Oedipus Techs

If you were to ask me where I feel most at peace, I would answer, ‘in an empty theatre, watching a technical rehearsal’. Technicals mean endless repetitions, long waiting periods when nothing seems to be happening, and a disjointed view of the production, but I love them. I know, I’m mad. That’s what Ian, the DSM (Deputy Stage Manager – hey, you’re going to have to find out for yourselves what these abbreviations stand for; I can’t keep telling you every time) on Oedipus, said to me the other day as he was leading me through the labyrinthine corridors of the National Theatre.

Oh, didn’t I say: I spent practically the whole of Monday and Tuesday sitting quietly in one of the side aisles of the Olivier Theatre (a replica of the amphitheatre at Epidaurus, so the ideal setting for a Greek tragedy), watching the technical rehearsals of Jonathan Kent’s production of Sophocles’ play, in a new adaptation by Frank McGuinness.

How did I manage that? Simple, I asked. Well, it probably helped that I knew Jonathan Kent at Stratford-upon-Avon, 34 years ago: he was a young actor with the RSC and I was a young French girl trying to get an interesting job with the company by mooching around the place, talking to everybody and attending every single performance of every show that was on – either sitting in the front row (when the house wasn’t very full) or standing at the back of the stalls. Jonathan and I chatted quite often in the Dirty Duck (the pub where all the actors used to gather before and after the performance). The ‘interesting’ job never really materialized (I’ve touched on the subject on my main blog), but I did work as an usherette (for only two nights because we weren’t allowed to see the p lays); in the catering department because they were allocated two comps every day and no one else ever wanted them; and also as a dresser at the Aldwych for a while. Jonathan played Aumerle in John Barton’s production of Richard II (with Ian Richardson and Richard Pasco alternating in the title role); I was dressing Northumberland (played by Clem McCallin – the tallest person in the company, of course, since I’m short) and they both shared a dressing room.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, as part of a kind of arts festival called Open Rehearsal, the NT advertised that the public would be able to watch the evening ‘reset’ of War Horse at the Olivier. As the name indicates, during the reset, everything – the set, props, lighting, sound, etc. – is put back the way it needs to be before the next performance of a show. There had already been a matinee of War Horse that day and the reset is more ‘eventful’ if the evening play is different from the matinee’s, but it’s still fascinating if you’ve never seen it before. To cut a very long story short, my partner and I ended up watching it on our own, with just the Scheduling Manager, whom, as it turned out, I had been on tour with in Paris, in 1986 (he was a young electrician then). But I digress. On my way to the auditorium, I had dropped a letter for Jonathan at the Stage Door, asking to be allowed to attend a technical of Oedipus ‘en souvenir du bon vieux temps’, as it were. He said yes, and that is how, on Monday afternoon, I found myself sitting in a very familiar seat (I’ve sat in it so many times), watching the production slowly – very slowly – take shape.

A typical technical rehearsal goes like this: the electricians go through the lighting plot and fiddle with the lamps so the lighting changes constantly in a seemingly erratic way; the stagehands adjust parts of the set and crawl on the stage in an attempt, say, to find out what on earth is making the revolve squeak; the actors chat or take their bearings on the stage while they wait for their cue (most of them say their lines without emotion, saving it all for ‘the real thing’); the women (it’s mostly women) from the wardrobe department come to see whether anything needs to be done to the costumes; the director stops and starts the play and watches it from different parts of the auditorium, checking sightlines; he/she is in constant dialogue with the Stage Manager, who writes down every move, every lighting and sound cue in ‘The Book’. People talk in small groups and attend quietly and efficiently to the tasks that have been assigned to them. There is activity everywhere, yet the atmosphere is that of quiet concentration. No raised voices; no ‘tempers’; just endless patience and attention to detail. Anything that goes wrong can – and will – be put right. All is well with the world. And as far as I was concerned, I was unreachable – it was an escape from the world, hence the sense of peace I experienced.

This is what the auditorium looked like on Tuesday evening, after the dress rehearsal.

This is not the first Oedipus I’ve been very close to: the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, brought their production of that harrowing play to the Edinburgh Festival in 1974. It was directed by the legendary Michael Cacoyannis (yes, the guy who did Zorba the Greek). He was intending to supervise the transfer to the Royal Lyceum stage, but he had fly back to Greece in a hurry the day before the first performance: he was a Greek Cypriot, and Turkey had just invaded a part of the island. He still had family there.

I was dressing the boys from the Chorus and the lead actor Des Cave, in just one scene, which took place backstage. Oedipus was blinding himself (you do know the story, don’t you?) so his next entrance would have to be different – to say the least. It was a very quick change: I had to put Des into his ‘bloody’ costume (and press all the poppers on his back), while the make-up girl did his face and he howled. He was very good at howling, but there was a limit to how long that cry of anguish could be, so we only had about 60 seconds. It was nerve-racking, but rather hilarious too.

I never saw the whole production since I was busy, but this is what the staging looked like then.


And here are three of my ‘boys’ in their dressing room. They were lovely guys: the one looking at himself in the mirror was called David Turner. He was an actor and dancer. We became great friends: on the last day, he borrowed a pound from me and bought me a small spray of Je Reviens with it (he’d previously asked what perfume I wore). Wasn’t that nice of him? I’m afraid I can’t remember the name of the contortionist.

The first preview of Jonathan’s production was on Wednesday night; there haven’t been any reviews yet since the Press Night is next week, so I cannot reveal anything about the staging – not one thing – nor can I tell you what Ralph Fiennes, who plays Oedipus, is like in it. All I can say is that, after seeing it twice from beginning to end – a run-through and the dress rehearsal – and seeing lots of scenes several times, I was enthralled. But then I’ve always got very attached to any production I’ve worked on or got to know very well. One of my oldest and best friends (David Shaw-Parker) is in it; I toured in Paris and Brussels with two of the other actors (Alan Howard and Malcolm Storry); I’ve even chatted to the lead once at a Christmas party, so you won’t get an objective opinion from me. I am going to the Press Night and to the party afterwards. What do you bet someone – who didn’t notice me in the course of those two days – will ask in what capacity I’m there?

Update (11/10/08): There is now a lovely trailer for the production on the NT’s website, here