Poster Evolution

Designing the poster for the show has been a long, hard process - but I'm very pleased with the final design.  Other people seem to like it too.  That's really more important - after all, I'd watch the show if the poster was an old crisp packet.

Credit for the poster (which you can see in greater glory here) goes to Ron on camera, and the snake-hipped genius, Joel Simpson. This is him.

This is his band, Retro Soup.

These are his designs.

And here's how it happened, with apologies to Dove:

We put a lot of effort into the poster.  More into the show.

Tickets here.

Read-through Two

The actors came round yesterday to read through the new draft of the script.

It went well and I really enjoyed it.  The script’s become much tighter and more itself.  It used to start like a tornado and carry on shouting - now it progresses from calmer beginnings to the explosions of the later scenes.  I've trimmed things out, making it sparer, easier to understand and there’s less flurry, which I hope allows both the humour and the more moving moments to stand out more.  I can still do more to improve it, though – it can be leaner, and I can give the actors more to do between lines rather than using words to make the turns.  And it's always tempting to write more jokes.

Performance-wise, Martin and Jerome did a fine job.  Sight-reading is hard, sight-reading with accents harder still.  Occasional notes of Irish and Archers crept it, but they’ve both got a good ear and rehearsal plus our time in Somerset, soaking up and listening, will firm them up.

It's been great to have the cast being part of the rewriting process.  Listening to their voices on tape helps hugely.  I've also had great help from Sarah and Isy, asking the difficult questions and the simple ones (why do you need two of those? How are we supposed to know that's the uncle?  Yes, you've got enough jokes).

Here the lads are trying on possible costume.  I don’t think it’s possible to have enough photos of men looking uncomfortable in jumpers.

With a week to go until rehearsals start, there’s work to do, but I’m happy.

Tickets: www.pleasance.co.uk / 0131 556 6550

Scale

Prior to writing any dialogue, I sweated over Dad’s Money on a scale I never have before.  Then I wrote the words.  I am now rewriting more than I ever have.

I sent the first draft to my great friend and enabler, Sarah Dickenson, the brilliant literary manager of Theatre 503.  She asked me all the hard questions you should ask a writer (except the ones about finance and washing-up).  Because of Sarah, the script will be much better.  Because of Sarah, I have a lot of work to do.

This is a photo of my work in the small hours of Friday morning:  

I have included a pencil to demonstrate scale.  The pencil is HB, which is a designation on a scale of hardness.

Pencils have their own scale, but there are many methods of measuring hardness.  My favourite is the Brinell test.

The Brinell hardness test consists of indenting the test material with a hardened steel ball subjected to a load of 3000 kg.  A rigorous scientific procedure that is all very well, Mr. Brinell – but you’ve never met Sarah Dickenson.

A technique for having ideas

I’m still reading Alexander MacKendrick's ‘On Film-Making’ and was excited to come to a chapter called, ‘A technique for having ideas.’ 

It begins, ‘There is no technique for having ideas.’

I'm a big fan of this man. Not just for his films, not just for his prose, but also for his pose in this photo, which I think was taken in Africa. I am assuming he is the man on the roof, not the shadow on the door.

Later in the book (in today's post, I am telling you cool stuff dead people said) he says that in a story, what is happening now is not as interesting as what may or may not happen next.  He thinks a story should spend as much (if not more) time on the preparation and aftermath as the event itself.

I’m reading through my script again, looking at the chain of events – am I digging as deep into the meat there as I can?  Are we seeing all the motivations and fears and worries and hopes that go into the big events of the play - and the human consequences of the brothers' battles?

It’s not quite a technique for having ideas, but it helps refine those I've already had.  At this stage of the writing process, that's probably more important.

Day Job

My day job is editing TV programmes.

I may be kidding myself here.  At what point in your twenties does your day job become your job?

I have no time for such considerations - I'm working for the BBC. I am always conscious of what a privilege that is, and always conscious that a freelancer can be sacked at any moment.

This week, I’m doing two days for the Culture Show. There's a new film about Dylan Thomas, The Edge of Love, coming out.  As well as the interviews and reviews, we're making a short piece where the residents of Laugharne read a couple of Dylan Thomas's poems, Perfect Day-style.

This is the last job I did for them.

Karl is sharper than he makes out.  He works with Ricky Gervais.  (That's for you, google).

The brothers say hello

This is the film we made for the Fringe press launch, which took place this morning. I don't know whether they used it or not - if they did, it probably looked less grainy than what you'll see below. Next time I upload to youtube, I'll make sure not to compose a shot full of leaves - they take up a lot of memory so the faces become a bit Dietrich. 

This is my homage to all the classic femmes fatales, in their vaseline-blurred beauty. Not that Jerome and Martin need that sort of help. But no matter what it looks like, their comic timing shines through.  I can't wait to rehearse with these two.

The Human Side

Following Sunday’s reading (more mug than saucer, I'm faking posh with this photo) I’ve got a bunch of new ideas - things to try, things to cut, things to improve.  It’s hard work, but good work.

I find it very useful to read through the script with a single thing in mind - being in Joe’s head, being in Tom’s head – do their actions and intentions all make sense? 

Then I swap the character hat for the god/writer hat: is every line active?  I’m trying to make sure the characters never do anything without trying to affect the other.  This will hopefully go some way to keeping Dad’s Money human. But there's more to it than that.

I watched a play tonight where, towards the end, two characters delivered monologues about the traumatic experiences they’ve been through.  They were very, very bad experiences - but they didn't move me.  The story involved some potentially very dramatic events, but the play consisted mostly of dualogues where the characters argued very directly over the facts at issue in the scene, so we never saw the human consequences.  It got boring.

Was it boring because the story was boring?  I don’t think so.  Macbeth would be boring if we just saw moral debates on the murders.  We don’t – Shakespeare shows us both the incitements to the killings, and the effects of the deaths on the perpetrators, the deceased’s family, on the entire kingdom.  That’s the good stuff.

It’s the same reason we want to see the weeping family on the news.  It’s the same reason the WAGs are in the paper.  It’s the same reason we gossip.  And it’s obvious we lap this stuff up, but it’s not always obvious when it’s missing from a script.

I’m going to head back to my play and read through again, digging as deep as I can into the human side. 

Reading

Yesterday, Jerome and Martin came round to read through the first draft of the play. I was pretty nervous - the play's still too raw for me. I wrote it on Tuesday, and normally no one would see new stuff for at least a couple of weeks - particularly not the actors who have to bring these characters to life in a month's time. So I made an effort and softened them up with ginger biscuits. Always a good bet for a diabetic like Martin.

Readings can be tough for a writer. You've lived with these characters for months, and they instantly stop sounding like they did in your head. Some things are better, some things hurt. But I was very pleased with what the actors came up with. They work together very well, and a lot of the humour hit right off the page. Also, there's a benefit to the rawness - later on, good actors will make bad writing seem better than it is. The first read can teach you a lot about your script.

Yeah, I was pretty happy till I came upstairs to see Martin calling the Samaritans and Jerome deciding whether to jump.