72 days

February 12, 2010

Sarah, Kate S. and I met Ollie and Ita, the respective workshop leaders for the Monday and Wednesday nights, and Caroline (Moll Cutpurse) who’ll also be working with the community cast. First me, then Sarah, then Caroline and other actors and Di as a group-scene choreographer will work alongside the workshop leaders. So members of the community cast get the continuity of the same contact – Ollie or Ita – every week AND also get to work with the people involved in all aspects of putting on the professional production: writer, director, actors, crew…

The community cast will begin by exploring being a group “humanity” – as actors, whores, ferrymen, doctors, nurses, nuns, lost souls and devils. This group energy is crucial to the transformational scenes in the drama. Within this group, individuals will have the opportunity to have lines and some will play parts. All this will evolve naturally. There are no auditions. All are welcome: from professional actors willing to do a mystery play for free to people who’ve never acted in their lives and would like to give it a try.

Katie joined us for the budget meeting. We’re still a bit short of our original target budget – we’ve cut our cloth accordingly and are trusting that more grants and donations will arrive to help underpin our ticket sales. We agree to draw up revised budgets to the funds available.

All things considered, a good week – with yrstruly’s strange but true appearance on Songs of Praise giving our profile and ticket sales an unlikely boost, our main publicity campaign just kicking in, our posters and flyers off to the printers.

Why then, as I hang my homburg on the hook and leave my place of toil, already a few hours late for my Shabbat sundown, do I sign off feeling just a tad… deflated, subdued, melancholy?



Briefly signing back in to recant that last sign off! Just weariness, my own mood swings.

The best thing of this week is that we’ve firmed up a great creative crew, and it’s beginning to feel that it’s going to, it’s starting to, it’s happening…

Melancholy? Fie! Fie! A pox on’t! If poets will be producers, we mustn’t mess with Keatsian complaint. We must be Blakes: “Bring my bow of burning gold! Bring me my arrows of desire!”

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