A False Start

Seven weeks ago I was a mess. Sitting on my bathroom floor almost in tears – who am I kidding, sobbing like a baby – I was eight weeks away from what should have been both my acting and producing debut at the Fringe, but feeling nothing less than an acute sense of failure. And for good reason.

A year graduated, and reeling with confidence and pride after my fledging live comedy company had been shortlisted for an award, I was chock full of determination to blaze my way into the theatre industry! I had the experience both in training and in the professional world of performing and producing shows and, in the current climate, I decided the only way I could forsee myself having a potentially career enhancing experience this year was to create my own opportunities.

In what I hope was a charming, if perhaps slightly pushy way, I tracked down a playwright I’ve long admired -Terry Newman- and he agreed to tailor his new one-woman play ‘Women Just Aren’t Funny’ for me to perform at the Edinburgh Fringe 2011. For a few weeks I had a fabulous time getting the project up and running. Triumphs and pitfalls were inevitable, but my production team and myself enjoyed every second. A highlight of the run-up was an exceedingly fun photo shoot with photographer Richard Grebby. The photos were funny and the script they complimented was funnier, but by the time they were ready for public consumption the cracks were beginning to show.

It’s tough for anyone to admit failure – especially when the opportunity in question was so important to them. And it’s harder still to swallow your pride when having to explain to well-meaning congratulatory friends that your listing in the Fringe Programme does not actually refer to any show that will be existence this Festival. I’m a proud person by nature (one of the deadliest sins I’m painfully aware thank you), and the combination of private regret and public embarrassment was a horrible one. But I do ultimately have to admit that pulling the show really was the most sensible route to take.

A combination of beginner’s mistakes (for, as prepared as I felt myself to be, I’ve come to realise that in the big bad world of theatre I really am still just a beginner), being let down by others and unforeseeable disasters meant that I felt I was constantly swimming against the tide. It was almost as if all the signs were suggesting that this just wasn’t my year. As I got more and more dispirited and depressed – certain that whatever I ended up producing now wasn’t going to live up to the quality I’d envisioned it being – I kept being told that the sign of a true professional was not giving up. But a little voice kept suggesting to me that perhaps the sign of a true professional was knowing when to give up. And ultimately that’s exactly what I did.

Theatre is a risky profession. I know that. But it has to be admitted that, as tough as it is for the bigger theatres, for us small-fry working the profit-share circuit there is a dearth of available budget, of security nets or of really being able to hold directors, actors et al to a contract. So you have to be ready for any eventuality. Prepared to work hours and hours to get essential tasks done that were never supposed to be your responsibility to begin with. Willing to constantly adapt your show, set-up or worse according to whatever ‘surprise’ your venue, lighting guy or lift home decides to chuck at you. So you really have to just suck it up. To do as much of the work yourself as you can possibly do and then do everything in your power to try to make sure that you surround yourself with a trustworthy and reliable team. So, as much as I kicked myself for weeks over my little failure, I like to keep the above in mind to prove that I at least put up a good fight.

So anyway, if you were wondering, that was how I found myself on the bathroom floor, showing an alarming amount of self-pity and skin much too thin to be viable for working in this industry. Oh, and as far as I was concerned, my Edinburgh Adventure 2011 was well and truly over.