script work and problem solving craft-wise.
Playing in the street, retelling the plot of the Lion King, cracking each other up, specificity in word work and sources… just, actoring around, I guess. When, then it was discovered out in the back room there was a nest of cockroaches living in the wall butting onto the kitchen.
I let the dude know who we were renting from that this was a problem, and he said he'd look into it first thing in the morning, but for now it was probably best to keep the cupboard door closed. As I started cooking dinner, it was also clear that there were roaches in the kitchen too. For my Melbourne friends, Adelaide cockroaches are about 3 inches long and phat.
Somehow I made it through cooking. Uneaten.
Simply put, after conferencing over dinner, it became clear that we couldn't stay in this place. Around this time we started dissecting some of the stranger "features" of the property. We also touched base with the former tenants to see if they had had any issues while using the property - they had some interesting tidbits and details to start to round out our understanding of what was going on. We got in touch with our Adelaide friends to start asking for some local rental advice too. I was wholly underwhelmed by our 'landlord's' suggestions that he would sort the cockroach problem out in the morning and we could just continue living there if we closed the cupboard and pretended like they didn't exist… I think I learnt that this was not a good coping strategy when I was five. We talked over our talking points and what our bottom line in negotiation with this dude would be: We would pay for the two nights we stayed and make it clear that the house was in no condition to be rented by anyone until the structural problems were fixed.
I also want to make it clear that later I had one housemate saying that "it's hard to sleep when you're trying not to think about bedding touching your skin", and another sleeping on a tiny couch because it was preferable to being in a room where you could hear the cockroaches in the wall.
The dude comes over - and was not at all what I expected he would be - and asks me how it's going. So, we start talking over the condition of the place when we received it, the structural damage, the fact that we booked this a while ago to make sure that we had a house where we could use facilities - but if the facilities are damaged or broken, what's the point in paying for them? Lisa, in a stroke of genius pulled out a wonderful lost lamb routine saying that she didn't feel comfortable and didn't want to sleep here anymore. The dude was kind of sad to hear that, but said if there was no way he could help her that was okay… and then it must've hit him ten minutes later that, no, we were all on the same page. So, he apologised for not having the cleaners through before we got there, stopping short (just) of pinning the blame on the previous tenants about the cleanliness. At this point, I took him into the room I'd been using and pointed out the spider webs on the ceiling, "But, (name censored) look at this, those are not fresh spider webs… it takes months to get that way, how many months do you reckon it takes to get that way? Six… ei-"
He nods his head and says "Yeah, eight months, at least, easily."
And I tried to hammer home then that the house had not been properly cleaned for at least eight months.
We walked him through the house trying to point out the problems and how this house is untenable and should not be further rented until the problems were fixed. We showed him the fridge and he said that no one had ever complained before. Anyway, long story short, he said that he would get the cleaners in to do a proper clean which is what he wanted to do before we arrived and see if he could find any way to make us happy… He starts bombing cockroaches - and says "I don't think anyone is trying to rip anyone off here, so let's see if we can come up with a solution that makes us both happy".
We say firmly we're leaving, and he should do stuff to the property regardless of our plans.
We head off to rehearse in the space and get three really solid runs in. During this time he gets the "cleaners" in, he deals with the cockroaches, and when we get back he seems genuinely confused that the cleaning didn't make any difference to the status of our leaving. At which point he threatens to keep the bond, but he has to go to work and will call me later in his break.
When he did call me, he said that I was forfeiting my end of the agreement therefore he would be keeping my bond and three nights worth of pay including 24 hour cancellation (which was never stipulated in an agreement, let me add), which he estimated to be $1100 - which given our rent was $1400 for a week, I emphatically stated that he could have the bond which was $600 which would cover the three nights, and I demanded my remaining money to come back to me. He kept trying to argue that he cleaned the house (whereby, he vacuumed, there were some surfaces wiped… all cosmetic changes, but when you poked around a little further, not cleaned; shelves just above eye height not dusted; the vacuuming ended at the end of beds; some surfaces completely disregarded etc.) and that had been our only complaint so therein he had upheld his end of the agreement and by offering us more linen and towels he was going out of his way to make things better (despite me sending an email asking specifically as to whether linens and towels were provided). I once again reiterated that the structural damage to the house was unacceptable and therein the house should not be rented to anyone in this condition, including a whole bunch of things I was fairly unimpressed with that could not be fixed and the fact that we had found the filthy laundry in the washing machine so that we would have had to deal with that before we used that facility, and these continual half measures were unacceptable, and once again demanded a refund. He said I had reneged on my end of the deal, and I said that he had reneged on his end of the deal by not providing a rentable house in liveable condition. He promptly hung up on me because he had to go back to work.
He had this shitty plan that we would not pay for the first two nights given the condition of the house and he would only charge us six people's rent over the eight people we had initially booked - which I'd already asked him to do. So, not really a conciliatory gesture.
At this point, I'm so angry that I start sobbing uncontrollably. Like, livid furious. And Simon, who's been travelling with us comes and sits with me and said, "I think… if he calls again, you need to not answer it. I just think, he's not going to listen to you and go in cycles that won't achieve anything, and he's going to keep bullying you. That's my feeling." Everyone grabs their stuff and starts putting it in the car. I kick the concrete fence outside. As we're about to go, I ask about what photographic evidence we have of this place… And then we go through the house and catalogue everything. We leave three keys in the hall, and one in the mailbox and text that that's where they are.
I'm kinda worried about the money and if it were to go into legal proceedings and blah-blah-blah. We walk to the new digs we're staying in, and I get this message on the way:
Which I am taking to the bank as proof that indeed he wouldn't have pressed for rent.
(I also really want to text back, that yes, the house isn't for everyone, that's what I've been trying to say, it shouldn't be okay for anyone)
At this point I have to say that Rebecca at Majestic Old Lion apartments was a beacon of light and has been so helpful that I can't even say how good she is in my mind right now. The couple that lived across the street from the crack den who stepped in to help us out despite the fact they had only met us for about ten minutes. The fringe team for helping us finding places to stay at short notice. Family and friends who looked for places and people to help us out… We're safe, we're somewhat more happy, I'll sort out money later… but, I'm not sure that I can really articulate how fucking horrible this whole thing has been. But, yeah, at least it's over! I probably can think of some more fun things at some time… So, here's some photos of Jesus!
(All hanging in the house)
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Fun-times
This roughly sums up our day...
(You can draw your own conclusions)
(not responsible for lipstick heart... but hey, it's on the wall of our accom... we love you too?)
... ask me later.
but YAY we're in RADELAIDE!
Monday, March 3, 2014
We have arrived… Adelaide
So. It's that time again, and we find ourselves 726kms (give or take) from home, and Radelaide is alive and kicking - now with us in it.
Today, I am going to do that which I have been told to do; to stand behind my writing. Honestly, I'm not sure this would have been possible without the humbling feedback I have been given consistently over the last few months, not to mention the wonderful hard work that has gone into making the art of fucking a piece in which I think we have all given to it in order to make it *pop* off the page.
Although, something odd did come to me on the 9 hour drive across state: at the first of Ms Divissi's Chateau Shout-Out's I was asked to deliver a 10 minute Shout, which ended up being delivered in the form of performance poetry. Before I started, I added a small, glib moment of self-deprecation, "It's been a long time since I wrote poetry… I apologise." But in stark contrast this morning, I was confronted with a gem of a post on my wall, suggesting that I was a "dark horse", "a poet to boot" and "a wonderful poet [the writer] might add". Another friend said that she had never seen me nervous in my person before, and sure enough, introducing the dress rehearsal of this piece I was hit by a deep impact reminiscent of realising you're on the sickening part of a roller-coaster, but you can't get off… So what is it that has made me so cripplingly nervous about this particular piece of writing?
I guess it's different. It plays with form, and therein is not conventional. And without that seeming conventionality and the borders it provides, I feel it is very exposing. It deals with big feelings. And, there is a risk, with any heightened language that you might be called out for aiming for something too lofty and big for your skill. But, all those things being said - I wanted to create something that as an actor I'd be excited and challenged in playing, I wanted to use words and rhythms that I love chewing up and spitting out, and, I wanted to play with big themes… In these things, I feel we have achieved. The team collectively have brought such a spirit of exploration and curiosity to this process; we are continually finding new things on our feet!
While, like at the shout-out, I was shit-scared to start to reestablish myself as a writer (of sorts) it is the desire to ask the questions this script demands of us as performers that has inevitably become a driving force… And therein, we open in a couple nights. I'm still terrified, but knowing the support and love for this project that everyone else has responded with, I'm excited to take the leap and share the work with you.
Today, I am going to do that which I have been told to do; to stand behind my writing. Honestly, I'm not sure this would have been possible without the humbling feedback I have been given consistently over the last few months, not to mention the wonderful hard work that has gone into making the art of fucking a piece in which I think we have all given to it in order to make it *pop* off the page.
Although, something odd did come to me on the 9 hour drive across state: at the first of Ms Divissi's Chateau Shout-Out's I was asked to deliver a 10 minute Shout, which ended up being delivered in the form of performance poetry. Before I started, I added a small, glib moment of self-deprecation, "It's been a long time since I wrote poetry… I apologise." But in stark contrast this morning, I was confronted with a gem of a post on my wall, suggesting that I was a "dark horse", "a poet to boot" and "a wonderful poet [the writer] might add". Another friend said that she had never seen me nervous in my person before, and sure enough, introducing the dress rehearsal of this piece I was hit by a deep impact reminiscent of realising you're on the sickening part of a roller-coaster, but you can't get off… So what is it that has made me so cripplingly nervous about this particular piece of writing?
I guess it's different. It plays with form, and therein is not conventional. And without that seeming conventionality and the borders it provides, I feel it is very exposing. It deals with big feelings. And, there is a risk, with any heightened language that you might be called out for aiming for something too lofty and big for your skill. But, all those things being said - I wanted to create something that as an actor I'd be excited and challenged in playing, I wanted to use words and rhythms that I love chewing up and spitting out, and, I wanted to play with big themes… In these things, I feel we have achieved. The team collectively have brought such a spirit of exploration and curiosity to this process; we are continually finding new things on our feet!
While, like at the shout-out, I was shit-scared to start to reestablish myself as a writer (of sorts) it is the desire to ask the questions this script demands of us as performers that has inevitably become a driving force… And therein, we open in a couple nights. I'm still terrified, but knowing the support and love for this project that everyone else has responded with, I'm excited to take the leap and share the work with you.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Introducing the team...
Starting with our eminent director, James Shaw
.jpg)
Isabel occasionally calls deserving people 'fucking fuckfucks' and also enjoys the phrase, 'fuck those fuckers'.
Trained at the Actor's Centre Australia, James is now a long-running ensemble member of one of Australia's leading children's theatre companies - Alpha Shows. Working with Alpha since 2011, James has toured their huge stage shows to hundreds of schools and theatres nationwide. Before then he had been involved extensively in the Melbourne fringe theatre scene; performing, writing and directing numerous productions since 2003, and winning multiple awards for his performances with the Hartwell Players in 2010. You may also have heard his voice in the new children's animated series Jar Dwellers SOS (Channel ELEVEN).
Cast is joined by the lovely:
Kristina Benton is a New Zealand-born actor, singer and composer, who trained
with the late Peter Oyston at the Monash Academy of Performing Arts. She has been
performing for close to 30 years, has worked with several Melbourne theatre companies
to critical acclaim, and has been composing music for theatre for four years. Her most
notable performances to date have been Skinhouse, which she co-wrote, composed, and
performed, Acidtongue and Dollface (Theatre On A Horse), and Awake (Quiet Little
Fox). She has appeared in ABC’s Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, and has recently
performed in her first indie feature film role in How To Time Travel. Kristina is currently
the composer-in-residence and member of the creative team for Melbourne-based theatre
company Quiet Little Fox, and is also an associate member of the newly formed theatre
company, Before Shot. Her favourite fuck saying is “fuck me dead and bury me pregnant.”
Siobhan Connors graduated from the full time course at Howard Fine Acting Studio, Australia in 2012, after moving from her New Zealand home with a pair of "jandals" (it's a thing).
Siobhan's recent works includes Adoption (Ben Shackleford), Nevyr Love A Vampyr (Geoffrey Wright) and M-City (Tim Dolan) and has a number of projects hiding up her sleeve to be revealed throughout the coming year. Siobhan also loves playing the piano, tennis, flowers, the versatility of coconuts, miniature Christmas trees, many a form of physical exercise, 'slightly salty, slightly sweet' popcorn and the willingness and wit of her closest people.
My favourite way to use the word 'fuck' is cathartically especially when the passion is so great I can't conjure words. Other times I like to use the big bad F word over-zealously in polite conversation, as an adjective for people who grind my bones, or when I've too keenly over pour my red wine (I'm a lightweight). But I like to use it most of all when my family isn't looking/listening as I can't even use the word 'fart' at home.
Lisa Divissi is a young actress & writer raised in Melbourne, Canberra and then Melbourne again. In late 2009 she formed the independent theatre company Theatre of Rats, which comprised of 6 friends and a cat they found in hard rubbish. During this time she performed in Lullabicycle (2009) and Papyrophobia in Yellow (2010) which she also wrote and toured as part of the Brisbane Festival. After some soul searching, barista-ing and enjoying life in Brunswick, Lisa graduated from the Howard Fine Acting Studio Australia’s full time course in 2012.
Her recent theatre credits include Sampaguita (Stephen Barker), Scrub and It’s Dark (Ross Mueller). Film credits include Arrivals (Meleesha Bardolia) alongside actress & poet Tariro Mavondo and Sue… Has a Dick (Shane Connor). Lisa is currently in the process of writing a series of vignettes that will form a web series for her blog, which features art and social commentary on feminism, culture, literature, humour and personal essay at www.lisadivissi.com. Whilst she is a fan of the word fuckface, her favourite use of the word is simply to say it with a lot of air, as in ‘fuuhhhhhhhhhhck.
Phoebe Anne Taylor is an independent actor, writer and director. She was a member of the Howard Fine Acting Studio Ensemble 2012 and the Monash Graduate Ensemble 2009. Recent theatre credits include Four Letter Word Theatre’s Titus Andronicus and Speak English or Die and Apples and Shoes’ no blinding light,which she wrote and also toured to Adelaide Fringe in 2011. Film credits include Michael Liparota's Raylene and Charlie, Liam Firmager’s Revelation and Jaklene Vukasinovic’s Firelight. Phoebe is also a regular narrator for the Vision Australia Information Library Service. When Phoebe is not tripping the life dramatic, she can be found making a mean martini.
Phoebe found it difficult to articulate her favourite use of the word fuck as she spent time writing a play about it (you might've heard, the art of fucking), however, enjoys these two the most:
a) half past fuck in the morning
b) the fucking fucker's fucked now.
We have one more cast announcement to come.
But should say we are also being helped by Isabel Hertaeg's invaluable creative experience and are looking forward to working with her soon.
Isabel Hertaeg (Actor/Soprano) is a cabaret artist of international reputation. Isabel’s work has been described as ‘The Rarest of things... Theatre that mattered’ Arts Hub and ‘Radical, transgressive chic’ The Guardian, UK. Isabel has worked in theatre, opera, independent film, community radio and television. She is also a freelance writer, published in New Matilda.
Isabel has developed, and toured several successful solo cabaret works, which have given her hundreds of hours of stage experience and developed her skills as a writer, creator and producer of independent theatre. Isabel’s recent cabaret work, 'La Petite Mort’ has endured two successful Edinburgh Fringe seasons and several seasons across Australia in Melbourne, Adelaide and launched the Tasmanian Theatre Company's Associate Artist Program in Hobart. La Petite Mort has been listed as 'Adelaide Fringe Top 3 Shows' Adelaide Magazine, 'Best Bets of the Melbourne Fringe' The Age, 'A truly original, delightful, accomplished show' The Scotsman and 'Hot Pick' ABC Classic FM's Limelight Magazine.
Monday, January 27, 2014
So... It's finally here
Three years ago, I was struck when a friend of mine was caught in the middle of a ridiculous homophobic situation, and I was left with a deep sense of resentment and purely dumbfounded. How quickly I was prepared to rush to my mate's defence, how angry I was that any form of discrimination still exists (particularly as this case happened in what I perceive to be a pretty progressive part of town), how easily it was slipped into the situation without any recourse for action, how powerless everyone in the situation had been to stop it... And worse, that this is not a once off story. Fast forward, we're now in a place whee the federal government is actively sanctioning homophobic policies, I'm reading pretty consistent stories about hate crimes towards women all over the world, gen y is getting hated on for falling into a stereotype that has been dictated to us by the media and by the way we are forced to live by the baby boomer generation... And another mate of mine tells me a ripper of a story that oddly seems to capture all of my discomfort and deep sense of confusion as to what is happening with my generation. It is these curious elements coming together which have finally given me the push to find a way through what, at first, was at best a melange of ideas and dissatisfactions with dismissals happening all over the world.
My first major challenge was how to find humour in a piece which - at present - I find so essentially unfunny. But, I similarly did not want a piece of theatre that bashed people over the heads with wht "my message" was. Rather, like my conversations when it comes to any of these issues, I wanted to tell a story that provoked questions and thoughtfulness, rather than lessons and ill-conscience. This I think, beyond all hope, I've found an almost Seuss-sequel voice for those of us who know how to relate to street rhythm (brought up with nursery rhyme, guilty pleasure for hip-hop and rap, appreciation for the beat poet generation... I've tried to find my way through and lean on my inspirations with heavy heart).
I also felt very strongly about writing an aural piece, a joy to have on the tongue, but to re-encourage active listening. I'm so pleased with this outcome. There is something playful and open in the possibility of non-scene-based text. And I'm so thankful that the whole creative team seem pretty happy and on board with this aspect of the play.
What fascinates me though, is that the central premise of this piece has always been the use of language, and how my contemporaries have found the way to subvert language norms and reclaim the obscenities of old. The art of fucking has always been a piece about language and how we use the word to full advantage, and the times when it fails us. There was a time when if realised that for me personally, when I get really serious and angry, I can no longer swear, because for me, it doesn't hold that purpose. I have other friends who would never swear until really very very irate. The ways I which swearing is friendly banter, and the times where it crosses into inappropriate.
I once dropped the f-bomb on the radio - not because I'd made a mistake or anything, but referring to the book Go the Fuck to Sleep... Which, let's be honest, is just more funny than "Go the Eff to Sleep" (common way around printed swear words on the radio). Well, boy did the station come down on me and hard. I similarly turned two of my friends usage of the c-bomb around in one year of them living with me... Because, I fear words that have so much power in the simple act of saying them. This to me is a dangerous part of language. To be able to utter one simple four word letter and be able to make the whole word dismiss what you're saying simply because there is the presence of obscenity in your speech disregards too large a portion of society... And also gives a power over to words that is dangerous and dark. I'd be lying if I said that the title of the show has already run me into trouble... But, I'm staying true to what I think this performance is really essentially about - which is sections of society who are painted in a specific way find a voice, which sometimes is readily dismissed because that voice doesn't fit the designated stereotype and hence, marginalisation can be a vicious cycle...
There's something messy about this piece, it's about getting fucked up, fucked over, fucked with; it's about fucking, fucking up, the fact that everything's fucked; fuck this, fuck that, fuck off... Y'know... Fuck!
It is in this spirit of play that I am so thrilled to be really starting on this journey with close friends who are willing to take on the world too. Ready to start rehearsing it so we can share this show with the world.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Review - The Advertiser
'Apples and Shoes is the company name and apples get eaten, shoe laces tied and untied, and a story is told of a loss, a death, and that slow sense of coming to terms with a new reality. Except that its an online relationship. Those shoes can't be the dead friend's shoes.
Phoebe Anne Taylor tells of another Phoebe in Brunswick, with a deceptively simple and engaging manner, with the deft guitar playing of Adrian Sergovic as counterpoint. The two performers, in a corner of the downstairs gallery space at Nexus have an enviable poise.
The show is rhetorical, in that no answers are really required to the questions that are asked but thoughts, sometime deep, can emerge, not with a blinding light but with a slow dawning.'
Ewart Shaw, The Advertiser, February 22.
Copied from the Advertiser website
Phoebe Anne Taylor tells of another Phoebe in Brunswick, with a deceptively simple and engaging manner, with the deft guitar playing of Adrian Sergovic as counterpoint. The two performers, in a corner of the downstairs gallery space at Nexus have an enviable poise.
The show is rhetorical, in that no answers are really required to the questions that are asked but thoughts, sometime deep, can emerge, not with a blinding light but with a slow dawning.'
Ewart Shaw, The Advertiser, February 22.
Copied from the Advertiser website
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)