All packed away for the winter

The tour of ‘The Dressing Book’ is now over, so if you missed it you will have to wait until we tour it again to see it, which we will, probably in the Autumn of 2013, and next time we hope to include Dorset, Somerset and Devon. But we’ll keep you in touch. 2,338 people came to see it at 25 venues with an average of 93.52 per venue, which is way above what we expected, so we are delighted. 

Most of the feedback we have had has been really good. Some people would have liked more live music like the summer, but it’s much easier to do that in our outdoor tour when we have six actors and for this one we only had three, of course – and they were very busy doing multiple costume changes when they weren’t on stage. Also, we wanted to try out a more subtle kind of play, more poetic and delicate in its storytelling and physical movement and a lot of people have said how much they enjoyed that. But of course people like different things and I know many of you love the sheer ‘silliness’ of our summer shows. And there will be more of that!

Please come back to us with what you liked and what you didn’t. You are our audience and, while we want to take you to new places, it’s important too that we stay in touch with what you like.  

Thank you also to everybody who did front of house for us – and we got to know several new people, which was lovely. Thank you also to all our local organisers who did a brilliant job as usual.

Allowing us into your minds

'The Dressing Book' is well under way now and most people seem to like it. We are certainly getting some excellent feedback. I got an email this morning, however, which has prompted me to blog again after my slumbers for some months. The gentleman in question said that he thought the play was 'absolutely brilliant', but at the beginning of both halves there was a period of 'adjustment' during which his 'heart dropped' at seeing the 'what is this?' look on his sister's face (who hadn't seen us before) and while he wasn't 'bored' there was a feeling of 'something similar'. I would call it 'not being engaged'. He had seen us three times, twice outdoors and then our current indoor play, and felt the same each time. He asks: Am I weird, therefore? Well, of course he isn't. It is worth commenting I think on why this is not uncommon. 

We tend to think that theatre is happening on a stage somewhere in front of you, which it is, of course, if you stand outside the process. For it to function fully for you, however, you must become a willing partner in the process - if you like, to allow us into your mind. From that point it happens in your mind and plays around with 'where you are as a person', your mental landscape. It is our job to (and I know it is a horrible word)  control your thoughts and take you on a kind of journey. Some people won't even begin the process and will never allow us into their mind, because (especially outdoors) there are too many distractions, the weather, their picnic, a different motive for coming, dominating thoughts about things going on in their lives, etc. Some people will try, but because we tell more or less brand new stories, it is harder than processing a story they already know, and just give up - especially if we are not doing our job very well. 

Our style is also very unusual (We are the only commedia dell'arte company in the UK), so your expectations about what 'should' be happening are challenged. Of course, the more you get to know us, the more you expect us to behave the way we do - and, of course, if people don't like our style, they won't come back. But many people do like it, or come to like it, and also like 'taking on' (and it isn't that easy) new stories, and become willing participants in the process. 

Regarding where you sit, our work is very intimate and interpersonal with the audience, so the closer to the front you are the more engaging it is, and the easier it is to ignore distractions - and, of course, it is much easier indoors than out (hence we can do more demanding plays like 'The Dressing Book' indoors, but we couldn't do them outside). The first five minutes of each half are always going to be the hardest to allow us in, because you are coming from a different narrative, that of getting there, talking to your friends, dealing with cheap wine in the interval, and, of course, adjusting to our unusual style and a new story. So you have to concentrate. Not everyone wants to concentrate. They would prefer to sit back with something easier (hence the popularity of telly). So you have to ask yourself: Is it worth the effort? Some might think not, but others (enough fortunately for us) think it is and become willing partners in something potentially, if we do our job right, magical. 

A stormy start to the new tour

Despite all my good intentions of writing my blog every Monday, three weeks have passed and not a dickie bird from me! In fairness to myself, I, along with the rest of The Rudes' team, have been in a Herculean battle with nature. Our final dress rehearsal fought out at Friston Place in a gale bent a piece of the pageant wagon off, blew the double bass over and flattened the bridge and was very unkind to a totally innocent banjo. Since then we have lost the battle to perform at Steyning and Wimborne because of rain, gales and understandably reluctant punters. But we bared our chests and took on the elements at Mannings Heath - and got through unscathed! I am now certain that our supporters are without the capacity to feel pain or cold, but sat through our Mannings Heath performance huddled like Antarctic penguins taking turns to hedge against the wind and rain. Wonderful, brave and possibly bonkers.

Somewhere along the line the idea of sitting outside watching a play became associated with warm summer evenings, wine and cucumber sandwiches. What a thought! Where on earth did that idea come from? Why else would people still come when gales and tempests threaten? But they do. Perhaps it's because there is something entirely elemental, even primaeval about being there: ourselves, our fragile little folding chairs, our hampers, our macs and umbrellas and the demonic trees howling and clattering and threatening to fall on us - and the wild wind about to bend our puny little front of house tent any minute. All so that when the actors with their strange white faces come out to play, we will be there to see it and wonder. It must be important to us. And a great compliment to The Rudes that it matters so much to be there.

For me the same process takes place every time: First, frustration at the struggle. Second, terror at the thought of our vulnerability: No performance, no money. No money, no wages. No wages, no actors. No actors, no Rudes. But then third, awe at the absolute indifference of Nature and its capacity to terrorise us when it will - and warm us when it will. And ultimately it always does. So fourth, just wait. Listen to the rhythm of the world. Watch it turn - and be there when it does.

Imagine the door ajar...

...Inside is the murky interior of my cave-like imagination. Bats, spiders, a few skeletons. That sort of thing. I don’t advise you to come in, but as I’ve been told by my much more worldly-wise peers at The Rude Mechanical Theatre Company, it’s the thing I must let you do. That is, to blog. (Sounds a little too like ‘blag’, but never mind.) It’s all in the interest of promoting the Rudes’ brand. So, brave it. Please! (Note the desperate pleading.)

You will see around you bits of shell, the remnants of previous hatchings, now flown off into the world. The most recent being ‘Who Saw Marjory Daw?’ Currently it’s still in the vicinity, pecking away at the memories (or should I say mammaries?) of our extraordinary actors, who, like the mythical pelican feed it with blood from their own breasts. God! That’s a disgusting metaphor! But in fact an actual legend (if not fact?) & rather haunting if you think about. The point is it recognises exactly where it is going to find strength to face an average Rudes’ audience (and they are no pushovers). So at least for the moment it hasn’t dropped stone dead out of the sky, or fluttered off like a wimp to the graveyard of minor playwrights, but rather stands a more than decent chance of being quite good. Hopefully after another three weeks of feeding by - or should I say ‘on’? - the team, it might even flourish into something...quite... beautiful!

Notice I haven’t yet given you the lurid details of how it was conceived, nor indeed anything of its features. I don’t want to spoil the fun on the day, but ‘what I will say’ (as the politicians trot out when they actually mean they’re not saying anything) is this: it is of a darker and more swarthy hue this time. Shall we say, the blacker edge of comedy – and Fosca is going to make an appearance. Some of you will know him. He’s the snide and somewhat uncooperative Death figure from Mediaeval Naples who occasionally gatecrashes our performances. But as always love and hope will triumph.

I guess, given the extended metaphor, that this should have been a tweet not a blog.

There! I was right! It should definitely be ‘blag!’

Pete's blog

Well, here goes! My first ever blog! 

Let me say right from the start that putting myself ‘out there’ on Social Media Street' isn’t entirely something I am comfortable with. On the whole I prefer to creep up on the world and observe it discretely through a gap in the hedge. However, the younger luminaries who help me run The Rude Mechanical Theatre Company tell me it is the thing to do.  So I suppose I’d better get used to it. Around seven thousand people each summer come and see our performances and keep coming back, so I guess you must be enjoying them. Notice the ‘you’. This presumes that I have an audience for my blog and I am not talking to myself - by no means an impossible scenario. (What was that echo I just heard?).  So briefly what’s my contribution to The Rudes?

I founded the company (in 1997), write the plays (apart from the first three, which were written by some bloke from Stratford), and the music, and I sit in my office at The Peppe Nappa Studio in Eastbourne answering emails and phone calls and organising tours. All the other professional contributions are bought in, including, of course, the real stars of the company, the actors, who transform my words and tunes into things of beauty.

I have been instructed to ‘blog’ on a regular basis - and who am I to argue? I will try, therefore, to let you in to the very private and slightly weird world of my imagination – Through ‘the door’ - where I go on a very regular basis to take refuge from the real world by creating others and where I do have some sort of capacity to restore justice, make fun of fools and empower the weak – and hopefully create characters and stories which will give people a good laugh and make them feel better, in particular our new show, ‘Who Saw Marjory Daw?’ 

I will also keep you up to date with the week by week business of The Rudes and, if you’re interested, the devices and techniques we use, and the commedia dell’arte, our style, heritage and passion. 

I will end by quoting may favourite email of the last year:

"My sister forwarded her newsletter to me and I would love to be added to your mailing list. As for feedback, it is sooo difficult to put into words how your theatre productions elicit so many emotions. This is my second year attending Lewes. I went to the show this year feeling somewhat sad due to circumstances not expecting much of myself. Not only was I in awe of such talented actors, musicians and singers but I hadn't laughed as much for weeks. GPs should prescribe your performances for anyone who is depressed....much cheaper than medication and counselling but a million times more effective." 

Ah! Well, there y'go! Keep 'em coming.

Illuminating moment of the week: Noticing that men with white hair, or indeed no hair, were running past me at speed down Eastbourne seafront while I was walking my dog.