Week Five: 27th to 30th of August
By Kaffe Keating

“Get your rocks off, get your rocks off, honey.”
– Primal Scream, Rocks

Pressure is an interesting element when it comes to being creative. Depending on the situation, it can all get a bit sink or swim. It can serve as a catalyst, pushing you on to the next idea until something actually works or it can create a wall around you, stopping you from being able to move freely and blinkering you into a singular focus.

It’s the final week of rehearsals in London. We definitely have a show. It exists. You can start doing it at the beginning and it will eventually finish. So that’s good. But at the end of this week we have the ‘Associates’ Showing’ when previous members of AFTLS productions from years gone by come to see what we’ve done. They’ll be giving us notes, which are doubtlessly going to be helpful, but also present the worrying prospect that we’ll be told that everything we’ve been working so hard on is just a bit pants.

It’s a funny way of working, without a director. In the absence of a true, full-time outside eye, we can never be completely sure that something works. That an audience will understand the goal a character is trying to achieve, or that using this prop will make sense as that item, or that that particular gag is actually funny. Of course, even in a traditional production (although saying that, in old Billy Shakes’ day they only worked with actor-directors, so this method is arguably more traditional than most) you can’t ever be truly sure until you have an audience. It’s just that if some grand concept doesn’t work it’s not the actors’ fault; it’s the director’s. No such luxury this time.

My training as an actor focused on continually offering ideas and possibilities to the director, giving them an infinite number of toys to play with. If they didn’t like something you did, no matter, you just do something else. Offer, offer, offer. We were taught to not focus too much on what other actors were doing, to make sure that you were bringing everything you could to a rehearsal room. ‘Trust the director’ was the golden rule. It’s not your job as an actor to decide how the story is told, how an audience should be receiving something; that way madness and demonstration and needless emoting lies. Your job is to serve the writing as well as you can, to remember your lines and avoid bumping into the furniture where possible.

But in this process I am the director. As is everyone else. We all think the horse and carriage works really well now (that’s the party line, at least), we all think that umbrellas with the metal handles extended will read as swords. Of course we do, we made them. But now all those things I’d been trained for years to stop worrying about – ‘Will the audience like the show, the ideas, me?’ – are now beginning to creep into minds.

As the days until the showing evaporate into the mist, I’m reminded (probably inappropriately, you be the judge) of a character in Arthur Miller’s The Crucible. Spoiler alert, but if you haven’t read it then stop reading this immediately and go and pick up a copy. Giles Corey, who has been accused of witchcraft, is having a confession literally pressed out of him with rocks being added to a board that’s been placed on top of his body. Instead of a confession, all he says to his captors is ‘More weight’ until the end. Now, I’m not saying I now know how he felt or anything, but with each day it feels like we’re being pressed under a little more weight than before.

Then Thursday rolls around. Showtime. Costumes on, props checked, instruments tuned. In troop our audience, some very friendly faces who know exactly how we’re feeling and have generously given up their afternoon to help us out. They do all have notepads though. Totally understandable, notes are the entire reason they’re here, but I just hadn’t predicted the notepads…

We do the show. It’s good! It happens. As always it’s a brilliant opportunity to really see where the creases are, what needs tightening; the things that have been working for a while now are completely taken for granted in my brain, whereas the things that aren’t blare like air horns. We get to the end. It’s quicker again than the last run, and there’s still minutes and minutes to be shaved off yet. Our audience thanks us and retreat downstairs with Jen and Jack, our TA’s and guiding lights, to consolidate their notes.

We’re not really sure what to do. Peel off the sweat-sodden costumes. Play a bit of foursquare. Have a cup of tea. Wait for the white smoke meeting that’s happening downstairs to be over. Finally Jen and Jack return, and reveal that the response is really positive! We’re taken through the associates’ notes in turn. Some really, really helpful stuff. One note that really sticks in my memory is the question of when the ‘ping of love’ happens for each of the characters. Beautifully put, and a helpful, interesting thing to consider that we hadn’t even thought about before.

Friday is the final day of rehearsal in London. We’re going to work through some bits and then get the showcase packed (please, Jove, let it weigh less than 23 kilograms). We start working and we’re suddenly solving things left, right and centre. Ideas are popping into our heads from nowhere, long standing issues are being solved in minutes, breakthroughs are happening all over the shop.

With the pressure lifted, with the rocks removed, we’re able to breathe again. It’s now becoming clear how the prospect of showing our work to outside eyes had been affecting us, like when you only notice the air conditioning was on at all after it’s been turned off.

We have our final home-cooked lunch from the lovely Frances (I’ll miss those, and her!) and troop upstairs to pack the case. Thankfully, everything fits! And we’re just under the weight limit. With a collective sigh of relief, we take up the tape that’s been marking our playing space and foursquare court (R.I.P) and pack the room away. It now looks just the same as it did on our first day, ready for the next company of five to start their rehearsals. And also for the people who do Tai Chi on Tuesday evenings.

Now we have suitcases of our own to pack. One day to buy accordion gig-bags, make last ditch attempts to find people to sub-let our rooms, and to say final goodbyes to friends and family. Then we fly on Sunday.

Next stop, Indiana!