Finding A Voice (again)

HMV

Once upon a time, a long time ago, I was a timid little thing.The sort of child that wouldn’t really say boo to a goose. Then, at school – after being overlooked for the central casting – a guy called Patrick was forced to pull out of the school nativity play. It was ‘The Shepherd’s Story’, and he was the lead shepherd. I was asked to help the rest of the cast by reading his lines in rehearsal. I can still remember the opening lines:

I wish I’d never been married. I wish, I wish, I WISH I’d never been married.

This from an 11 year old soon-to-realise- homosexual. I began to quite like the acting thing, and so was secretly pleased when Patrick failed to recover in time for the performance. All of a sudden, the timid child had found a voice, and it felt really good.

From there, I joined a local panto group (oh yes I did!) and went on to school plays, and on to studying drama at University. In the midst of it all, I found the power in having a voice – both in projecting on stage and to a crowd, and to find the individual voice for myself as powerful, engaged and active. I studied the voice as part of the drama degree, alongside using my body, working in space and working at different levels, and it became a journey of knowing more about my interaction with other people.

In a second career, I trained as a counsellor, a psychotherapist. I helped other people tell their stories, helped them to find a voice for themselves – to name and reclaim shameful of frightening parts of themselves. As much of the work was over the telephone, I found ways to quieten and soften my voice, to put aside views and judgements which impeded the client’s telling and speaking. I became a soft spoken facilitator of feelings, a person-whisperer.

And then people had to ask me to ‘speak up’. I’d become so accustomed to soft speaking that it was a habit, that instead of performing I found myself shrinking. The quiet voice quietened my physically, artistically, emotionally and politically.

For the first time in -ooh, 20 years- I’ve been performing again. A couple of one-offs, but a journey in rediscovering the power of my voice. Feeling it resonate in my body, the power of a voice in the auditorium. Shouting, screaming, laughing, swearing. All those – words. ALOUD. Not thoughts, but spoken words.

It’s like running or swimming, rediscovering muscles unused for too long.

Today was an interview – again, the softly spoken facilitation. It returns easily, that quiet and timid part of me.

But there’s still a part of me able to shout out:

I WISH I’D NEVER BEEN MARRIED! I WISH, I WISH, I WISH I’D NEVER BEEN MARRIED!

 

 

 

 

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No Guts, No Glory – Confessions of a Zombie Survivor

No guts No Glory - a zombie war cry

No guts No Glory – a zombie war cry

Last weekend, I was filming, darhling, sweetie, lovey. As a supporting artist, or a featured extra. Or ‘just’ an extra.’ But, ‘there are no small parts, only small actors’, as I was told when I spent three years studying drama. Make it your story.

It was my second attempt. The first was a disaster.  I’d answered a call for actors to participate in a zombie film (is there any other, these days?) and received all the details via email. Nice thank you for participating. No payment. Except the glory of the Big Screen. So I got up at 6.30am on a weekend, and drove myself (no chauffeured car, like Danny Craig probably gets) into the centre of Coventry. It’s not difficult to imagine Coventry as a zombie city, even at its busiest. It was, of course, the inspiration for Ghost Town by The Specials. And at 6.30 in the morning, even with a ring-road half destroyed for ‘roadworks’, there was no traffic to get in my way. Coventry has been described as  all ‘ring-road and car parks’ by many , although finding a car park now is difficult, even for a long standing resident. I was pleased to find one, get my ticket, and be informed that it was a cheap parking day (£2 all day).

Unfortunately, as the ticket barrier went down, I also realised that this car park was closed until 10 0’clock. And I was now caught between the closed ticked barrier and the car park shutter, which had been locked down. I tutted loudly, and tried to consider what a zombie would do in this situation. Fortunately, I found some buzzer that put me through to Coventry’s faceless Big Brother Traffic Control, who were able to tell me to reverse, as they re-opened the ticket barrier. I’m sure Danny Craig never suffered this sort of humiliation. Never mind, I thought, I can use that for my character. Zombies are probably often frustrated.

It got worse. I arrived at the filming location fifteen minutes early – I was always taught to be punctual for performances, it separates the professional from the amdram – and was surprised that there was no-one else who was visibly zombie-like or filmworldy. How unprofessional, I thought, wrapping myself up in thermal longjohns, vest, hat, gloves and coat, readying myself for a long cold morning of filming.

Then it dawned. Today was not going to be Zombie Apocalypse. As I looked down at the instructions I’d taken all the trouble to print out, I realised that I had turned up two weeks early. If I was Danny Craig, I could have blamed my agent. As it was, I’d made a stupid, stupid mistake. Never mind, I could use that for my character. Zombies are probably often frustrated. And stupid. Their brains have rotted. I sat down dejectedly on a bench, as Coventry’s tramps and drunks walked past me, sobbing ‘I want to be a zombie! I want to be a zombie!’

So this time, I’d double checked the date and time of filming, and checked out which car parks were open. I still had my thermal longjohns, vest, hat, gloves and coat, readying myself for a long cold morning of filming. And this time, when I arrived, there were people. With cameras and booms, and clipboards, and people milling around, which is what actors do. I was introduced to the cameraman, second director, runner, and a whole host of other Hollywood type people.

I sat quietly and prepared myself. I had very little information. And, technically, I didn’t have a character.  But, remember, there are no small parts, only small actors. So I invented my character, Lem, and took the billboard above as inspiration – No guts, no glory. Very appropriate for Lem, who clearly had some form of learning disability, was easily frustrated, and prone to depressive bouts of sobbing in public. I’d gleaned that the film was about some sort of virus affecting people and turning them into zombies. Although, technically, I wasn’t a zombie, as we’d sent in photos to be chosen to be ‘zombies’ or ‘victims’. If you hadn’t heard back, you were supposed to be a victim. I didn’t see Lem as a victim.

We got separated into two groups to do walking acting – this time milling professionally on screen. A couple of takes of ‘walking’ – some actors, apparently, were walking in French. Lem was walking to finish some Christmas shopping for orphans with disabilities in Coventry, because he had a Big Heart and an abused childhood.

Then we did walking from another angle, which is where it got Quite Complicated and I became Quite Confused (I decided Lem was also easily confused, which was probably part of his learning disability.) We were separated into ‘People Dying’ (infected with a virus, and taking a while to die dramatically), ‘Victims’ (people who just dropped dead because they’d been infected with the virus) and Survivors – people who ran away and survived. Now, I’d already established that Lem wasn’t a victim. So I didn’t quite understand why the director hadn’t chosen me to be in the Survivors or People Dying groups. There are no small parts, only small actors. And Lem had a story to tell.

So when they shouted ‘action’, I went with the Truth of the Moment.Yes, technically, the direction was that I should just drop down dead. But, Lem took over me, and I looked around at people dropping dead, and heard the Survivors running behind me and past me, and Lem made a split-second decision to run. Lem ran through every take.

It was exhausting. Lem wasn’t terribly fit, and his shins and legs were aching and on fire after several sprints. And probably his immune system was trying to fight off the virus.

Other actors followed the direction more closely – some might say they were more professional. I just think they weren’t truly in character. Although I did complement one actor on his walking. Although, when I said ‘I like your walking’, he didn’t seem to take it as a complement.

So – spolier alert – Lem has survived, joined the Eco Warriors – and is now available to appear in the sequel, Lem – A Story Of Survival. I’m just waiting to hear from the Director ….

Lem will be coming to a screen near you as part of  the Coventry Film Festival in 2015. Unless he ends up on the cutting room floor.