Tag: performance

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Lights, Camera, Industrial Action

Last week, the Writers Guild of America (WGA) trade union began industrial action, shutting down production on many high-profile TV shows.

The union leaders’ demands are complex, but they revolve around issues such as contract lengths, payments from streaming media, and the use of artificial intelligence software. Here’s a background of what’s happened so far.

This strike is particularly disruptive to talk show hosts like as Jimmy Kimmel, yet it also affects some scripted dramas like Stranger Things, where rewrites are commonly made on the fly.

Of course, this doesn’t imply that writers are the most important members of a film set. Rather, they’re part of the well-oiled machine of production. Take one part out and it begins to fail.

By comparison, a strike by the actors’ union Equity could inflict just as much chaos as the WGA has done. In UK terms, the Bectu trade union represents non-performance roles in broadcasting, so a member walkout could cripple the BBC.

At the time of writing, we don’t know how long this strike might endure. The action taken in 2007 lasted for 14 weeks. This time around, with 97.8% of its 11,500 members voting in favour, we might not be seeing much Saturday Night Live for many weeks to come.

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Rubbish + Time = Cult Classic

Yesterday afternoon, I decided it was time to watch Spice World. It tells a fictional tale of the events leading up to a concert at the Royal Albert Hall, comprising many surreal moments and fantasy sequences, not to mention self-parody by the band members.

Let’s be clear, this is not a great picture if you like a plot. The disjointed story interweaves a crew trying to make a fictional movie about the band, an entirely separate crew trying to make a fly-on-the-wall documentary, and a newspaper mogul trying to usurp their success. It instead helps to think of the film as a series of loosely-related sketches.

That’s before we arrive at the dozen or so celebrity cameos, some slotted clumsily into a screenplay written by Kim Fuller, brother of the band manager Simon Fuller. As such, there is a lot of self-indulgence here.

Despite this, the film has become, according to one source, the highest-grossing musical film of all time. The initial negative reactions from its 1997 release tend now to be coloured by nostalgia. The Odeon even held limited screenings to mark its 20th anniversary.

It’s even been suggested that some studios make intentionally bad films in a go-for-broke fashion. Sometimes it’s to keep the rights to an idea – or sometimes they reckon the gamble can pay off. The 2003 Tommy Wisaeu film The Room is a case study all of its own.

If there’s any sort of lesson to be taken from this, I think it’s that writers sometimes need to worry less about the quality of work and focus on simply producing it. If you want it to exist in the world, sometimes you need to make it yourself. In Spice World, someone took arguably the most famous singers of the era, wrote them into a rather silly script, and we’re still talking about it more than 25 years later.

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Being a Judge

On Saturday, my open-mic night Hotchpotch jointly hosted a poetry slam with the Edinburgh-based I Am Loud.

A slam is a form of performance poetry that heavily emphasises performance and audience reaction as well as the actual writing. It’s also competitive, with a panel of judges awarding points based on pre-agreed criteria.

In all my years of attending slams, I’d never been asked to act as a judge before. By all accounts, it was the least-envied job in the room. We would be marking each of the performers on a scale of 1 to 10.

I didn’t see the other judges’ papers, but I found the standard of performance was so high that it generally came down to how much I enjoyed the poem. There were some tough calls, but I don’t think I’d make any amendments in hindsight.

It really did help to have been to so many slams and other poetry events, so as to build up a frame of reference about what I enjoy and dislike. It was also useful to pay attention to the reactions from the audience. I’d be happy to do this again in the future.

It’s safe to say it now, but I was privately rather worried about whether our members would attend a ticketed slam in place of their usual free-of-charce open-mic. However, I’d failed to take into account that the I Am Loud name has some clout with local poets, and they sold out all 12 performer slots – even if two of them withdrew.

The winner in the end was Tom Bird, who goes on to compete in the final competition later this year.

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A Little Poetry

Every year, I take time to visit StAnza, the poetry event in St Andrews. The festival is typically spread over the course of around a week, so I normally book a few events on the same day. This year took a significantly different form but it was no less literary.

I booked just two events: the breakfast poetry in the morning plus the slam competition on Saturday evening. I’d planned to use the middle of the day to visit a pal I haven’t seen for around three years.

He introduced me to a game called Bananagrams. It’s easier to demonstrate than explain, but fans of Scrabble will likely enjoy it. We played four games and discussed a few of the books on his shelf.

By the end of the afternoon, I’d decided to skip the slam. It goes on late into the evening and I was too tired to stay up. Instead, I used the time to compose an overdue card to a pal in Dublin, complete with a handwritten letter that ended up being four A5 pages long.

If I were one of these people who posted these vapid inspirational quotes, I’d end with something like ‘The serves as a reminder that even when plans change, there are always opportunities to connect and create meaningful moments.’ And yet that very much expresses how I feel. Just this once, let’s lean into this sentiment.

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Cataloguing the Uncatalogued

For the last eight years or so, I’ve run my monthly open-mic singlehandedly. However, our collaborations during 2022 showed me the group was becoming unwieldy to manage alone.

So at the next event tomorrow, we’ll introduce our first co-host. Having already briefed her about the help we need, such as welcoming readers while I set up the equipment, I started to compose a short document to explain the role in more detail.

This short document quickly expanded to a long one, becoming a chronological checklist of the entire evening from start to finish. Much of the content is based upon years of personal experience and best practice. But almost none of it had been formally recorded before because there was never a pressing need.

I’ll give the document to my co-host tonight or tomorrow, although it’s still the first version and could do with some refining. Once it’s more robust, it’ll serve as a template in case she or anyone else needs to cover for me in the future.

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Marching into March

Around a week ago, tickets for the StAnza poetry festival went on sale. For around a week, there are poetry events all over St Andrews, particularly in the Byre Theatre and Parliament Hall, but also taking advantage of smaller rooms and venues across town.

I’d normally be at the front of the queue for events, but I’ve held off booking them this year. I have other commitments that potentially clash, plus I was waiting to receive this month’s wages.

It’s likely I’ll go to the breakfast event on Saturday, with a pie or a pastry served before it. I’m then going to visit a pal I haven’t seen for two years who lives in the area. At night, I need to decide whether to enter the slam competition, as the late finish means staying overnight or catching one of the last buses home. I’m then playing Dungeons & Dragons the next day.

So as soon as I publish this, I’ll be looking through the festival programme and working out a plan. I can already see some of the staple events, like poetry in translation, round table discussions and music recitals; I just need to work out how to fit them into my schedule.

I have

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The Best Bad Poetry

A few days ago, I received an email from a blog I didn’t know I was following.

The author had just updated with a poem about the Ship Canal Bridge in Seattle that was heavily influenced by the William McGonagall verse The Tay Bridge Disaster. For the avoidance of doubt, only the style is lampooned; the Seattle bridge is in no danger of collapse.

I’m from Dundee, right next to the Tay, and McGonagall is closely associated with the city. As I read the Ship Canal Bridge poem, I found I had more and more I wanted to say about the poet and his output.

A major hallmark of his distinctive verse came from forcing clumsy descriptions into rhyming lines. It amused me to see the critically-panned film director Tommy Wiseau under the See Also section in his Wikipedia entry.

However, I’ve also heard McGonagall’s technique described as ‘journalistic’, as his words often give a factual insight into the subject. This is showcased neatly in The Tay Bridge Disaster.

To our eyes, such a poem might seem insensitive to its victims and their relatives. However, there appeared to be no public outcry 143 years ago; even in modern times, performances are often played for laughs.

I must credit Dundee Rep Theatre with making an exception in 2019. As part of a local history show called The A to Z of Dundee, one of the actors read an excerpt from the piece. Despite the overall show being comedic in nature, he gave it a poignant tone that I think was better suited to the subject matter.

One of my university tutors believed McGonagall was the only poet whose entire body of work had been published. Better still, his output has been in the public domain for decades, so it’s easy to find countless other examples of his style.

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Adapting a Sitcom For the Stage

Last week, I visited London with a pal. Among other attractions, we stopped at a West End show, namely a musical version of the sitcom Only Fools and Horses.

Both of us enjoyed the performance, yet it started me wondering about the pressures of adapting a much-loved show without disappointing the audience. A good start is to find writers with a track record of hits, and this show had two of them.

One of these is Jim Sullivan, who penned the spin-off show The Green Green Grass and is the son of the original Only Fools and Horses writer John Sullivan. Completing the duo is Paul Whitehouse, bringing his extensive background in character-led sketch comedy.

The resulting show is one that borrows major plot points from the TV series without ever feeling like a rip-off. The mix of music was interesting as well. It included many original songs, but the writers also chose to sprinkle in pre-existing tracks from other artists like Chas & Dave and Bill Withers. The opening and closing themes also featured prominently.

While it’s nothing to do with the writing, the accents of the actors were spot-on, helping to draw the audience into this world immediately.

In short, these two writers have pulled off an incredible feat of taking a TV sitcom and presenting it on a stage without losing any of its charm. I can’t find any other Whitehouse & Sullivan collaborations, but I look forward to seeing what they produce in the future.

Performing to an Audience

Going Through Stages

After a conversation with a member of my poetry group last week, I remembered that not everyone is as comfortable speaking on stage as I am. I then discovered it’s been four years since I last covered the topic on this blog.

As such, let’s update it. It’s wise to remember this should be treated as a subjective guide, not a textbook.

Talk with the organisers about what’s required

If the organisers haven’t already told you the plan, it’s worth asking for the following information:

  • How long you’ll be asked to speak for
  • What type of content is required
  • Whether you’re expected to read from paper or perform from memory
  • Whether you need to introduce yourself
  • Where you should wait before you’re called up
  • Whether any fee is payable

Each event has its own particular character. Some events like performers to fill a 15-minute slot. Other events allow performers to go up twice. Slams sometimes mark down poets for reading words from a page.

If it’s an unfamiliar venue, be sure to obtain the exact address and check how to access the building. Don’t forget to arrive in plenty of time.

Think about your own structure

The organisers will take care of the overall structure and running order, but it’s wise to plan your own slot so you don’t miss a step. A typical note-to-self might read:

  • Give name, say you’re reading from short story collection The Pie Seller
  • Say you’re happy to sign copies
  • Briefly mention editor at Law Hill Books
  • Tell obesity clinic anecdote
  • Read out And an Onion One Too (page 24)
  • Thank Tracey Sanders for organising
  • Read out The Crust of the Matter (page 12)

It’s a good idea to place the thanks as second-last, not as the final item. That means the audience are more likely to go away with the ending of your work in their head.

Briefly explain if you need to, but don’t apologise

Some pieces do require an explanation; perhaps a work is unfinished, is an extract from a longer work, or was written under certain circumstances. But keep it brief and don’t explain anything that the audience will take or infer from the piece.

If you feel you can’t read a particular piece without apologising or telling a long story, either take it out of your set or work on it until only a short introduction is necessary.

Read out loud and time your words

The best way to identify weak parts in your set is to read it aloud – and that’s the last thing you want to happen in public. So find a room on your own and read it out where nobody can hear you. Are there any long sentences that need to be broken up? Are there words that are difficult to say clearly?

When reading from a book or from sheets of paper, it’s a good idea to turn up the corner slightly or to stick a post-it note as a lever. When using an e-reader or tablet computer, practice tapping the correct area of the screen to turn the page; there might also be a delay on some devices.

Don’t forget to use a stopwatch to make sure all your words fit within the agreed timeslot.

Make sure everyone can hear you

In my experience, smaller readings tend not to use a microphone, so you might need to project. Avoid tilting your head down to read the piece; instead, hold your manuscript higher and off to one side so it doesn’t muffle your words, or look down only with your eyes. Always speak more slowly than you would in normal conversation and don’t be afraid to pause.

If there’s a working microphone, use it. If possible, test it out beforehand. A big annoyance for an audience is a sound level that increases and decreases at random. So whether the microphone is handheld or on a stand, keep it at the same distance from your mouth as you speak. Most are designed to pick up sound from the top, although a few have the pick-up on the side.

Avoid alcohol before the gig

I fully understand why folks need Dutch courage before going on stage. From years of going to the Edinburgh Fringe, though, I’ve found a drunk performer rarely makes a good impression. My rule is not to take alcohol before speaking, only coffee or a soft drink.

Decide where in the room to look

I know a few poets who deliberately look at individual audience members. However, it’s  unnerving to make eye contact for most people. I have two alternative methds:

The first is to look between two audience members, so the person on the right assumes I’m looking at the one on the left, and vice versa. The second is to look above the heads of the back row; this has the added advantage of giving you a better posture.

Keep going through distractions and cock-ups

Perhaps the microphone fails, perhaps you forget the words, perhaps a hundred other unpredictable problems crop up. Keep going as best as you can. It might mean cutting a piece short or shouting instead of reading, but the audience are there to see you perform.

A common issue at spoken-word nights is the audience member who keeps talking. Unlike a music gig, you don’t have the advantage of drowning them out with your instruments. A good host will take charge of silencing any chat, but if they don’t, either carry on as you were or – if it’s too distracting – politely ask them to refrain.

Signal when you’ve finished

At the end of a piece, the audience sometimes doesn’t know whether you’re finished or simply pausing for dramatic effect. A good clear signal is to lower your manuscript or to step backwards slightly, or even say ‘Thank you.’ At that point, people should take the hint and applaud.

Listen to the other performers

Unless you’ve arranged otherwise, it’s considered a courtesy to stay and listen to the other performers before and after your set. If you really must disappear straight after the gig, tell the organiser or mention it on stage.

Do it again

It’s a cliché, but the more you stand up and speak in public, the more techniques you’ll learn, like which techniques or always or never provoke a reaction. There are no guarantees that your poetry performances will always be successful, but by following the suggestions above, you can maximise those chances.

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Local Stories in the Global Room

Let me address first of all why you’re seeing this post on a Sunday when I’m accustomed to making them on a Tuesday.

I forgot to update on Tuesday, so my self-imposed punishment was to make two further entries this week: one on Friday just gone and one today. From Tuesday, we’ll go back to weekly posting.

In this entry, let me take you back to last Sunday.

Every year, the University of Dundee runs the Being Human festival, in celebration of the humanities. I’d signed up to join their Talking Bus tour, driving a round trip of approximately 75 miles to places in Angus. During the trip, we were told folk tales by Dr Erin Farley. She’s someone I’ve known for a long time, and last year she launched a collection of these stories.

This book has proved to be rather influential in my poetry group, the Wyverns. The group is not normally open to the general public, but we do have a history of tie-ins with the Being Human festival, so this is the one time of year we can showcase our work. Tuesday saw the launch of our seventh pamphlet at the university with accompanying readings.

In common with our previous publications, this took place in the Global Room on campus, used for social and cultural events rather than lectures. Each of the Wyvern poets stood up in turn to perform our poems, and the words were also displayed on a TV behind us for the audience to read along. The best perk, in my opinion, was the bowl of posh chocolates that was passed around the crowd to accompany the tea and coffee. Erin and a few others were in attendance, and it seemed to go down well.

In all that excitement, I simply forgot to update this blog. I only remembered early on Wednesday morning, when the moment had long passed.

After the event, the group exchanged a few emails on our discussion list. One member reported feeling exceptionally nervous about performing, which reminded me that not everyone is comfortable standing on a stage to read. I sometimes forget this because I read to an audience at least once a month, and I rarely think anything of it. While this is a subject I’ve addressed before on the blog, a casual search suggests I haven’t updated my advice since 2018.

I reckon that’s a topic to revisit next week, but in lieu of a more comprehensive entry, the best general piece of advice I can give is to treat it like learning any new skill.

Let’s say you know nothing about snooker, but you read up on the rules, buy a table on a whim and find a regular willing opponent. If you play three frames a day for twelve months, that’s well over a thousand matches. Within a year, you’ll know which moves work and don’t work, the optimum spin to place on the ball, how to block the other player effectively, and so forth.

In short, you’ll be pretty good at playing snooker by this time next year, just in time for our potential eighth pamphlet.