Theatre.com Interview

Check it out at:
Theatre.com Interview

A wonderful, rich and rewarding conversation with Matt Wolf. So satisfying to discuss theatre and life with such an intelligent and inspired man. I hope I get to meet him in person someday.

Enjoy.

Ask Al: The British Drama School Experience

A few months back I received an email from a totally lovely, eloquent and hopeful high school student named Matthew. He was curious and crafty enough to do his research and he randomly found and contacted me through my website to ask me a few questions about training at The RSAMD. This got me thinking: if Matthew is out there, and has questions I can answer, perhaps my answer to him could serve to help others out there with similar concerns and queries. Thus! I have decided to start a new serial entitled Ask Al; in which I post a real-life question and answer correspondence (edited for privacy of course), in the hopes of helping, enlightening, or perhaps merely entertaining, other inquiring minds out there. Enjoy. And Ask Away!

* * *

Dear Alexandra,
My name is M. I am an aspiring actor at the high-school level and was wondering if you would be kind enough to share with me your impressions and thoughts about your training at The RSAMD? I would be very grateful. Thank you so much for your time.
Sincerely Yours,
M

* * *

Dear M,

All British training is different, yet for the most part follows the same principles. For example, most Drama Schools begin the training with a study of Naturalism, and devote the entire first year of study to what most consider to be the most truthful and basic style of acting. (The dictionary defines Naturalism as "a movement in theater, film, and literature that seeks to replicate a believable everyday reality, as opposed to such movements as Romanticism or Surrealism, in which subjects may receive highly symbolic, idealistic, or even supernatural treatment.")

But all this being said, every drama school is always evolving, and I can only speak to RSAMD's methods, and hope that it serves a good enough example to ask appropriate questions of other schools.

RSAMD is very encouraging with their students, but they are also quite realistic and at times provide more "tough love" than nurturing. I personally like this. No soft stuff for me! I feel that life is too short to go through it with delusions, and RSAMD instructors provide a decent balance of inspiration and realism.

Example of nurturing inspirational teaching would be The Voice and Movement Project-- this comes in the middle of your second year as a culmination of your voice and movement training up until that point in the course. The instructors leave you alone for 3 weeks to work with your group of 4 or 5, and create a piece of 30 minute theatre based loosely around a theme. The parameters require each member of the group to perform two contrasting pieces of text within the piece (prose, speech, song, a duologue with another member of the group, etc) and to use their movement training to the height of your capability. The instructors leave you alone to create, but check in daily to both encourage and stimulate your development.

Example of tough love would be around the final year acting showcase for agents in both Glasgow and London. The advisors are VERY clear about making sure you are as both world aware and self aware as possible. What I mean by this is A) that you understand the nature of an incredibly difficult business to break in to, that you understand that you are performing in that showcase not to show off, not to display what you are fully capable of, but to get an AGENT. And the only way to do that is to show yourself excelling in what you would be cast in tomorrow. (for me, at RSAMD, I always played the BIG lady parts-- things I won't do professionally for 20 years. Since I've left, naturally I have been hired to play young ingenues.... that's how life is. Despite the confusion of some of my classmates, I showed off my ingenue-ness in the showcase and look at where I am now. My other classmates were not so lucky). They make it very clear what you are good at, and what your weaknesses are. I think that is helpful. I always want to know where I can continue to make improvements. But they aren't exactly soft about it.

As far as acting methods go... the training for the most part is based (and I mean that in the purest sense of the word) on naturalism-- stanislavsky, etc. The first year final productions are usually Russian realism plays (Chekhov, Gorky, etc), and the styles advance from there. I suppose the theory is the same as singers or dancers: a dancer who trains in ballet can dance any style, a singer who trains in classical music can usually sing any style... the theory holds for classical acting too.

But saying that, the training is largely process-to-production based. There are units of work that slightly alter annually. First Year is Realism/Naturalism (Chekhov, Ibsen, etc), the Second Year begins with Ancient Classics (The Greeks), followed by New Writing, followed by Shakespeare/Elizabethan/Jacobean theatre. Third Year you study more advanced theatre styles: Theatre of Alienation (Brecht), Theatre of Catastrophe (Howard Barker is a favourite at RSAMD), Theatre of the Absurd (Ionesco), a bit of New Writing, and some light film and TV studies. It is a theatre course, don't be fooled. I did my first film last year and was CLUELESS (it actually came out in the USA yesterday, it's called 1408).

If you are concerned about pretension, RSAMD's INSTRUCTORS are the furthest thing away from that. I cannot guarantee what one's classmates could potentially be like. We had a few GEMS in my class. On the whole, I think the school benefits from being away from London, from the heart of the BRITISH theatre scene. There is less pressure, less of a show-biz feel. It is really just about great training. And the Scottish theatre scene is vibrant and beautiful in a very real way. The down side is that one isn't always as prepared as one could be for the "real world" of being a professional (most likely out of work) actor. It's a tough life, even when you are doing well.

Best of luck! I hope that is helpful.

Sincerely Yours,

Al x

Tomm's Fiddler Picture

Fiddler on the Roof West End Press Night

I think it is worth mentioning that the sizzle i felt during the climax of Tradition and the applause at the end of The Wedding Dance, were unlike anything I have ever experienced. Ever.

So.
After much toil, a lovely evening...

The Embassy Club, Mayfair
29 May 2007

The Red Shoe

So.
What I think is really great after a bad day at the office, where The Ghost of Jerome Robbins is giving our poor little company a lot of grief, is making fun of Jerome Robbins by (flawlessly?) executing THE West Side Story kick on the Aldgate East underground platform...

... ONLY to watch in total horror as my brand new adorable red pump FLIES off my foot, over the crowd and on to the TRACKS...

All hundred or so people on the platform stare. They stare and shift slightly. Will anyone do something? Shall we all just glance away? And I am frozen. Frozen, staring at my shoe in a "THAT DIDN'T JUST HAPPEN... OP! YES IT DID" way.

What to do???!

Damian goes to fetch help. A wooden broom handle, someone's cane, anything...

The only reason I got it back was because a steaming drunk guy (named Chris) singing "Happy Birthday To MEEEE! I'm 18 TODAAAAAY!!!!!" -- was too drunk to remember the tracks are in fact ELECTRIFIED. He jumped down on to the tracks, the crowd gasped (possibly because Chris might DIE on his 18th birthday...)

He jumped right down on the tracks, stumbled horribly, caught his balance, knelt down, grabbed the shoe...
... then jumped right back up.

"There you go!" he says, "Woo hoo! I'm 18 today!!!"

...and the crowd applauded! Victory.

So. Chris not dead.
Shoe retrieved.
...Absolutely fine that one.

Photography: Hannes & Tamar

Stadtpark: Hannes & Tamar
21 April, 2007
Stadtpark: A Berlin & London based acoustic duo - Guitar, Vocals, Clarinet, Flute, Bass Clarinet, Baritone Sax.







www.myspace.com/stadtpark

www.alexandrasilberphotography.com

Damian's First Snow

London.
January.
Freezing.
7:00 am.
There are things to do, sleep to catch up on. Places to sing tonight.

On a quick, stumbly sleepy trip to the bathroom I notice an overly bright morning...
It couldn't be.
It doesn't DO that here.
I haven't seen this since Detroit.
This is the real deal. Serious stuff.
Incredible!
It IS!

Al: (whisper) Damian... Daaaaaamian...?

Damian: QSndkjX%*ehliruw@##en....

Al: ... I am so sorry to wake you... but something VERY SPECIAL has happened... and I don't want you to miss it...

Damian: Huh? What it is?

Al: It's snowing. And the snow has stuck.

Damian: What?!

Al: I know. I think you need to see it.

We get dressed. We shuffle to the doorway.

Al: Ready?

He nods.
I open the door onto Carlingford Road. And there before us is a virginal, untouched blanket of pure white snow. It is exquisetly beautiful. Every little branch, every little crevice has been touched and decorated. There are at least six inches on the ground. His eyes twinkle and fill with wonder and emotion. He looks like a little boy. I remember this feeling so well. It seems so far away now.

Damian: Can we go out in it? Can we play in it?

Al: Of course! Let's get properly dressed!

We do. Coats, scarves, mittens, big boots! And cameras of course. Hardly anyone is even awake.

I teach him how to make snowballs. And then we decide to make a snowman. Of course. The secret is a good central snowball and patience in the rolling technique. No respectable snowman was ever made in haste.

A young woman and her son appear in the window of a flat across the street. We wave to them, they wave back. This would never happen on a normal day, people are very reserved and cautious here. But today, on snow day, that is different.

We find pebbles for the Snowman's eyes. Sticks for a mouth and a scarf and mittens of course.

Damian: Let's get a picture.

We do.
We've been out an hour. It's cold.
A morning made of magic.


Oh BOY.

New year, new beginnings

Sheffield.

A much-needed new year, new begining. I feel relief. I feel powerful. A massive shedding of a heavy and obsolete skin. Perhaps the skin once contained lessons, hard, adverse lessons now absorbed into my inner skins, there forever.

I feel ambitious-- I feel solitary. I feel free and powerful and solid. Bold, in control and strong. What a difference. how weak and uncertain was 2006... i have and shall continue to learn from those dark days. I shall endeavour to grow further, take calculated risks. I feel such potential taking hold of me-- such wonders await! I shall be audacious! Any mistakes made through audacity are easily corrected with more audacity.

"Everyone admires the bold; no one honours the timid."
-- Robert Greene

* * *

To London this weekend partially to take things back, partially to visit JNF and partially for a very stupid audition. Had a wonderful visit with JNF, we exchanged flawless Christmas gifts (a beautiful red vintage handbag, a gift certificate for a rubber stamp, and three winnie the pooh prints circa 1929).

Life has taken an inexplicable... quailty. I find i am taking pleasure in more of life. A flower, I will find myself overwhelmed by it's beauty. Or find myself irrationally excited about a meal, seeinga friend, browsing in a shop, the pleasure of a day off, reading, folding freshly laundered clothes, the smell of "clean"... is this happiness? Is this what it feels like? For I have never felt it before except in short burts. (That Proustian orange at the Birmingham Airport in 2003...)

The other day I observed D in his sleep, smelled his musk and just sat there gazing at his gentle face, and I was filled with... a feeling. It can only be described as delicious, anticipatory, wonder-- the bursting joyful kind a child feels when offered a hot cookie. I could even smell oatmeal raisin when this feeling began and I wanted to bite him. I could not wait for him to wake up, so we could spend the day together...

What is this? 

Life is full even when it is hard... the sense of wonder is profound.

Happy New Year 2007

A beautiful meal followed by festive fun (loosely translated that means, Millionaire and Twister... til the wee hours...)

Next year in the holy land...

Backstage Madness

Um. Enough said.

Sheffield Oboe Player

"Nobody stopped to hear him
Though he played so sweet and high
They knew he had never
Been on their T.V.
So they passed his music by
I meant to go over and ask for a song
Maybe put on a harmony...
I heard his refrain
As the signal changed
He was playing real good, for free."
-- Joni Mitchell

He busked nearly every day on the high street in Sheffield. I would leave rehearsal to get dinner, and there he would be; playing with his gorgeous, dark tone. Sometimes the classics, sometimes folk, sometimes those recognizable songs buskers always play.

Once, I saw him call out to a kid, a young boy of about eleven or so. Hey kid, he seemed to say, would you hold my oboe for a minute while I grab a Mars bar? I'll give you a quid when I get back. The kid seemed to think this was a great idea, and so the Oboe Player carefully handed him the instrument and took off to the newsagents.

Whilst the Oboe Player was away, the kid examined the oboe as if it were a relic! Or made of gold! He didn't dare try to play it, but he did fiddle with the keys a bit... it was pretty adorable. The Oboe Player returned a minute or so later with a mouth full of mars bar, a crumpled wrapper, and a pound for the kid.

And then, picking up the oboe, he began to play again. He closed his eyes. It was Goosens. I knew it because Lilly played it for Concertos at Interlochen. And the kid stuck around, he listened too. And then, without making a fuss, whilst the Oboe Players' eyes were still closed and concentrated, the kid put the pound the Oboe Player had given him, into the small pile of change inside the oboe case. And he sat on a nearby bench until the piece was done.

Sometimes I have a really short attention span...

...I really do.