"For auld lang syne..."

This year, my dear friend Katie Spelman; my artistic soulmate, and my “whyfe”(as we call one another, with deep gratitude to my actual husband for generously lending me to her for this, and many other adventures)  decided to cross an entire ocean to spend New Year’s Eve in Scotland. 

Because of course we did. 

 

We’re doing Brigadoon in Los Angeles in four months, and nothing says “professional preparation” like international travel fueled by a deeply optimistic relationship with our credit cards. It made perfect sense. Why wouldn’t we research and celebrate in one ambitious, impractical, technically financially responsible-ish gesture?

 

So we bought the tickets. We booked the fancy three-course New Year’s Eve banquet and ceilidh at Òran Mór (a magnificent venue in the heart of Glasgow’s West End.) Once a church, now refashioned into a complex of performance spaces, it still has the church’s bones complete with soaring arches and epic acoustics, only now they’re in service of accessible theatre, whisky flights, ceilidh nights, and general joyful chaos. We treated ourselves to the deluxe experience of dinner, dancing, and live music carrying us all the way to 2 a.m., because nothing says “women-circling-40-with-careers” like signing up for communal cardio until dawn...

But what we got was much, much more.

Before the “bells” (at midnight) we were already drenched in sweat from a few hours of the kind of dancing that asks nothing of you except that you show up with a body, a loose grip on dignity, and a willingness to be spun by strangers. 

Ceilidh dancing is deceptively simple, but it is not a solo act. You must take someone’s hand. You must let yourself be pulled off balance and trust that you’ll be returned upright. 

 

Their devotion to togetherness (in general, but in this particular moment: at the turn of the year) runs counter to  the myth of self-sufficiency so many of us carry around like rocks in our pockets. experts say we are living in a loneliness epidemic, where social isolation isn’t just an emotional ache but a public-health concern. In that way, the ceilidh feels like an argument Scotland has been making for centuries, disguised as a party. And what is that argument you may ask? It is the Scots’ insistence on a life lived in community.

We danced with people whose names we immediately forgot and whose laughter we instantly trusted. We ate, we drank, we danced ourselves to the brink of collapse, and somewhere between the second Gay Gordon and the third refill of Prosecco, we learned each other’s stories. By midnight, no one was a stranger anymore. 

As the final moments of the year approached, I was surprised to see that the bar didn’t crowd, it completely closed. (?!!)
Just for fifteen minutes.
But shut down utterly like a bank on a national holiday. 
For the next part was as sacred as it was mundane: 
The entire room, without fuss or instruction, stood up and formed a massive circle. 
No one lingered at the edges. 
No couples peeled off to create private moments. 
No one was left alone at a table scrolling through their phone. 
Stranger with stranger, waitstaff with guest, we all joined hands; arms over-under in criss-crosses. 

Then the bells tolled, and the room began to sing.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,


And never brought to mind?


Should auld acquaintance be forgot,


And auld lang syne!
 

It is the world’s song now, of course. But long before it belonged to us ALL? Burns’ words belonged to them. To Scotland. This is theirs. They sang their words. 

For auld lang syne, my dear,
 

For auld lang syne...

People closed their eyes. Some people shed a few tears. Some made exclamations of joy. Of relief. Of excitement. Wishes were made—and none of it theatrically, but with a kind of sober tenderness. We stood shoulder to shoulder  in that circle at Òran Mór, and sang. 

We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
     

For auld lang syne.

Then confetti as a piper marched across the circle to an eruption of cheers. 
There was no kissing at midnight, no grand speeches, no pledges of life overhaul, no champagne-splashed performative joy. Instead, there was something far more commanding.

There was just presence: bodies close enough to feel warmth, voices raised in unison, limbs entangled in dance with people we had met hours before. By the final chorus, Katie and I were simply two humans—momentarily extra-alive—caught in the tide of other humans doing the same brave thing: showing up for one another at the threshold of time.

This wasn’t just some kind of charming cultural ritual. This was antidote.  
Is it possible that it might be this simple: that which keeps us truly alive, that which actually saves us, is not achievement, wealth, or hyper-independence. It lies within these ordinary moments of mutual existence.

Here, as the year ends, the culture insists: not only are you not alone—you never have been, and shall never be, alone. You will ring life in together, shoulder to shoulder. You will sing the same words at the same time. You will mark the passage of time not as an individual triumph or failure, but as a communal fact.

Good years come. Bad years come. Terrible eras and joyous decades pass through us like weather systems. But according to the Scottish people (and their eternal song) all of it happens in community. There is no other honest way to endure.

Tonight, I felt it.

Dancing arm over arm with a sea of strangers and one soulmate friend. 
In a former church turned music hall. 
In a country that remembers—ritual by ritual—that survival is not a solo sport.

Happy New Year.

Robert Burns Night

On 25 January every year, Scots and Scots-at-heart come together to celebrate the life and works of Scotland's national poet, Robert Burns.

The first Burns night was celebrated in 1801, when a group of Burns' friends came together at his childhood home to celebrate the life of their friend. In the more than 200 years since then, this tradition continues to grow as the influence of Burns' work has spread across the globe.

Today, people in countries all round the world who have been captivated by his haunting verses come together on his birthday, 25 January, to celebrate his life and works. Traditional Scottish food and drink is blended with some of Burns' best-known poems to create a truly memorable experience for everyone involved.

The end of the party: JOY.

Born in Ayrshire in 1759, Robert Burns is Scotland's national bard. Affectionately known as 'the Ploughman Poet', his verses stand as a fitting testament to Scotland's proud literary history. Here's a selection of his greatest works:

A Man's a Man for A' That
Ae fond kiss
Auld Lang Syne
To a Mouse
A Red, Red Rose

And, Robert Burns Night was the very first party of the "one party a month" plan for my 2018 goal. 

Josh playing.

What a way to begin the year! Good food, good whisky, good music, good cheer and good poetry; there's no experience quite like a Burns Night celebration. Whether you're addressing the haggis or the 'lassies', or you dont know your kilts from your ceilidhs, that is a-ok, because all are welcome at Chez AlSilbs.
 

The centrepiece of any good Burns Supper menu is the iconic haggis, or as the bard himself described it, the 'great chieftain o' the puddin'-race'.  And of course, whisky is the usual choice at Burns Suppers, either malts or blends. Contrary to popular belief, adding a little water to your malt may improve rather than dilute the flavour, although some whisky drinkers may not take kindly to watering down their drams! 
 

But the best (and certainly my favorite) part of Burns Night is the traditional poetry recitals. These include Burns classics (above) especially the 'Address to a Haggis' (recited by my dearst Tzeitl WHO FLEW OVER ESPECIALLY FROM SCOTLAND, Frances Thorburn). Other recitals on the evening include contemporary Scots poetry, and of course, traditional music (which filled my home thanks to all the signers, and friends playing the accordion, oboe and cello!)

all the signs of a good party

In My Life: Glasgow

Glasgow, Scotland
©2015

Friends I Admire (and Why) - Part 3

Frances Thorburn

• Just the most creative, deeply feeling, and beautiful soul I've ever met.
• Frances Thorburn has THE BEST LAUGH I've ever heard.
• She is self-proclaimed to be "delightfully bizare."
• She writes stunningly beautiful music and poetry. 
• When she is proud of you--you feel it in your cells.  
• Did you tune in for "Dum Dee Tweedle?" Well... she is the direct inspiration for Tweedle Dee. As in: ...I basically copied her voice. Her adorable self, with her Glaswegian brogue and signature enthusiasm for mischief. 
• One time, we discovered that strawberries look like tongues!
• She has endured, without question, the most senseless, profoundly difficult circumstances and still managed to soar. 
• She loves her food. Particularly blueberries! And "quiche for one!"
• Psssst.... Franny's a bit of a Scottish celebrity doncha know. Well... at least she is to me. What do I mean by that? When I was a still a student in Glasgow I attended the theatre all the time, and Frances Thorburn ALWAYS. MANAGED. to be in the cast. I am not exaggerating! That lassie was everywhere! "Frances Thorburn" became synonymous with "Scottish Theatre Actress." So when I saw her on the first day of rehearsals for Fiddler on the Roof, I freaked! I knew so much about her work. I tried to play it cool (but we all know how that goes for Al Silber...) Thus began the Tevye's Daughters' catchphrase: Frances Throburn: Scottish Celebrity.
• When Franny and I first met, we were both in the throws of a great deal of personal "shrapnel--" by which I mean, in recent years we had both dealt with extremities of human experience. We were both raw and quite tender. And even though we had a lot in common, we also handled and viewed life with a lot of outward differences. We both worked quite hard to overcome our natural social tendencies, cultural differences, as well as a strength-and-sensitivity balance to forge one of the most successful, fruitful and important friendships in our both of our lives. Franny is one of my best friends on earth. I have never felt far from her-- no matter how much time passes, no matter how far away we are geographically. She is truly a sister--and I am certain it was because of the efforts we made all those years ago.

Nick Westrate

• He is the Lenin to my Trotsky. (Meaning: we are partners in 'crime'-- prescribing to the same artistic philosophy, but we go about it in different ways. I wanna talk it all out and feel my feelings, and Nick likes to do all that plus blow up the building...)
• My true “teaching partner.”
• He is the friend who tells you the truth even when it may be hard to say and hear. 
• He is one of those friends you learn from all the time. Nick Westrate is the friend that 'makes me better.' 
• He supports the artistic endeavors of his friends at every level, in the most gracious manner possible. (He gives you that standing ovation [if you deserve it], and has applauded me both in the West End and waaaaaaaay downtown...)
• He took a bus to come to my father's funeral....so... 'Nuff said.
• He has a cat named Jane. Her full name is Queen Elizabeth Nancy Pelosi Pussy Jones. Jane for short... Of course.  
• Believes there is nothing a good dirty martini can't cure.
• He fights with all his soul for causes he believes in. Fights to the death.
• He is from Southwest Lower Michigan... which means he knows the 'Glove Love...' WORD.
• Without a doubt, the peer artist I probably revere and look up to more than any other.

Alley Scott

• ALWAYS 'there' (at both, say “the hospital” as well as at, you know: Carnegie Hall)
• World class snuggler. 
• We are Team AMS! We are both "Alexandras" with middle names beginning with M, and surnames beginning with S... thus, we are "Team AMS!" Our motto? GO TEAM! 
• She is THE BEST HIGH-FIVER I have ever seem in my life. She High Fives with more enthusiasm then a head-cheerleader on a caffeine trip. 
• Throws one helluva party. 
• Enjoys a Christmas Tree ornament collection (that is, for the record, mighty impressive.)
• She is 1/3 of "The Alexandra Sisters."
• One helluva cook. (Her philosophy is "Fat. Salt. Sugar. Done.") 
• In fact, she is that friend you call 24 hours before a party you are throwing for waaaay too many guests and emit your emergency cry for help of "MUSKRAT!" Then, instead of just talking you off a ledge? She offers to COOK ALL THE FOOD FOR YOU...  
• She is the most extraordinarily gifted visual artist.
• ...as well as insanely photogenic.
• She is that friend you can call upon to 

1. drive you to the airport at 6am on a Thursday
2. or last-minute read with you at an audition 
3. or pick up your mail from the hateful Queens post office 
4. or drink a bottle of tequila with... ya know--BECAUSE, 
5. or cry andcryandcryandcry and then laugh with, because if she has driven you to the airport at 6am on a Thursday there is nothing left to hold back.

• She is my emergency contact. That sh** is real.
• She is both left-handed AND a red-head... and you know how I feel about aaaaall of that...

More friends I admire:

Part 1
Part 2

Hugh is 60

Hugh Hodgart: LEGEND...

A few weeks ago Anna Hodgart sent out a mass email to all the folks who have been touched by the life of her father Hugh-- in order to celebrate his first 60 years of life.

Hugh Hodgart is what you might call a bit of a Scottish theatrical legend. Head of the School of Drama at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland (formerly the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama), who in my day, was head of Acting, Hugh directed me in not one but three of the most influential productions of my education, and subsequent career as an artist.

He was also a very important mentor to me, and what I am certain is countless others.

It was a joy to pitch in and write a little something for good ol' Hugh-- a man I both respect and adore.

Enjoy.

*

The Bite of the Night. Creepy.

For all the "roles" Hugh Hodgart has given and directed over the course of his life, it is, I suppose, fitting to examine the role he has played in mine. Mine, and, of course, the lives of so many others. It is hard to put into words... but I am certain as Hugh knows at this point: that has never stopped me from trying.

I personally crossed paths with Hugh as one of the "first fleet of Americans" to come to the (then) Academy in the autumn of 2002. I was personally a disaster-- newly 19, grieving a far too recent loss of my father, and alone in a foreign city for the first time in my life. What was I thinking?

But I was welcomed with open, quietly reserved but (not-even-all-that-secretly tender-hearted) bear-hugging arms. In fact, it was not at all a leap to say he was a steady father figure for many of his students, but for me, he was present in that manner at the moment I probably needed it most. Not to mention the countless benefits of his ferocious intellect and artistic vision, his wicked wit, and masterful diplomacy as he navigated the waters of the School of Drama.

The man himself before The Cherry Orchard, 2003

I feel lucky to have learned all about the art of "making mustard" from him-- from Brutopian to Varya to the armless, legless, Helen of Troy. (I mean: you know you've really got some serious trust going on when Hugh asks you to have armless, pregnant, onstage intercourse with your childhood friend from summer camp and no one even blinks...) He is an artist and it was a joy to create important, transformative theatre together with him at the helm of the ship.

But I must say, the moments that truly glitter, of course are the human ones:

• Phoning me in America over the summer holidays because his daughter NEEDED Converse trainers and she needed them now, and "they must be purple."
• A sojourn to Chicago for the Unified auditions
• Many a Guy Fawkes Night in his backyard lighting fireworks and indulging in Rhona's incredible Chile Con Carne.
• Welcoming him in to the flat I shared with Justin Flagg up in Westbourne Gardens for a true American Thanksgiving (and specifically requesting a batch of previously mentioned Chile Con Carne...)
• Seeing his face after a performance in the West End...
•     ...and in New York City...
•     ...followed sharing burgers in a local downtown haunt after the show and hearing the entire tale of his romance with Rhona (complete with the part about CHERNOBYL...)
• And best of all, hosting his daughter Anna in my home her in New York, and 1. Witnessing him as a nervous but very proud Papa and 2. Meeting and really getting to know his remarkable daughter and see Hugh through her eyes. I asked her if she had ever felt envy-- toward the throngs of young people whose lives he influenced and touched in such an artistically, and perhaps on occasion, literally, paternal manner. She sat very quietly for a moment then spoke with great certainty: she was not. She was only proud. And grateful. Profoundly aware that thought many a student viewed and revered him as I did, she was the daughter of that good man.

So.

Hugh,

Happy birthday. (I'd fly over to hug you personally on this milestone, but the flight costs and arm and a leg... and you had me cut those off long ago.) I am sure I speak for many when I say: I am glad you were born.

With love today and always

Alexandra

x

*

Anna's response after the "big reveal!"

Hi everybody,

First off - big apologies for the group email - if I wasn't trying to squeeze this into my lunch break at work I would most definitely be doing individual thank yous.

On Saturday, my sister secretly came back from London and we went round and surprised my dad with a day of birthday activities -made breakfast, took him for dinner, made two birthday cakes and filled the house with loads of balloons and banners. In the evening we presented him with the book of birthday messages.
Don't think I've ever seen him quite so overwhelmed and touched before so thank you so, SO much to everyone who wrote a message, sent pictures, wrote down memories, forwarded on the email and contributed in any little way. It all came together to make a pretty beautiful mosaic of memories and love.

You're all wonderful - thanks so much for making it possible.
Anna x

And Hugh's to me a few days later...

Silber - you beautiful person,

I gather Anna has been writing to thank everyone who contributed to the 'Book of Hugh at 60'. May I add my own love and thanks for your so kind words? You made me cry, of course - good crying - the tears of recognition of love and fellowship, necessary tears......

All my love

Hugh

Success.

In My Life: Hugh Hodgart

hugh hodgart, 2010
glasgow, scotland

[original image ©K.K.Dundas]

In My Life: Justin

justin flagg

glasgow, scotland

2005

Things My 5 Senses Love: A List

Tastes
Coffee
Anything Oliver Friendly cooks.
Sea salt
Ice cold watermelon. (A whole one. Just for me. No sharing. Okay maybe a little sharing...just a touch...)
pure, pure water

Sights
Piles of books
Lemons
Nick Bantock's art work (and company, but that is not so much a sight, I'm trying to be terribly strict here!)
Early morning sunshine
old photographs
dappled sunlight through the leaves
The extraordinarily blinding colo(u)rs in nature

Sounds
Meaningful conversations
The sea
Trains
Lilly playing the oboe
The laughter of people I love

Feels/Touches
Holding hands (particularly with long time favo[u]rite hand-holding partner David Fetzer)
Holding on to anyone you love
My childhood stuffed animals
The cool side of the pillow

Smells
Rosemary / Lavender / Peppermint in noparticularorder
Café Hula in Glasgow
Fresh Michigan air (especially after the rain)

...and you...?

"Zebra's Walk" ©Nick Bantock

Bright Copper Kettles

red shoes: for whenever one wants to feel their best...

1.  Red shoes

Let me tell you something: I have three pairs in my closet right now. Three...nope. Actually four. Four! --because I BOUGHT A NEW PAIR TODAY. So. There. If I hadn’t lost the sweet little Mary Jane crocs the night I sang at Sheldon Harnick’s lifetime achievement award thingy whilst running emergency Fiddler lines with Harvey Fierstein, I would have FIVE.

Red shoes rock my world. They are happiness and whimsy and light, and I have gotten into all sorts of trouble both in and with them.

An incident with a red shoe, is in fact the very first thing I ever wrote about on this site (so we have red shoes to thank.)

There is a lot of pop culture mythology about red shoes as well— and not just of the Hans Christian Andersen variety. Apparently a woman wearing red high heels indicates that she is not wearing underwear. Apparently…. 

2. Blog-stalking

Well, now: how 21st century of me. I mean, how else are you supposed to know everything about someone before you pretend not to..?


3. Badcrimedrama

This is self-evident really. Look: who doesn’t secretly feel a swish of glee when you "have" to stay home binging on Law & Order re-runs. Who hasn’t said things like “Ooo! Matlock!’or “This episode is sooo obvious, they totally did the exact same thing on the Murder, She Wrote / Magnum PI crossover episode of  in ‘83. Please. Everybody knows that. Everybody.”




4. Classic Correspondence

One word: sexy. I am certain I have mentioned my love of a good letter before, but good God. Someone selected the paper. The pen. Labored over their penmanship. The envelope selection. Someone chose that stamp and licked it. Their scent is all over it, it is soaked in their emotions, their essence. Someone’s thought moved from their brain through their arms into their fingers and onto the page! It is visceral and palpable and right there before you, reeking of that electrical experience that happens in a flash and lasts an eternity. It traveled across time and space to reach your hands in this very moment.



5. The West Wing Song

Someone once asked me in an interview if I had any "strange or unusual" talents that nobody knew about? 

Yep.
     Yep I most certainly do.
I'm not the least bit ashamed to tell you that I write amazing lyrics to television theme songs that don't have lyrics.
     The pseudo-80s rock version of Alias.
     The Phillip Glass-esque but possibly just vocalized theremin version of Lost.
     But then there is The West Wing Song. And that, my friends, is special. The West Wing Song is a thing of great great beauty, developed over many months


So… a little embarrassing— I admit that.
I’ll come clean.
Yet, comrades I am telling you: my made up theme song pseudo-lyrics are A.MA.ZING.
They are clever and well-crafted and performed in full voice at 100.

I will give credit where it is due: It all began with The West Wing Song in Glasgow, sitting across the sofa from JNF (when we were busy being 19 but living like we were 70). It was a collaborative effort, really, a true labor of love.

To clarify: in college JNF and I were like that elderly couple that would “have” to go home early because “CSI was on.” Or, “GAAAH we'd love to come to your crazy blow-up college all-nighter but we have a box set to finish.”
It was a little sad I suppose, but it saved us a fortune and actually… (And FYI: when I give you party, I give you some party— you just only get the party from me about twice a year…)

Anyway! JNF and I watched all 6 seasons of The West Wing from start to finish (at the time there were only 6 to watch) and over time, together, we developed The West Wing Song.
The one of such glory.
     And beauty.
     And outright LORE.
With harmonies.
And different versions for each season. (The best version of which is Season 4-- with appropriate apologies to Molina, McCormack, Channing, and Smits-- Seasons 5-7 got somewhat "squishy")
Yep.
…That is right. That is correct. You didn’t read a typo: The West Wing Song has a capital “S” because dammit it earned a capital letter.

Basically: It is famous. People KNOW it. I believe I was once introduced to someone and they replied “Ah! Al Silber— lyricist of The West Wing Song” and I cooly nodded and was outwardly very nonchalant but inside? Inside I was doing cartwheels, because frankly it was the most famous I had ever felt. Furthermore, dammit, the song is something so special someone should call the governor.

[*pause for possible-to-probable hyperbole*]

Is The WWS essentially the names of the actors sung in alphabetical order shoved into the instrumental theme tune?
--Sure.

Have I sung (with a little help from a glass of whiskey) The West Wing Song to people who have been on The West Wing?
--You betcha.

Have I gone on to collaborate on theme songs to Alias, Lost, and one of my favorites, Star Trek: The Next Generation?
--Hell yeah.

But The West Wing Song is the original and best and with very little encouragement… I will sing it for you too...

RSAMD: Drama at 60

So. My alma mater, The Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama (aka The RSAMD)'s School of Drama is 60 years old this year and I was hono(u)red and thrilled to participate in the Drama at 60 campaign.

Scotland is a beautiful country, Glasgow a beautiful city, with blinding creative artists in it-- and I was blessed to train there and will never forget the experience, and those that forever formed and touched my life, at the very beginning of my acting career...

Check out the RSAMD website, the Drama at 60 site, and follow the RSAMD on Twitter to learn more about the college that trained the likes of Alan Cumming, James McAvoy, John Hannah, Ruby Wax, Colin Morgan, Emun Eliot, Billy Boyd, Tony Curran, Richard Wilson, John Doyle, Robert Carlyle, David Tennant, and lil' ol' me (or, as they would say in Scotland-- wee auld me...)

Visible Cities: A List

Just a few...

 

"Memory's images, once they are fixed in words, are erased," Polo said. "Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at once, if I speak of it. Or perhaps, speaking of other cities, I have already lost it, little by little."

 

Detroit (Birmingham)...

...Traverse City (Interlochen)...
    ...Washington DC...
        ...Sheffield...
            ...Alpena...               
  ...Glasgow...

                                 ...New York...
 

...London...

"...what he sought was always something lying ahead, and even if it was a matter of the past it was a past that changed gradually as he advanced on his journey, because the traveler's past changes according to the route he has followed: not the immediate past, that is, to which each day that goes by adds a day, but the more remote past. Arriving at each new city the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in waiting for you in foreign, not-yet-possessed places."

                                          -- Italo Calvino

Gratitudes 76-100

76. Men in suits
77. A fully functioning mind and body. What a wonderful thing it is.
78. Love. There is so much love in my life and I am so fortunate and thankful.
79. Great hair. (Mom, who has great-even-though-she-doesn't-think-it's-great curly hair is really jealous hehe!) Thanks dad!
80. The UK. The UK has been so good to me over the last 7 years. It has provided me with an education, an incredible career, a vast range of experiences including places, people and events, as well as a tremendous network of friends that have become like family.
81. April 28, 2001
82. Skype!
83. Roark & Galt
84. the iPhone and my gorgeous Macbook computer
85. East of Eden, for teaching me how to read...
86. Nick. For being real.
87. Judy Chu and our decade of letters
88. VADIM!
89. Russia... The Motherland... ohhhh how it transformed me...
90. Leah Edwards. Angel.
91. Lance Horne for changing my life and the coconut!
92. Jordan, Maggie, Hannah and Madison-- my wonderful brother and his family.
93. Snuggly duvet days (especially when it is a bit chilly and perhaps drizzly too. Yum.)
94. Victoria Hinde and Tasha Sheridan for literally saving my life.
95. The Betts Family - They have provided me with my first and last London home, and have been more than just hosts but friends over the last 4 and a half years. Their home in Finsbury Park has become a symbol of new beginnings to me, and their generosity never ceases to amaze.
96. Emma. Look what one friend-date can do!
97. America
98. Music
99. D...
100. The theatre

Ask Al: Training & Working in the UK

A few years back I received an email from a totally lovely, eloquent and hopeful student named Lauren. Lauren is terribly bright and articulate (she was attending Barnard College at Columbia University when she wrote this) and she was curious and crafty enough to do her research and she randomly found and contacted me through my website to ask me a few questions about the big bad world.

Then that got me thinking: if Lauren is out there, and has questions I can answer, perhaps my answer to her could serve to help others out there with similar concerns and queries.

Thus! I decided to start a new serial entitled Ask Al; in which I post, as you know, 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.

Since this note, I have had the extreme pleasure of meeting Lauren in person at stage door and want you all to know that Lovely Lauren was the start of it all.

I now offer you the very first Ask Al.


* * *

Hi Alexandra,

I recently read the "Fresh Face" article on Theatre.com about you and "Fiddler on the Roof." First of all, congratulations, and even though I do not live in the UK, I would love to see it!

I guess I'm writing to you because as a young actor I am looking for advice. I just graduated high school in Cleveland, Ohio and am going to Barnard College, Columbia University in the fall to study theatre and pursue some other academic interests. I have done some professional theatre here in Cleveland and some summer programs (British American Drama Academy, American Conservatory Theatre, Stagedoor Manor) and eventually want to break into professional theatre as a career. As much as I love the US, I have to admit, I have always been an Anglophile and even more intrigued and impressed by the British theatre. That said, I have done a lot of research on drama schools and even though graduate school/conservatory training is four years away, I'm still looking for guidance considering attempting to go abroad for more actor training or staying here for school (that is if I get in!). I have always been impressed by the advanced level of training in Britain and the almost different approach and appreciation of theatre. And you having gone to RSAMD obviously had an amazing learning experience and piece of it! In fact, I feel that maybe my "theatre values" are more similar to the majority of British "theatre values" versus some American "values" (although that may be too presumptuous of me).

I guess what I'm getting at is what do you recommend for an American actor who is thinking about going to school in the UK for training and eventually wishing to work in the UK? I have heard so many conflicting views on trying to go to drama school in the UK and even more on getting work in the UK. I have constantly been discouraged in attempting to go the UK because I have been told I would never work as an American even if I had pursued a degree at one of the drama schools. You obviously have defied that assumption and I guess I am wondering what your advice is on that matter. As corny as it sounds, I have always dreamed of studying in the UK (in fact I almost went there for university - I got accepted to a few academic schools for English and English & Drama but decided to stay here) and moreover working as an actor in the UK but have always been told that it is pretty much impossible. You are doing what I long to do so you seem like the right person to ask for advice!

So, once again congratulations on all your theatrical accomplishments and thanks again for reading my lengthy e-mail, I appreciate it! Break a leg!

Lauren

* * *

Dear Lauren,

First of all, you are a very articulate and impressive writer! Your email was very descriptive. But what you are asking me to articulate is complicated. I cannot speak on behalf of any organisation, and I also encourage you to remember that everything that has happened to me in Britain is fairly uncommon, and that working as an actor anywhere (not to mention in a foreign country) is never easy no matter how strong the desire. So, that all being understood, I am about to administer some non-flowery, utterly realistic tough love... get ready...

You clearly have a very set view of what you want to do with your life, and also seem to be ambitious and have a concept of your world outside of "the box." Yes, training abroad is a wonderful, irreplaceable experience, and twice the education you would get at home due to the cultural exposure alone.

It must be understood however (and I can't tell you how many times I've explained this to other American students-- which is why it will be in bold) that if you are not eligible for a British WORK (not student or travel) VISA (be it through European Union ancestry, marriage [though this can be VERY precarious and not at ALL a guarantee], being a celebrity, Commonwealth citizenship), YOU CANNOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES WORK IN THE UK.

There have been many "schemes" that fluctuate regularly, allowing graduates from British Universities and Drama Schools to stay for a period of 24 months after graduating. The rules change almost annually, but as of now this opportunity exists for most foreign students. [*Update 11/2013: This opportunity NO LONGER exists in the UK in any manner.*]

Still. If you decide to train in the UK, there will still be many things you will not be able to do that your British classmates will benefit from: you will not be able to work as an actor during training (this happens quite often-- a student will leave temporarily or before they actually graduate), you will therefore not be able to legitimately audition for anything pre-graduation (a valuable experience), and all of the contacts, agents, casting directors will be of little to no use to you once you quite probably return home.

Example: my friend (let's call him 'J' shall we?) is an American actor who trained at RSAMD, and desperately wished to stay in the UK after graduation. At the time (roughly 2005) there was a new scheme from the Home Office called the Fresh Talent Initiative, that allowed anyone with a degree from a Scottish University to stay in the UK for 2 years without work restrictions. He successfully applied, landed one of the best agents in the country, collected many contacts, and did reasonably well for a young actor starting out. His career and life began to take root and flourish in the UK. He made professional connections, made a little name for himself, worked regularly and made and built upon personal relationships.

Unfortunately, he was not eligible to extend this Fresh Talent opportunity as it was strictly 24 months and nothing more. He was not eligible to attain a different visa (say the Highly Skilled Migrant Visa which is based on exceptional circumstances-- such as making over a certain amount per year, education, age, work experience, etc), and thus, was forced to return back to the US without so much as an agent, contact, or reputable American acting resume to his name. And though J does not regret or dismiss the value of his UK experience, if he could do things again, he would have just come straight back to the States to begin an American life in the first place, for he had to start all over again from the bottom. (*Update 11/2013* Incidentally, J did pretty well for himself across North America! He recently decided to retrain and change careers because he felt being an actor was a great experience but no longer in line with what he wanted or who he became in the present. Life is a marathon--not a sprint.)

Do you see the predicament? It is a question of

LIFE EXPERIENCE versus CAREER GOAL INVESTMENT.

So. If you see yourself living in Britain in 15 years time, and you have no legal way of achieving that, then you need to rethink your goals.

If all you are after is British training, well now that is available to anyone who is qualified. And in my experience, it is worth the schlep across the ocean. (But that is for another time...)

In another contrasting example, my friend "G" was also a forgein student training in the UK and he graduated before the Fresh Talent Initiative was put in to place. He was desperate to stay and create a life for himself in the UK but there was no opportunity for him to do so. G was forced to return home to Canada immediately following graduation and slowly created a life for himself there. He has worked steadily at one of the top theatre festivals in the world, been in several major films, and has quite an impressive role on a cable drama that required some serious English accent action. He is now successful enough to apply as a Highly Skiled Migrant on the back of his North American success if that is what he wanted to do.

SO.

You have to be very very clear about what you want to achieve, and every British student around you will most likely be making the logical choices of moving to London and settling in so the pull to follow suit will be tempting. But consider the "costs" of losing the opportunity to stay once you've begun to establish a life you more than likely will have to give up. I believe if you keep the "training experience" and "24 months experience" as a guide, with the ultimate eye on making your way home eventually, you can't go wrong. (Which means nurturing your home contacts throughout the duration of your UK stay).

To answer your other question directly, do Americans work in the UK? Yes, of course. There are hundreds of working American actors all across Britain, and people that tell you otherwise are either making assumptions or il-informed. My film, 1408, was cast entirely with American actors living and working in England. There were three Americans in Fiddler on the Roof. American plays, musicals and films are done all the time in the UK and the real thing is almost always preferred.

But, unless you have a convincing English accent, you will never be seen as anything more than an American actor, and that really limits you. My English accent is something I have perfected to the point of insanity (hours and hours and hours and hours of practice like Eliza Doolittle...), and it has never been questioned. In fact, the advert I did for Zovirax in 2006 was one where I (shhhh!) pretended to be English and although I absolutely can't believe it, no one ever knew otherwise. But amusement aside, it really does have to be that good.

You may at this point be asking, "well how are you working in the UK? And the answer is complicated. The short version is, that I was (by completely fluke-ridden exception) awarded a temporary WORK PERMIT (only lasts for a specific time period, for a certain role, for a specific company) to play Laura in The Woman in White, and off the back of that success I was awarded a Highly Skilled Migrant Visa which is awarded on a points-based system. I was awarded points based on personal recomendations, earnings, and because the circumstances of my fast and surprising success were extreme. But I'm telling you, I BARELY GOT THAT VISA. BARELY scraped by with enough evidence to stay, and it was touch and go for weeks. I don't say that to be discouraaging I am merely presenting an realty/indication of the difficulty. And if I had to return home to the US, I have no American contacts, no agent, no equity card...

So! Best of luck. I hope that is helpful and not too discouraging. Remember that life is a marathon, not a sprint. The most important things in life have very little to do with career, and it is far more pressing to be proud of the quality of PERSON you are, than of the things you own or have achieved. That's my view anyway.

here are a few additional websites of interest:
The Home Office, UK

Working in the UK
Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama

Sincerely Yours,

Al

Gratitudes 1-25

This is a list of 100... just in case you are wondering...

1. Health
2. Serendipity
3. My Mom
4. My Dad
5. The orange cat
6. Interlochen
7. Mornings
8. Fresh air
9. New perspectives
10. Rosie - for reminding me that you should always trust your instincts...
11. Lilly
12. JNF
13. Jessica
14. Arielle
15. Michael -- all of whom are TRUE best friends.
16. Teaching
17. Singing
18. Glasgow
19. All my talents and gifts to which I feel so overwhelmingly grateful
20. Creativity
21. Russia
22. Rain
23. Light through the leaves
24. The smell of freshly cut lemons
25. Magical umbrellas

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

"We are the victims of an absurd disease..."

Victims of an Absurd Disease:
Jeux de Massacre and Ionesco's Theatre of the Absurd

by Alexandra Silber & Justin Flagg

(these consequentially became the programme notes for Here Comes A Chopper, Glasgow, May 2005)




1


Man: We are the victims of an absurd disease.
- Eugene Ionesco, ‘Here Comes a Chopper’, 1970

Paris, 1968. The French establishment is rocked to its centre as the country is brought near to civil war by student and worker protests. The times are rife with civil unrest: in America, the Vietnam War has caused a massive popular backlash; in Eastern Europe, the Prague Spring provided a glimmer of hope for those struggling under the yoke of Soviet domination, before being brutally crushed by Russian tanks. To this maelstrom of clashing mobs of humanity, Ionesco offered a ridiculous reply.

Born in Romania in 1909 and raised in France, Ionesco toiled variously under Romanian monarchy, German fascism, Russian communism, and French socialism. He watched his father blindly (or perhaps deftly) switch allegiances at the drop of a hat, believing power to be the only true virtue. Over the course of his life, Ionesco saw the people of his Europe arbitrarily slaughtered in two world-wars, abandoning their ancient religions in droves, and living under the constant threat of nuclear annihilation. They were the victims of the most absurd disease of all: their own society.





2

“Two fundamental states of consciousness are at the root of all of my plays. … These two basic feelings are those of
evanescence on the one hand, and heaviness on the other; of emptiness and of an overabundance of presence; of the
unreal transparency of the world, and of its opaqueness. … The sensation of evanescence results in a feeling of anguish, a
sort of dizziness. But all this can just as well become euphoric; anguish is suddenly transformed into liberty. … This state
of conciousness is very rare, to be sure. … I am most often under the dominion of the opposite feeling…”
- Eugene Ionesco, 'Le point du départ’, 1955

This play is about death: how each of us will face it for ourselves. Do we gracefully surrender to the inevitable end, or do we fight until our bodies collapse beneath us? Who will bury us? Who will inherit? Who will weep for us? Who won’t?
It is also about loss: how we face the death of our friends, our family, our lovers; parents losing children, husbands losing wives; losing control of our daily life, our food, our water; losing the sense of our responsibilities and our place in the universe.
Finally, it is about society: does it really have the power to save us from the scourge, or is it in itself the secret cause of our disease?
The allegory of a town seized by plague, and ultimately destroyed in spite of the best efforts of the council and the populace has clear connections to the world we know. One need only consider the unavoidable headlines that assault our senses on a daily basis: The endless debates over the cause and response to global terrorism; epidemics, poverty and starvation in Africa; AIDS, Cancer, MRSA and an ageing society; and the scientific and religious quarrels over the beginning and ending of life, to name just a few. Reflecting on our own predicament, the absurd behaviour of Ionesco’s fictional townspeople becomes hauntingly recognisable.



3

“Laughter alone does not respect any taboo, laugher alone inhibits the creation of new anti-taboo taboos; the comic alone
is capable of giving us the strength to bear the tragedy of existence. The true nature of things, truth itself, can be
revealed to us only by fantasy, which is more realistic than all the realisms.”
- Eugene Ionesco, ‘La démystification par l’humour noir’, 1959

Throughout our creative process we have, to use Ionesco’s own words, attempted “to communicate the uncommunicable”. We have employed many different genres, toyed with notions of gender, incorporated multimedia elements, and pushed the limits of popular taboos (perhaps exceeded them), all within a stark and grimly disturbing landscape. And we have tried never to forget our sense of humour in an attempt to present an absurd existence that allows us to realise how close to absurdity our own existence really is.
It was Ionesco’s hope that through confrontation with the harsh and terrifying truth of our condition, we can learn to accept it. Only then will we be liberated from our overwhelming despair. Of course, Ionesco would be the first to suggest that the whole exercise may be doomed to failure from its inception. But that’s for you to decide.

Mme Martin: Quelle est la morale?
Le Pompier: C’est à vous de la trouver.
- Eugene Ionesco, ‘La Cantatrice Chauve’, 1948

'Elegy'

Elegy
~ composed by Alexandra Silber, Finalist for The Edwin Morgan Poetry Prize, 2003; Glasgow, Scotland ~

The moon has kidnapped the kidney of my lover. (Not the heart or soul or anything one might expect under these circumstances). Replaced haphazardly with a chunk of moon-rock counterfeit stitched zigzagedly with a white-hot needle and silver fishing line never cut. He is still attached to her!
“This explains why the Moon always follows me home,” he whispers.

Oddly, he does not long for the kidney only for the Moon Herself, who is slowly sucking life from that gash in his side, like fruit from a goblin market.

His skin once lithe and radiant has gone white, developing irregular patches of pale, slippery clay. (Sometimes I have to laugh because he really does smell like cheese…)
Every night he digs his knees in to the shore and stares at the sky, praying with his eyes, the hollows are intense and vacant; grey as a turned-off television screen, growing hollower.

I know the Moon will forget him.
I know she has seduced before.
I know she has filled her bowels to the brim with the organs of a million soulless, searching men wandering the cosmos in vain.

I will destroy the Moon.
I will conquer Her.
I will plunge my victory flag into Her milky spleen and gut her
like a chilled coconut.
Then, I will go to her valley of viscerals
fish out the grimy, forgotten kidney,
and eat it.
To spite her.
Because the wrenching is unbearable.
Because I want to taste their love;
be as close as I can.

We are two
Unutterably empty women;
The moon and I.

Old times...

It's snowing! And it is staying on the ground! Oh, it is ever so peaceful. I am absolutely exhausted and feel a tremendous anxiety about the weeks to come: these mock auditions, Carlton Hobbs, Showcase.

Why must everything be so ephemeral? You can't ever hold on to a moment, you cannot bottle things for safekeeping. How I long for a bottle of April 27, 2001 when the romance has left my life. Or what about the bottles marked Essence of Interlochen or Singing with Michael or Long Talks with Dad...? One could go to the shelf, pop the cork and be met with a rush of euphoric sensation, or contentment, security, tenderness. All of these at the pop of a cork.

Equally, I suppose, one could be met with a rush of indifferent air: odorless, colorless and lacking the desired rush of feeling. It would be a gamble. That would only be fair. "Subject for a short story..." as Trigorin would asses.

When one is fortunate enough to be blessed with the gift of memory, one can collect and arrange those memories like jewels in an ornate memory box, if you will. Dust them off, polish them, see them anew, hold them to the light, reassess their value.

But it can have a vicious sting. You remember the ugly, the agonizing, they throb in your mind, they remind you of your inadequacies. Or the worst of all: you remember, they do not. They never do. Was it more important to you? Did it ever happen at all? A long mind comes at a high price; and costs, always costs.