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.
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.
Many friends who want to come and see this tour ask: "Do you come anywhere near London?" Simply, no. Not really. The reason for this is that there's already a production of this in London. It's been performing at the Gielgud Theatre since July 2014; before that, at the Apollo Theatre; and not forgetting the original run at the National Theatre in 2012.
The last few weeks have been quite eventful for Curious Incident. We played to its largest audience so far (1,780) in Edinburgh last Saturday; on Broadway, it's been nominated for some 20 awards (including 6 Tonys, 6 Drama Desk awards and 6 Outer Critics' Circle awards: of those last 6, it's already won 5); a US tour has been announced, commencing in October 2016; and this week saw the first day of rehearsals for the new West End cast, set to run from June 2015 until the following summer.
Photo: Alex Rumford
My thoughts are with the new London cast at the moment. This week, they'll be learning to use muscles they didn't know they had; they'll be discovering how just a few people can lift someone above their heads; they'll be preparing themselves for the fact that this will be their new routine, eight times a week, for a year.
A friend who was in the original production said, when I told her that I was doing this, that it was the best job in the world. It's certainly one of the most rewarding ones that I've experienced. I'm sure the new West End cast will come to feel the same way. I wish them the very best.
Three years ago this month, I started work at the National Theatre as an understudy in Stephen Beresford's wonderful play The Last of the Haussmans. As it was going to be performing in the Lyttelton, we were working in Rehearsal Room 2 (RR1 is for shows going to the Olivier; RR3 is for what used to be the Cottesloe and is now the Dorfman). Every lunch break, I'd walk upstairs and shuffle quietly past Rehearsal Room 3, which is on the way to the canteen. Sometime later that summer, I noticed that a new production was rehearsing in there. It was an adaptation of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, directed by Marianne Elliott; and, like many Cottesloe productions, it had sold out before it had even opened. I had a friend in the cast, so I'd hear things; and, whenever I walked past, they seemed to be creating something a bit different. I'd occasionally see people engaged in all manner of physical routines. It looked slightly military, and a bit frightening.
I had no idea that, a couple of years later, I'd be rehearsing that same play in that same room. Going through those same routines with many of the same people and speaking the same lines. It was an odd sensation, during rehearsals, to watch this video and see a sort of parallel universe. Exploring something that for us was brand new, but was already well established. We had freedom to create, of course: but I was always very aware of the fact that we were in this room, creating a new chapter of something that already existed.
In that sense, I suppose RR3 is the womb of Curious Incident. It's where it gestated, was born and then reborn (not to mention all the other productions that have taken shape in that room: I've rehearsed two or three other plays in there; and that's just me).
But, like all living things, it goes beyond that. We've performed this play in 13 towns and cities so far - there'll be another 18 before we're done - and it's also resided in the West End and on Broadway. It's an international venture now. But it began in this room.
I was observing a discussion yesterday on Twitter between Mark Haddon, author of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, and Dean Betz, the executive producer of MSN News. From what I could surmise, Betz had seen our elder sibling show in the USA and taken issue with it: namely that it misrepresented autism by associating it with violence, divorce and inappropriate humour. Haddon's response was that Curious is a piece of fiction - and, in the hands of Simon Stephens, drama - and cannot possibly represent everyone; nor is it meant to.
This interested me, not only because it's an ongoing argument (which seems to be particularly current on the other side of the Atlantic); but because it's something that was on my mind anyway, and something that I touched on in this blog earlier this week. As I said then, nobody is claiming that this play has the same effect on everyone; but, speaking as someone who is in the fortunate position to hear thousands of people react to this story every week, I feel that I should redress the balance of this discussion for anyone who feels that the depiction of autism in this play is, in Betz's words, "just plain wrong".
I mentioned previously that we (specifically, our lead actor Joshua Jenkins) had received a letter from a young lady expressing how much she identified with Christopher's story. This is what she said (click on photo to enlarge):
This is of course just one point of view. But it's a useful reminder for me of why we do this play. I daresay some actors, writers and directors feel that theatre belongs to them. I don't think it does. I think it belongs to people like Sarah.
