Saturday 21 November 2015

Last


In the words of Big Star, "This sounds a bit like goodbye: in a way it is, I guess". There have been a few goodbyes this week: it's a long winding-down process rather than the crescendo we all somehow expect. But this is the way a tour ends: not with a bang, but a whimper.

That said, our show always did end with a bang; and this evening was more emotionally charged than most of us were prepared for. We've all said goodbye to a lot of jobs and a lot of people, but this was significantly harder than usual. (I wrote much of this before the fact; and, unsurprisingly, it's not quite as predictable as I'd anticipated. Even in its closing minutes, this job proves impossible to pigeonhole.)

All that now remains to say is thank you: to the 400,000 people who came to see any of our 342 shows in 31 towns; to the friends and families that supported us; to anyone who read this blog, and to those who helped it to be read.

Curious Incident will continue, of course: in London, in the U.S.; most likely in places not yet negotiated. But my involvement with it ceases now.

When I started this blog, I posted this picture as an indication of what lay ahead. It seemed implausibly daunting.


Now the map looks like this; and I feel both pride and exhaustion.


I've said pretty much all I have to say about this play over the last forty blog posts. "Pride and exhaustion" just about sums it up.


End of the line.

All change, please.


Thursday 19 November 2015

Farewell


Tonight's our farewell party. By the time we all limp back to the beds we call ours, we'll still have three more shows to go; but goodbyes have to be planned and organised. The last night is seldom the best time to do it.

I've watched too much television in my time. And this job has, in no way whatsoever, been like a war or an 11 year-long TV series. Regardless: actors saying goodbye to each other after a length of time always makes me think of this.




Tuesday 17 November 2015

Salford


Eleven months since we first travelled here to begin this tour, we're back at The Lowry, Salford for our final five days and eight shows. We've been off for a week, so in many ways it feels as if the tour has already finished ("Think of this week as the farewell tour", said a wise friend to me the other day). Anyway, 31 venues (I can't count this one twice), over 330 shows and a year down the line, we find ourselves back at the beginning.

"We shall not cease from exploration, 
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."

T.S. Eliot said that.



Sunday 8 November 2015

Music


Most music sounds better when you're moving; and, if you’re anything like me, you listen to a lot of music on tour. If there’s one band that will remind me more of this whole experience than anyone else, it’s Big Star; and particularly their final, beautifully inaccessible album Third. There’s something about its sense of fractured exhaustion, peppered with moments of euphoria, that has come to reflect much of the last year for me. (If you’re new to Big Star and want to know more, I wouldn’t start with Third: it’s difficult music to love; although, for me, that’s often the best kind. I’d listen to their other two albums, or watch the documentary Nothing Can Hurt Me on Netflix; or, if you just want one representative masterpiece, I’d go for this.)

Hearing these songs, I’m walking the streets of Glasgow, trying to find a bar; I'm leaving Wolverhampton late one Saturday night, driving home for the first time in ten weeks; I’m doing my daily commute past Leeds bus station; I’m staring out of an aeroplane window looking at the Scottish coast and the glimmering North Sea, hoping I fall asleep. More than anything, I’m trudging around grey Aberdeen in early September, 500 miles from home, trying to walk off the fried bread and black pudding I had for the breakfast that I didn't really want.


Thursday 5 November 2015

Directors

 
 Photo of Katy Rudd and Joshua Jenkins by Scott Graham

This play has several directors, like a battle has several commanders. It's time, just before the end, to bring attention to our Consultant Associate Director Katy Rudd and Resident Director Kim Pearce. They're the ones who have been with us pretty much every step of the way; whipping us into shape and then keeping us on the boil, like something you cook for six weeks and then have to simmer and stir for a year.

Most actors tend to think that there's no way that any director could still be giving notes after some 300 plus shows. And many other actors might graciously take notes and then ignore them. But, when you're on a long tour, things can get stale. They can get misguided. We like to proudly proclaim that much of acting is instinct. But what if your instinct is wrong? That's what a director is for; and often they can see what's right much clearer than you can.

An example: the other week, I was noted on the fact that certain aspects of my performance were losing a degree of subtlety; through repeated execution, things were getting a bit heavy-handed and obvious. So I did as I was told and tried to rein it in a bit. The result? Immediately after the show, a total stranger came up to me (which never happens) and complimented me on the subtlety of my performance that night.

The director could see something that I couldn't. Like I said, that's what they're there for. So it seems only right to take this opportunity to thank Katy and Kim for all they've done.

Oh, and because they watched the show tonight; Katy for the last time. And they both asked could they be in the blog, please.

Tuesday 3 November 2015

Monday

When we play in a town for only a week, we don't perform on Mondays. This week, we did. For the only time on the tour, we added a ninth show. Tickets sold out in six weeks.


We're in our penultimate venue, Milton Keynes Theatre. For the first few months of the tour, this was set to be our 31st and final town; until we were asked to go back to the Lowry, Salford for one extra week. This means that, from November 17th to the 21st, we will return to the place to finish where we started.

Tomorrow - well, today: this, as the title suggests, does tend to be a blog written in the night-time - is November 3rd 2015: one year to the day since we all met for the first time and rehearsals began.

A whole year. I'm tired just thinking about it.

Thursday 29 October 2015

Differences


I was asked by William Rycroft at Vintage to answer a series of questions about Curious Incident, and how the book differs from the play. I think it was Peter Ustinov who said that only when you're interviewed do you discover how you feel about things. Anyway, here's what I said:


Throughout the book Christopher Boone has rituals like spotting coloured cars; do you or any of the other actors have any rituals before you go on stage?
 
Rituals before going on stage, and preparation in general, are very personal things: they're often unique to each actor and it's quite important to let people get on with theirs, whatever they may be. I've personally never been the kind of actor who needs to stare at the wall to get into character or whatever. I went to LAMDA: we were implicitly taught not to take ourselves too seriously, I think. Although, to be fair, that does depend very much on the material. If you're doing something naturalistic, it's often quite helpful to have some time to yourself before you go on. But, for me, this play is so much about quick transitions. You're this, then you're that. Scenes end and begin like the snap of fingers. So, with this more than any show I've ever been involved in, I'm talking all sorts of nonsense right until the millisecond my foot hits the stage. To be honest, I should probably be a bit more sensitive to others about it. Because, for those who are getting into character, it's probably quite annoying.

Has being in the play made you approach the book in a different way?

Being in the play hasn't really made me approach the book differently, to be honest. I must be the only person in the western hemisphere who, until a year ago, hadn't actually read Mark Haddon's book. So my ingestion of the book and the play occurred very much in tandem. They complement each other brilliantly - Simon Stephens is incredibly faithful to Mark's material: much of the dialogue is repeated verbatim - and, to be honest, it's got to the point now where I can't really remember what's in the play and what's in the book. Mark Haddon said to me a while back that it's the same for him, funnily enough.

Do you have a favourite character in the book and why?

 

I don't really have a favourite character in the book; most actors would say the character they're playing, but for me Roger Shears is such a gigantic loser. The relationship between Christopher and his mother is something that I find very moving, though. There's a beautiful dimension to Mark Haddon's Judy Boone which, because it's written, can only be perceived from reading. When you look at her letters to her son, there are very slight and subtle spelling and grammar mistakes. You wouldn't know that from our production because these are simply read by Gina Isaac, who plays Judy. But what comes across from that character in the book is that she might be dyslexic and have slight learning difficulties herself. I think that's a beautifully understated bit of character: that she, like her estranged son, doesn't easily fit with societal norms, standards and conventions. Also, it makes her very raw and human. There's something more pure about her emotions in the way that they're expressed in these very long, ungrammatical sentences. And, in my head, it binds those two characters together in a way that is unique to the book. That said, I think somehow Gina manages to put that across: in the touchingly clumsy yet heartfelt way she reaches out to Christopher in our production.  These characters – particularly the parents – are such beautifully flawed human beings that it just makes them more and more real to me.

Are there any moments in the book that didn’t make it into the play but that you wish had?

 

Something which fans occasionally feel compelled to point out is that there's much more Sherlock Holmes in the book than there is in the play. There's a whole chapter devoted to The Hound of the Baskervilles, for example. I was fully expecting Mark Haddon, when we met him, to be an enormous Christopher Boone-esque Conan Doyle fan that took Holmes very much as his inspiration for elements of the story – including its title – but it's funny how things like Holmes and Watson stopping for tea in Swindon in that story are just lovely little moments of serendipity; even though they seem somehow predestined.

Which aspects of the book do you think were most important in the staging of the play?

 

The most important aspect of the book, and the reason that it was universally agreed that it could never be successfully translated onto the stage, is that it gets inside its protagonist's head, in a way that reminds me of Faulkner, Conrad or Salinger. Somehow, through methods best known to themselves, Simon Stephens managed to do this in alliance with director Marianne Elliott and designer Bunny Christie. For my money, this achievement cannot be overstated – it's the reason that people respond in the way that they do to our play. It's properly stylised, interactive and immersive theatre that grabs anyone who's ever grappled with how to fit into their environment, how to grow up or how to parent a child. We can get hung up on the whole portrayal of autism: this play is about all of us.

Approaching the end of this phenomenal tour, what part of the story will you take away with you?

 

As this enormous tour winds down into its final weeks, I'm beginning to realise that it'll be a unique job in my career: probably the one that I'm most proud of above all others, although I'll need the dust to settle a bit for the objectivity of that to become fully clear. I'll remember that, in Liverpool over five days in July, we played to as many people as the West End cast plays to in a month. I'll remember Sarah, the teenager who wrote to Joshua Jenkins to say that his performance meant so much to her that she was coming again, with her parents, so that her friends and family might understand her more. And I'll remember Josh's definitive, towering performance as Christopher. As far as I'm concerned, there aren't enough good things that can be said about him as an actor. I know that many people have played and will play this part, but I simply cannot imagine that there's anyone else to touch him.

Friday 23 October 2015

Bath

October 23rd. A year ago today I auditioned for Curious Incident. The next day I had a recall. Ten days later we started rehearsals. This is what I tell people when they ask me if I've got "anything in the pipeline" for when this job finishes. Things happen fast in this business. And I've never even had a pipeline: I wouldn't know how to go about getting one.


We're at the Theatre Royal, Bath for two weeks. Pretty much sold out, once again. I'd been looking forward to this venue after what a director told me a few years ago: that this theatre is the best one in the country for comedy. This is because the 900 or so seats are divided into 10 or 12 little areas, so that the audience never feels part of a huge, collective crowd; and therefore they supposedly laugh more readily because they don't feel inhibited at expressing their emotions. I'm not sure that's true. Something I've learned doing this play is that every rule and preconception I've had about audiences has been challenged or disproved. As much as we like to think that we can predict these sorts of things, it's easy to forget that every single audience is different. And, as I've said so many times, this play is unlike anything else I've ever done. It forces us to disregard what we think we know.

Saturday 17 October 2015

Belfast


Simon Stephens came to see the show last night, with members of his family. We had a few drinks. We discussed what our favourite cities of the tour were, and whether Bob Dylan is any good live these days. People other than me discussed football. We went across the road to The Crown, one of my favourite pubs in the world. Simon asked me to write about this. I've been speaking his words for a year, so it seemed like a reasonable request. And then, like Keyser Soze, he's gone. Although, unlike Keyser Soze, he said "See you in Salford".

Today we play our last two shows in Belfast after another warm, welcoming, pretty much sold out week. Then it's back to the mainland, as they say over here, for the last four weeks and three venues of the tour.


Belfast shimmers in the autumn sunshine. Yesterday I walked into town with this in my ears. They went well together.


Saturday 10 October 2015

Words

 Photo: John McAndrew

Words are funny things. As we travel around the UK and Ireland, I realise that certain words - particularly place names - just sound amusing. A play I did a few years ago contained a moment where the word 'Plymouth' resulted in a huge laugh. Someone said to me at the time that he thought British place names sounded uniquely comical; in the same way that American place names sound expansive and romantic. You can't write Route 66 about the M1, for example.

Travelling around with this play, different words get different reactions in different places. 'Didcot Parkway' is much funnier in Oxford than anywhere else (so far; I'm hopeful about Bath); 'Sunderland' is hysterically funny in Newcastle, but sinks like a lead balloon in Sunderland. 'Christmas Day' is obviously much funnier the closer you are to Christmas. And, as I discovered this week, 'Quavers' isn't funny in Ireland.

I was told that this was because Quavers aren't sold in Ireland. Which they are. And some local people have pointed out to me that they think 'Quavers' is funny. My favourite theory goes as far to say that this is because Q is the funniest letter in the English language. I'm still pondering that one.

I happened to mention this, like I do lots of things, on Twitter. Mark Haddon suggested that maybe a word like 'Quavers' could geographically evolve as we travelled. Then he pointed out that 'Quavers' wasn't even in the novel in the first place; that Simon Stephens must have invented it for the play. Simon said that he reckoned it evolved in rehearsals, courtesy of the actor who originally played my part - Nick Sidi. Nick said that he'd even tried 'Cheese and Onion crisps' in previews before settling on 'Quavers'.

This week, I've attempted 'Quavers' three times; and 'Cheesy Doritos' (Simon's suggested Broadway alternative) twice on Thursday, which didn't exactly bring the house down. Last night, after discussions with the authorities, I went with 'Hula Hoops'.

So, yes. Words are funny things. And sometimes they're not.

Wednesday 7 October 2015

Dublin


Obviously, this tour has been a long one; but, like all things, it has a natural end that is steadily approaching. Friends have been keen to point this out for a while - perhaps as an act of support - but I have steadfastly refused to think about the end until now.

"You're on the home straight" friends would say when we still had about three months to go. No we're not, I'd firmly reply. But now, here we are: we finish next month. We have only five venues, and seven weeks, left of the job. This week we will play our 300th show. There won't be a 400th, or even a 350th. Home straight? Well, yes. I suppose so.

We find ourselves in Dublin for the Irish premiere of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time: our only non-UK venue. The Bord Gáis Energy Theatre is one of the biggest we visit, and it really feels like it. We've played bigger theatres - Liverpool, for example - but this theatre, like Cardiff and Salford, has a real sense of occasion to it. And, if all the audiences are as welcoming as they were tonight, it'll be a rewarding week.

Sunday 27 September 2015

Glasses


 Photo: Sam Hare

Bear with me. This isn't strictly about Curious Incident; but, to paraphrase Apocalypse Now, it is impossible to tell my story without telling this one too.

I got new glasses towards the end of 2010. I was working for the National Theatre, and for Marianne Elliott, for the first time. I wore them as often as I was meant to - constantly - for five years.

For me, these glasses have sort of punctuated this tour. Early this year, while we were in Hull, a friend sent me an article which pointed out that my over-dramatic use of them in a key scene in Broadchurch was, frankly, a bit over the top.


Which was fair enough. I don't wear them on stage unless the part demands it; which isn't very often. So I leave them in my dressing room. Sometimes, people like Joshua Jenkins like to go in when I'm not there and put them on and take silly photographs.


In August, I left them on a train on the way to Sunderland. Due to remote venue scheduling, I was without them for four weeks. All I had, for a month, was my prescription sunglasses. I tried to explain to people that honestly, I wasn't trying to affect the backstage persona of some third-rate Jack Nicholson: it was simply the only way that I could see properly. Three days after I got them back, I broke them in Norwich whilst trying to prevent them from falling on the floor. They were glued. And again. And again.

Today - well: yesterday, now - on the way to work, my car suddenly caught fire in Sheffield. It was a terrifying few minutes in which I was convinced that someone would die: me, or any number of passers-by, or the astonishingly brave man who attempted to tackle my blazing car with a small fire extinguisher.

Anyway. I salvaged a few things from the charred carcass. I take a perverse kind of pleasure in that (a) these glasses survived, and we shall definitely now part company; and that (b) despite everything, the glue held.


It's a bit pre-emptive, with 8 weeks left, to be speaking of the end of a chapter. But that's what it feels like.


Tuesday 15 September 2015

Sheffield


We're at the Sheffield Lyceum for two weeks. It amazes me, after all this time, that there are still audiences left to see this show. When you consider that this is our fifth visit to Yorkshire this year, or how near we are to towns that we've already been to - Nottingham, Stoke, Bradford, Leeds, York - it's astonishing (and quite exciting) that we're selling here as well as we are.

The last time I worked in Sheffield was in 1998, in Michael Grandage's wonderful production of Twelfth Night, with Malcolm Sinclair as Malvolio, Una Stubbs as Maria and Daniel Flynn as Orsino. We played for about a month in the Crucible, next door; and rehearsed in this room in the Lyceum.



For 17 years, I've always spoken about that show as the production I'm most proud to have been involved in. By the end of this year, I've a feeling that, from now on, I might be speaking of another play.

Tuesday 8 September 2015

Norwich


I spent more of my childhood summers in East Anglia than anywhere else; so I'm particularly happy that this week we're playing a sell-out week at the Theatre Royal, Norwich. This is the only venue that we play in the region - no Ipswich, Cambridge, King's Lynn, Peterborough or Colchester.

We're not quite in the home stretch - it still takes two hands to count the remaining venues (just) - but we're getting there. After Aberdeen, it's nice to be a bit closer to home. Plus, I have fond memories of coming to visit my brothers - some twenty years ago - when they both studied at Norwich School of Art. My brother Sam, when he's not juggling various other things, writes songs. Some of them get their inspiration from East Anglia.


Wednesday 2 September 2015

Aberdeen


We're in Aberdeen this week: for me, over 500 miles from home and the furthest north I have ever been in the world. Autumn has arrived very suddenly. I'm wearing a jumper, wishing I'd packed my hat and not profusely sweating in a theatre for the first time in months.

The show's in its autumn years, too: we're now into the last quarter of the tour. I've only done one year-long tour before; and I distinctly remember that, after about 250 shows, things can get a little weird.

When you say and do the same things 8 times a week for a year, after a while you start to hear yourself, which is sort of terrifying. You'll hear a line - one of your own, or someone else's - and think to yourself "Is that what normally happens? I'm sure I haven't heard that before". Then you're immediately in trouble. If you're thinking that, you're not doing what you're meant to be doing: focusing on the next line; acting. Suddenly things can fall apart. The most familiar experience in the world suddenly becomes brand new: daunting, overwhelming, out of your control.

These are little moments, but they do come. Thankfully, they can leave as soon as they arrive. Tonight, watching some of the other actors do their stuff, I remembered the joy and the love I have for this play. It came after a rare matinee-less Wednesday: a rejuvenating day in the Caingorms; driving through the towns and villages on the River Dee, an hour or so west of Aberdeen; the purple hills of the eastern Highlands. In the words of George Harrison, daylight is good at arriving at the right time.


Tuesday 25 August 2015

North


Curious Incident is about lots of things. Childhood, parenthood, love, perception. One of the phrases that gets the most use is "see your world differently". There's nothing like a long national tour to help you see your own country a little differently. Leeds, where we are this week, is a city in the North; right? Well, yes. Except that we travelled over 200 miles south to get to it. I remember feeling acutely, back in February, that anyone who thinks that Stoke-on-Trent is even faintly northern should try driving there from Newcastle upon Tyne, as I did. It took four hours. We stopped halfway, for lunch, in Wakefield.

There are a couple of points here. One is that, when you do this much travelling, you start to feel immune to distance (particularly if you fly or don't stare out of the train window; actually, as long as someone else is driving). In my experience, long distance travel is like long distance running: the key to getting through it is denial - a deliberate wool-pulling over the brain that prevents you from considering just how much distance lies ahead. No marathon runner in their right mind would say to themselves "1 mile down, 25 to go". That way madness lies. You look at the next mile, the next bend of the road, the next train stop. The end of the journey comes later (this may even have something to do with progress and lack of awe: something I touched on last week).

The other point is that this business is very London-centric. Time and time again, people ask me if this tour is coming anywhere near "town". Occasionally I rather facetiously respond that, yes, it's going to over thirty different towns. Just not London Town, which is of course what they assume the word means to everybody.

So, yes. If you live in London, Leeds is The North. Stoke's getting there. But, as they told us on the first day of rehearsal, this tour is about the National Theatre doing what it should be doing: being national. London theatregoers may think that this play reached its maximum interest and influence 2-3 years ago. I could show you around 10,000 people in each town we visit who would beg to differ.

Next week we'll be in Aberdeen. I knew that that's the furthest north I've ever been in the UK; but, looking at a map, it appears to be the furthest north that I will ever have been in the world. Hopefully I can think of something to say about it.

Thursday 20 August 2015

Kubrick

 

Back in December 2014, when we did our week-long technical rehearsal for Curious Incident, I got to see some of the play's special effects for the first time. Undoubtedly one of the most impressive was the scene where Christopher imagines he's flying through space, held aloft by a few of us, guided by Frantic Assembly: the sequence that is referred to in the company as 'Astroboy'. As I saw gigantic planets and galaxies projected on to the walls, the first thought I had was that it reminded me of Stanley Kubrick's 1968 film 2001: A Space Odyssey. Also, I happened to see the film again, in a new print, at the cinema just a day or so later. It had never occurred to me up until that point, but I started to see parallels between Christopher Boone and Stanley Kubrick. Initially, I thought this was because I was a little overloaded and saturated with the play that I was working on. You probably have to be that close to it to see an image like this and be reminded of your day job:


But then I started to give it a bit more thought. Kubrick, particularly in his later films, was nothing if not methodical. There's an almost mathematical precision - detractors would say a lack of emotion, a coldness - to his final six films, which span just over thirty years. Time and time again, his compositions show order, symmetry, balance: often perceived from a single, central perspective.


It reminds me of many of the stage compositions featured in this play: deliberately placed to reflect the order of Christopher's mind. Characters often enter the stage dead centre. As with many shots in Kubrick's films, you could draw a line through most scenes and see that the stage, and the characters on it, are almost perfectly symmetrical.


These are visual, stylistic elements; but, in both cases, it strikes me that that is how Christopher and Kubrick like it. Kubrick had a reputation for sometimes working better with machines than he did with actors. He doesn't strike me as a man who let emotion get in the way of his vision.

Earlier this year, I stumbled across the theory that Kubrick may have been on the autistic spectrum: perhaps even posthumously diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome. Observers pointed to his relatively poor social skills, inflexibility and alleged obsessive nature.

The most interesting thing for me about 2001: A Space Odyssey, particularly with regard to Christopher Boone, is its lack of emotion. In a world of space travel, unseen alien forces and effortless contact, not once do the characters express awe. They express acceptance, understanding; a kind of refusal to be impressed by what technology can offer (this is the biggest thing he got right, for my money - in a world of smartphones and where anything is possible, we don't spend our time marvelling at what we can do: we just accept it in a cold, unquestioning manner).

Obviously, Kubrick never got to read or see Curious Incident. But I'd love to know what he would have thought. I think there might have been some common ground.

Thursday 13 August 2015

Stars


Last night, following a show at the Sunderland Empire, Ed Grace and I watched the skies, determined to see some evidence of the Perseid meteor shower; whilst furtively polluting our view with the bright lights of our smartphones, nonchalantly trying to find out what the Perseid meteor shower actually is.

It was a pretty rewarding hour. We saw seven or so shooting stars slice through the North Eastern night sky: sometimes as clean as a laser beam; occasionally tired and haphazard, like a cigarette tip or a dying firework.

We had just finished our 241st show, which means that we have precisely 100 left. As I succumb to the relentless, accumulative exhaustion and occasionally hysterical mania of touring, I take quite a bit of solace from the words of Christopher Boone:

"When you look at the sky at night you know you are looking at stars, which are hundreds and thousands of light years away from you. And some of the stars don't exist any more because their light has taken so long to get to us that they are already dead - or they have exploded and collapsed into red dwarfs. And that makes you seem very small; and if you have difficult things in your life, it is nice to think they are what is called negligible - which means they are so small you don't have to take them into account when you are calculating something."


Wednesday 5 August 2015

Ensemble


I was listening to a couple of radio interviews by two of our cast members today - John McAndrew and Joshua Jenkins - to publicise our current week at the Bristol Hippodrome; and they both mentioned a word that gets bandied around a lot with regard to this show: 'ensemble'.

Most directors like to use this word, because it implies that we're all in it together. But so often, it's just a lazy way to refer to a large cast. A proper ensemble production is something that many directors aim for, and few succeed at. The reason for this is simple: a true ensemble spirit means, to a degree, a surrender of ego; and, when you're talking about actors, that's very rare. For a true ensemble to work, actors need to be happy with the fact that they can be forgettable, even faceless. The production is the only star.

As I've implied, I've watched directors try and create this atmosphere a few times, and it often doesn't work. I was in one show where I was described as a member of the ensemble and yet wasn't invited to attend the first month of rehearsals - a contradiction in terms if ever there was one. To build a theatre company where actors can truly work together as equals is a rare thing; and it demands a director and a cast that are united in pursuing this vision. A couple of strong egos, or a director who simply doesn't know how to build a company, and the whole thing becomes a charade.

I'm very happy to say that I think this is genuinely an ensemble piece. Many of us play numerous parts throughout and there's a real team spirit. Of the fifteen actors, there's quite a wide spectrum of involvement in the play, but we're a team and we view it as such. We pop up here and there, sometimes as named characters, sometimes as bits of furniture; but it all fits together cohesively and democratically. When, in rehearsals, we were addressed as "ensemble", I didn't mind. Because, for once, we actually were.

Wednesday 22 July 2015

Liverpool


This week, we perform in the largest venue of the entire tour: the enormous Liverpool Empire. Like last week's theatre, it's more than served its time as a music venue. I was talking to someone who's been here to see Jerry Lee Lewis, Gene Vincent, Roy Orbison, Marianne Faithfull and Clarence 'Frogman' Henry. Bob Dylan played here in 1996. The pub opposite Stage Door boasts of visits by Frank Sinatra, The Rolling Stones and Amy Winehouse. But there's one act that towers above all these.

The Beatles played here on about nine occasions: as The Quarrymen - where, in 1959, they came second in the final of TV Star Search; as the support act to both Roy Orbison and Little Richard; and, in December 1965: where, post-Shea Stadium and now far too big for Liverpool, they played the last concert they would ever play in this city. This is a clip from one of their appearances at the Empire, in December 1963:


The shadow of The Beatles looms large for my generation. Never alive while they were still together, for me they have been passed down as figureheads; their legendary status unquestioned and yet entirely justified. I know that I'm not the only member of the company to be excited by our proximity to their footsteps on this stage; even though it was half a century ago.

Tonight we played to our largest audience; and a figure we're not likely to beat before November: a crowd of 2,187 people.

Here's an interview I did with Joshua Jenkins (Christopher Boone), discussing what he's looking forward to about our week in Liverpool.








Saturday 18 July 2015

Tea

 Photo: Nada Zakula

One of the nicest things about bringing Curious Incident to Oxford is that it's the home town of the book's author, Mark Haddon. Mark has been constantly and consistently supportive of our production for many months now; and it's typical of his generosity that, as well as being there for us on our opening night in Oxford, he extended an invitation to the entire company to join him and his family for tea at his house yesterday.

In the twelve years since he wrote The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, I imagine he's been asked and re-asked every single question about the book that anyone could possibly think of. In a focused and unpretentious manner that reminds me of David Mamet's writings about acting, he's always ready to bring the subject of his protagonist Christopher Boone right down to the bare essentials of character and plot. On Tuesday night, after our first show in Oxford, I asked him a fairly convoluted question about an aspect of the narrative, Christopher's part in it and why he decided upon a particular element of the story. He looked me square in the eye and soberly said - I suspect not for the first time - "You do know that he's not real, don't you?"

Wednesday 15 July 2015

Oxford


Oxford town, Oxford town. Something of a step up after the comparative intimacy of Truro, where we were playing to audiences of roughly a thousand less people than we were last night. Suddenly, we're back in a big theatre, and it changes the play back to what I'd forgotten was the norm.

As well as hosting plays like ours, the New Theatre, Oxford (previously the Apollo, from 1977 to 2003) is a music venue: Elvis Costello played here last month. It feels like a theatre suited to loud, dirty rock 'n' roll, which I like. But, most significantly for me, I came to my first ever gig here, 30 years ago. My brothers and I, with my late parents, came to see The Everly Brothers here in December 1985. A poignant memory; but even more moving for me is to look out at the stalls and imagine, seated there, people I love and can't be with any more. I'll be giving them a little mental wave every night.

Thursday 9 July 2015

Cornwall

Painting by Fergus Hare

We're at the Hall for Cornwall in Truro this week. I think, of all the places we visit on this tour, this is the one that I've been looking forward to the most. Cornwall's my favourite part of the country, it has a deep significance to the story (I wrote about our trip to Polperro here) and Cornish audiences, in my experience, are right up there with the Irish. We've had a wonderful reception so far, and the reviews have been lovely.

We get very little free time; so there'll be no surfing, long walks or paddling at remote, unspoiled beaches. The week will largely be spent sweating through our usual physical routine and then moving on, with scarcely a moment to look up and enjoy that we're here. But, in many ways, just being in Cornwall is enough.

Next week we'll be in Oxford: home of Curious Incident's author, Mark Haddon. Anyone with a passing interest in his book and 45 minutes to spare should listen to this.

Update: we received this from an audience member who'd come and seen the show in Truro:

"My husband and I were lucky enough to see you all perform in Truro on the 11th of this month. The show was sold out and we were only in town for the weekend on a whim, but we waited at the box office with nothing to lose and fortune smiled on us.
It was worth every second of that wait and more.
Every detail was so incredibly well executed and I can’t tell you what an emotional roller-coaster you all took me on.
My heart burst with emotion on several occasions. I spent the whole show fluctuated between booming laughter and uncontrollable tears that continued throughout the show and long after. I could not look away, even blinking through tears, it was all so deeply captivating. It hit me so strongly. It was immensely powerful and hit (on occasion) a little too close to home.
It was moving and cathartic and beautiful. If nothing else, it was beautiful. The range of human emotion portrayed so delicately and truthfully draws the viewer in so deeply it was like looking into "Christopher's" psyche and watching his thoughts and memories unravel.
You should all be so proud of what you've all achieved. It was a joy to watch. I congratulate each and every member of the team for creating such an incredible and unforgettable experience."

Thursday 2 July 2015

Southampton


This afternoon saw our long-awaited relaxed performance at the Mayflower Theatre, Southampton. To an audience of over 700, we performed the play in a specially adapted - although hardly muted - version. Much of the audience had been prepared with a special introduction pack, designed to minimise confusion and prepare those who might need it for the specifics of going to the theatre itself:

 

The most significant difference is that we were prepared for the audience to in no way censor their vocal reactions as the play went on. This is something that some people felt the need to warn us about; but, in a funny way, I think many of us welcome that kind of reaction. Personally, I've no interest in a thousand people just sitting in a theatre reverentially holding in their feelings: theatre is - or should be - interactive. It's not television. For me, the most disappointing sound that I hear on this job is the commanding "Shhh!" that kicks off many matinees, or shows where large parties of schoolchildren - who laugh a lot at things like swearing - are having to be policed by teachers. Because, personally, I'd rather hear their reactions than have them all go silent for an hour - which is usually what happens once they've been instructed to be quiet.

There was no fear of that today. Everybody said exactly what they wanted and whenever they wanted to, which led to some wonderfully spontaneous outbursts. There was one very popular member of the cast who managed to initiate three rounds of applause without even speaking.

But, in all seriousness, it was another reminder of why we do this play. Relaxed performances are part of the repertoire of many shows, not just ours; but obviously the subject matter of our play makes it particularly pertinent. It was especially rewarding to be able to hear from the audience themselves after the show, in a brief Q&A session. Huge thanks to the Mayflower Theatre for the opportunity to give this performance. I hope that eventually, relaxed performances become standard: like signed, captioned and audio-described performances.

Photo courtesy of@curiousonstage

Another treat for us today: the unveiling of the new trailer which we filmed on May 19th, in Canterbury. I'm very proud that this will be advertising the production, worldwide, for a while.


Tuesday 30 June 2015

Space

The final frontier, etc. After months embedded in the head of Christopher Boone, I'm afraid to say that I'm no closer to an undiscovered passion for maths. However, like him, I do have a passing interest in outer space. I was reminded of this last night as I walked back to my Southampton digs after the show: the dull mile that punctuates my day. Being late June, the sky was far from dark at about 10.15pm; but I could see two solitary, distinct lights in the sky.


I guessed that the brighter of the two was Venus (I don't know much about stars, but I remember my dad telling me that the brightest star in the sky was in fact our neighbouring planet); and a brief bit of investigation (what did we do before smartphones?) quickly led me to discover that I was, with my naked eye, looking at Jupiter.

That's right: Jupiter. The largest planet in our solar system, at a distance of at least 365 million miles, just casually making an appearance in the evening sky (and its moons, if you look even closer). I try to never use the word 'awesome'; but how can you not feel awe at something like that?

I'll have another look on my way back tonight, too. By then we will have just completed our 200th show. Still a way to go.




Wednesday 24 June 2015

Returning


And...we're back. After a much-needed break, we picked up the tour again last night with our first show at the Mayflower Theatre, Southampton; and another record-breaker - the largest audience this production has played to, anywhere in the world: 1,899 people.

Last night, the audience's audible reactions were mostly happy ones. It's not always that way: in the last few weeks, I've heard some very distressed - and distressing - reactions: crying, even screaming. There are elements of this play which, for personal reasons, touch nerves. In Leicester, I was contacted on Twitter by a mother who'd brought her son, who suffered seizures as a result of the lights and was incredibly distressed by a scene that featured domestic violence. She said that she'd found it exhausting, that she was totally wrung out; but also that it was some of the most powerful theatre she'd ever seen. Despite the exhaustion of bringing her son, she was kind enough to say that "I guess you know you've created powerful drama when your audience cries, screams and has seizures". Well, yes. As distressing as it is to hear those sounds, it's gratifying to know that the overall effect is a positive and hopefully cathartic one (she's written more extensively about her experience here).

As another mother put it, talking about her autistic son:

"Imagine a world where it physically hurts you to enter a supermarket, or for a motorbike to pass you on the road. Where you can't stand the sound of a toilet flushing, and hand driers just send you into full scale meltdown. A situation where planning a family day out - and executing it - can be so stressful you wonder why you are putting yourselves through it. Where you feel guilty and bad for their siblings in case they feel neglected by all the attention the autistic child needs. Where having to take a new route home from school is so stressful it reduces both you and your mother to tears. Where being asked to try a new food makes you physically sick. Where you can't make yourself understood so you scream and hit the person you love the most. Where your biggest fear is the iPad losing charge or Tesco's running out of the ONLY biscuits they will eat. Where a change of product packaging can almost bring a family to its knees. It's horrible to watch your most treasured possession live with that. Day in and day out. It's not easy being screamed at, slapped, kicked, bitten or punched pretty much daily by your child because they have autism. But overcoming it together, your child accepting this or learning to tolerate it, however much it hurts them and upsets them...that rocks. Autistic people rock. They are inspirational warriors in a world that just isn't geared up for them yet. And actually, I wouldn't change my baby for the world. I just wish I could make the world around him easier."

A reminder: we are doing a special relaxed performance here in Southampton next week, specifically for an audience that might see the world this way. I hope as many people as possible can take advantage of this: it promises to be a unique day for all of us.


Tuesday 9 June 2015

Leicester


We opened tonight with the first of eight shows at the Curve Theatre, Leicester. As with Cardiff back in April, this is of particular significance because it's the home town of one of the cast: in this case, Chris Ashby, our alternate Christopher Boone. Chris was on BBC Radio Leicester yesterday, talking about what this means to him. You can listen to his interview here for the next few weeks: it starts at 1.09.30.

Yesterday also saw the announcement that Curious Incident on Broadway had won five Tony Awards (named after co-founder of the American Theatre Wing, Antoinette Perry):

Best Play
Best Leading Actor in a Play (Alex Sharp)
Best Director of a Play (Marianne Elliott)
Best Scenic Design of a Play (Bunny Christie and Finn Ross)
Best Lighting Design of a Play (Paule Constable)

Here are their acceptance speeches:


Friday 5 June 2015

Sherlock


Serious Sherlock Holmes fans know full well that “the curious incident of the dog in the night-time” is a phrase from Arthur Conan Doyle’s story Silver Blaze, published in 1892. The dog - or, more precisely, the dog not barking: the lack of any curious incident at all - is crucial (the significance of the dog’s silence may even be a clue in both stories, if you’re really sharp).


Sherlock Holmes is Christopher Boone’s hero. Apart from the fact that he is fictional, Holmes is the perfect role model: he views life dispassionately and bases his conclusions on hard facts and probability, rather than on the confusing minefield of emotions. Christopher wouldn’t put it like that, because he doesn't like metaphors. But, to him, his other passion - maths - is a kind of detection, and vice-versa: both are concerned with and determined by examining the facts in order to produce a reasonable conclusion or prediction.

The popularity of Holmes has soared in the last five years, thanks to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat’s genre-redefining Sherlock. So much so that people now refer to him simply by his first name, as they would Elvis or BeyoncĂ©. I wonder whether Christopher would be a 'Sherlock' fan: on the one hand, it would feel modern and accessible to him. But it plays with the genre, and I don’t know how Christopher would feel about that. Significantly, Holmes - particularly in Moffat and Gatiss' interpretation - is socially inept: he cannot maintain conventional social behaviour, nor relationships. He is, by his own description, a high-functioning sociopath.

Arthur Conan Doyle was born in Edinburgh, practiced medicine in Plymouth and lived in Birmingham: all cities that we have visited on this tour. In March, while we were in Plymouth, every day I walked past the building in which he worked. Last week, in Birmingham, there was a Conan Doyle convention. Doyle supposedly bought a violin here, in Sherlock Street: allegedly the inspiration for the character's name (a friend, who knows about these things, tells me that he was going to be called Sherringford). In Mark Haddon's novel, The Hound of the Baskervilles is Christopher's favourite book: an entire chapter is devoted to Christopher's analysis of the story. Some say the name Baskerville also hails from Birmingham.

There are many more references to Doyle and to Holmes in Mark Haddon's book than there are in Simon Stephens' play. It's a measure of the lasting popularity of Sherlock Holmes that, occasionally, fans feel compelled to point this out.

To quote Doyle, and to paraphrase Haddon:

"...his mind...was busy in endeavouring to frame some scheme into which all these strange and apparently disconnected episodes could be fitted." And that is what I am trying to do by writing this blog.






Monday 1 June 2015

Relaxed


A theatre can be a pretty noisy and intimidating place sometimes. Our show, for example, features strobe lights, loud music and sound effects; in creating a world that can, at times, assault the senses, it can be difficult for some people. Just occasionally I'll read a comment on Twitter, from an audience member, that says as much.

Which is why, on July 2nd, at the Mayflower Theatre in Southampton, we will be giving a relaxed performance of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. This is an opportunity for those who may not usually be able to go to the theatre to come and see our show: in a specially-adapted version, aimed at those for whom it might otherwise be a testing experience.

There's a useful set of answers here from our producer Lauren King on what can be expected on July 2nd. In addition, here are two short and specially filmed interviews with Head of Sound Adam Taylor and lead actor Joshua Jenkins, in which they discuss how the show will be different:



All tickets for this performance are £15 and can be booked here, or by calling 02380 711811.

Update: you can find out how it went by clicking here.



Wednesday 27 May 2015

Halfway


We are set to perform this show 341 times on the tour. That means, this evening in Birmingham, in the interval of our 171st show, we reach the halfway point. Smack dab in the middle. We’re on our 15th venue (of 31); we’ve seen three different countries, at least two different seasons (special mention to Edinburgh, where the season changes every hour): we’ve tried to accustom ourselves to as many different beds as possible; and I’ve tried not to get bored of microwaveable meals, often without success. By this evening, our show will have been seen by over 180,000 people.

Not surprisingly, we are tired. Dog tired. Fortunately, we have the warm reception of the Midlands audiences to raise our spirits; and, in addition, here's Ray Charles.






Wednesday 20 May 2015

Backstage


Next week, we're off to the Birmingham Hippodrome. Back in April, I shot a video in which John McAndrew goes backstage to interview various members of the company about Birmingham, and what they're looking forward to. Warning: at least one of them is in character.