Megan's Head

A place where Megan gets off her head.

Category: G’town (Page 3 of 10)

Drive

It’s been two weeks since I started working with my awesome director Liz Mills on . We haven’t worked every day, or every moment of the days we work; I certainly don’t have the focus or stamina to do such intensive work, just me and her, for too long. But I am totally obsessed and pre-occupied. I say lines of text in the car, in the shower, to the dogs. I stomp around the house doing chunks and Big Friendly keeps thinking there is someone else here or that I am on the phone, fighting with someone. I keep trying on bits of costume and standing in front of the mirror, so I can have a clear picture of myself in my mind while I work on the floor.

Yesterday we managed a stumble through. From beginning to end. I almost know all the words and I am remembering what I should be doing where (even if I’m not actually doing it yet). It is an amazing feeling doing a one-person show again after all these years. And it brings up so many other, related and unrelated feelings. “Threads of past memory surface into the present.” That’s a quote from the play.

Here are some random moments and observations from the rehearsal process.

1.Liz and I gossip and reminisce, a lot. We have a lot of catching up to do; it’s been 30 years since I started drama school, with Liz as my voice teacher.

2. Liz talks about the writer (me) as if she was another person, blaming her for writing a challenging script. So do I.

3. Things in the script keep happening in real life. A small Fiat Uno on the side of the road, orange traffic cones down the middle on the white line. Neil Young on the radio. A ghost in a story. Stephen King on twitter. Everything is connected.

4. I am touched, moved by and sensitive to arbitrary moments. I am ready to cry, but not in or during the work.

5. I am excited about building relationships with an audience; that’s always been my big thing.

6. I watch other performers and compare myself to them all the time. “I do that.” “I don’t do that.” “I should do that.” “I’ve never even thought of doing that.” I imagine how they feel, how what they do makes them feel.

7. I am able to jump right into the performance zone when I improvise. Somehow, the focus of rehearsals and repetition bring my readiness to improvise onto my fingertips and everything is so easy to access. What a bonus.

8. I am able to criticise the writer and enjoy her and know it is me. I am starting to do that with the performer too.

9. I am saying my mantra for Grahamstown even as I type this. I don’t want to jinx it, so I’ll keep it private.

Here’s what I want you all to do. If you are coming to G’town, come and see my show. It’s called Drive With Me and it is on at the NG Kerk Hall from 27 June to 7 July every day, bar one (28 June). If you aren’t coming, please recommend it to friends and family who are. I am almost prepared to guarantee that whoever sees it will be a little bit changed (in a good way) forever.

Sweetest Same Time Next Year

One of the things I loved last night (at the opening of Bernard Slade’s play Same Time Next Year at the Kalk Bay Theatre) was what Simon Cooper said about this guy who saw this play (did he say 30 years ago?) and who loved it, and who has spent the last 10 years trying to get it onto stage. Then he said, “I am that guy and this is that play.”

But that wasn’t the only thing I loved about this completely charming, sweet and very funny play. I loved the (when I think about it it is quite ridiculous) idea of a married (to others) couple meeting for a weekend affair once a year for 25 years. I loved Chris Weare’s totally spot-on and immaculate directing. Because I see his work with students I know what an awesome teacher he is, but here, there is a certain freedom with working with Paul du Toit and Julie Hartley who are such professionals, and Chris’s directorial footprint is delicate but all over the piece. That’s probably because he also designed the production; a challenge because the play spans 25 years in the same space.

Mostly I loved Paul du Toit and Julie Hartley as George and Doris. Really, watching Paul is like watching a handsome Bob Newhart. He is quirky, hilarious and so, so funny and his timing is amazing. He makes us want to hang with George all the time, which is good, because that’s what the play is all about. Julie, as Doris, is totally different but as delicious. She is warm, sexy and lovely. I would also have fallen completely in love with her.

What is great about this production is that it embraces the fact that the play was obviously considered very modern when it was first performed in 1975, and as the audience we can’t help watching it with nostalgic, rose tinted glasses. This goes for its absolute Americanness too, which could have been a pain, but really wasn’t. That is helped by mostly very good accents by Paul and Julie.

To be honest, I can’t imagine anyone not loving, laughing through and enjoying Same Time Next Year. Catch it now at KBT, or in Grahamstown, at the festival.

Starting Drive with Me

It’s a week to go before I start proper rehearsals for Drive With Me with my director, the awesome Liz Mills, but I want to have learnt as many of my words as possible before we start. I have been learning them for about a month now, but not very seriously, and I am just under half way. You would think that because I wrote the words myself I would have an easier time of it, but it’s actually worse; I criticise the choices I have made and agonise about changing anything. These conundrums are brilliant time wasters and can tie me in knots and make me lose focus and concentration.

Then there is the dreaded and famous actor insecurity. Now I haven’t done a one-woman show since 1998, fifteen years ago, and I imagine it is like burying the memory of childbirth pain. My brain has forgotten the panic, endless doubt and questioning. I am terrified on so many levels. What will people think? Is it a bad idea? Will they ‘get it’? Will they like it? Will they come? Am I nuts?

I have to manage these fears before they get completely out of hand. I have to feel the love and trust the material. I have to pick up the script and persevere, and not give up when I go blank, again. See you later.

Drive With Me

KBT ads Sample 03 _0005_Drive

A little more about Me (part 7)

I woke up this morning with words running through my head. This is a good thing. You see, I have started learning words for my self-penned one-woman show Drive With Me, that will be premiering on this year’s Grahamstown festival’s fringe. I have forgotten how hard it is to learn words for a one-person show, but I am so thrilled that I am doing this that the learning is a joy. As it should be. I am feeling so different about this show. I am deeply proud of my writing. In Drive With Me I have come as close as possible to really saying exactly what I intended. Now to honour it with some good acting.

I am also filled with creamy bubbles of excitement because Song and Dance enters its second week of rehearsals today, for a run at The Kalk Bay Theatre starting on 1 May. I popped in to the rehearsal room on Friday and director Ntombi Makhutshi and perfect cast Anele Situlweni, Deon Nebulane and Zondwa Njokweni are doing hilarious and amazing stuff. It’s the first time I have written something and then completely handed it over to others to make, and it is thrilling.

So, truth is, I feel like one of the luckiest people again.

My open letter to Ismail Mohamed

An open letter to Ismail Mohamed, Festival director National Arts Festival

Dear Ismail

In theory I should still be waiting to hear from you whether my proposal for Drive With Me has been accepted onto the main festival for The Grahamstown National Arts Festival 2012. And in fact, I would still be waiting, if I hadn’t spoken out my concerns and frustrations with other friends and artists who have shared with me that they have experienced the same treatment by you over the last few years. Because they have explained how you do things I have given up on the idea of hearing from you, and have accepted an invitation to attend an international improvisation festival in Canberra during the first week of July. So, that is all sorted out. Accept this open letter as my official withdrawal from this year’s festival.

I do however want to take up with you how you do business. I often read on Artslink and Facebook about how you believe artists should be treated, and yet you are entirely comfortable with treating us with a certain distain and disrespect. I don’t get it.

Here is a rough timeline of what happened. I got an inspired and carefully thought out proposal to you well in time for the deadline in August last year. Here it is appropriate to point out that as a theatre maker of many years’ experience I was completely ready for the possibility of rejection. We always are. Instead, I got a phone call from you a little later than the promised time that we would hear, with the good news that my project had been shortlisted. Again, I was encouraged by the possibility but still completely open to the reality that I would not make the final cut. In mid December I got another call from you. This time you offered me a chance for my one-woman show to be part of the brilliant new one-person festival within the festival that you were setting up. You also offered me an Arena deal (where my accommodation, transport and venue hire would be covered by the festival and where we would take a cut of the door). I explained that I had applied to be part of the Main precisely because I wanted to pay for a director, designer etc and did not want to do other fundraising to produce the show. You agreed to get back to me by the end of the month. I got nervous. I sent you a pleading email. Recently I emailed you again. You stalled me again.

Two good friends have told me exactly the same story about how you handled their proposals; one last year and one the year before. Neither of them, after promises and assurances by you, was accepted onto the Main festival. These are two that I know about.

I think that this is a very bad way to do business. The Grahamstown National Festival is a prestigious affair, with an enormous reputation, but you have treated me, and others like me, as if it were a two-bit operation. I am deeply insulted, not that my proposal was not selected, but by how you have handled me, and my situation.

One of the problems is that we all find it difficult to be outspoken and straight with you. You are in a position of power, with an enormous influence on the outcome of our work. Well, I suddenly don’t care. I need to tell you that I think your treatment of me in particular, and others in general, has been entirely unsatisfactory. You need to be called on this. Without our input, proposals and productions there is no festival. You need us as much as we need you.

The rumour mill is rife with the story that you are out of “Grumpytown” as you call it, the minute your contract is up at the end of the year, and that you have already secured another position. If this is the case, please just throw my gorgeous proposal away and I’ll resubmit it to your successor for next year’s festival.

Megan Furniss

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