Theatre – Having Fun With Your Five-A-Day
I have been involved with the theatre for most of my life, at some level or other, and have worked backstage professionally or semi-professionally since I was legally old enough to do so. The difference between being amateur and being professional can be defined by attitude. To remove doubt, I have been fortunate to be able to sustain myself doing a job that I love.
“Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life”
Years ago, when I had not long started out, I found myself working in the major local venue with most of the amateur dramatic companies in the area. In fact, I was there so often that they eventually put me on their books as casual staff. When the building closed for refurbishment, I sought employment from most of the theatres in Glasgow. I had no joy, but took the time to submit an application to the (then) Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama – and was accepted. Thus, I even did my degree in the subject that I loved.
Prior to starting my course, I purchased dozens of published plays to enhance my knowledge beyond the musicals with which I was more familiar. I had not had the chance to see or work on many dramatic works, although my Higher Drama had given me a longstanding love of Arthur Miller’s The Crucible. The drama department at my school was initiated, by coincidence, the same year that I began my secondary schooling. Due to the curriculum and qualifications I chose, I was one of the first few people to study the subject for all six of my years there – the obligatory first two years, then two years for my Standard Grade, an SVQ module (I think – it was a long time ago now), and my Higher.
What I quickly discovered, once I began my degree, was that no real knowledge of or passion for theatre was required. It was a course that was virtually impossible to fail, provided you turned up every day and did the bare minimum of work required. Whatever the dubious merits of the course, and they were often dubious, I spent the summer prior to my studies by immersing myself in the written works of Miller, Pinter, Orton, Ionesco, Stoppard, and others. It didn’t relate to my eventual coursework in any way, but it gave me pleasure and saw me build up a small library that I still refer to on occasion.
The theatre that I know, and grew to love, is not just populated with intelligent people, it also introduced me to some of the funniest people I have ever known, and some of the sickest and dirtiest conversations and jokes I have yet been party to. Just in case you thought this particular blog entry was going to be high-brow…
After the run of one show, when I was aged seventeen or eighteen, I was in the venue early on a Sunday morning to continue the “get-out” of the scenery and props. I was then the youngest person on the crew, working with several guys who had been doing this for at least as many years as I had lived. The cameraderie was second to none, and that crew in particular took me under their wing and showed me a lot. They taught me the ropes (the origin of that very expression) and taught me to drink.
We began the day with the customary raid of the deserted dressing rooms, seeking out the remnants of the final-performance tins of sweets that the cast always brought in. One of our number emerged onto the stage a short time later, unpeeling a banana.
“Where did you get that??” Someone asked.
“Dancers’ dressing room,” was the matter-of-fact reply.
“You don’t know where that’s been!”
“Yes I do,” he said, responding to the implied innuendo. He deliberately sniffed along the entire length of the banana, then looked up.
“And I know which one it was too.”
Filthy. Fucking funny. Fond memories.