Huddled. Yearning? Free.

The cruel thing about marketing a play, is that as opening night edges closer, the quality and quantity of marketing have to accelerate, just when you start to feel like if you give your (by now) well-rehearsed marketing spiel to anyone else you will scream. This has been a 9 month project, and I would be lying to say that I have enjoyed every minute of it. Lots of things have been incredibly challenging, and sometimes you don’t feel up to it. However, when everything starts to come together in such a way, it really is so beautiful and I am so proud of every single member of the team for all the hours they have put in so far. It is all finally starting to pay off.

One of the aspects of the marketing I was most proud of was the event that we created in union with The Oxford Hub, discussing the refugee crisis. The speaker gave personal accounts of a number of refugees she had met in her travels, in their own words. I think in our world of snappy headlines and incomprehensibly large statistics, it is easy to forget that these are real people, and this is really what they are experiencing. I was so proud of the team, for organising such a successful event, but also for hopefully energising the Oxford community to do something. Our play is a piece of art, but that doesn’t mean that we have to stop at simply entertaining our audience. It raises important questions about how we treat and think about those less fortunate than ourselves, and I hope that in some way we will indirectly but practically help someone in the world. That would be my dream.

Facebook advertising is well underway, and the numbers are starting to creep up slowly, as do ticket sales. The most helpful advice any of us have been given throughout this process, is to HOLD YOUR NERVE. This sounds simple, but with a production such as ours, nothing will market it better than word of mouth. We have to stay calm and trust that all the hard work will pay off, I have every confidence that it will.

When we received the bid confirmation in February, I remember dancing around our room manically with our producer, Clara, both overcome with happiness. Then we both fell silent very quickly as we realised we had to produce and create something to a professional standard, while also doing Oxford degrees and maintaining sanity and a social life. I also remember thinking that 9 months was so far away, that’s the length of a pregnancy! But it has whistled around so quickly, we are days away from the due date now. I for one cannot wait to see the culmination of 9 months of blood, sweat and tears, and to see the look on the audience’s faces when we reveal to them all our hard work. The look on the audience’s faces will make it all worthwhile I am sure of it.

One thing I have learnt as Production Manager on Pentecost is just the necessity for me to be... everywhere.

It’s not an exaggeration. The other day I was attempting to have a costume meeting during a rehearsal I needed to watch whilst our Set Designer was waiting for me to finish so we could have a build meeting.

And it’s because I have discovered how a Production Manager needs to act as a coordinator, a unifier, between the half a dozen departments in a production team. Not just in a practical sense, but also on a more artistic level.

For example, in rehearsal the other day I noticed that one of the actors was pretending to sling his gun onto his back, however in the props meeting I had attended the day before when discussing the gun we had not thought to get one with a strap. I therefore needed to communicate to the Stage Team that they would need to edit the gun we bought.

Perhaps even more importantly I can see the tone of a scene developing in rehearsals. The silence and emptiness of the Church appeared incredibly important in the first scene, however part of our set includes a large piece of Communist graffiti which is vibrant in colour, contrasting heavily with the cold grey walls of the Church. The Church is less visible because of its prominence. After watching the rehearsal I decided that the painting spoilt the illusion of the scene slightly, and therefore in our final build week we will use watered down grey paint to distress and fade the graffiti.

From making sure that our Costume Designer knows that someone needs to be able to run in their outfit, to unifying the lighting state with the music design, I need to be able to go between each member of the team in order to produce a show where every department works together.

It’s incredibly exciting because it involves learning about departments I am fairly unfamiliar with. However this is also a drawback, and I know that, with more experience, I would be able to make the process go much more smoothly. For example I would know without asking what a certain tone in the scene meant technically for lighting design.

Despite this one of my favourite parts of being a Production Manager is the fact that I get a creative input in every department, and whilst I do not make the final decision (except when we get to the theatre, mwahahaha the power), I enjoy being able to influence the artistic and technical vision.

Even if it does mean holding whispered meetings whilst a rather dramatic scene is rehearsed.

PENTECOST - THE RENAISSANCE, Episode One

First in our ground-breaking series of documentaries, Doctor Oliver Davenport (Senior Fellow, Ruskin Institute) takes a look at the traditional view of the Renaissance, and explains why it isn't as simple as all that. This autumn, Doctor Davenport will be taking a trip to eastern Europe to visit a number newly independent Balkan countries. Keep up to date with his trip here:

https://www.oxfordplayhouse.com/show/?eventid=3458

It’s important to talk about the times when things are tough. Sometimes there is a feeling in Oxford – especially in Oxford drama – that everyone else knows exactly what they’re doing, that everyone else is coping, and that everyone else can handle it. I am pretty 100% sure that this isn’t the case: everyone, from stage managers to producers and directors and the lead actors must have moments where everything feels like it’s just a bit too much.

I couldn’t have imagined how much work putting on a Playhouse show would involve. I thought I understood it, but I really didn’t. Stepping up from the O’Reilly to the Playhouse is a huge jump: you have 600 seats instead of 181 to fill, you have a programme to write and marketing to complete, your set has to be of a professional standard and the acting is expected to be impeccable. There are challenges associated with Pentecost that make this even harder. The languages have proved a big problem – time and time again I have tried to find native speakers for Bulgarian or Azeri to record the lines for us, but it has proved nigh-on impossible. Moreover, working with a massive cast is a whole different kettle of fish.

The problem we have faced this week is with casting. Two of our actors have dropped out, and whilst I’ve filled some extra roles by doubling cast members, two characters in particular are posing problems. The major problem is finding a new actor who can skilfully and sensitively play an Afghani character. Oxford is notoriously horrible at having a diverse student body – it is a horrible truth that there are very few BME students at our university. The problem is magnified in the drama scene. Casting an ethnically accurate student who has no acting experience would be tokenistic and patronising – casting an ethnically inaccurate actor would equally be problematic. I have spent the last few days in a real state of worry about this, but I hope that we have finally found a solution.

The truth is that most shows face problems, but they nearly always overcome them. Spending so much time on the play has taken a huge toll on me emotionally and physically. Juggling third-year work and rehearsals has proved exhausting. I am also very aware that I spend a lot of time sounding stressed and or being generally boring to talk to. There’s always the rising sense of dread when you realise that you have been ranting at dinner about how busy you are for the third meal running.

It’s important to remember though, that we are not professionals. Professional casts and professional production teams often have 9-5 rehearsal days – it’s why the shows are so glossy and slick. It’s okay to remember that we are all students. The general advice to directors is not to show your cast how stressed you are, but this is sometimes impossible. My cast is absolutely fantastic, and they have actually proved a great support to me, cheerleading me on and sending me supportive messages when they know it’s getting a bit much.

Equally, my production team are fantastic. I often get supportive texts and chocolate in my pidge, and I know we all have such pride in the work we collectively are doing. I often look at our marketing or set or production and feel so proud of my friends that I could burst.

If you are reading this, and are putting on your own production, from the BT to the Playhouse or a garden play: I am sure you are doing a fantastic job. We all need to take a step back and remember how impressive we are, to be juggling work and a social life and creating pretty fucking amazing theatre.

In conclusion – sometimes it is hard, but it will all be worth it in the end.

An illustration of our set to give the cast a realistic impression of the space they will be working in as they rehearse this week….

I switched from acting to directing very early in my first year, mostly because I realised that I hated being told what to do. I very quickly discovered that being a student director is extremely difficult. As the director of a play, you are the guiding light – it is your vision that is inspiring the whole production team to get on with the day to day drudgery of putting up posters, applying for funding and running paper-techs late into the night. At the same time, you’re just another student, with your own stresses and worries about the production you’re mounting. The best advice I can give is to believe in yourself. It sounds incredibly cliché and not at all useful, but it is the mantra that I repeat to myself again and again during the most difficult moments of a production. Trust that your instincts and ambitions are going to create something that is utterly worthwhile. Believe in yourself when recruiting a production team to make a bid – believe in yourself when you start rehearsals – believe in yourself on opening night, and most importantly, believe in yourself if you get a bad review from the student press.  Don’t let anyone undermine you; make sure that you are confident enough to pick yourself up from a bad rehearsal and move on. If your actors or production team can sense doubt or weakness, it will spread like wildfire.

 That said, here are some more useful pieces of advice that I have picked up over the last few years:

In -2nd and -1st we turned up on the Playhouse’s doorstep and made it our home for ten days. It was a baptism of fire and I wouldn’t have survived without the amazing team that made my limp bits of paper into a proper set. 

I have little experience in construction, and am not famed for my mathematical abilities, but I am lucky that others  provided swathes of both, as well as patience, in our quest to build the Pentecost set. Immense thanks go to Laura (whose endless optimism and jigsawing was indispensable), Jennifer (timber cutter extraordinaire), Clara (who juggled production and sawdust awesomely), Freya and Beth (whose painting and support made my day) and the Playhouse staff, especially Zeb and James, who put up with having to teach me from the very basics and mould my vague plan into a durable structure. 

 If I did it again, my number one piece of advice to myself would be to get prepared, as prepared as humanly possible. The more extensive your preparation, the more likely you are going to build something impressive that comes in on time, under budget and with minimal stress. 

Making a model box was a struggle, and I ultimately resorted to computer/hand drawn designs, but I wish I had persevered as a model box is the best way to think through all of your design ideas and also to show other members of the production team. A director and their cast can use the model box to help them block the play, and those building the set with have a much greater conception of what they are constructing if they can see it in miniature. Once a model box is made, obvious problems in construction can be foreseen and dealt with before materials are ordered or cut up, resulting in a far cheaper build. 

As it was, we started with hand drawn and Sketch Up designs. The process started with building flats out of plywood and timber (cue learning how to use the tools in the workshop and paying attention to James’ every word...the wiggle pin gun was particularly fun!) Once the flats were built they needed painting with a coat of white wall paint before we could begin drawing and painting the detail required to turn the enormous pieces of wall into a church! Lots of chopping later, the other more fiddly bits of the set were also made and again coated in white. Laura, Jen and Clara smashed out the tough work while I pansied about with a pencil and between us the set began to grow. The painting process was so exciting as we watched it light up and several members of the cast and crew came to help out. Finally, we ‘distressed’ the set to make it look weathered and authentic- though this process will have to continue when we are back in the workshop in two weeks time.

We are now ready to tackle set dressing and are talking with lighting and sound to make sure the full aesthetic picture is as professional as possible!

THANK YOU TEAM! It is impossible to physically manhandle a white washed wall twice as tall as you alone, I tried. You need willing hands (and biceps) and at least a few people who have done it before. We’re nearly there! :)

Director Freya, Marketing Manager Beth and I were lucky enough to travel to Italy just before term began to study the work of Giotto and his contemporaries first hand as the script requires that I ape it in the set, not a small feat!  Pentecost’s narrative turns upon the fictional fresco and its authorship. Thus, the composition of the painting is vital, as are its containing clear examples of foreshortening, solid figures and perspective. 

We were able to investigate the work that predated Giotto, which was vital as we needed to understand the climate in which the painting in Pentecost would have sat,  and postdated the grand master, which was also paramount because it was the difference between the two styles which was ultimately so groundbreaking and entirely colours the script as it explains the painting’s worth and importance.

Our trip began in Padua, which was heavily bombed in WW2 and the aesthetic of decay this created was inspiring. Still a working place of worship, the Eremitani Church is a good example of a number of buildings we saw which invited discussion how to create such an ethereal interior on stage using set, lighting and sound. We began to realise the importance of closely working with designers on every technical aspect of the show to create a cohesive and convincing picture. 

The Scrovegni Chapel was suitably momentous, as it was compulsory to advance book, then to wait 15 minutes before entering the chapel in order to acclimatise to the interior air pressure and then we had just another 15 inside. These strict limits ensured that the chapel was not overcrowded and had the effect of exaggerating the awe inspired upon viewing the frescoes. The entire interior of the chapel was covered with Giotto’s painting, and what struck immediately was not the paintings’ beauty but the sheer force and momentum of their narrative. Giotto’s groundbreaking use of perspective was demonstrated expertly across the chapel, with paintwork creating the illusion of marble pillars and even rooms beyond. The west wall of the chapel depicted the Last Judgement, and its more prominent Byzantine influence really helped me understand the magnitude of Giotto’s new ventures in the north and south sides. 

The Scrovegni Chapel offered an extensive education on the work of a man who introduced Western art as we know it. Giotto’s naturalism, understanding of narrative and signature composition were all obvious in our short visit, and such close study undoubtedly helped me understand the painting style I wanted to mimic in our set design.  A theatre set and a finely painted church mural cannot be identical in construction, and nor should they be, and visiting Giotto’s work helped draw our attention to those elements of the painting which were the most significant, and thus the ones to stress when composing the set design. Given time constraints and practicalities such as those that some audience members will be very far away from the painting on set, the brushwork on our design was much thicker and clunkier, with blacks being used where the ‘real thing’ might have a plethora of deep browns, and a research trip was vital to the smooth transposition from fine art masterpiece to theatre set. 

Whilst in Padua we further visited the 12th century baptistery of the Duomo, which contained de’Menabuoi’s fresco cycle which is thought to be the most complete of its kind in Italy, and the Basilica di Sant’Antonio, which typifies the Byzantine traditions Giotto was to so strikingly move away from. 

Once in Venice, we visited the key sites, each view offering a different look at the intricate tapestry of artwork across the locality which informed the Renaissance. The island of Torcello boasted the oldest buildings in the Lagoon and, as our final attraction, it nicely rounded our picture of the journey from Byzantine art to the Renaissance. 

Our research has enabled us to work with the cast on ensuring the production is culturally appropriate and accurate and to produce a design in complete keeping with the actual historical development of Western art. The trip demonstrated the incredible pride the Italians have in Giotto and his contemporaries work, and the way that this shapes their identity, and this continues to inform discussions in the script about the definition of ‘Western’ and the importance of nationality.

The last two weeks have been absolutely exhausting. I knew that coming back into final year and directing a Playhouse show at the same time would be difficult, but I severely underestimated just how much I would want to curl into a ball in front of Friends at the end of every day.

Most of the cast came back in -1st week to start rehearsals. I decided not to jump straight into blocking, but to spend some time working on the world of the play. We had discussions about nationhood and about the world of Our Country, we improvised hostage situations and researched the debates over restoring and conserving damaged artwork. The week was very productive - I felt that the cast had bonded as a group by the time that we all trouped to the pub on Friday afternoon, and I think that it was important to lay some groundwork before we started tackling the actual scenes of the play.

A cast member once said to me that the problem with drama in Oxford is that directors rarely use any ‘techniques’ when producing a play. I have definitely tried, through the rehearsal process of Pentecost, to adapt my style to include more techniques than just analysing the script. Some have been more effective than others – organising characters in terms of their age, height, intelligence and authority proved to be a useful exercise which I think will help in some of the bigger group scenes. Trying to prepare improvisations about the offstage events of the play was less successful, partially because we were all tired and fractious, and because some key cast members were missing.

Margo Annett, a voice coach who works with the RSC, came down to our rehearsals and gave some invaluable advice. She discussed with us the best ways to project your voice in the Playhouse, and protect yourself from losing your voice during show-week. Talking to her afterwards was very interesting – Margo told me that she was bemused why student directors and actors in Oxford put so much emphasis on ‘fun’ warm-ups. ‘They’re just silly, darling,’ she told me, ‘professional actors would tell you to fuck off if you told them to play a game of zip zap boing.’ As I’m pretty rubbish at warm-ups, this was good news.

For all that -1st week was productive and helpful and exciting, I can’t help but worry that we didn’t jump into blocking sooner rather than later. Going through the script, I have realised that some of the scenes will take an extremely long time to work through successfully. Now I’m trying to plan my rehearsals as efficiently as possible to make sure that we’re not in a rush at the end.

I thought I would share with you all something I’ve found from spending hours poring over measurements and orders and numbers and mathematical diagrams and other things generally considered to be the less interesting parts of the process of putting on a play. As actors create scenes brimming with emotion and our set designer, Megan, paints gorgeous murals expressing the political fervour of their creators, it can sometimes be odd to be crouched on the ground with a measuring tape in one hand, a diagram in the other, staring aggressively at a piece of timber that just won’t fit.

The timber plans for one of our flats. I won’t show you the version with all of the measurements on it, it terrifies me and it’s also unreadable.

My job as Production Manager is certainly a lot more than getting angry with pieces of wood and measuring everything half a million times. But Megan pointed out to me yesterday that whenever she has seen a play she has never really thought about the flats and their construction. Until now she has always thought of them as pre-made. But as I stand behind our flats, studying their complicated structural elements and braces, our 20+ hours of work is anything but.

So even as we paint the flats white, distress them, and add layers of history with murals, signatures, wear and tear, and of course the Lamentation painting, I still like to look at the back every now and then.

In January 2014, Freya Judd demanded I attend a workshop, held at the BT Studio, for aspiring producers and production teams. I was not an aspiring producer at the time; I was merely the best friend of someone I had a limited capacity for saying no to. Nevertheless, paperwork was thrust into my hands and before I knew it, I was producing a play. A few days later, another best friend (Beth MacKenzie) joined onto this haphazard endeavour, and two weeks after that, the three of us had somehow managed to launch a successful bid to run ‘A History of Falling Things’ at the BT Studio. I mention this because there is an illusion within Oxford Drama – that everyone knows what they are doing, somehow, immediately. People just drift up to Oxford, fully fledged thesps and directors, ready to make their mark on a new stage. Certainly this is the impression I laboured under – all these other people who knew what they were doing; the names that you know, but don’t know about.

‘A History of Falling Things’, or ‘AHOFT’, how it is now affectionately known by production members, is basically a story of how, in producing a play, everything went wrong, and it all ended up being alright in the end. We even made money! This is not to say it wasn’t a struggle. Our budget was less than £1000, but we were funded for about a third of it. One cheque from a funding body did not end up being provided until after the run itself. Our poster was made on a free downloadable graphic design tool, and we had to contract the (free) labour of our partners to cover front-of-house and help with putting up our posters. Their payment at the time was a trip to G&D’s – and that was on the condition that we made any money, which at that point seemed unlikely. There were many evenings when Beth and I would just lie on her bed lamenting the extra work that the play demanded. Not to mention that, in our paranoia over losing money, we practically frogmarched everyone we knew down to the BT, in an effort to break even.

It was hard. In four months, I had gone from knowing nothing about producing theatre to making a profit on our first production, and even if it was the bumpiest journey you could possibly imagine, it really was rewarding. We weren’t perfect the first time round; we still aren’t. But now we are managing a budget about twenty times what we started with. We have ten times more marketing strategies. Our cast has increased almost 6 fold. We have had to physically build our set from scratch – AHOFT had no construction at all. So some would say that we’ve come a long way.