I have just come back from a riotous rehearsal at the Cottesloe. Late Monday night I received a call from Dick Shining, the theatrical producer, who said due to a misunderstanding over a restaurant bill, his main actor had deserted him.
I've never had much time for Dick, but felt obliged to help in anyway I could.
Dick spoke of the play in preparation 'Ravings', a piece by a new writer called Amanda Shining. The play centers on the increasingly bizarre rantings of one of those bus station people one is often greeted by. The ones who insist on showing you a magic trick involving a trivial pursuit card, half a tennis ball and more recently in Victoria Station, a penis.
The play strips away the pretence of an uncaring world, exposing the core of a hopeless man beset by challenge, the lack of opportunity and special brew. I have, it has to be said, met a great many of these people, and some of them have been inspirations for characters I have been involved in. Phelgm is such a malleable medium to work with. One gent I met was actually formally in the profession, and we spent many a long hour waiting for a bus to Clitheroe chatting about the Industry and the theatre in general before he informed me he was related by marriage to The Moon. I won't name him, but he was a smashing lead in Midsommer Murders.
Anyway, the whole play is focussed on this one mans' struggle. And who should Dick want to play that man? Me. Little old me. I was flattered that I was the man for Dick.
"What about the script?" I asked around 3am, after some particularly delicate leering work "Oh, there's no script, just rant and rave. Expose yourself" said Dick. I ranted. I raved.
All day
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