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An interview with Eve Nicol, writer of One Life Stand

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Eve Nicol (Photo: Sandra Franco)

Eve Nicol is interested in the reasons why having sex is so hard today. Michelle Dee catches up with the Glasgow-based playwright to talk about sex, online dating and gig theatre just in time for Middle Child ’s next show, One Life Stand, which drops into your local pub next month.

What was it that prompted you to write One Life Stand?

We started out being really curious about the fact that our generation are having sex less frequently than our parents’ despite a media landscape with images of sex all over the place.

Are we holding out for the ideal partner? We’re sold on the happily ever after story, the idea of one true love. One Life Stand is interested in if it is possible to have a loving, respectful relationship, where you sleep with other people in a social system in which monogamy is the protected default and not a choice.

The debate over how technology has crept into every aspect of our lives continues on a daily basis. Which side are you on?

Technology is a massive force for good but it can also serve as a huge drain on our time and focus. The expectation to always be ON is exhausting. One Life Stand is a celebration of the physical side of human relationships and the energy we get from face-to-face (or crotch-to-crotch) interactions with one another. I love how technology can make it easier to obtain that.

There are disaster date stories everywhere and the digital love cat is well and truly out the bag – how do we navigate this new dating playing field?

Digital offers us more choice. And with choice we become more picky and less able to stick by one decision. We won’t settle for anything less than a soulmate. Someone who is supposed to be our best friend, give us the best sex we ever had and be a dab hand with flatpack furniture. That’s a lot of pressure to put on one person.

Digital makes it easier than ever to explore different kinds of sex and love, other than the standard model of monogamy. But we’re fighting against an out-dated system that sees nearly half of marriages end in divorce.

What do you think it says about the human condition that everything in life is mediated through a screen? Where does that leave our ability to communicate and have meaningful interactions?

Humans have always been fascinated by our own image. We’re the only animal with that level of self-awareness, aren’t we. Screens are just the next stage. I believe people speak more honestly when they think no one is watching. Our phones are like portable confessional booths. We can project what we want onto them and that can give depth to our lives as we explore other versions of ourselves.

But apps and phones are designed to be addictive, designed to keep our focus and so they become portable advertising boards for the mainstream instead. We are still in the early days yet. Let’s see how badly the next generation is fucked up by it.

Can you explain a bit about the process of writing and adapting the ideas to work as a gig theatre piece.

I’ve been comparing it to making telly. What is it that stops your audience from changing the channel. Gig theatre shares a lot with the ceilidh theatre tradition in Scotland, where I’m from: its directness, informality, subject matter, love of a song and its politics.

It hasn’t really been a case of adapting ideas, more working within a familiar form: but electrified.

How did you choose the music? How did you go about linking the music to the drama?

Our starting reference point was “a rainy city at night-time” and we swapped links to a whole range of artists including albums by Hot Chip, where the show’s title is borrowed from, The National, the XX and Honeyblood.

Honeyblood and Middle Child associate artist James Frewer have been creating an original score for One Life Stand. I have been listening to the demos when I’ve been writing and even when I’m not. There’s some really cool riffs in there. We’ve set out the music like an album tracklist, the dialogue, music and lyrics all working together to make each moment cohesive.

What was it about Honeyblood that made them right for this project?

Honeyblood’s music is effortlessly urban and cool, but has a wildness that howls at the moon at midnight. It has been great to see how Cat Myers and Stina Tweeddale work together and can so quickly piece together a big noise. Stina is brilliant at pulling out lyrics from my notes about sexual quirks and making something a bit grubby sound beautiful.

This is your first professional writing commission; how did you deal with the pressure?

I’ve been given loads of room to explore the stories that interest me and how I want to tell them.Although it is my first professional production I’ve never felt like I’ve been working alone, there’s a whole team behind this production. Middle Child are experts leading the field in gig theatre.

One Life Stand is a piece of new writing so we’ll still be working on it through rehearsals and then looking to see how it goes down with audiences.

What would you say to someone who says, ‘Theatre? It’s just not my thing.’

Come along to our Pay What You Want show on 10 July at New Trinity Club and dare us to change your mind. Middle Child go all out to show you a good time. Just get out of the house. You might meet the love of your life or at least someone for the night.

I’ve never signed up to a dating site let alone swiped left or right on an app… why would I come see One Life Stand?

With One Life Stand we’re interested in why sex is so hard today, how smartphones, apps and the shift in the way we communicate has played a role in that. One Life Stand is for people who see their phones as much a part of their daily lives as their work, their family and their friends.

Join the cast of One Life Stand in their late-night search for intimacy across a hyper-connected, hyper-sexualised city, at venues across Hull from 6-12 July. 

New board meets for first time

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The new Middle Child board met for the first time in May under new chair, Martin Green CBE with new members Jane Fallowfield, Meg Miszczuk, Aysha Powell and David Watson joining continuing board member Sharon Darley.

Sharon Darley is the former quality of life manager with the Goodwin Development Trust, accredited with the creation and development of Estate of the Nation arts programme and the development of Thornton Neighbourhood Plan, which used a mix of arts and non-arts community development to improve the quality of life for people living on the Thornton estate, Hull.

Jane Fallowfield is a director, dramaturg and literary associate with Talawa Theatre Company. Her directing credits include Drip and Cosmic by Tom Wells, Red by Somalia Seaton, Germ Free Adolescent by Natalie Mitchell, Fingertips by Suhayla El-Bushra, Bird by Laura Lomas, The Only Way Is Chelsea by Frazer Flintham and Lagan by Stacey Gregg.

Meg Miszczuk is a project specialist working in the arts, culture and publishing industries. She previously managed the Hull GADA project for Hull UK City of Culture 2017, has worked as an interpreter and translator in Germany and also produced a number of cultural events in Poland.

Aysha Powell is the general manager of Paines Plough theatre company, based in London. She has previously worked with agents Curtis Brown, the Lyric Hammersmith theatre, Soho Theatre, Northern Broadsides and the Brisbane Arts Festival.

David Watson is director of brand and advocacy for Birmingham Royal Ballet. Prior to this he was head of digital/digital editor-in-chief for Hull UK City of Culture 2017. He has also previously worked in similar roles for organisations including English National Ballet, London 2012 Olympic and Paralympic Games opening and closing ceremonies, Royal Opera House and Rambert Dance Company.

​Martin Green CBE, appointed chair in April of this year, was previously the chief executive and artistic director of Hull UK City of Culture 2017. Prior to working in Hull, Martin was the head of ceremonies for the London 2012 Olympic and Paralympic Games, overseeing the torch relays and opening and closing ceremonies. He was also the executive producer of the opening ceremony to the 2014 Tour de France Grand Depart, which took place in Yorkshire.

Martin Green CBE named as new chair

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Former Hull UK City of Culture 2017 chief executive and director, Martin Green CBE, has been appointed as the new chair of Middle Child’s Board of Directors.

He will take up the role in April 2018, the same month that Middle Child enters Arts Council England’s National Portfolio.

He succeeds Sarah-Jane Dickenson, who has held the role since 2017.

Martin Green said: “I am thrilled to join Middle Child at one of the most exciting moments in the company’s short but impressive history – I’m a huge fan.

“Middle Child’s work to engage new audiences in Hull created some unforgettable memories in the city’s first year as UK City of Culture and I look forward to guiding and supporting their strategic direction over the coming years.

“The role also allows me to keep a strong connection with this great city – something that I was very keen to do after a life-affirming four years at the Culture Company.”

Prior to working in Hull, Martin was the head of ceremonies for the London 2012 Olympic and Paralympic Games, overseeing the torch relays and opening and closing ceremonies.

He was also the executive producer of the opening ceremony to the 2014 Tour de France Grand Depart, which took place in Yorkshire.

Middle Child artistic director, Paul Smith, said: “Everyone at Middle Child is absolutely buzzing that Martin is joining our team.

“His wealth of experience, affinity with the city and belief in doing things differently makes him the perfect person to lead us into the future.​

“We would also like to thank Sarah-Jane Dickenson, the outgoing chair of the Board of Directors, for her invaluable guidance over the past twelve months.”

Panto audience raise over £3,000 for charity

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Back in December 2016, during our run of Dick Whittington at Fruit, we collected money on the door for two Hull charities doing important work in the city: The Warren Young People’s Project and Hull Help for Refugees. 

It was the first time we’d run a fundraising campaign during our alternative pantomime and we were thrilled to see our wonderful audience raise £1,757.58, to be shared between the two organisations.

Encouraged by your generosity we did the same again during Cinderella last month and are pleased to say you absolutely smashed the previous year’s total, this time raising a fantastic £3,140.39

That money will be shared between Hull Homeless Community Project and Hull Red, a charity that organises social events for adults with learning disabilities. 

Thank you so to much to everybody who came to see Cinderella and also helped to support these two charities, your kindness is hugely appreciated!

It’s panto time!

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By Mungo Beaumont, producer

Oh yes, it is! Oh no, it’s not! OK, promise, the worst of the panto jokes are behind me…

I love this time of year. Pigs in blankets beckon, Christmas jumpers are finally acceptable to wear and pantomime rehearsals have begun. Now we know we’re on our way.

It’s our sixth annual, affordable pantomime at Fruit, and writer Tom Wells has dished out another delight with Cinderella. What’s more, the show will mark our final contribution to Hull UK City of Culture 2017. It has all gone by in a whirlwind, hasn’t it?

With so many different types of cultural offerings throughout the year it’s nice to finish on something that feels so familiar – and important. Pantomime is often a person’s first introduction to theatre, so we take it incredibly seriously, underneath all the custard pies.

For the past three years we’ve tried our best to spread the Christmas cheer by giving away free tickets to local community groups in Hull. In 2016, groups from The Warren, Hull Help for Refugees, Hull Homeless and the Butterfly Memory Support group all came along and we’re hoping to do the same this year via our annual crowd funder. If you feel like you have a few pennies to share, please do back our campaign – we’ll love you forever.

Whilst it’s important to remember that Hull will continue to be the City of Culture until 2020 and a city of culture for evermore, it’ll be nice to get to Christmas and look back on what has so far been an incredible journey, for all of us. But then, if you REALLY want to see an incredible journey, you should probably be checking out our attempts to turn a pumpkin into a carriage!

See you at the ball.

Towards an Acting Utopia

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Photo by Wullie Marr.

By Paul Smith, artistic director

Middle Child will soon be entering into the Arts Council’s National Portfolio, pending a ‘signed off’ business plan. This means that we now have some security in the work we are making, and that a small number of our team (including me) will be going full-time. This is very exciting, but I’m determined to use my new-found ‘security’ in an arts job to interrogate the lack of security in other roles. We’ll soon be launching our Artist Development Programme (I CAN’T WAIT – I LOVE IT!) that looks to offer opportunities to new critics, writers and artists. In the lead up to that, I want to dare to dream of an Acting Utopia.

One of the best parts of my job is getting to work with actors. Actors are brilliant; creative, brave, open individuals without whom this industry simply wouldn’t exist. However, I’ve been aware for a while now just how hard it is to be an actor, while continuing to be a human being who lives like other human beings. Not a week goes by where I don’t find myself in some sort of conversation with an actor friend about how dispiriting and unrewarding the whole thing can so regularly be.

My all-too-easy first response has always been something rubbish like ‘that’s just the job’ or ‘the industry is like that’ but recently I’ve been stopping myself because the industry is only ‘like that’ if we continue to make it so. Do we really want to propagate an industry that wears its ‘ruthlessness’ as a badge of honour or that chides actors who give up on the career as ‘not tough enough’? That seems to be in complete opposition to an industry that often sells itself as liberal and welcoming.

I recently set up the Middle Child Acting Gym to try and encourage a space where actors in Hull can develop their skills and be part of a support network which addresses the problem of ‘doing it alone’ as an actor. Each week we come together, talk about issues relating to the industry/job and then work on some plays (this month’s focus is ‘doing what scares us’).  I’ve learnt lots from doing it and am looking for ways to improve it in future but know that it’s not enough to have a truly positive effect on the mental wellbeing of actors.

So my question is a simple one, and one that has definitely been asked many times before:

What can we do to make acting a more viable, less damaging career choice?

And I mean actually do. Practically do. Physically do.

This isn’t about seeking agreement that things aren’t right, more a cry for guidance.

How can I/Middle Child/all theatres/theatre companies/theatre makers help improve the working conditions for a job so commonly accepted as ‘tough’? Can we crowd-source a code of conduct that means actors aren’t left feeling like an old, unused toy the second their contract finishes?

So please, if you’re an actor reading this, tell us. What changes – big or small – can we make to improve how it feels to be an actor?

I’ll get started with a few problems I’m aware of from my job, from conversations I’ve had and from things I’ve noticed. Each of these brings their own questions I’d love to have answered from as many actors as possible.

Abuse of power

The #MeToo response has shown just how large a problem the abuse of power is within the theatre industry. No human should be subjected to such harassment and everyone at Middle Child takes this issue extremely seriously. How can we, as an industry, better protect actors – often in such a vulnerable position – from abuses of power?

Casting

I always, always meet 10 times more brilliant people than I can offer jobs to. Often I’m asked for feedback and sometimes the truth is that all you can say is ‘someone else just suited it better’. Massively unfulfilling I know but often the truth.

Is that useful? Is there a better way to say that? If you auditioned brilliantly but just aren’t right for the project, how can I tell you that in a way that is constructive? If your audition was, for any reason, not a good one – how much feedback do you really want, or is being told you haven’t got the role enough? How do you want to find out if you have or haven’t been cast; an e-mail? a phone call? How often do you not hear back at all? Is there ever any excuse for that? Does not getting a job have to be such a negative experience? How could we make it less so? Is ‘you were so close’, ‘you were down to the final two’, ‘it was so nearly you’ a useful thing to hear?

Agents

While I’m aware there are lots of brilliant agents out there, I also hear lots of actors who struggle with this relationship – be it problems with their own agent, or the pressure of not having one. How do we improve the role of the agent for the actor? How, as a company, should we respond to agents? Do you want us to go through agents at all or simply to come straight to you? Is there anything we can do to make sure more agents see you in our shows?

CVs

I often get sent CVs from actors. I tend to save these CVs in my Spotlight database and then get in touch with anyone ‘suitable’ once we have an audition coming up. Is that enough? Is there anything else I could be doing?

In between jobs

Many of the conversations I have with actor friends centre around the bits in between jobs. Not knowing where the next one is coming from and not knowing how to go about getting one. What can the industry do, if anything, to lessen this feeling of loneliness and fear?

After the contract finishes

I’m often so aware of the day after the contract finishes. The first day where there’s no rehearsal that day or show that night. Does the employers duty of care finish at the same time as employment stops or is there a way we can help lessen that feeling of staring into the abyss?

Feedback

I worry that sometimes there is a fear of giving genuine feedback to a company at the end of a project as it may mean they won’t employ you again. How can we undertake necessary appraisals to make sure we do things better next time?

Pay

I am so sick of hearing from actors who are being paid under Equity minimum by well-funded buildings and companies. Why is this still happening? Either you can afford to do the show you want to do with everyone paid fully, or you need to rethink how many cast members you have. It is not okay, and I have had conversations with actors who want to say something about this but can’t because of fear of being blacklisted.

Is the knowledge that if you don’t do it at that rate someone else will part of the problem? Do we need more solidarity when it comes to pay? Or is it simply that work is so scarce and hard to come by that actors feel they should do it for any fee? We’ve made proper payment a priority as we look to join the National Portfolio, and there is no excuse for others not to do the same. Let’s also stop thinking that development opportunities mean we can’t pay people, or allow them to pay themselves through the funding. The human cost is non-negotiable.​

* * *

These are just a few things I’m keen to seek better solutions for. Are they important issues? What am I missing out? What’s the hardest part of the job for you and what can we – together – do about it?

Please, please do comment below, tweet us @MiddleChildHull or for anything confidential please e-mail me on paul@middlechildtheatre.co.uk.

I’d really love to find tangible solutions to these persistent problems.

 

 

Girl on The Platform Smile

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By Emma Bright, company member

Do you ever find yourself in a situation where you think, how did we get here and why is this our normality?

​I spend a lot of time on trains. A lot of actors do. This particular time, I was on my way back from a weekend working on my mum’s farm with my brothers and sister, vaccinating the lambs, which is about as glamorous as it sounds. Here is the team.

​I was tired, dirty and slightly flustered: thanks to the lack of public transport to Hull, I’d just caught the final train that day. I wanted to get home with minimum fuss and hopefully without any human contact as I felt gross and smelt like sheep poop.I was going to change at Doncaster, which wasn’t too far away, so I thought I’d stand by the door. No awkward eye contact across a table, no forced conversation with the person next to you, just me and a podcast. Cool. Please note: I do like talking to people, just not when I look and smell like poop.

Two guys arrived who were loudly bragging to another they’d just met about avoiding the ticket collector and how they did this most weekends when going to watch the football in Sheffield. They quizzed the man on football, where he lived, the usual small talk. Just keep looking in the other direction and they won’t talk to you, I thought, you have your headphones in, you’re fine.

“What do you think love? Should he play football if his foot looks like that? Excuse me? She can’t hear, she’s got her headphones on.” A tap on the shoulder, take my headphones off, turn around. “Excuse me, love, do you think he should play football if his foot looks like that?”

I then get caught in a conversation while I’m cornered in the doorway. I don’t feel threatened but, equally, I feel the only way to handle this situation and leave the train without being belittled or demeaned is to join in the conversation and laugh along to the jokes. I can’t deal with “cheer up love” or “smile it might never happen” today, I just want to get home.

They keep calling me “love”. They ask my name, say it once and then return to “love”. I keep my cool. We’re all getting off in Donny. Me to change trains and them to go home. As we say goodbye one says: “Come on then, let’s have a hug.” I give them a hug, I walk away, I hate myself for doing this.

Now reading this it might seem like, given the news at the moment, this is a small matter to be talking about, but stuff like this happens all the time and we let it. As a woman I so often feel I have to go along with this sort of behaviour as it’s easier, to avoid confrontation or abuse, to get to the train station, smile and walk away.

How to Start a Revolution

Last week I was once again on a train. No sheep involved this time. I’d been to London to see some bloody brilliant shows: “No One Will Tell You How To Start a Revolution” by our fave Luke Barnes and “Victory Condition” by Chris Thorpe. Both outstanding, both northern writers – yay!

This time I’m with Marc Graham. On the table opposite is a loud drunk man and a woman showing him her niece’s shop on her phone. She has a glass of wine and he has a pint glass that he keeps topping up with vodka and red bull. At first I thought they were friends but, as the conversation progresses, I realise this is not the case: they have met on the train and are being friendly.

She laughs along, they start talking about football and the man on our table joins in as he has also been to the match that day. The drunken man gets louder and louder. I give up on my book, close my eyes and pretend to sleep. Marc has his headphones in. I can’t wait to get off the train so I don’t have to listen to this man anymore.

He starts to moan about the City of Culture. The woman starts talking about her daughter, who is working in Edinburgh – she’s so proud of her. It’s nice to hear three strangers exchanging tiny snippets of their lives. The friendly man on our table who joined in reaches his stop, Brough, about five minutes from Hull.

Then Marc is dragged in to the conversation: “I thought you looked like a bit of a dickhead but you’re actually alright.” This guy is super drunk and he’s started to slur his words. This woman has done a cracking job of talking to him. The train starts to pull into Hull so we start packing up. The man tells the woman how much he’s enjoyed her company, while she talks about everyone else they have met on their journey, including “the students from Sheffield, the nurses, the friendly man from Brough.”

I zone out of their conversation again but my attention is caught as I hear her say, very quietly and calmly: “That’s really not appropriate.”

He makes a swift exit down the train, to the next carriage, saying: “Alright, alright I’m off now.” As soon as he’s out of earshot she lets out a huge sigh and rolls her eyes. I smile at her, a kind of shared, “He was a bit much wasn’t he?”

“He stroked my leg three times,” she says. “After the third time I had to tell him it was too much.”

I was completely taken aback. This had happened right next to us and I hadn’t even noticed. I’d chosen to keep out of the situation. She was clearly shaken but just seemed relieved that he had disappeared. “It doesn’t matter,” she said politely, “he was just really drunk.” I said: “It’s never ok.”

We offered to walk her off the train to meet her husband. She was extremely grateful of the offer but made it clear that we were not to tell her husband. As we left the train she talked about how her daughter (aged 21) lived for a year in London for her first job, where “she received so much abuse walking down the street she still has anxiety about it.” She’s a little bit teary now. We can see her husband by the entrance, she thanks us, says goodbye and goes over to give him a hug. We walk home.

I was so angry. I was angry because this sort of thing happens all the time. I was angry because I missed all the signs. When he said “I’ve enjoyed being with you” she quickly tried to deflect his advances by taking the focus off her. I was angry because I didn’t know what to say. I was angry because I don’t understand why the two of them having a drink and a laugh on the train makes him think that it’s appropriate to stroke her leg.

He’d talked openly about his girlfriend, she’d talked about her family; there was nothing that could have been misinterpreted. He did it because he could, he did it under the table so no one could see, he probably won’t even remember the next day because he was drunk. But that’s not OK. And I was angry because the same thing has probably happened to his girlfriend or his mum or his sister and I’m sure he’d be fucking angry if he knew that. But this happens all the time and we don’t say anything.

Our voice

We need to start talking. So I’ve written this blog because at Middle Child we have a platform to talk to people and make our voices heard. I’m using my anger to make sure other women and men know that this is not OK and the problem is HUGE. It’s fucking massive.

So how do we start the revolution? Well first of all we need to start calling people out and we need to reassure women and tell them this sort of behaviour is never OK. The #metoo hashtag has shown how widespread a problem this is. But this shouldn’t be just on women to highlight the problem: men, we need your voices too.

I am sure a lot of men have kept quiet on this to not detract from women’s stories but I feel like now we need some recognition from both sides. We need to work together to stop this and call those people out. On the Guilty Feminist Podcast on “Male Privilege” Deborah Frances White said: “Confidence is the product of our experience.” It really struck a chord with me. We need to change the narrative. We all need to give people the confidence to speak out, free of judgement.

So many times I have started to write a blog for Middle Child and then deleted it because I’ve convinced myself that I’m not clever enough, or the point has been made more succinctly by someone else or no one will care what I think. We have women in Middle Child and our voices and those opinions will only be heard if we put them out there.

Maybe it will inspire other women who feel the same anxieties as me to say something too. As ever, I doubt every word I’m writing, I feel slightly sick at the thought of other people reading it, but I’m going to post it because we need to lead by example. Also, Ellen has written a flipping brilliant play this year, I Hate Alone, so what more inspiration do I need?!

I’ve also questioned whether my own personal experiences are ‘big’ enough. I’m grateful to have not experienced some of the things that I’ve read other women have been through. I do however have a constant fear that something like that could happen to me walking down the street, in the workplace, on a train. We need to stop doing ourselves down. If it’s happening every week, if we feel the fear, it is big enough. It has taken something huge like the Harvey Weinstein case to kick this off but we need to ensure that every woman feels that her experiences are of importance.

Let’s make sure that within the theatre network there are safe spaces for women to come forward. Vicky Featherstone’s Day of Action is a great start. Unsurprisingly, her call out highlighted the fear of speaking out and the potential effect this could have on an individual’s career. Speaking personally as an actor it already feels like you have to sell yourself all the time, so I don’t find it surprising that people have found they have had to keep quiet about something or someone because of their role within an organisation.

It should not be an excuse. I imagine this is the same across the board – directors, stage managers, designers, technicians. So many times getting a job can be about who you know. It can create a muddy area where you feel you want to protect your career – your livelihood – to the detriment of letting this behaviour continue to happen.

Now more than ever we need to make sure women feel they can voice this. We need to make sure that we can be open and honest. The focus needs to be on the problem and the causes, not mourning the loss of theatrical idols. We need a big shift. We can’t make excuses for this anymore.

And while we’re here, let’s stop reviewing women based on their looks. I read one today and it made me want to be sick in my mouth.

So thank you to the lady on the train that made me want to write my first blog and say this is not OK. It’s for her, her daughter and every other woman who feels they can only smile and walk away. It’s about the everyday encounters and the fear of speaking out.

This is our industry. All of us. This should not be our normal.

All We Ever Wanted Was Everything wins a Broadway Baby Bobby Award

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Picture

Alice Beaumont as Holly and Bryony Davies as Leah in All We Ever Wanted Was Everything. Photo by Wullie Marr.

We are delighted to have scooped our second successive Broadway Baby Bobby Award for All We Ever Wanted Was Everything, following Ten Storey Love Song’s success in 2016. 

Broadway Baby’s Editor, Bennett Bonci surprised the company after the show on Friday 25th August to present the trophy. Afterwards he said :

“It’s weird to be so excited about a show that preaches so adamantly against the concept of aspiration. But All We Ever Wanted Was Everything has what Italia Conti’s production of The Laramie Project, which won this year’s first Bobby, has: momentum. In this case, that refers to the feeling that the beginning of the show inevitably leads to its end, with every step along the way a pit stop necessary to reaching our final destination.

In AWEWWE (a useful abbreviation for a verbose title), the momentum starts with the near constant presence of music. Utilised correctly, music can create the emotion to accompany storytelling, and here it is used perfectly. AWEWWE starts with music, provided by the onstage band. As the lead singer/MC starts to spin his tale, the band seamlessly transforms into the acting troupe. Generically, the songs change as the story progresses from 1987 to 2017, but are connected by its root in British music and its rebellious attitude.

Beneath the chords is a story of parallel lives, missed opportunities and dissatisfaction. Two children are born on the same day in Hull. One is rich, one is poor, both will endure hardship, and neither is aware of the asteroid hurtling towards earth. They dream big, but when unable to realise those dreams, their personal relationships and self-esteem suffer. They remain obsessed with the future, unaware that there won’t be one, as the asteroid draws closer.

At the end, the music finally stops. All that’s left is the words of the MC, whose cool and collected demeanor is now replaced with an impassioned rage. “Live your life!” he exclaims. AWEWWE is idealistic; it’s just a different type of idealism. And those ideas are presented through a show that blurs the line between theatre and musical theatre in a way that is entirely its own. The innovation and flawless execution are more than just effective; this show is exciting in its affirmation of the endless possibilities of Fringe theatre. And so I am ecstatic to announce that All We Ever Wanted Was Everything is the winner of a 2017 Bobby Award.”

Diary of an Asteroid at Edinburgh Fringe

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Alice Beaumont as the Asteroid in All We Ever Wanted Was Everything. Photo by Wullie Marr.

ALICE BEAUMONT, who plays the Asteroid and Holly in All We Ever Wanted Was Everything, reflects on her Edinburgh Fringe so far.

We’ve been here three weeks. I love Edinburgh but being a part of the Fringe means being caught up in a very strange world. It’s easy to let the whole experience drag you along in its massive current. I regularly feel complex combinations of wonder and heartbreak, irritation and delight. And always, always an unrelenting self-analysis, both personal and professional.

The ‘success’ of a show (in terms of ticket sales) relies fairly heavily on reviews and word of mouth. If you’re lucky it is possible to measure your own show’s success on your own terms – not critics’, but it is hard to do sometimes. It’s a month of subjective judgement, tweets, stars and recommendations. Sifting through the publicised opinions of others can be tricky, but there’s no greater feeling when you realise you believe in the work you’re making regardless of anyone else. That’s the dream.

I have found, with so much assessment in the air, the need to look internally and assess myself is palpable. But the less said about that the better; feelings are gross. Instead, here are some things I’ve experienced whilst being here.

One of those melted clocks from a Salvador Dali painting

Seriously, what is going on? Days are blurring together – right now I’m not too sure whether it’s Sunday or Monday. Or Thursday. I feel like we’ve been here for all of time and simultaneously no time at all. The start of the festival felt like yesterday but in reality we only have a week left. I’ve stopped trying to figure out what the date is.

All We Ever Wanted Was Everything goes up at 8:45pm so technically we have full days ahead of us before performing but they slip by with bewildering speed. I swear I’m having a morning cup of tea and a minute later I’m doing the pre-show warm up.
Alice Beaumont as Holly in All We Ever Wanted Was Everything. Photo by Wullie Marr.
The climate
I’m sorry to mention the weather (Dullsville!) but it plays a very prominent part in daily life here because of its maddening behaviour. It is, in politest terms, erratic. Blasts of sunshine that make you regret choosing black jeans that morning and threaten to scorch any uncovered skin in a matter of minutes, accompanied by the clearest of skies. Then, moments later icy downpours erupt out of nowhere and last for an hour. Then the sun bounces out again like nothing even happened.

I’ve stopped trusting the morning brilliance and don’t go anywhere without my crap umbrella, which I promised myself I’d upgrade when I got here but as yet have not. The wind is a joke and the evenings feel like November. Despite all that, I rather like its unpredictability, it is in keeping with the other-worldliness of the festival. We’ve so far, miraculously, avoided a wet Get In. We prepare for our show outside our venue and, fingers crossed, it’s Scottish law that every day from 8:15-8:45pm is a rain break.

The people

Fringe feels kind this year. It’s got heart. People who are here for the Fringe seem so happy to be here and the locals are so welcoming, which is impressive since thousands of us have infiltrated their city. I met an Edinburgh local in a café who was proud of herself for not ‘flipping out’ at a group of actors who were taking up the entire pavement. She said to me that it was wonderful to have so many artists here.

People have been so full of gratitude when we see their show and supportive and kind when they see ours. I marvel at people’s boundless energy whilst flyering. I try to imitate this; I’m not great, but I’m getting better. Most have so much to say about their show and you can see their passion for it right there in the street.
All We Ever Wanted Was Everything. Photo by Wullie Marr.
The shows

As ever, there’s a ridiculously vast array of plays/musicals/art/cabaret/comedy/poetry. Some brilliant, some not so. This year I’ve been desperate to see complex female characters on stage and I’ve definitely been fortunate enough to witness some. Every time someone mentions an amazing show they’ve seen, I’ve felt the thrill of potentially missing something that might be unmissable. And then I get to see for myself if the hype is true. It’s weird being in a position of being judged as a performer and simultaneously doing the judging as an audience member.

Most of the time I feel a real sense of camaraderie. It’s pretty cool to be here with so many companies all doing the job we love. In darker moments, like after the show late at night climbing the terrifying stairs to our flat I can’t help but think of all the hundreds of people who have spent so much time, money and effort on shows where dwindling audience members are apathetic at best and critics don’t blink an eye at slating them.

It can be a bit brutal here, which reflects the industry in general of course. We’ve been extremely lucky and I can’t really express the gratitude I feel at being here with a show that I love performing in and that people seem to love watching.

Fringenado

The Fringe has been a giant amalgamation of stuff. It’s been a hefty whirlwind and everything is in extremes: too emotional, too big, too fun, too tiring, too strange, too overwhelming, too cathartic, too time-bending, too loud, too quiet, too lonely, too busy, too much. I can’t believe this is our job. And I can’t believe we get to experience all this. For me, being a part All We Ever Wanted Was Everything in Edinburgh has been nothing short of awesome*.

*‘Awesome’ is not the best word here. The thing I’m trying to express is more like a sound, but I’m writing this on a computer and you’re reading… this so a word will have to do.

All We Ever Wanted Was Everything runs every night at the Paines Plough Roundabout until 27 August, 8.45pm.

Marc Graham wins The Stage’s Edinburgh Award for his performance in All We Ever Wanted Was Everything

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Marc Graham was presented with his award by The Stage editor, Natasha Tripney. Photo: Wullie Marr.

Middle Child are immensely proud to announce that company member Marc Graham has become the first winner of The Stage Edinburgh Awards 2017 for his performance in All We Ever Wanted Was Everything.

The play, a gig theatre epic written by Luke Barnes with original live music by James Frewer, is running at the Roundabout in Summerhall until 27 August 2017.

It is the first prize to be given out in The Stage’s awards at the Fringe, which are chosen by the publication’s team of Edinburgh critics and announced every Monday throughout the festival.

The Stage critic Fergus Morgan described Graham as “a mercurial MC who finds humour, hope, tragedy and truth in Luke Barnes’ poetic, political story”.

“His is a frenzied, fearless, unconventional performance, as thrilling for its ballsy spontaneity as it is for its obvious integrity. His stunning, galvanising closing speech will stay with me for a long time.”

Alongside the MC narrator role Marc also plays the unambitious Tom and eight year old Colin, as well as singing and playing acoustic and electric guitars throughout the show.

Marc said he was “well and truly honoured and shocked” to receive the award, and thanked Middle Child artistic director Paul Smith, saying: “Without the freedom he’s given me to experiment, to play, the encouragement to push to be bold, his blind trust, for almost 10 years now, this role would not have been possible.”

Paul Smith said: “[Marc is] totally dedicated to pushing boundaries and works so hard. This recognition is also a testament to the fact that it’s possible to have success as an actor outside London. Everyone at Middle Child is proud to call Marc one of our own.”

The show continues at the Roundabout every evening (except Tuesdays) at 8.45pm.

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