Category: Acting

Acting

I’d like to thank …

It was the 1st of April in 1973 that I spent one night in a French jail.

On the 31st of March 2014 I flew to West Palm Beach and drove to The Broward Center for the Performing Arts to attend the 38th Carbonell Award Ceremony. That is the South Florida theatre awards jamboree, and a Carbonell, as you see below, looks a bit like something Henry Moore would have made if he’d worked with miniatures. It’s a golden ovoid with a hole in the middle.

I went because I was up for an award. There were five nominees in each category.

How one perceives an award ceremony in which one is nominated depends upon many things. A few spring to mind:

The state of your Buddhist practice
How many Vodkas you had beforehand
Whether you trip over your frock as you go to make your speech

I had a speech prepared, but as the ceremony got going and I watched acceptances, I began editing in my head. You get about 90 seconds to thank everyone from your agent to your mother, the various directors, designers, producers … and let’s not forget that these days it’s etiquette to mention your fellow nominees and say how amazing they are … it’s a lot to cram in, especially if you are nervous and/or want to be witty/cool/humble …

As I watched, my indifference as to whether I won or not, gave way to the weakest part of the actor’s psyche. It’s the part that, when you’re offered a job (any job), responds “They want me? Me, they want me!”

photo by Claire Brownell — Photo by Claire Brownell

And then there’s the whole concept of awards and can something as intangible as quality in stage work be treated in the same way as a 100 yard sprint? And does it make sense to be competitive about theatrical endeavor? And what about celebrity obsession, and what about the function of art? And many such ands … Internally I re-wrote my speech and gave it a new beginning. “I’d like to thank all sentient beings in the known universe …”

And all the time I knew the date would turn at midnight and it would be the April 1st.

The 1st of April always tickles me. Here’s how that night in jail happened: Jean was my girlfriend back then and we set off hitch-hiking from Calais, and the first lift we got took us to Beaune. About half way to the French Riviera, a fantastic place to get to on day one of an adventure that lasted six months. We arrived at about 9pm. The town was closed.

We thought there would be a youth hostel or a cheap auberge, one within our close to zero budget, but no. After a couple of hours traipsing around we went to the police station to ask advice. The sergeant on duty said, ‘Well, you could stay here if you like.’ We accepted gratefully. Two beds with firm mattresses, complete with a pillow, a rough blanket and an en suite bathroom. But the jail toilet had no seat, just like the ones you see in the movies.

I slept well. At 6am a new sergeant unlocked the cell, we were up and awake and pleased to have the door opened. The sergeant thought it was about the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

And we went for coffee and a brioche and to look at the town.

April Fool’s Day has connections to many festivals, the Roman hilaria, and the day of The Lord of Misrule. It’s the day when tradesmen send apprentices to get left-handed sky-hooks.

The Fool and The Actor have connections.

That’s Pamela Coleman Smith’s rendering. She was a set designer and her painting above, one of 78 she made, is featured in the world’s most popular Tarot deck. Sadly she got no royalties. Actors wander too, and as with The Fool, life works best when they are able to trust that the shale escarpment will rise to meet their feet as they step forward.

Maybe how you view award ceremonies depends upon whether you win or not. I can’t comment. I didn’t win. I never got to deliver my speech. The one that thanked everyone, said how nice it was to be connected to the South Florida theatre community, to see old friends, be an actor …

That’s me and Todd Allen Durkin, he’s a lovely actor. We were both nominated and he got the golden ovoid.

I admit to a momentary pang, a small twinge of strictly professional jealousy, but that passed as soon as I got myself outside the contents of a single bottle of Stella Artois, and soon after that it was April 1st once again.

Tags Acceptance Speech, Broward Center for the Performing Arts, Carbonell, Carbonell Awards, Colin McPhillamy, Todd Allen Durkin

Acting Theatre

How to play the piano

I had the best of Godfathers his name was Collin Bates.

Collin was Australian, spent the middle years of his life in England, and was one of the finest jazz pianists that ever lived. He also took his Godfatherly duties seriously and from time to time he would sit me down and we’d have a conversation that began, “As your spiritual advisor and mentor …” Then he would explain his position as a life-long agnostic, and declare his belief that the truth would be revealed to him on the point of death. With the certainty of youth I somewhat scoffed at this view, but as time passes and my certainty about most things dissolves, I see his wisdom. This is a tangent by the way …

… Check him out playing an early jazz number with his trio here

His piano playing style was variously described in print as “a squirrel gathering nuts” and my personal favorite in a long article, a passage about his stubby fingers transforming when he sat at the keyboard into “dancing sausages” making amazing music.

He was life-long sufferer of what George Melly described as the “existential conspiracy”. This meant that when Collin walked into rooms, tables and chairs would start hurling themselves about, and glasses of red wine would inevitably spill on white tablecloths. I personally witnessed him make a gin and tonic spontaneously combust, and watching him make coffee was to see coffee grounds on the ceiling. I once foolishly gave him an expensive bow tie as a Christmas present, his face fell when he saw it, and we both knew that his clumsy fingers would never master the complexity of the right knot.

But at the piano he was elegant, delicate, nuanced and subtle.

I grew up watching Collin play the piano. I went to Ronnie Scott’s (now closed), the Merlin’s Cave (now closed), and when I waited tables in my youth at Flanagans in Baker Street he played the piano there. He played jolly-cockney type songs as Flanagans was the first theme restaurant in London, billed as an Edwardian song and supper room. One night Collin came storming down the aisle, “That’s the Evening Standard jazz critic on table 19.”

“Oh?”

“What a disaster. Here I am playing in a sawdust joint.”

“Can’t you play some jazz?”

“Of course not! It’s an Edwardian restaurant.”

As in all the most interesting people he was a mass of instant contradictions. He went back to the piano and began to play boogie-woogie. He played and he played. It went on for about twenty minutes. I never saw him play like that before or since. It was as if the piano had gone into space and was dancing between the moons of Mars and the outer planets.

The place was full and everybody stopped eating. All the staff stood still and listened. A crazy celebration of liquid rhythm pervaded, bouncing exuberance off the walls. At the end there was an eruption of applause which took a long time to subside. When it did Collin and the Evening Standard jazz critic shared a bottle of wine.

And that was all I knew about playing the piano. Until now …

End of the Rainbow is a fine play. It features Judy Garland in her last year of life. Three men play the other parts—a bit like Dorothy and her three companions. We close today after a three week run at the Actor’s Playhouse in Coral Gables, Sth Florida.

I play Anthony. The character is fictional. He’s an amalgam of all the gay men who adored Judy. He’s Scottish and he’s her favorite accompanist. I’m not Scottish and I’d like to say in these times of homophobic nonsense, playing a gay man is as much fun as a straight man can have and stay legal.

All that aside, crucially I don’t play the piano.

The excellent and supremely patient Dave Nagy, our musical director tutored me to the limits of my ability, such that I can vaguely follow the musical notation and have some idea of where the hands should be. I try to tap my feet in time, but one scene requires me to cue the band and conduct them. Early in the run I told them under no circumstances to look at me for the timing, fortunately Gary, who plays the sax said, “Oh we stopped doing that days ago.”

Did I get away with it? Well the piano was discretely angled, and during the musical numbers, such was Kathy St. George’s voltage that all eyes were turned upon her, and fortunately no one looking at me!

I get worried sometimes. When I review these pages, I see that I’m loving being an actor. Believe me, if you were a stage actor it would worry you too. Always at the back my mind, I’ve thought that sooner or later I’ll be doing something sensible, responsible, grown-up. It’s getting late … so maybe I’m stuck with it, and if every gig was a special as this one was, that’s fine.

Anthony begins the play from a point of adoration, and over time falls in love with Judy, finally declaring it at the end. Playing with Kathy St. George, no actor ever had an easier task. She is not Judy Garland—no one could be, that is sort of the point—but she has a great talent all her own, and she channels Miss Garland in way that borders uncanny. On top of all that she is one of the most gracious, generous, (and at 4′ 11″—the same height as Judy, tiniest) leading ladies I’ve ever worked with. www.kathystgeorge.com available for Judy cabaret and more!

The show was well reviewed. More than well …

this, for example…

The patrons who attended the amazing Miracle Theatre with its Art Deco foyer, loved the show, many moved to tears …

It was a standout gig.

But when it came to playing the piano, I remember my Godfather, Collin Bates and the great gift of being able to watch him at the keyboard.

Tags Actor's Playhouse, Colin McPhillamy, Collin Bates, George Melly, Judy Garland, Kathy St. George, Michael Laurino, Terry M Cain

Acting

A Tale of Two Motor Cars and a Lot of Places to Stay

Post author By mcphillamy
Post date January 2, 2014
13 Comments on A Tale of Two Motor Cars and a Lot of Places to Stay

Once upon a time when the world was young, there was a beautiful small green car. It was built in 1961 when I was five years old. And I bought it from a fellow-student—his aunt actually—when I graduated college.

“This was owned by a little old lady who kept it in a garage and used it once a week to go to the shops.” said my friend Jeff when I dropped in on him in the Yorkshire Dales on my way north.

“How did you know?”

“There’s no other possible explanation.” he said.

Together, the little green car and I went all over Britain. Delivered by ‘Molly’ as I called her, I stayed in youth hostels, once in gymnasium with a dozen other actors on June 21st at the St. Magnus Festival, and once in a monastery on the Isle of Iona. I loved that car and felt as though I was born to drive her. She was a Wolseley 1500. They don’t make them any more.

And once … I left London for Birmingham to play Herbert Pocket in Great Expectations, and Molly broke down somewhere on the M1 motorway. Towed by emergency services I arrived seven hours later at midnight at the residence of Mrs. Madge Morose. She was a theatrical landlady straight from central casting. Sitting in her bed surrounded by enough medication to sink a chemist, she directed me up unlit stairs to a dark room with damp nylon sheets on the lumpy bed. Her appropriately Dickension house came complete with a name over the door:

Dunroamin’

“Er, no.” I told myself.

And when Robin, the senior actor in the company and veteran of many tours, said at rehearsal the next morning, “How are your digs? Mine are pretty bloody!”

I knew I had to find a better place to sleep. Since then …

Hotels, motels, hostels, spare rooms with and without en suite, on sofas, in attics, lofts, and raw spaces. In borrowed houses, in bed & breakfasts, on a 16th floor balcony open to the air. On a beach, on a hillside. On planes, trains, and the back of rental cars, on a ship. In a palazzo, in corporate apartments, and in friends’ ones with and without views. In a chalet, in a shed, in funky studios covered with Clematis. In a room with African masks full of presence. All alone in a town house worth $10 million for just one night, and also for just one night on the marble floor of the Boston South Station bus terminal, the quality of sleep not dissimilar in these last two venues?!

But not till now …

Me and my purple shirt (see November ’13 entry) are back in South Florida. In Miami actually, at The Actor’s Playhouse where I’ve never worked before. As with every theatre there’s a story. They’ve just closed a play called ‘Making God Laugh’. I mention it here because I knew three of the five actors in the show, and now that I’ve seen it, I know them all. This was a production which achieved a unity of style in the splendid acting, the delicious design, and the expert direction, in such a way that sitting there as an actor watching … well … I remembered why we do it. I forget sometimes.

I’ve said it before in these pages, a theatre, any theatre is a triumph of the improbable over the impossible.

The show we’re currently rehearsing is “End of the Rainbow” it’s about Judy Garland’s last comeback. The script is by turns poignant, funny, tragic; a tribute to one of the great talents of the 20th century. The extraordinary Kathy St. George is Judy. It is a role she was born to play. I am excited to share a stage with her.

Dave Arisco directs. A remarkably good natured and enthusiastic man. To the extent that if you’re called late to rehearsal you’re minded to go in early so as not to miss any of the jokes.

Here’s a candid from the rehearsal room.

Dave is 6’4″, Kathy is 4’11”, I think they do a great double act.

But I digress.

What I really wanted to mention was this:

You see before you a four bedroom house circa 1960 set amidst a couple of lush acres. There are two wings with two bedrooms in each, there’s a huge kitchen with state of the art equipment (1960). And the lounge and the hall and the sitting room each have a piano. Which is useful, I’ll say why later. At the time of writing I am the only occupant, if you transit Miami, Florida before February 9th consider yourself invited.

And you should see the back. There’s a large patio, the sort of place where you could write The Great American Paragraph. There’s a tennis court under the pines. There’s a rockery and shaped swimming pool. It would be an ideal location for an infomercial about the untold millions you can make by flipping real estate. I can’t show it to you yet because the pool has been drained for repairs and it doesn’t look pretty—maybe next month.

This sort of exotic theatrical digs goes a long way to ease the trials of the road. Previous details when arriving in actor housing have included; a bath with no plug, a water filter with no filter, and a bottle of wine with no corkscrew. And we won’t mention the dead mice, the empty beer bottles, the colonies of ants. None of these inconveniences applies in this case.

And even if not 100% of the lights are working, it doesn’t matter because …

Now let’s talk about this:

That, ladies and gentlemen is a red Lexus. For my time on this show, I am driving it.

There’s not much to say except that it’s a cherry on the cupcake of the gig. It’s a piquant morsel from life’s smorgasbord. It’s a … you get the idea.

There are ascetic types (somewhere), who’ll tell you that the trappings of wealth and luxury are not the source of true happiness. I’ll tell you what, It works for me!

Another car I was born to drive.

Happy New Year!

Tags Actor's Playhouse, Colin McPhillamy, Dave Arisco, End of the Rainbow, Kathy St. George, Lexus, Wolseley 1500

Acting

Playing the King

As usual Shakespeare got there first when in Richard II he said, “For God’s sake let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings…”

Usually I try not to read reviews of shows that I am in until the show has closed, but this one was hard to avoid, and as it is spectacularly positive, I post the link to it here: http://www.floridatheateronstage.com/reviews/performances/mortality-is-funny-as-well-as-terrifying-in-superb-absurdist-exit-the-king-at-dramaworks/

When Bill Hayes, producing artistic director at Palm Beach Dramaworks, called me, I wasn’t surprised that he was planning a production of Eugene Ionesco’s absurdist masterpiece Exit the King. After all Palm Beach Dramaworks has a motto: “theatre to think about”. I was somewhat surprised that he offered me the title role. Specially as we talked about how taken he was with the recent Broadway production for which Australian actor Geoffrey Rush won a Tony.

“I am not Geoffrey Rush.” I told Bill.

“I know.” he said.

“Not even a little bit,” I went on, wanting to make the point very clear. “I mean we are both Australian, but that’s as far as it goes. Geoffrey has the physique of a q-tip and the metabolism of a credit card. I am a stout character man whose knee-bends are not what they used to be.”

“I know.” said Bill.

“So it will be a comparatively sedentary approach.”

“No problem.” said Bill.

Talking of Geoffrey Rush and his colleague Neil Armfield, their adaptation has done for Exit the King what Stephen Daldry (who directed Billy Elliott) did for J.B. Priestly’s An Inspector Calls. A fresh eye a generation later, has revealed the play in a new and exciting light.

Exit the King remains a light hearted yet poignant romp through some of the issues which surround the great universal leveler—otherwise known as death. But a heightened style and physical vocabulary in the production makes the play freshly accessible. It also has me very active during the 90 minutes of stage time—hmn…I may not be the actual G. Rush, but maybe we are related?

We have an incredible cast: the wonderful Beth Dimon (she and I were in Copenhagen 2010), the splendid Rob Donohoe (he and I were in The Pitmen Painters 2011), the incomparable Angie Radosh, the magnificent Jim Ballard, and the luminous Claire Brownell. All under the inspired direction of Bill Hayes, assisted with panache by Lynette Barclay, the whole thing supported by the outstanding design, management, and technical expertise at Palm Beach Dramaworks!

Does that sound like I want to keep working at Dramaworks? Yes! But it’s also another way to say that, for an actor, the chance to do interesting work with great people is as good as it gets.

Acting

Exit The King

Death: really, what could be funnier? This seems to have been Eugene Ionesco’s starting point.

Whether the play really is all that funny, as always with comedy, can only be known in the moment with a living breathing audience…I’ll get back to you.

Meanwhile, my advice to people who read this blog, and even to those who don’t, is: get yourself down the Gym—pronto. Why? Because you never know when you’ll find yourself playing King Berenger the First. I will go further, you never know when, whatever protestations to the contrary the director makes, you’ll find yourself hired as a stunt double for Geoffrey Rush.

Geoffrey Rush who gave a riveting, award-winning performance on Broadway in Exit The King, is, as we all know, an extraordinarily fine actor with the physical facility of an elastic band. One assumes that with an international film career he can comfortably afford any necessary physio.

Personal physique aside. I have a strong fondness for South Florida. The place has been good to me. This is my eighth show in these parts over the past ten years, and always in the winter months when the daytime temperature hovers agreeably in the 50s, 60s, or even 70s with mellow breezes, and flawless blue skies.

One amazing feature of the locale is the Kennel Club with its Damon Runyon characters disposed around its thirty or so card tables, any one of whom can give you a fine post-hand analysis in poker dialect:

“With sixteen cards to hit to make my straight and the nut flush draw—hey! I’m not going anywhere.”

“Right! But I gotta push in that situation.”

And the guy who took the long chances that paid off when his off-suited 9-7 hit two pairs on the Turn, and filled up on the River, makes a note to watch out for the guy whose A-4 Spades he annihilated and from whom he lifted an easy hundred bucks. In the Mano-a-Mano etiquette of the card room, the two players grimace as comrades. There is silent agreement on the unfairness of life and the futility of existence.

About the ocean: when the rip tides are low, and when there are no Bluebottle Jellyfish around, it’s pleasant to float in a sea the temperature of a warm bath.

Florida is a touchstone though, for the effects of a changing climate. A hurricane that hit locally the city of Miami a brief six or seven years ago, now might cover the whole state. The new migration of many thousands of sharks off the Florida coast is reported on the TV news, and some of the condo buildings built on the shores have a bad case of sandy gingivitis.

Talking of decline, decay and death and how amusing it can be—Not. Theatre is dying too, like it always has been. Four established theater companies in these parts have closed within the last two years. Florida Stage, Promethean, Mosaic, and The Caldwell. Sure, there are plenty of new young theater companies springing up, but few of them have much funding.

In that context, producing a play about death, whose author was one of the masters of the absurd, a man who was obsessed and scared and struggling, a play which challenges its actors and its audience, is deeply life-affirming.