Two bits of an amateur director

Acres of forest have been sacrificed to writing about theatre directing, and I have little to add that is original. But a small part of this occasional amateur theatre director's blog will be given over to two things that, for me, make the restless nights, knotted stomach, greying hairs, and dark hours of self-doubt almost worthwhile.

First, I like to work with people rather than technical effects. It's my personal taste, and as I do this stuff in my spare time, I don't see why I should be forced in a different direction. The plays that I have directed with The Finn-Brit Players reflect this preference: Absent Friends by Alan Ayckbourn, An Inspector Calls by J.B. Priestley, The Bald Prima Donna by Eugène Ionesco, and a number of original works by fellow group members. They are different genres of theatre, but they live primarily through actor, character, and interaction. More technical aspects such as lights, sound, costume, set, and props elevate these, but do not become a spectacle in their own right.

This is because I get my jollies by trying, sometimes helping, occasionally managing, to feed stimuli and ideas into an actor's process of creating a stage being. It may result in a character, caricature, or another form of stage presence, but it should be a living organism, at ease with the rest of the theatre piece.

I realise that this may sound terribly pretentious, but I feel that if I can establish a solid frame for the work, then the actor will produce something more dynamic, more real, more 'them' than anything that I could impose. The biggest challenge occurs if an actor's creation clashes with the balance of the piece as a whole, but with a sensitive actor that leads to a joint exploration of possibilities rather than a battle of wills. And when an actor clicks, and the stage being starts to form independently, that is a magical part of the creative process. It cannot be forced at any particular moment. It often comes when unasked. And it is very special.

Having said that, the second thing that gives me a kick is one of the more technical issues, and that is the creation of a space.

Being a somewhat itinerant group, we get to do quite a bit of this. We arrive at a venue. There is clutter. There may be boxes of cables, stacks of chairs, and remnants from other people's productions. We start work by poking around a bit. Gradually, an area is defined. A couple of lights are hung or focused. If it's a black box, some seats are arranged. Then, at a moment that it is almost impossible to define, you look up to find that the space has woken. It is alive. It recognises your presence. It has become a theatre.

Usually it is late in the evening. Usually the only people around to witness this are a handful of stage crew. But at this point, if you're lucky, it is finally possible to know for certain how the work from the rehearsals will fit into context. The space becomes an ally.

I have a suspicion that matching the two elements that I have picked out here is a key to avoiding much of the friction that can occur during a production. If an actor creates a character and then finds that the space does not support their work, it can be terribly frustrating to feel that several months of creative effort needs to be reshaped in maybe just a few hours. On the other hand, if a crew member gives life to a space and helps it to breathe, an emotional bond is formed with that space. If an actor then arrives with demands rather than appreciation, it can feel as if a stranger has violated a sanctuary. Mutual respect is essential: cast, crew, and space. Even, every now and then, director!

But so much for theory. Come and see the result.
Eugène Ionesco. The Bald Prima Donna. On now.