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The uncut X-Beacon files May 2001
Painswick Players: Black Comedy Goes On Despite Exploding Buddha! ‘Let’s get this straight. You are really asking us to build a three storey apartment… in the Painswick Centre?’ I’m taking time out from rehearsals for our next production (Peter Shaffer’s Black Comedy, 5th, 6th and 7th July) to hold a first technical meeting. Our dynamic team of techies (Jacek Wolowiec, Russ Herbert and Tony Gibson) is bubbling with enthusiasm and Russ is expressing the team’s whole-hearted support for my dramatic vision. With a certain directorial authority, I rise to my full height and stare him straight in the navel. ‘Certainly! The script calls for a South Kensington basement flat with a sculptor’s studio, a bedroom upstairs and a cellar below.’ Tony, who is a master of detail, looks thoughtful. ‘Mmm… South Kensington… Could be tricky. We’ll have to watch out for the Circle Line when we’re excavating the cellar. And the District Line. And the Piccadilly Line…’ All murmur in agreement. I sometimes think Tony should get out more. An intricate and lengthy civil engineering discussion
ensues about JCBs, RSJs, earth movers and other erotica. I seem to be losing
control of the meeting. I decide to change the subject. ‘Let’s talk about the
lighting.’ The eyes of Jacek, our lighting
techie, light up… ‘The unique thing about Black Comedy,’ I explain, ‘is
that - because of a blown fuse - all the action takes place in the dark …’ … and then grow dim again. ‘Then, let’s fix the fuse! And then we can have the
lights on. And then everyone can see’, he interjects with the dogged logic
with which techies are so liberally endowed. ‘We could issue the whole audience with night-vision
goggles.’ muses Russ, as another obfuscating technical discussion threatens to
emerge. I try to shed some more light (as it were): ‘The whole point of Black Comedy is that light and dark
are reversed. Whilst the audience watches the play in the light, everyone
onstage is acting as if in complete and blinding darkness. It’s a riotous
comedy of errors and confusion with everyone in the dark.’ ‘No change there, then.’ mutters Tony, still pondering
on the spatial constraints posed by the London Underground System. I decide that it’s probably safer to leave them to it and
return to the rehearsal, which has continued in my absence under the control of
co-director, Lesley Wolowiec. They have just reached the very tricky point where
Brindsley, a penniless sculptor, is trying to return a suite of antique
furniture and a fabulously valuable Buddha (all of which he has ‘borrowed’
from a neighbour to impress his potential father-in-law and a millionaire
collector) under the cover of darkness and under the nose of the hapless
neighbour. Slightly to my surprise, Lesley seems to have everything under
control, the whole cast seems to be word perfect and the performances are worthy
of the West End. Rather than interfere, I concentrate on the more important
strategic issues involved with putting on a play. Like, for example, making the
coffee. And finding the fabulously valuable Buddha that plays such a critical
role in Black Comedy. Until a couple of months ago, I was in negotiations with
some terribly nice Taliban chaps in Afghanistan who said they had a good sized
Buddha surplus to requirements. However, owing to an unfortunate spot of
mistranslation, they seem now to have blown it up. So, I wonder, is there a
Beacon reader out there with a Buddha to spare? If so, please give me a call on
01452-812167. Finally. A reminder. On 31st May, 1st and 2nd June, Gill
Cox is directing an adaptation of George Eliot's Silas Marner in Cranham Village
Hall. Call Gill on 01452-814367 to be sure of a ticket. Jack Burgess, Painswick Players |
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