Tasmanian playwright Tom Holloway has been sharing his experiences at the Royal Court theatre in London over a series of dispatches for Arts Hub. Tom’s play ‘Beyond The Neck’, about the Port Arthur massacre, was handpicked for an exclusive program at the Court in 2006, and later chosen to be showcased exclusively for London audiences in January 2007. Here is his final dispatch.
On the morning of the 18th of January there were 80mph winds blowing through London. I’m not all that good at converting miles to kilometres but as I was running in to the wind, struggling to get to The Royal Court in time for the first of two day’s rehearsal for my play, it seemed very, very fast.
I had barely slept from excitement and nerves and now I was running late. My sleep-deprived mind was sure that if I was too late they would just cancel the whole thing.
I arrived wind blown and frantic. Of course everyone else was as cool as a cucumber because for them, bad English weather and working at The Royal Court were everyday things. I tried to calm myself and act like I belonged too, but the excitement was too much.
I got taken up to the theatre’s rehearsal room to meet the actors for the first time, I already knew the director. As I was introduced to each of them I forgot their names immediately. My thoughts kept running off to thinking about the room we were in. Who else had been in there? What other plays had been rehearsed there? Who else had sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair I was currently sitting in?
The first day continued like this. I would answer whatever questions the cast or director had, but I spent most of my time sitting back and soaking it in. The actors and director were doing a great job and the play was really coming alive. The form and structure of the script can seem complicated, closer to a piece of instrumental music, but they all seemed to ‘get it’.
Before I knew it the day was over and I was ‘debriefing’ with the director in the bar. One drink became two and we began talking about my experiences writing the play. We talked about the amazing interviews survivors let me have with them and about the many personal experiences I’ve had with loss while developing this script, all of which has seeped in to every word of the play for me. The director would listen to the stories and keep buying more drinks. I went home exhausted, exhilarated, a bit sad and slightly tipsy.
Man, I had another whole day to go…
Again I had barely slept when I arrived the next morning, but still I noticed something seemed wrong. Before long the director had apologised and asked for me to take over for a while before leaving the room. Me? Take over? What was happening? The actors were confused and I was confused and we all tried hopelessly to continue even though I didn’t know what I was doing and everyone’s thoughts were with the director. About an hour later, when she returned, she told us she had recently lost a friend and working on the play had suddenly brought up a lot of things she hadn’t dealt with. This led to a huge talk with everyone sharing similar, very personal stories and getting quite upset.
In retrospect this is exactly the kind of thing that the play is about, about the importance of giving people the chance to come together to share those stories that are otherwise too much to bear. The thing I have learnt most from working on this play is the ability of community, whether it be family or friends or neighbours or whatever, to be able to help in these times of tragedy. Someone once said to me if death if not confronted, it pursues. But how can you confront it if you cannot talk about it?
Although this is all the case, as I sat there in the rehearsal room and this talk went on and
on and less time was being spent on my script, I started to panic. What about my reading? What about the performance that night that was without doubt the most important night in my career so far? I didn’t want to sound selfish, but I had thought and dreamt about that night for so long, what was going to happen now?
After lunch, after almost no real rehearsals and that huge discussion, we had a run through for a few Royal Court staff members that couldn’t make it for the night’s performance. We were all worried and felt unprepared for any kind of audience and in theatre it is often far harder to perform for 2 than 200, but then the actors pulled out this amazing run, heart-felt and skilled and very moving. It was so good that I could barely watch but by then end everyone could feel it. We were all very quiet afterwards.
Then it was time for the performance that night. I sat down in the theatre upstairs, where I had watched Harold Pinter tackle the words of Beckett just a few months before. I thought back over my time in London, over the last few days and especially over that morning and suddenly I was hit by this wave of exhaustion. The near full audience had taken their seats, the actors came out, the lights dimmed and the play began.
Almost straight away I noticed things weren’t as they had been in the afternoon. The performance was slow and seemed lifeless, reserved. The actors weren’t doing any of the things the director had planned in the way of staging. At one stage one of the actor’s mobile phone actually went off in his pocket. I couldn’t believe it.
I can never sit through this play without ending with my head in my hands, it brings up too many memories of my experiences while writing it, but this time felt even worse. I wanted the whole thing to be over. I was tired and just wanted to sleep and I was seeing my play fall apart in front of me. I closed my eyes and tried to block it all out.
But then, as the actors said the last lines and after a very, very long silence, the audience started applauding and kept on going. The actors came back for two bows. As the lights came up there were red eyes everywhere. Friends and strangers came up to me, shaking my hand or hugging me. I couldn’t understand what was going on. It had gone well? People here in London had been moved by my play that had come all the way from tiny Tasmania?
After most of the audience had filed out to the bar I went to get my bag from a dressing room and broke down and cried. It had all been too much. So overwhelming. So amazing. So exhausting. And all just a reading.
Now I am on my way back to Australia. I am talking with some theatres that are interested in the script in London, which is very exciting, but I am relieved to be returning. It has been an amazing trip and an experience I will never forget but right now I can think of nothing better than seeing my family and then having a beer and some barbequed ‘roo with friends as well as a break from this play. I also have another project to begin, working with three other male artists in Melbourne to create a cabaret based on male suicide. We will work with some men’s health organizations and other support groups. It has the working title of Hopetown and I think it could be a great thing to be part of.
A whole new adventure begins.
Read Tom’s other dispatches from the Royal Court on Arts Hub:
