Heeeeeeeeeeeee Haaaaaaaa!!!!!

I received one of those late night emails from my agent. I had audition coming up for a major brand. I read through the audition brief attached to the email. It was to be in Rosebank, at three in the afternoon. There appeared to be two roles which I would be suited to, over two afternoons. The first was for a role entitled “Damsel cowboy”. The role required the actress to be able to ride a horse. Check. The other role which would suite for me was for a group of showgirls. The actresses for this role required dancing experience. Check.

So I did my usual pre-audition preparation, but this time would be the first time that I would be taking the Gautrain to an audition. I left my flat in the rain (trying my best to stop my hair from getting wet), dressed in appropriate cowboy attire and hat, and hopped on a train to Rosebank. When I arrived the wind all but blew me off my feet, nearly taking my dress with it. When the hail starting pelting my umbrella I was even more grateful for the train and that I had not been driving in the torrential rain, thunder and hail. After leaving the station my curls were blown into a near afro, and any thoughts of control which I might have had over my hair was fiction. But there was no time for taming, or turning back.

I eventually found where I had to be and got my now very usual form and number sticker. My photo was taken and I waited for my turn to go into the camera room. As per usual, I headed in with an always changing number of other hopefuls, and told what to do. We all did the usual name, age, etc. But what made this one different was that I was asked, on camera about firstly my acting experience, and secondly my horse riding experience. We were also told quite explicitly not to lie about our horse riding experience. This made complete sense to me, as we had to ride a horse in the advert.

I was then told, to pretend I was on a horse, being chased down by various other groups, and I was trying to get my horse to faster and faster. I comited to the rolethat I had to play. It was worth definitly worth the paycheck. Cowboy hat, boots and all I did the 'Heeehaaas', I motivated that horse, and I chased down my imaginry goal on my imaginary horse! This, however, was nothing compared to the showgirl auditions I would be facing the very next day…

A dancer's worth: Horton!

This past weekend I attended a dance workshop, specifically on the work of a practitioner named Horton. A physical theatre director I had worked under had done Horton work with the facilitator of the course advertised on my facebook page, and we had some of these exercises in our rehearsals. I thought it would be good to learn more about the style so I decided it would attend. I also knew that doing Horton work is quite hectic on the body. I expected to be stiff today. I didn’t expect that getting myself out of bed would be a challenge.

As I entered the building on the first day I didn’t know anyone. Attending courses close to where I grew up I would always know some of the people from competing against them, or from attending courses together over a period of years. A friend who wanted to attend the course with me couldn’t anymore, so I dragged my 24 your old self to a class that incorporated sixteen year olds. A part of me was quite scared that I would be the only ‘adult’ in the workshop, and that the rest of the dancers would all be school going age and I would end up feeling like a granny in a jumping castle. I arrived, and a few minutes later another lady arrived, in dancing gear looking slightly sheepish walked in. She was definitely not sixteen. We struck up a conversation, and I was very thankful to learn that she was 30, and a friend of hers who was also above 25 would also be attending! I was also thankful to learn that she felt exactly the same way I did!

The course consisted of four sections over two days: Two sessions of Horton training and two session of contemporary dance using these principles. After the first session I noticed that I had danced the nail polish right off my newly painted toenails. After the second session I noticed I had danced the skin off parts of my feet. By the morning of the second session I had a few well developed bruises. As I walked in to start day two I smiled at the now familiar faces. Although not knowing any of the names of the other girls we all shared a common experience. The stiff muscles which we all tried to get moving before we started the morning session. And the knowledge that the worse was still to come!

Stiff muscles, bruises and grazes aside, I had a good time. And as with all sessions of hard work, the moments of release from the extreme focus required for the exercises was even greater due to the intensity of the work we were doing. One of the most memorable moments was during the last fifteen minutes of the last session on Sunday afternoon. We were doing a series of strenuous  jumps which required one to jump, lifting your legs into a double stag. That is, one leg bent and raised in front of your body and the other bent and raised behind you while in midair. As soon as you landed out of this jump you jumped again switching legs. Across the length of a school hall. Needless to say it’s not exactly easy, and the first round ended in mostly confusion and some laughter as we tried to get height in the jumps while getting the correct placing and to actually keep moving the entire length of the floor. The facilitator said we should all concentrate on raising the front leg and the back leg would get into the correct position naturally and we tried again. On round two one of the younger girls in the group gave up on this and skipped across the hall, raising her front leg beautifully none the less, but completely forgetting that the back leg also had to work. The fascilitator turned around, holding her stomach to laugh. When she could speak again through giggles: “She looked like a fairy!”

Moooooooo with me!

In the infamous “Industry” they are called cattle calls. That’s when an audition is held and hundreds of people arrive to audition. Literally. Hundreds.

Usually casting briefs are rather specific. Down to the type of clothes should be wearing. The audition I attended in Johannesburg this week was not. The result? I as number 505 for the day (excluding some the animals that had been there earlier).

I hadn’t planned on going to an audition that day, and was actually packing my car to head to my parent’s house for the weekend to catch up on some admin and family time. When the call came through I had to go. The thing is, there’s always the teeniest chance that you might actually get the job. No matter how many they are searching for, and even if you know you probably won’t get it, there’s always that small chance. And if you don’t go you will never know. So I yanked on my tightest pair of jeans, tossed my hair in some steam I created in the shower to get it to curl and slapped on a healthy dose of base and mascara. I left at quarter two one for a two thirty call, assuming I’d be early enough to go on quickly and go home before the worst of the Joburg rush-hour traffic. Oh contraire.

When I arrived just before 2 for the 2:30 call they schedule was already an hour and a half behind. Apparently 300 men had arrived earlier for a single role. Apparently the casting agency didn’t bargain upon this. A stylishly dressed black girls came up to: “I know this is really random, but are you the last white girl?” The roles for the white girls was scheduled to happen before the roles for the black girls, and she was in a time crunch so she was trying to figure out who to use as her marker before she got to go on. I was, unfortunately at number 505 not the last of the white girls. There turned out to be about 20 other girls after me. So we waited. And waited. And looked.

I find what people wear to auditions fascinating. You often get the typical girls in heels so high they can barely walk, or stand up straight. You get the slightly chubby girls who dress like they 6 sizes smaller than they are and the skinny girls who show too much…everything. At this particular audition there was a girl who had blue eye shadow on one eye and pink on the other. And I know neon is a trend at the moment, but the key is incorporating into your wardrobe so you don’t look like you got attacked by a pack of highlighters.

One of the girls auditioning wore a pair of blue wedges which were eerily reminiscent of the Spice Girls era. When we were waiting just before entering the audition she was asking the ages of the rest of us sitting in the room. Most of the women were about 23, or older, up to about 30. I gauged Wedges and her short tube dress to be about 26. It turned out she was 17. I saw one of the older ladies of the group look at me wide eyed, and then mouth silently “Really?”

By quarter past five I had my turn in the audition room: Name, age, agent, left profile, right profile, hands, smile: And Go!

Cookies and underpants for an adjudicator!

This past week I had the pleasure of judging a local eisteddfod for a small town close to where I grew up. Two mornings I left my parents’ house just after seven in the bitter cold looking as professional as I could muster despite the layered coats and the fact that my Great Dane ‘puppy’ is not opposed to running between my legs while I’m balancing in heels.


As an adjudicator at this eisteddfod my goal was to give a rounded critique of every performance so that each participant could grow from the experience, as well as fostering an appreciation for the stage and the arts. For each participant I endeavoured to find something positive to say, as well as an aspect that they could improve on despite their mark, whatever it might have been. I was also sure to give my brightest smile to each of the participants.


The first morning passed without great exception. The eisteddfod started with the younger participants and I started with a section of six year olds. There is something very sweet about watching these children, and seeing their thought processes as they try to remember what their teacher told them to do! The afternoon brought the high school participants, a number of which decided to perform poems they had authored themselves. I think that this is brave, although not necessarily recommendable. One of the high schoolers also delivered, what she thought was a monologue, that she had written herself. The entry form states clearly the difference between a monologue and dramatized pros. The fact that she had written it herself and left out the inverted commas in the direct speech did not make her piece a monologue either. As she was entered in the monologue category and not in the dramatized pros category I could unfortunately not give her a good mark, and she received a participatory mark. In my address to the participants I explained exactly this. One of the participants then enquired as to the differences between the two, which I explained. I also explained that exactly the same thing had happened to me when I had participated in an eisteddfod in primary school and that this interface was one in which they could learn and make their mistakes.


During my lunch break the mother of the self-authored ‘monologue’ came to see me:

“My daughter is very upset with the mark that she received from you”

I reiterated the fact that she had been in the incorrect category, as I had explained, and if she had been in a different section her marks would have been different. I had to stand my ground, but thankfully the organizer of the eisteddfod was next to me and she agreed with me vehemently.


Upon returning the following day I only saw poetry. I was however treated to various young lads who had come up with something different to break would could have been a monotonous afternoon. The first of these did a poem about Tarzan who had now aged but was still living in the jungle. The poem ended in Afrikaans rhyme, claiming that Tarzan had died and all that was to be found was his underwear. On this last line the 9 year old paired out a pair of leopard spotted underpants! I couldn’t help but laugh!


Another of the boys performed his poem in a pink tank top and ruffled white skirt. He walked up behind me to hand in a copy of his poem before he started, and I could clearly see that he was waiting for a reaction from me due to his dress. I smiled, thanked him for the poem and said he could go on stage unperturbed. He seemed slightly bewildered by the fact that I wasn’t, but after studying drama, and having guys who look better in a skirt and walks better in heels than you do sitting behind you in class precious little takes you by surprise.

One of the last poems I heard for the eisteddfod was done by a mischievous blond 11 year old boy with a gelled fringe and chocolate all over his face. I couldn’t help thinking of Dennis the Menace. When he was called to the stage he ran to the front of my table, handed me his poem and then with a wicked grin and a look around placed a packet of cookies in front of me and then in front of the organizer who was seated next to me. He ran on stage and threw two more packets into the audience. The first one dropped straight to the floor in the middle of a group of girls. I think it took them completely by surprise. The second packet was almost wrestled for while mid-air. He commenced with his poem, something to the tune of:

“I didn’t steal the cookies!”

Not only had this piece of theatre before he started completely grabbed the attention of the entire audience he had done the piece so well I could help but to give him a 90% (despite the blatant attempt to bribe me with cookies)!

I had been an adjudicator for an acrobatics eisteddfod before, and I had been one of a panel of adjudicators for acrobatic provincial championships more than once before. Even though drama is now my field of speciality, and I am busy with my Masters, I had never been an adjudicator for a drama eisteddfod before. It was therefore really grateful when the organizer thanked me afterwards, and told me that I had done a good job. One of the teachers also approached me after my final address to the participants.  She wanted to thank me for the balanced critique, and also for delivering it in such a way to build the children up and not break them down.
“One last thing” she added quickly “Thank you for smiling at them. I can imagine you didn’t always feel like it”

I will admit that my cheeks were quite sore that evening. But seeing children try to hard, sometimes without the help of a teacher just because they want to do it is quite humbling.    

Snaking a Screening

I got an email about a film screening that was to be held at my university’s drama department. It was scheduled for a Tuesday afternoon. I lecture on Tuesday afternoons. I think it is exactly because I lecture on Tuesday afternoons that almost every audition I have been to this year has been on a Tuesday. Even the day I worked for a television advert was on a Tuesday. With the craziness of Krêkvars the week before and shuffling my classes I replied to the email that I would love to attend, but my job is a more permanent fixture that I would like to keep.

A reply came from my study supervisor that there would be another film screening of the same film that evening at 7 and would I be able to attend it? Another email came through saying I could bring a plus one if I would like to. Luckily I have a permanent fixture for just such a situation. As my Plus One had lived in Taipei in Taiwan for 4 years and the email mentioned that the Taipei Liaison Office was to be involved in the screening I asked if he would like to accompany me. He seemed interested and I replied that I would like to take Plus One along with me. I was then asked for my full name and that of Plus One. Apparently “Plus One” would not suffice. Full names were sent through, and confirmed and I didn’t think about it again.

As I had lectured on Tuesday afternoon I was looking, what I assumed to be, decent enough for a filming screening with fellow drama students. However, when I arrived at said film screening I was greeted by women in dress suits and heels, foreign dignitaries (quite literally as the film is Taiwanese in origin) in suits and the Production manager of University of Pretoria Arts looking very glamorous and elegant in a long red coat and spangled chandelier earrings. I walked up to my study supervisor, dressed in a tie and a smart coat to keep the cold front at bay:

“You could really have told me there was a dress code”.

I was wearing a loud pair of silver and black snakeskin leggings with a pair of high boots and a white long sleeve T-shirt and not a slick of makeup. And by that I mean not even coverstick, or lip gloss. And to top the look off, my large lime green basket with coloured flowers and emblazoned with “Ile Maurice” on the side in dedication to its country of origin where I had bought it on holiday in December. Luckily, because of the cold I had a grabbed a furry coat, which would do the trick. I quickly buttoned it up to hide the T-shirt, but the silver snakeskin would not be hidden, nor would it stand down. Luckily Plus One was dressed more appropriately.

What transpired, despite my inappropriate wardrobe was indeed a lovely evening. As I had been there in the evening with the hoi polloi instead of in the afternoon with the rest of us students there was fantastic red wine and quality finger snacks before the film.

Now, I do need to say something about the film screened on Tuesday evening. The film we saw was Warriors of the Rainbow: Seediq Bale by director Wei Te-Sheng (when I had informed Plus One of the title of the film he asked me if the film dealt with homosexual warriors). The two and half hour version that I was privileged to see was indeed fantastic. Even more so when I learned that the film is now being showed at the various film festivals around the world (it is not to be seen on our general circuit) and had already won many accolades.   The film itself deals with the history of the little-known Japanese occupation of Taiwan between 1895 and 1945 and the revolts which this occupation (which the film depicts as quite brutal) inspired. In my opinion, it is a superbly made film, especially as we learned from the director afterwards that most of the cast were not professional actors.

After the screening we allowed a Q and A with the director via a translator. And as Plus One can speak Mandarin I asked him to ask the director if he wouldn’t mind if I had a photo taken of the two of us. He didn’t, and after the camera flashed my study supervisor followed suit. I have never been one to by shy of asking such things, even in my silver snakeskin leggings.

I phoned my mom a day later:  "Mom, you won't believe. The first time in my life I'm at an international film screening with the director and some of the cast present and I'm wearing silver snakeskin leggings" To contextualize, my mom hates the culture of couture, and the Red-Carpet Hollywood that cares more about who you’re wearing than actually looking the part…or for that matter looking good. Her reply: "I couldn't be more proud"

Myself and director Wei Te-Sheng

Delving into the State Theatre!

I never wear high heels. I own them, I love them, but I don’t wear them. Even when I go to a wedding, or event which usually requires them, I’ll wear them for half an hour and get my flats out of my car as soon as possible! Even as bridesmaid I only wore them for the service and photographs, the moment we walked into a reception I tossed them aside. Now, I hadn't dressed up, well other than being in a costume of a director’s choice, in weeks. So when my friend, Miss Rozanne Mouton from Top of the Billing fame, invited myself and my boyfriend to go with her to the final performance of Horn of Sorrow at the State Theatre on last Sunday I jumped at the chance. The chance to not wear pants that can stretch in four directions, the chance to not wear a sports bra,  and to wear makeup. Although, I must admit, after doing makeup for stage more than for going out I tend to have the eyeliner of a teenage goth quite unintentionally.

So off to the theatre I went in my high (-ish) heels to sit down and catch a show! And an amazing show it was. Afterwards we were debating our course of action for the next hour, I was dressed up after all, when the director of Horn of Sorrow, Miles Petzer, who Rozanne became acquainted with when he directed her in a show for Krekvars this year, called to hear if we didn’t want to join the cast for a drink. Thinking that we would probably go and have a drink somewhere, we agreed and were led through the parking lot to the backstage entrance of the theatre. An elevator ride up four floors brought me to a familiar place. At the end of this very same corridor where I had attended the call backs for Freedom. A right turn later and I was again on the rooftop where I had lunched during the call-back of Freedom. This time the rooftop held a braai and some of the most wonderful hosts I have experienced!

After a phone call to a wife (who was on her way) and Rozanne, my boyfriend and myself had organized our contribution to the evening and we visited with the cast on the rooftop until well after the sun had set on the skyline visible over the outcrops of the state theatre.

We said our goodbyes, and the three of us were about to leave with the director of Horn of Sorrows, and a friend of his, when Mr director asked if we would like a tour of the theatre? We started, giggling down one of the corridors of the first floor. A security guard looked very confused as the five of us waltzed by, exceptionally nonchalantly and I thought we were going to be in trouble when I heard him call after us, but smiled when I heard “You’re going to get lost!”

“I work here, I’m just giving them a tour quickly”

And we were off!

Into muraled corridors, and dimly lit staircases. Our first stop was the loading dock of the theatre, complete with two exceptionally large trucks and heaps and heaps of mementos from forgotten shows lining the walls. A large set of red his and hers thrones adorned one of these walls. Into some other new area and three Chandeliers hanging from the roof and parts of some set on the floor. We hop-scotched through the assortment of flat and into a large spiral staircase. Rozanne was at the top of the staircase when I blinked my eyes and was eagerly asking me to join her in the dark room she had discovered up top there. Noticeably, almost all these doors we kept going through and been stencilled with “KEEP DOOR CLOSED”. A part of me couldn’t help wondering if there was a reason for this. So up the staircase I went, in heels, only to discover a room full of pipes, presumably for some air conditioning system. On  the way down Rozanne, my boyfriend and myself couldn’t help noticing the marked absence of Mr Director Miles Petzer and his friend. After a general look about we decided to head back in the direction we came. After 5 minutes of this I went 21^st century and asked Rozanne to call him. And the horror film theory was born. Upon the reunion of the five of us in the loading back we started to contemplate who would be the first member of the group picked off by the killer, who the group collectively named Jimmy. Nino claimed that he would have to remain to give our party of five some racial diversity. I figured, as Rozanne and I are both blonde it might be either of us, but somehow it was decided that Rob, the friend of the Mr Director, would be the first victim of Jimmy in our horror movie. As he is the youngest, I think the rest of us just desire his youth and would offer him up first.

Up the spiral staircase again, but only one floor this time brought us to where some of the lights are rigged for one of the theatres. We were guessing that it was drama theatre that we were in, although none of us was exactly sure. Then we hit the dark corridor. Miles called it the scariest place in the entire theatre, Rob had to prove him wrong, and set off down the dark corridor solo.  I thought we should all hide in a nook which was just in front of this dark area. My nook revealed another elevator, Nino pushed the up arrow and the four of us piled giggling into the elevator. We rode up a floor and decided to go down to fetch Rob again. Who was not there when we arrived moments later in the elevator. We called, heard no reply and figured that Jimmy had indeed decided upon Rob as his first victim.



The scary manikin the guys thught was Jimmy!



As it turns out Rob figured we had gone down a floor when we had gone up a floor and a few moment s after we went back down he went back up again. He returned, so we all followed his rabbit trail. Past a placard for ‘kinky pictures open day’ and room marked the ‘sluice room’ (we are still trying to find out exactly what that’s supposed to mean after investigation of the said sluice room revealed no clues!) and we made our way into the foyer of one of the theatres!

After the mannequins in the foyer scared the living daylights of the boys who thought momentarily that it was Jimmy, we moved into the theatre itself. I didn’t miss a beat and was heading towards the stage, Miles in hot pursuit! He had never been on this stage either. I’m not sure of the conversation which followed but while we were standing on stage (taking photographs, of coarse) I heard: “Miles you have no imagination. That’s terrible for a director”

My imagination had taken flight, however, and in the style of a true dancer I abandoned my shoes and jacket to do walkovers along the apron of the stage to really make it worth my while! A few pirouettes later and I was satisfied enough to put my heels back on again and head home!

Viewing the audience from the stage

"All that begins..."

“This too shall pass” was probably the phrase I heard the most from my mom when I was growing up, closely followed by “Try me”, which is entirely different blog! She said this when things went really rough, when I was studying a lot or when the general pressures of high school just got me down. And as she said, it goes for the bad as well as the good. And so it is with a production. No matter how long you have a run, no matter how long you work on a show, from the beginning you know that you will have that last show. Sometimes you’re quite thankful for it, but you know it will never be the same again. It will never be the same cast, the same place, the same audience, the same mistakes, or that line that you keep messing up and eventually get it right on the last show.

Just before our final show for CHASING, at the Krekvars Festival, one of my fellow cast members said that she had had such a feeling of gratefulness during the last performance of the previous show she had worked on while being on stage. And standing in the wing, waiting for the audience to come in for what we knew was going to be a full house I had that exact same feeling.

Marketing, or creating a spectacle.. .either way people took note!

I had survived Krekvars. I had climbed on ladders to put up posters of KNEES, I had marketed to everyone person on my path. Between Spotlights blowing and suddenly replotting the lights for KNEES 20 minutes before curtain up (only to see a fixed spotlight after our last performance in another theatre), between microphones suddenly not working halfway through a performance of SUIKERBOSSIE and cast members forgetting their words. Through the room divider in KNEES falling over halfway through my very emotional monologue and falling over a prop left in the wing. Through the salt burns on my feet, the corns on my toes from turning and turning and how the choreography of CHASING will always remind me of the smell of peppermint because of the transact plasters I had to wear to get through the performances on an injured knee. Through messing base on my dress 5 minutes before I have to go on stage, rehearsals which sometimes had me in stitches, sometimes in tears and sometimes in fits of anger clouds of curses Krekvars was almost over for me.

What makes live theatre so interesting is because it is live. Our director for CHASING, Nicola Haskins, would often say to us “Guys, it’s live theatre. Somebody is going to make a mistake somewhere”. And that’s the beauty of it. Never again will there be a moment exactly like this in time. It’s not like film where you can watch it over and over again. Each performance is unique and special.

I remember having the most surreal monologues in my head when I was dancing in competitions. Halfway through a dance, or a routine, I would find myself thinking that it was so odd that I had prepared for months and months and hours on end for these few minutes on stage. All this hard work went into these few seconds, which would be over before I know it and so much was at stake. In this little fraction of my life so much could be made or broken. And it, too, would pass. I had a similar feeling on stage when I performed in THREE WALL TEMPLE the first time I was in Grahamstown. I spent about 5 minutes during the show lying onstage with my back to the audience, and every time I lay there I would think about how amazing it was to be on stage, and I would think about how, in 30 minutes or so it would be over. I would be in the dressing room, taking off my costume and washing off my makeup and carrying on with the rest of my life. And I would try to hold on to that moment in time that I was on stage before I started dancing again and I had to concentrate on what I was doing.

Back to the moment before I stepped on to stage for CHASING all these ideas where spinning through my head. On the last show we abandoned our usual strict group focus and just jumped around in our circle holding hands to the Chris Chameleon pre-show music that was playing while the audience was walking in. I knew it was going to be an amazing show.

I think one of the sweetest moments was when one of the male cast members of SUIKERBOSSIE for who this production was his first, came and said goodbye after the final run of the show. I noticed his eyes were red, but I didn't say anything. His friend noticed and said loud enough for the auditorium to hear "Dude, are you crying?". This had me in tears. Even though the show was finished, I told him that it didn't mean that the friendships he had created in the cast were nos finished too.

And now, this Monday morning, Krekvars has passed. In the words of Ingrid Jonker that we said in CHASING “Alles wat breek, val of eindig” (Everything that breaks, falls or ends). Krekvars has come to pass. And if I’ll be here again next year I don’t know. But this year, I was on stage, and I have moments that I can hold on to.

Keeping it Fresh...at Krekvars!

This week the craziness in my life reached new heights with opening of the Krekvars Student Arts Festival here at the University of Pretoria Campus. I landed in Johannesburg late last Saturday evening, downloaded my script, and started rehearsing Sunday morning at 10. Since then I’ve been pulling eight am to 10pm rehearsals to get the three shows I’m involved in ready to go on the planks this week!

I landed in Johannesburg last Saturday evening. When I got home I downloaded my script and started rehearsing on Sunday morning at 10. I finshed that evening at 11 and the rest of my week carried on in a smiliar fashion with 8 am mornings and finishing after 9 in the evenings. All this in an attempt to get the three shows I'm in ready to go on the planks this week at the Kekvars Student Arts Festival held at the University of Pretoria.

Now, obviously, with my schedule as it is there is little to no time to wash my car, and this ingenious bystander decider to share (I’m assuming) his frustrations on my car! I found this after a rehearsal on camus:



I'll give him this... it's original! Unperturbed I drove around with this message for a week!



Friday brought about another performance of CHASING for the press opening at Krekvars, and I do believe that we as a cast really outdid ourselves. We were informed, however, before our performance that the Dean of Humanities would be attending the performance. Not only was the funding for the show to go to Washington riding on the quality of the performance at the Press Opening, but also extra funding for the drama department. So basically, if we screwed up we would be in the popular position of being the reason why next year’s shows have no budgets. Not exactly where I would I like to be. I looked at my director when we were informed of this: “No pressure hey”.

I am happy to report that we did do really well and if we don’t to overseas, or if we don’t go to Washington I think we as a cast will still be proud of what we did.

Now Krekvars is quite a small festival when it comes to festivals, and its mostly productions from local students that play here. I was exceptionally lucky that I got cast in my second year of studies to perform in a show that went to The National Arts Festival in Grahamstown. After my first year the older students were celebrities who did well at Krekvars, but before I even had the chance to perform at Krekvars myself I learned that the world of the arts is much, MUCH bigger than a few 45 minute shows at Krekvars. Each university had their own celebrities from their shows, and I was just one performer of many in the over 300 shows that are on the planks in Grhamstown for 10 days. I didn’t get the opportunity to feel like a celebrity at Krekvars because I knew what was waiting outside the gates of the Universtiy. Real life is quite scary. But none the less, Krekvars is a great experience and always promises to be a lot of fun for everyone who’s working and performing at Krekvars. It is also a good testing ground for shows, and a good motivation to get them finished!

Tomorrow and Saturday I do 3 performances on each day of three different shows. It’s wild ride doing what we do. But after all the craziness of the last three weeks, come Monday, I need to start looking for the next adventure!

Now while I'm at it, Catch KNEES, CHASING and SUIKERBOSSIE tomorrow and Saturday at The Masker Theatre at the University of Pretoria!

KNEES: Friday at 11:30 at Saturday at 13:00

CHASING: Friday at 17:30 and Saturday at 20:30

SUIKERBOSSIE: Friday at 16:00 and Saturday at 22:00

Chasing an audience!

I did not post last week, as I climbed in a quantum last Monday morning to travel to Grahamstown for the opening of CHASING (directed by Nicola Haskins) at the National Arts Festival. Two days of travel, many stops for Wimpy coffee by our cast members (and rooibos tea for me) a pub and Bed and Breakfast in Colesburg and we arrived in Grahamstown ready to perform.

The wall at the Horse and Mill Pub in Colesburg, where in 2009 the cast of Three Wall Temple, which I was in, wrote their names on the wall. It was amazing to return and see it again this year.

 

Saturday evening, at 22:30 at the Centenary Hall in Grahamstown we started our last performance of CHASING for the National Art’s Festival. Now, finding an audience to watch a show by a university little known for physical theatre and a thousand kilometres from our friends and family is a challenge. Even though we are doing what has been considered by the few who have seen CHASING to be a fantastic show, we struggled to get audiences. 

Last year the same director, and almost exactly the same cast, won a Standard Bank Ovation Award for the piece we took to The National Arts Festival. Last year we also performed 6 shows at the beginning of the festival in comparison to the four we did this year, and last year we only really started drawing audiences with our fifth and sixth shows. This year we ate a healthy serving of humble pie. Our first show was free, so we had a relatively large audience. Our second show we had about 30 people. Our third show we performed to an audience of 5 and for our ten thirty show that evening we had had no pre-booked tickets, even though an audience member of our first show considered it to be so good that we got invited to perform at the Fringe festival in Washington DC. We learned the value of an intensive marketing strategy this year.

After learning that we had no pre-sold tickets for our last performance our director, Nicola Haskins, and my long-suffering boyfriend hit the streets and pubs of Grahamstown with a pocket full of complementary tickets to try and bribe an audience into watching our show. Between the two of them they managed to hand out 30 tickets to pub-hoppers, drinkers and generally bored students at Grahamstown’s Long Table and we eventually did our best show so far to an audience of about 15 complementary tickets. Thank heavens the university was footing the bill and we were not at the festival to try and make any money.

Making a living from a show, or simply covering your costs is so much more than simply putting on a good show. You need to market your show like mad. Posters and flyers and engaging with potential audience members and creating hype on social media are all part of the process, and something which our more inexperienced cast members didn’t realise. Part of being an actor is ‘whoring’ yourself for an audience.  We awaited any news as to our potential audience with baited breathe. Breathe was baited for different reasons. Some cast members were hoping that we wouldn’t have to perform in the cold. I was hoping that my boyfriend and Nicola would pull the metaphorical rabbit out of Grahamstown and we would perform to an audience greater than 5. Nicola returned, claiming that all thirty comps had been given out, and that my boyfriend had been superb in chatting up potential audience members. To this I received, with the greatest respect: “What a good little whore you have”.

“Yip, and I’m the pimp!”  

Speaking to people, getting them excited about your product, about the brand that you have created is as much part of what we do as the acting and dancing and warming up. For me it’s not simply ok to accept that we didn’t have an audience for our last show. I felt that we had gone all the way there, travelled and worked to get a good piece together and that accepting the fact that we did not have an audience for our last show was a great defeat in my eyes. Especially as I had performed our first show that day on an injured knee.

I somehow managed to damage my left knee during the second run of our show. I felt fine during the day, as I climbed the stairs in the evening I realised that something wasn’t right. By the next afternoon, before our third show I had, what one of the cast members described, as one thin knee and one fat knee which could neither extend properly nor bend entirely. I panicked. I considered cortisone injections, amputation and suicide. I had to perform two dancing shows in the freezing cold of Grahamstown, and I know that as an actor you are only as good as your last performance. I knew I had to do them well, and that doing them well was the only option. A cast member asked me if I was going to ask our director to perhaps cancel the show, seeing as we had no pre-booked tickets. I replied, simply, that doing so is career kamakazi. I would bite on my teeth.

My director was quite concerned, and called in one of the lecturers in the cast that had performed before us. She looked at my leg and her first words were “Don’t over medicate yourself”. I found this amazing, because the first thing I wanted to do when offered anti-inflammatory medication was to swallow the entire cartridge. She then recommended ice, and performing so well from the waist up the no-one even looked at my pumpkin knee. My director was amazing, and we quickly decided where it would be appropriate for me to perhaps stand out of the choreography or change it. I slapped on a deep-freeze plaster, swallowed some pain killers and did the show. The evening show was much harder due to the cold, but I survived and we did two amazing performances to our limited audience. I’d been in a serious car accident before, and my body feels worse for wear today than it did then. I’m stiff and sore from performing in the cold and I look like a pirate with my fat knee. I have a few days of rest before I fly back up to Pretoria to start the process all over again, and I couldn’t be happier. We are already making plans for the show that we will be taking to the National Arts Festival next year.