20110925

While I was typing this to you, someone called...


Just received an interesting call from NASA, that’s the National Acting in Space Association, not the rocket people, although strangely it did involve the rocket people.

Apparently they are looking for someone to send into space, an acting mission. To see how Stoppard and Ayckbourn work in a zero gravity environment. Apparently the results thus far have not been good, with the performance of PSmith in the City, performed by chimps, largely consisting of throwing excrement at the loading bay window.

I am going to return their call and continue updating you with my news shortly.

Catch Up 2


The other thing sci-fi wise I have been invited to audition for in the last month was Planet Paddlesteamer, a new show for CCTV (which is Childrens’ Television, not the wretched things which watch you and send you a fine when in fact they have locked all the public conveniences so in fact I should be fining them. Besides, Waterstones? Who goes in there anymore? Pass it off as rainwater, I say.)

Planet Paddlesteamer is about a planet which is shaped like one of those Paddlesteamers you see in anything with Jane Seymour in. Apparently, she has it written into her contract that at least two speeches must contain a paddle steamer moving slowly past in the background, which did I understand provide a series of logistical problems for her stage work, poor love. There are many paddlesteamer anecdotes featuring Ms Seymour, some of which have been hushed up by the media, but I can tell you she did have the good grace to send the relatives and survivors a smashing fruit basket.

So I am up for The Captain, a haughty, seasoned salty old dog of the waterways, whose wisdom and experience is called upon in times of trouble. His metaphors are there for all to see, and for the young to digest and ruminate upon. A sample speech:

“Ah, the waves splash high against the bow, casting the foam like memories of a life misspent. See, Mr Jeavons, see how the wash dissipates so quickly, leaving but the merest hint t’were e’er here. See how the cruellest mistress, her waves and ebbs, her flows and tender tides, caressing the shore like a tender lover. Her endless bounty is never moribund, and what wonders her hitherto uncharted depths do hide from our incongruous eyes”.

Of course being set in space there are no waves, ebbs or any other damp nonsense. So it’s all allegory. It’s a beautifully written but I fear will be lost on the under 3s. But it is work.

Catch up 1


This last few weeks has been a maelstrom of activity, a veritable nightmare of fevered endeavour, a seeming thick dust cloud of action in the midst of which, I have shouted ‘Eat my dust. Swallow my filth.’

Mid August I had a call from the producer of Dr Who. Apparently they were working on a new monster, from the planet Thespian, a creature which thrives and feeds on the emotions and bad feeling it can create in a small to medium sized production company, and would I like to take part in some screen tests as Queenie Ooer, the asexual King of Thespis. A Thesplord. My hand trembled as I spoke in revered and respectful tones to the albeit it just out of short trousers producer. “Meet me in the old warehouse in Kings Cross” he said.

The covert nature of this job meant I was unable to inform anyone of where I was going and what I was up to. Dr Who is now a closely secured working environment, where only those who are supposed to be there, are there. And Lesley Joseph.

I turned up at the warehouse at the presumed time and presented my interpretation of Ooer, flaming, incensed, sad and angry, belligerent, merciful, playful and sexually alluring. Well, as sexually alluring as one can be with bubble wrap up ones nose.

After some photography and a light buffet, I was informed I was in the running and being considered. Now, let me tell you, a Dr Who baddie can lead you to great things. Look at Trevor Eve. Started off as a Puddle of Slime in Avengement of the Snork, now his CV reads like a directory of everything in the acting profession, but mostly acting. The Puddle isn’t even mentioned. Dame Maggie Smith was the Vhaal of Clwuddiayn, an alien being so terrifying, parents refused to watch and turned over to the Comedians instead. And of course Bonnie Langford.

Satisfied my place in the pantheon of Who adversaries was secure, I retired to the Pug and Poodle, a famous Kings Cross actors’ watering hole. As I walked in, my confidence plummeted. The entire bar was full of other noteries with the same ambition. Ben Kingsley, Timothy West, Ian Lavender, Brian Blessed, Anthony Hopkins, Pierce Brosnan and Lembit Opik, all with bubble wrap filled nostrils. I am afraid my anger got the better of me, and there was a small melee. The papers of course picked up on it, and it got blown out of all proportion and you may have read of the Kings Cross Riot From Hell. Although it was actually just a spilled daiquiri.