Saturday 29 September 2007

Q and A



Transcription of post-show discussion at Leeds Met Studio.


Q. I wanted to know if this is a work in progress. If it’s a work in progress then something else needs to be done but that in itself was a piece of theatre. Because the whole idea is to make people ask, what is this, what is the drama, what is the story. I don’t know what else you need to do.

A. There’s a certain pressure on us in the industry to create something that’s an hour long. I think this is really about establishing what the rules were, what the codes were. It’s a couple of weeks writing and then about 5 days working on it in the studio.

Q. Are you taking it somewhere else?

A. At the moment it’s very site-specific. What happened is because we’ve been making it here the space has had an influence on what we’ve made. It’s dead easy to rig lights here. Ourselves. And sound and the curtains were open the day we arrived. Often in dark places, like casinos are notoriously dark and have no clocks, you lose track of time. We are very conscious of the outside world here. There was one rule we gave ourselves which was if you hear an aeroplane overhead then you stop. There’s one overhead now.

Q. Do you want to say something about why it’s called the Pilots?

A. The project is part of a whole series of works which are loosely tied to an idea of acts of terror, or terrorism. And obviously that’s a starting point that’s it’s moved away from massively. I think the idea for us was pretending to be pilots and I took the idea of pretending to be George Michael and Andrew Ridgely in the Club Tropicana video pretending to be pilots. Which is why you got a little bit of George and Andrew at the end.

Q. There’s quite a minimal aspect to it are you keeping that or is that part of your rehearsals?

A. I’d like to keep this. It’s not normal. I mean it is normal when you’re in a theatre when it’s not operational, exposed and open. I like the idea of being aware of the space. I trained as a theatre designer, trained in the idea of toothpaste design, a bit of red here a bit of green there. I’m quite into using the space but often had arguments at art school about what a theatre space was, you know, it’s a big space we share with an audience and that was never recognised. It was always flat, fourth wall. I’m always interested in how we can use the space. I love the fact that working here for a few days has made us think about how to make a piece of work. Bring the lights down and just have two lanterns. It’s so simple and really nice to tour with.

We were thinking about starting off like this and ending the show with it being complete so the ending is sort of a beginning so it’s all set up for a performance. There’s a lot on the blog about this but it’s about pilots and points of departure and arrival and what they mean.

Q. Did you just have one idea like The Pilots? Did you just take the word pilot?

A. It came from this idea of acts of terror and September 11 and airline pilots and not airline pilots then and it’s gone on an huge journey since then and it does on tangents. It’s more about trying to find out where we are, who we are and why we are. There’s another narrative we need to find, a sub-narrative. We started about a year ago on letters that I’d written but never sent, we called them angry texts, like when you get pissed off by British Rail and you never send it but it’s really about cleansing. So we used those letters and then threw them away. And the idea of the time it takes before sending and receiving, it’s very old fashioned. We spent a couple of weeks in France writing and now a couple of weeks here with a critical eye which can augment what we do. I’m also making three other shows at the same time and these ideas all come together and fuse somehow.

Q. There was a moment of fear for me at the start when I saw that you were doing a play within a play, you know a performance within a performance. I’ve seen things before that have just been self-referential talking about drama and it’s just been pants. But that speech that you had about ‘I’m going to tell you things that are on your mind’. Is that part of the idea of the performance to take away the normal consciousness of what theatre is? I don’t know what the question is I just wanted to say thank you very much for not being what I expected.

A. It’s all about identity and communication and throughout it we use different tenses so half the time we don’t know who we’re talking to. Am I talking to him or to you? Are you my audience or is he? That was the whole idea. It does become self-referential.

We’re conscious of that which is why we’ve inserted the idea of it being wider than us. It’s very much about me and Tim and our relationship of 10 years of making work together.

Q. It was really involving I felt completely involved as an audience it was almost as if I wanted to say something while you were doing it I felt that much a part of it.

A. That’s nice.

Q. I was wondering how you come across the process of it all. You know do you have a script one minute and then improvise? How does it work? What do you do in the space.

A. We have to challenge ourselves every time to not become familiar with how we’re working. It\s something we’ve talked about that’s familiar territory that’s the way we’ve done something in the past let’s try and divorce ourselves from that way of working. This is the first piece that’s gone through quite a traditional conventional form i.e. writing. That’s new for us which is quite liberating to have some text. I think we work on our feet most of the time. I think it suits the project. I’m working on another project for children and we have a huge amount of earth and that’s a very sculptural process. It’s important to ask these questions about how we make work and how we communicate that work.

This one has been different in that the finished script was brought here and we videoed what we were doing and the mistakes that we made we started to put into the script. Like ‘Where are we?’ That came out of a thing on the bus there was a piece of news in the newspaper and I said ‘Oh my god a student’s been tasar-ed’ and Mole said ‘Where?’ and I said ‘Page 11’ and he said ‘No whereabouts in the world?’ It becomes about where you are. And you know. ‘Where are you?’ ‘Page 11’. ‘No where in the world.’ And it comes out as what are you talking about. Where? What does that mean? So mistakes come out of reading text sometimes.

We play and video and go ‘I like that bit.’ Normally the first thing that we make is the most interesting and we try to get back to that first experience of making this thing alive on a piece of a paper or onstage or an idea. That’s the big process. And this that we showed you was very different it had a completely different energy which we’ll have to look at. I was nervous. I’ve been doing this for so long and it’s still scary. It’s weird.

Q. I was reading that article on the bus too. A student was tasar-ed for asking questions.

Q. Whereabouts in the world was that?

A. America.

Q. Is there anything specific that you want to have answered by us?

A. I think all our questions have been answered. That’s a good question. I think when I go out of the space I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what’s happening. The main question is that beginning and whether it works.

Q, I was interested in the scripts. I really liked the quality of reading the script. I imagined that when you do it you might not have them. I wondered what you thought.

A. We were talking about that today. Whether we have scripts or not.

Q. I like moments when you lose your place in the script. Getting lost in it then finding the way out. It seems to me that that is what the piece is about. Stuck in the future of the script.

TAPE ENDS

Friday 28 September 2007

In the clouds



I've been thinking abut clouds. Whether we have them or not.

Real clouds?

Stage clouds?

I've been thinking about foam parties in Ibiza...

Where are you?

I'm in the clouds

I've been thinking about how gymnasts clap their hands and make clouds

I've been thinking about bombs and clouds and smoke and clouds and it's...

Sorry he's gone

I'm listening

If you look at them they're the same kind of thing

It's just steam isn't it?

Yeah

Let's have a kettle on stage.

Without it being so tricksy - this is what I'm thinking about. Everything else has been really open and clear. Do we have something easy.

Easy?

You know like two big fluffy clouds made out of cotton wool.

At the moment you're using the tools of a theatre, lanterns as mirrored sunglasses and a microphone as a gun. The natural extension of that would be a fire extinguisher.

Well I fucking hate smoke machines

I'd rather use a Fire Extinguisher!

In fact why don't we use a fire extinguisher.

Turning Points



There are a lot of things in my head. I need to get out. Tim's on the floor and he's floating. And he's like David Bowie. And it's about loss - I think of being with a loved one when they died - and it's about death and the end of the relationship. You know 'Let's take it slow.' And there's a turning point when Tim hits his head on the microphone when I say I've got a gun pointed at his head. And there's a turning point when you say 'swap'. And it's the turning point at the end of Space Oddity when Mole turns off the music and Tim says 'That works then' and the scene becomes a sound check. And there's a turning point at the end of the Dr Zhivago moment when Mole comes back in and says 'It's got an H in it.' These are all triggers. Pivotal moments. That throw us off course for a moment and take us somewhere new. And it's a see saw between me and Tim. The tussle for control and the wrestle between comedy and melancholy. But the counter weight is not very balanced. I think also it's a turing point for the audience. I think they might be trying to predict where we're going here and we're saying it could go in different directions and letting it take on its natural course. And if this is half way through then it's the natural place for a see-saw. I think we've created our world and now it's time to destroy it. Tear it down. There are a lot of things in my head. I think we should have a break.

A queue of starts



Let's start again

We're on page 17 and the text says let's start again. We've done this before. Many times. We run out of DV tape. Mole tries to find somewhere on tape and we talk about how his parents made home movies and would re-record on the same tape over and over again. When you watch the tapes back there is a queue of starts. The show is like this. A queue of starts. Beginning again and again and again and again and again and again. A narrative of departures and arrivals.

Who's in control?



In the monologue I describe who I am. But you don't - not in a 'This is my character' way but... I'm just conscious of who I'm playing.

This is the who. We've asked a series of questions about where we are, what we're doing and now we're moving on to who we are. We're asking the question about who we are in this space. The piece starts with Mole turing a light on and ends with Tim turning the lights down. And we ask who's in control? Who's at the control desk? Who's in control of the control desk? Who's in control of the text? The Pilots?

Wednesday 26 September 2007

The end of the beginning



Its cold
You can do the rest

I feel a bit dry, and empty inside.

Emotionally

Emotionally
I’m empty
I’m nobody I'm an empty shell, a vacuous void, there is nothing inside no ideas nothing, nothing of any substance.

Come on check my pulse there is nothing

You're brilliant

Yes I’m brilliant
I'm brilliant at doing nothing

What are you doing?

Nothing.


We finish the ending. The end of the beginning anyway. Tim approaches the mic and tells Mole he is in London and Mole is in New York. Mole draws the tabs closed and finds his shoes. He walks around the space asking questions of objects around him. Is this my light? Is this my laptop? Is this my moment? Tim fetches a flood on a floor stand. Then a cable. Then switches the house lights off. By the time he gets to the lighting desk Mole is asking if Tim has interfered with his baggage. Tim says 'I think we get the idea' and turns on a cold, blue fresnel. This triggers the end. The nothing scene. And as we said at the beginning of last week the final image of the show is the first image. A man standing in a stage light doing nothing. This is the end. I think.

Baggage

Andrew
George

I’m a bit lost where are we

Well you’re in London
And I'm in New York

We're miles apart?

Are those my shoes?

Sorry
Are those my shoes?
Yes
Is this my Dog?
Is this my ball?
What Time is it?

Could you read that in the space?
I’m going to have to write that down

Are those my shoes?
Are those my sunglasses?
IS that my case?

Is that my case?
Is that my personal baggage?

Did I pack that myself?

Could any one have interfered with it?

Are you sure?

Is it safe?

All right all right stop it now I think that we get the message.


Mole and Tim become more active. Walking around the space. Mole closes the tabs at the back. He finds his shoes. He asks questions of the objects around him. Tim moves a floor light in and goes to the control desk and turns it on. There is a pause. Mole says 'Let's get out of this habit of being fucking 3 metres apart. You be me. I'll be you.' This is not part of the show. Tim and Mole become more active. Walking around the space. Tim closes the tabs at the back. He finds his shoes. He asks questions of the objects around him. Mole moves a floor light in and goes to the control desk and turns it on. There is a pause. The piece like Mole and Tim is still finding its feet. Baggage is being interfered with.

Is this who where we are really

Hello my name is Andrew and I’m an Airline pilot, do you want to be Andrew? I don’t mind. If you were Andrew where in the world would you be right now well I was just thinking where in the world would Andrew be right now. Are you asking that as Andrew? No but if I was Andrew…yes I would be yes moving? Yes moving yes are you Andrew because if you don’t want to be Andrew I’ll be him, it’s not such a demanding role. Is that all right if I’m Andrew do you have any objections George?

Is that all one person talking?

At the moment yes

Mole and Tim work on a new section where they slip in and out of character. In and out of Andrew and George. In and out of Mole and Tim. In and out of the studio. In and out of the text. In and out of knowing the text. In and out of performing and watching themselves perform. In and out of stage persona. In and out of first person and third person. In and out of the past and the present. In and out. Out and in. At the top of the page it reads 'Is this who where we are really?'

Sits on the edge



Mole and Tim walk in with the audience. They sit on the front row. They are us. We are them. Then Tim takes to the stage. Tim gets the mic. Mole goes to the mic. He counts down. Space Oddity starts to play. Imperceptibly. It is difficult to know whether it's on or not until it plays. Mole counts, Tim sings. David Bowie counts. Mole sings. Tim floats. Mole climbs the ladder stage right and rigs a fresnel. He turns off the florescent lighting above the audience. Tim is now side lit. The music stops. Mole thanks us. He thanks us for coming here. He thanks us for taking the time. He thanks us for believing in them. Tim sits on the window sill. There are moments here where I don't know what's in the text and what isn't. Ot even whether there is a text. This sits on the edge. Mole and Tim sit on the edge of not knowing the text. We sit on the edge of not knowing whether they know the text or not. Mole leaves the space. Tim confesses to us that 'What we're supposed to be doing isn't this.' And we relax. Mole knocks on the door. He is at the Fire Exit. He comes in and answers his own question about Dr Zhivago. Tim says his name is John. Mole says his name is John too. Mole reads a Dear John letter. He tells us he can't go on. Tim asks if John has gone. He reads a Dear John letter. Mole rigs a birdie. Mole laughs. Tim says it's not funny. Mole laughs. Tim throws a ladder. Mole asks if John has gone. Tim asks where they are. Mole asks where Tim is etc.

I'm in a theatre and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for bringing you here. I'm sorry for taking up your time. I'm sorry we didn't give you anything to believe in. I'm sorry we didn't take you anywhere. I'm so very sorry.

Empty Space



I come back to the studio after two days away. Mole and Tim have been working towards a showing later today. This is what I see in the space.

A ladder down stage right.
A ladder upstage left.
35 lanterns - fresnels, parcans, profiles scattered across the stage in a sort of technical arc.
A two step tread stage right.
The whiteboard we drew the Flight Plan on Day One leaning against the wall.
Two microphones.
Two floods on floor stands.
One lighting desk on the floor.
One sound desk on a table.
Bits of script.
The curtains are open.
A monitor and camera wired together on a table.
Two pound coins.
A set of headphones.
Mole.
Tim.

Friday 21 September 2007

The letter



Dear John

I'm sorry to tell you this, and I'm sorry that I have to tell you in this way. This is the hardest letter to write and, probably, the hardest letter to read. But I can't go on like this any more, I can't stop pretending, I can't go on with this facade. We used to know each other so well and now we've become like strangers you and I. You don't listen to me anymore; We used to share everything, but now I feel like you're a closed book, a brick wall. And so for once I want you to listen to me. There's so much I want to say and so little time to say it. You are my audience, you will pay attention, you will not move, you will not talk. You will listen to me and do exactly what I tell you to. You will laugh in the right places, you will applaud at the end, you will leave with a feeling of fulfillment and a smug smile on your face which suggests you understood exactly what this was about.


We talk about the idea of Tim reading the letter with punctuation e.g. I'm sorry to tell you this comma and I'm sorry I have to tell you in this way full stop. To expose the workings of the letter like the workings of the show. We de-rig the lights, leave a ladder centre stage and go home.

Dear John

Dear John

I'm sorry to tell you this
And I'm sorry that I have to tell you in this way
This is the hardest letter to write
And the hardest letter to read

I can't go on like this any more
I can't stop pretending
I can't go on with this facade
We've become like strangers you and I

You don't listen to me anymore
We used to share everything
But now I feel like you're a closed book
A brick wall

And for once
I want you to listen to me
There's so much I want to say
And so little time to say it

You are my audience
You will pay attention
You will not move
You will not speak


We talk about how the Dear John letter is not a suicide note but an end of relationship note. The end of a relationship between Mole and Tim, Andrew and George, Tim and the audience. 'You' moves from John to Mole to Tim to audience. The brick wall is an invisible wall. The fourth wall. Which we are building and destroying, building and destroying. The hardest wall to build and the hardest wall to knock down.

Punctuation



Tim performs the first text. Written like a poem with short lines and no punctuation. It is slow. Stop. Start. And you can hear the pattern we talked about the other day. Da da da da da. It's hypnotic and you stop listening to the words. You just listen to the rhythm. So we try the second version with dot dot dots. I mention a phrase I heard where someone said 'It's like a dot dot dot not a full stop.' I turn every short sentence into a string of dot dot dots... and suddenly there is a different energy about Tim... he is correcting himself... and it sounds like he's thinking not reading... making it up as he goes along... Tim says 'Basically I wanted a way into the text - it's as if Mole is asking me on stage Can we recap? What's going on? Where are we on the page?'

Dot dot dot

It's January… It's the beginning… This is the beginning... I walk… I walk on... I'm wearing a coat. Oh sorry no… I walk on… You're wearing a coat… And I talk… I talk about things… I talk about you and I talk about me… I try to talk about the rules… I try to talk about what the deal is here… But before I talk about things... You walk off… You go for a walk while I… While I tell them things they didn't already know… I tell them what's on their mind… What's on your mind… I tell them things that I can't say… In front of you… I tell them things that I can't say... In front of you… So you go for a walk… While I get them up to speed.

This isn’t the first time this has happened… We’ve done this before… Many times… We’re professionals… I know what I’m doing and he knows what he’s doing… And what we’re supposed to be doing isn’t this and what we promised you in the publicity or in the brochures or whatever… isn’t what we’re doing now... It takes a while for us to warm up… It takes a while for us to get into it… It takes us a while to feel comfortable with our surroundings… It takes you a while to let yourselves go… It takes you a little longer to get to a place… where you leave all your baggage behind… It takes you about a third of the way into this for you to relax properly… And then before you know it… It will be dark again and we will be finished… And you might say to the person next to you… Is that it? Is that 55 minutes already… Is that 56 minutes already… Is that 57, 58, 59…

There are of course things we're just not telling you… There's supposed to be magic… Some mystery to what we're doing… We're supposed to take you somewhere else… And at this moment in time… We're still here… Still stuck in the future of the script… He will come on again in a minute… And we will move forwards… You will laugh at his appearance… But please don't… He will try hard... He will pull out all the stops… He will use all the tricks in the book… I haven't got long… So I just want to take this moment to give you some details… Some clues… You see… When he's not around I'm somebody… I'm someone who you can trust… I'm someone who makes you feel safe… But as soon as he comes back on I'm nobody… I'm lost and confused… I'm not sure… I'm not sure who I am… Or to be more precise… I'm not sure who I want to be… I talk about the weather… I talk about the weather in January... He's coming...

Text

It's January
It's the beginning
This is the beginning
I walk
I walk on
I'm wearing a coat
Oh sorry no
I walk on
You're wearing a coat
And I talk
I talk about things
I talk about you and I talk about me
I try to talk about the rules
I try to talk about what the deal is here
But before I talk about things
You walk off
You go for a walk while I
While I tell them things they didn't already know
I tell them what's on their mind
What's on your mind
I tell them things that I can't say
In front of you
I tell them things that I can't say
In front of you
Because...
I talk about the weather
I talk about the weather in January
So you go for a walk
While I get them up to speed

This isn’t the first time
This has happened
We’ve done this before
Many times
We’re professionals
I know what I’m doing
And he knows what he’s doing
And what we’re supposed to be doing isn’t this
And what we promised you in the publicity
Or in the brochures
Isn’t what we’re doing now
It takes a while for us to warm up
It takes a while for us to get into it
It takes us a while to feel comfortable with our surroundings
It takes you a while to let yourselves go
It takes you a little longer to get to a place
where you leave all your baggage behind
It takes you about a third of the way into this
For you to relax properly
And then before you know it
It will be dark again
And we will be finished
And you might say to the person next to you
Is that it?
Is that 55 minutes already
Is that 56 minutes already
Is that 57, 58, 59…

There are of course things we're just not telling you
There's supposed to be magic
Some mystery to what we're doing
We're supposed to take you somewhere else
And at this moment in time
We're still here
Still stuck in the future of the script
He will come on again in a minute
And we will move forwards
You will laugh at his appearance
But please don't
He will try hard
He will pull out all the stops
He will use all the tricks in the book
I haven't got long
So I just want to take this moment
To give you some details
Some clues
You see
When he's not around
I'm somebody
I'm someone who you can trust
I'm someone who makes you feel safe
But as soon as he comes back on
I'm nobody
I'm lost and confused
I'm not sure
I'm not sure who I am
Or to be more precise
I'm not sure who I want to be
I talk about the weather
I talk about the weather in January

He's coming

Stuck in the future of the script

There are of course things we're just not telling you
There's supposed to be magic
Some mystery to what we're doing
We're supposed to take you somewhere else
And at this moment in time
We're still here
Still stuck in the future of the script
He will come on again in a minute
And we will move forwards
You will laugh at his appearance
But please don't
He will try hard
He will pull out all the stops
He will use all the tricks in the book
I haven't got long
So I just want to take this moment
To give you some details
Some clues
You see
When he's not around
I'm somebody
I'm someone who you can trust
I'm someone who makes you feel safe
But as soon as he comes back on
I'm nobody
I'm lost and confused
I'm not sure
I'm not sure who I am
Or to be more precise
I'm not sure who I want to be
He's coming

This isn't the first time

This isn’t the first time
This has happened
We’ve done this before
Many times
We’re professionals
I know what I’m doing
And he knows what he’s doing
And what we’re supposed to be doing isn’t this
And what we promised you in the publicity
Or in the brochures
Isn’t what we’re doing now
It takes a while for us to warm up
It takes a while for us to get into it
It takes us a while to feel comfortable with our surroundings
It takes you a while to let yourselves go
It takes you a little longer to get to a place
where you leave all your baggage behind
It takes you about a third of the way into this
For you to relax properly
And then before you know it
It will be dark again
And we will be finished
And you might say to the person next to you
Is that it?
Is that 55 minutes already
Is that 56 minutes already
Is that 57, 58, 59…

Talking about the weather

It's January
It's the beginning
This is the beginning
I walk
I walk on
I'm wearing a coat
Oh sorry no
I walk on
You're wearing a coat
And I talk
I talk about things
I talk about you and I talk about me
I try to talk about the rules
I try to talk about what the deal is here
But before I talk about things
You walk off
You go for a walk while I
While I tell them things they didn't already know
I tell them what's on their mind
What's on your mind
I tell them things that I can't say
In front of you
I tell them things that I can't say
In front of you
Because...
I talk about the weather
I talk about the weather in January
So you go for a walk
While I get them up to speed

We've done this before



This isn't the first time this has happened
This has happened before
Many times


We talk about how this could mean 'We've performed this before' or 'We know what we're doing - we're professionals.' Like co-pilots who have flown before. Many times. Reassuring their passengers. Don't worry. This isn't the first time. You're in safe hands. I know what I'm doing and he knows what he's doing. Except we don't. We haven't got a clue.

Present Tense



Tim finds planes on his page. Inkjet marks left behind from a previous printout that look like tiny aeroplanes. We are distracted. We talk about tenses and how this text is divided into three sections. 'This is', 'This isn't' and 'This will'. Three levels of description like a plane taking off from the runway to the 30,000 feet mark. Tim will work on the third section now. Predicting what Mole will do and how the audience will react. The text plays with tense all the time. From past tense in the first person to present tense in the third person. It's difficult to pin down. The text starts with Mole as you and the audience as them. Then the audience are you and Mole is him. Now we're using the future tense. Still stuck in the future of the script.

Soliloquy



so·lil·o·quy

1. A dramatic or literary form of discourse in which a character talks to himself or herself or reveals his or her thoughts without addressing a listener.
2. A specific speech or piece of writing in this form of discourse.
3. The act of speaking to oneself.


Tim says this this is like a Shakespearean soliloquy, an aside, and that though Mole probably wouldn't admit it there are often those theatrical devices in his work. He sets up the camera to film himself reading around the text. To improvise a voice in the act of speaking to itself.

He's coming



He will come on again in a minute
And no doubt you will laugh
Because he just does that
But please don't

He will try hard
He will pull out all the stops
All of his tricks he has learnt

He's coming...


Tim says that's the problem with not having Mole here. Not knowing what he means by this. Not being able to ask him. I read my notes from yesterday. In the margin of the same page of text. Is this about your relationship? Waiting. Left behind. What is your answer to 'How do you spell Dr Zhivago?' This space is an opportunity for you to tell them about me and bring them up to speed. I remember Tim said it was like a Shakespearean soliloquy. Like an aside. He's coming. And then when I come back you say 'It's got an H in it.' As if all you've been doing was nothing. Tim sighs.

Isn't this



What we're supposed to be doing isn't this, and what we promised you in the publicity or in the brochures isn't what we're doing now.

This idea of 'isn't this' seems important. What we're doing by including moments that happened outside of the text like 'Can we have the other light on' and 'I'll just read it through' is a way of not doing what we're supposed to be doing. Like opening up the tabs and taking down the lights. I write down the moments in the scene where Tim reads around the text not from it.

Can we have the other light on
It's bit dingy
That all right?
I'll just read it through
Just from the very top
We've changed that bit
That's where he leaves

Didactic

didactic \dy-DAK-tik; duh-\, adjective:
1. Fitted or intended to teach; conveying instruction; instructive; teaching some moral lesson; as, "didactic essays."
2. Inclined to teach or moralize excessively; moralistic.

I don't know what it's supposed to do
I'm having a problem with this bit of text
It's a bit... and I'm going to check this word
Before I use it
It's a bit... didactic
It's a bit preachy
It's a bit teachy
It feels like we're telling people how to feel
Telling them the rules

Wankers

I hardly ever sit on benches, because most of them don’t move.
I don’t like being stuck, I don’t like not moving.
I find it hard to stand still in any space.
I’m no good as a statue.
I’m no good at playing that game.

If I would sit on a bench, its more than likely it wouldn’t be on the street,
Its more than likely that it would be looking out to the see, or a mountain, or a field, or something that hasn’t got any people in it, that hasn’t got things in the way.

I sat down on a bench in Nottingham,
But in no way was it my favorite,
It was placed next to a bin, and since the smoking ban these bins have become small focus points or meeting points for those still stubborn enough to fight the ban, most of the buts don’t make it to the bin, but they seem to be getting closer.

I tried on this bench next to the bin to work out where everyone was headed who they worked for, why they chose that shirt, that pair of pointy shoes that pair of drainpipe jeans...
But I had no answers.

But

I sat on a bench on a bus this morning, it didn’t face front, so technically it’s a bench.
It was on the street, and so I think it still counts, as a bench on a street.
Although not my favorite still, I haven’t found that place yet, its not where I live and its not where I'm staying right now.
It’s perhaps somewhere warmer, somewhere over there, but on the bench on the bus.

I was in a bad mood, I carried a heavy bag, a heavier suitcase, it was the driver, he put me in that mood, he was aggressive and short and he wanted to make this journey a hell. And he did, it was an evil bus full of wankers and the driver was a wanker too.

Under my breath

I called him a wanker and a twat,
And because I was the closest sitting to him I am sure that he heard me,
But there again I wanted him to.
He was driving like a twat; he drove too fast and stopped too suddenly
So all the passengers even those who weren’t wankers had to dance the same dance, with the wankers even if they didn’t want to.

The guy who sat next to me wasn’t a wanker, he looked like a bit of a twat, but he wasn’t a wanker.
The guy sat opposite me looked even more of a twat no he was a wanker, he took over 2 parts of the double bench opposite, he took these 2 parts until an older woman who got on with a suitcase as big, but not as heavy as mine got on, he moved to the side and let her sit next to him,
But I still thought that he was a wanker, er, until another old person, a man, with no hair, no hair on his head, or his face got on, he took a newspaper from under the one on the top of the pile, and the wanker who sat opposite me asked the old man with no hair if he wanted to sit down.

He stopped being a wanker.

But another wanker got on and quickly filled the empty vacancy, it wasn’t free for long, he stood in front of my massive suitcase, in the way of everyone that got on the bus, he didn’t read the newspaper on the top of the pile, he made it his job to stand in the way of everyone else, in his hat and drainpipes, and his floppy hair, to get in the way, So I whispered out wanker,
And the twat who had now become a wanker who sat next to me shuffled like a twat and the biggest wanker the bus driver pushed his breaks harder, so I said wanker again, but this didn’t improve a thing.
Until we reached the steps and then for 2 more stops there was enough room to breath.

And so I got off the bench when the bus had stopped moving, and the breaks had been applied.
I got off the bus and said to my friends, there not wankers but they act like a couple of twats,

What a wanker…

And so we all agreed what a wanker that bus driver was, what a miserable wanker, what a wanker of a driver, and the wanker and twat conversation continued until we stood in a line in front of the bar to Costa

And the first time for what had seemed a long time I smiled.

Not you three again she said smiling and laughing to herself because she knew that we were a bunch of twats,
You 3 are always together, and she’d only know us for 3 days.
You need to get out a bit more, get a bit more independence.

I saw you three walking on the street last night and it was raining, I knew it was you 3 she said and she laughed.

We’d got off the bus so we decided to race it, as it wasn’t moving, the bus was full of loud speaking wankers talking wank really loudly talking wank about football, so we moved downstairs, and it was no better there it was full of loud talking girls talking a load of wank over each other about this and that that I didn’t understand and shoes and parties and white shirts and black essentials so we had to get off.

That driver wasn’t a wanker, but he knew what we were up to and he wanted to have a race too, so he passed us on the Otley rd.
She passed us there too.

Which is where she saw us.
Twats and wankers.

Thursday 20 September 2007

Where are you?



Where are you?

I’m over here

Are you in a hotel? Are you on a train? Are you on an aeroplane?
You’re outside a gasworks. A school. A theatre.

I’m in a theatre
And I’m sorry


Questions are turning into statements. Acceptance speeches are turning into apologies. And they’re locating us. They’re saying we’re not actually in other places we’re in a theatre. I suppose by describing those other places we’re taking people on a journey and we’re destroying it.

Journeys



On a train...
In a school
In a theatre
In a hotel
In an aeroplane or an airport
In a nightclub


This is where it gets confusing for me. In this bit we're trying to tell the story of a journey. And it feels like a different piece. It was written for this but it sounds more like Spanish Train. Acts and Parts. This is Acts. This is a different voice. This is a real change. And I think the rest of it comes out of questions. Where are we? I'm in a nightclub and you're on a donkey. I should go soon. I've got quite a clear image of what it is - this other story - but I'm not sure where its going. I'm not sure we're going down this line any more. The only line that seems to fit this world is 'In a theatre...' Let's cut it then. Or let's not cut it. Let's change it.

Corpsing

Corpsing is a theatrical slang term used to describe when an actor breaks character during a scene by laughing or by causing another cast member to do so.[1] Though the origin of the term is unknown, it refers to almost literally murdering the scene.

I made this show in Alsager and this girl kept laughing and I said keep laughing and every time she did it she kept laughing. And she just got stuck. Everytime I did it I believed her. Whether it was just incredible acting or it was real. I believed her. The other girl would say ‘What are you laughing at you twat?’ And she kept laughing. It once happened to me in a show where I couldn’t stop laughing. I kept laughing and I felt horrible afterwards. This would be for me the way to do it. I would pass a piece of paper. I wrote on one of them ‘My girdle is killing me.’ Tim wrote on the back of the cards something funny. Or a word that reminded him of something funny. It’s happened to me loads where I’ve written something to make people laugh. And it had the opposite effect.

Four seasons

I’m getting this idea of not knowing what time it is because the seasons are merging. It’s still light at night. Winter is happening in March. April is coming later. It’s becoming noticeable more and more. And there isn’t any snow any more and nobody’s noticed. Is it still Summer? Or is it Autumn? It’s the end of September and there are still leaves on the trees. We don’t really get winters any more do we. I miss hard frosts.

Dr Zhivago Moment

It was 1982. It was a really really big snow storm just before Christmas. It was the week before school closed for Christmas. So I didn't really not not want to go to school And of course school was cancelled.
And we walked to school anyway and had a massive snowball fight and we took photos of the fight.
And I looked at the photo recently and I saw my Dad in the background. And he was walking to work. He walked to work in a 3 ft snow drift - it was 8 miles. 8 miles there and 8 miles back. In a snow storm.

My Dad was there, but I didn’t see him.

That's a Dr Zhivago moment.

False beginnings

I think that watching A Cock and Bull Story was a good way to start. It's all about beginnings. False beginnings. Like when does it start? It's telling so many different stories but it doesn't get to the story it wants to tell. It's a story about storytelling. It's 9 volumes and he doesn't get born until Volume 3. It's difficult to know when The Pilots begins. I'm waiting. Left in the space. I ask 'How do you spell Dr Zhivago? Then I leave the room. What do you do when I'm not there? This is an opportunity for you to tell them about me. To get sympathy. And I come back onstage and you say 'It has an H in it' as if you've done nothing.

Walking out



There's a moment in Spanish Train when I walk out of the theatre and Leen does nothing. I love that waiting. You know Tim went out of the room earlier and what did we do. We waited for him to come back. I go outside and count to 45 seconds. I did it twice in Glasgow to tell the bar to be quieter with the bottles. I do it a lot working with students. Sort it out yourself I'm going for a walk. I wonder if I ask you 'How do you spell Dr Zhivago?' and then go for a walk. I walk out of the Fire Exit and appear on the grass outside. Maybe in a big coat. Snow in the wind. I wanted to have Dr Zhivago in Last Supper or Boris Pasternak. But I couldn't find out his last words. It's such an amazing story. He won the Novel Prize for Literature but he couldn't collect the award because if he left the Soviet Union he wouldn't be able to come back. He didn't go.

Emergency Exit



I suggest we call ourselves - wait! - absentees. Have you been - been absent for long? - Jean-Paul Sartre. No Exit

We talk about what it might be like to uncover the Emergency Exit signs. They're meant to be visible but theatres always cover them in dark gel or even mask over them to stop light bleeding onto the stage. Spoiling the blackout. They take the gel off when they've got a health and safety inspection then they put it back on again. I think about how you could light the stage with them. Green light. And how I once saw an exhibition where someone had mounted photos in them. And how the man is running towards the door but there's a massive arrow in the way. How's he supposed to get past the arrow? Mole says they did a show where people drew onto cards and they enacted the drawings. A lot of people drew the running man from Emergency Exit signs. I think about Sartre and emergencies and safety instructions and arrivals and departures and absentees and the man who wrote Dr Zhivago defecting.

Somebody and Nobody

See when he's not around I'm somebody
I'm someone that you can trust
But as soon as he comes back on again, I'm nobody
I'm not even sure who I am
Or
To be more precise what I want to be

He's coming


The piece is about Mole and Tim and their relationship. Onstage and offstage. They bicker all the time. The odd couple. Mock arguments. I stop typing when they argue. Tomorrow Mole is going back to Belgium so Tim and I will be working alone. Mole asks Tim to work on a section where he talks about being somebody when Mole is not around and nobody when he comes back. It will be interesting to see how Tim feels when Mole is not around. And how he feels when Mole comes back.

The Empty Space

I can take any empty space and call it a bare stage - Peter Brook, The Empty Space

We need to sort out lights tomorrow. Do we want a general wash? No. We need all the lights on the floor. The tabs are open. The fire exit is exposed. The get in is the get out. The pre-rigging is the de-rigging. The final image is the first image. When we're onstage doing the sound check we're coming across as technicians. Are we technicians? The point is we may have people thinking this is a show about people being technicians which it's not. I see it as part of our stage persona. We do a sound check. We do a cue-to-cue. What I like is when we're rehearsing onstage and the lights go out half way through. We go 1, 2, 1, 2 because we've seen someone do a sound check. Playing music while rigging is what technicians do. It does mean we have to be quite comfortable with lighting and sound. We have a small desk which we can tour with. The thing is we're controlling all the lights. So maybe you're in the middle of something and I turn the lights off. Or the other way around.

Wednesday 19 September 2007

Thank you

That works

Tim… I think we need to get out of this…

Right

Well… this is a bit… internal.

Internal?

Yes – I’m a bit worried about this… these people and I’m a bit worried that we’re not involving them

OK how would you like to involve them?

I’d like them to see me vulnerable and nervous

OK

Thank you. Thank you for coming here. Thank you for taking time. Thank you for believing in us. It’s you now…

Uh? What? Sorry

Thank you for believing. Thank you for believing us.

Stop. Do it again. But this time I’d like you to see something real. More honest. More human.

Thank you. Thank you for coming here. Thank you for supporting us. For believing us. For taking time out to be with us here tonight

OK look down and look at the audience. Think about someone or something you’ve lost. Think sad.

OK and I think this is wrong. I think this is not… This isn’t right. This isn’t how I want to be looked at. This isn’t the reason why I’m here. I don’t know what to say.

Who do you think you are?

Where’s that?

It isn’t anywhere.

This is really difficult. I'm going to stop it now. I don't want to carry it on. It isn't working. We're going to have to try something new. Something with a history.

Space Oddity

Rolling.

The lights are gone.

You’re up there – do you want me to address you up there?

Have you started?

I don’t know

You can do it anywhere you want – this is just a rehearsal.

Shall we do the sound check?

Are you asking me as George?

I don’t know

Shall we do the sound check?

Hello

One two

Can you hear me?

Hello. One two.

Ding ding ding.

Hello?

Hello.

Are you there?

This thing keeps…

Hello Tim

Yeah

I think we need a leadup here

What do you mean?

Like one two one two

Ten Nine Eight Seven Six Five Four Three Two One

Ground control to major tom
Take your protein pills and put your helmet on

Ten Nine Eight Seven Six Five Four Three Two One

Ground Control to Major Tom
Ground Control to Major Tom
Take your protein pills and put your helmet on
Ground Control to Major Tom
Commencing countdown, engines on
Check ignition and may God's love be with you
(spoken)
Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One, Liftoff
This is Ground Control to Major Tom
You've really made the grade
And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear
Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare
"This is Major Tom to Ground Control
I'm stepping through the door
And I'm floating in a most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today
For here
Am I sitting in a tin can
Far above the world
Planet Earth is blue
And there's nothing I can do
Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles
I'm feeling very still
And I think my spaceship knows which way to go
Tell my wife I love her very much she knows"
Ground Control to Major Tom
Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you....
"Here am I floating round my tin can
Far above the Moon
Planet Earth is blue
And there's nothing I can do.

Questions

Wednesday 19 September 11.25am

Mole: So Tim in that text which bit do you not understand?

Tim: What do you mean?

Mole: Don't say all of it.

Tim: It's not a question of not understand?

Mole: What do you mean?

Tim: It's more a question of why is it there.

Mole: Now we're getting somewhere.

Tim: And how it connects with other bits.

Mole: Maybe we should have a table-read.

Tim: And ask questions

Mole: Like what does this mean

Tim: And why is it there

Mole: And how it connects
.

Tuesday 18 September 2007

Pointing out

16.35

Yesterday Mole said 'Don't point that's an old Reckless thing.' I ask Mold and Tim the next day about pointing. Tim says 'Reckless copyrighted pointing!'. They describe In The Shadows when they had an empty space where they were creating worlds. There is a bookshelf here. And pointing these objects out. Tim says it became an automatic response. To point out. Tim reads the text again. He points to outside. He points to himself. 'I am on stage.' We can hear outside and we can see outside. An aeroplane flies overhead again. 'We've done this so many times now that it's stopped making sense.' If I wait here long enough an aeroplane will pass I am not here. I'm in the control booth. Tim is onstage. There's a television over there. It's not the same television as when I first wrote it. The first television was a much bigger television on a television stand. That television was a much more tempting television to switch on. I don't want to switch this television on because I don't want the distraction. If I switch this television on you'll watch the television and you won;'t watch me, I think we should throw this television out of the window. Like pop stars. This television has been Pat Tested. This television belongs to Leeds Met University.

I'll be your dog

3.30pm

I'm conscious that I tell you to do something all the time. It's interesting that I became a dog. Even then I was telling you what to do. I don't want that to be the show. Or if it is then something else happens. That you don't do what I ask. So you're not always compliant. But I quite like being the dog. I quite like this beginning. In the time that I wrote this it's become a little random... You can hear your pattern there can't you - da da da da da da - what happens is I don't listen to what you say. I get hypnotised by how you say it. I think we did this in rehearsals in the early days. We'd have a bit of text and we'd steal it off each other. It's weird to be back doing it again. Sit down. Kneel down. Roll over. Play dead. I'm in the control booth. Tim is onstage. I think it sounds read. Read out and read around. Because it talks of writing and reading.

Strategies

3.24pm

Mole asks Tim to write a stategy for performing the same text outside of the pattern in which he usually performs. Tim says 'Outside the pattern we usually perform?' Mole says 'Yes'. Tim says 'I have a pattern?' It's funny how they repeat what the other one says as a question all the time. Tim writes down his strategy and begins to perform. We watch.

We have one week
Seven days
168 hours
In this time since I wrote this it's become a little random a little confused slightly off
kilter
behind me there's no
no tickertacker board
The clocks
are
still
there
but but
we can see how they're put in place with wires and cables
Which is fairly obvious
There's no catwalk
There's no rostra
We see a mountain of sunglasses
There's a board at the back
It reads
Wednesday
Outside we can hear
Trees
and traffic
and noises and cars and
aeroplanes

But not at the moment
And whenever an aeroplane passes
We move an object
It all looks a bit shabbier than I originally imagined
I read this
Again and again
And it doesn't make
sense now
I've read this again and again
And it doesn't make sense now
And I don't know
What it means
I've stopped
Writing
And I've stopped
Reading
There's a television over there
And I don't want to switch it on
There's a television over there
And I don't want to wake Tim up
I'm Tim
I don't want to wake myself up
One week

In the time that I wrote this

3.12pm

We had a week. We had a week.
An apology for what we have.
In the time that I wrote this it's become a little random.
There's no ticker-tacker announcement board.
The clocks are still there but we can see how they are put in place with wires and cables.
There is no catwalk.
No cameras.
No glamour.
There is no rostra.
We see a mountain of sunglasses.
There is a board at the back it reads Wednesday.
We can see outside the trees and traffic and we can hear outside whenever an aeroplane passes we will move an object...
It all looks a little bit shabbier than I originally imagined.
I'm in the control booth.
Tim is on the stage.
I've read the text again and it doesn't make any sense.
I 've read this again and I don't know what it means.
I'm going to stop writing and I'm going to stop reading.

Window

2.43pm

Tim stands silhouetted by the window. The window is a cross. Christ. Standing on a bucket in Abu Graib or Guantanamo Bay. Mole moves the white board behind him to make him disappear. Then moves it offstage. Like a man in brown overalls. He looks like something out of Morecambe and Wise. Tim describes a limbo space somewhere between real life and theatre, onstage and offstage, light and dark, arrival and departure. He holds out his hands like Abu Graib or Guantanomo Bay and shuffles off to the side. Mole says now come back as a dying swan. Tim is a dying swan. He looks like something out of Morecambe and Wise. He takes a ladder outside and climbs the hill we can see through the window. He stands on the hill. He looks like Christ on the cross at Calvary. Then he gets off the ladder and walks back. Like a man in brown overalls. From Morecambe and Wise to Abu Graib to Christ to Morecambe and Wise again.

Two way conversation

2.53pm

I have this dream of making a piece of theatre without a technician and people come in and the florescent lights are on and the tabs are open like this. And over the course of the performance we create a piece of theatre. The final image is the starting image. They are points of arrival and departure. The flightpath. It's not like its an open rehearsal though. I think we have to be really careful about that. It's not like seeing a show being made. But it is about exposing the mechanics of it. A plane flies overhead. It was that moment that made me realise that we were making it up as we go along. Tim remembers performing A House on a Hill and how a member of the audience was talking. He picks up a card and reads it aloud 'This is NOT a two way conversation.' The man stops talking.

Where it is

2.36pm

I think this is crucial. This is about knowing the text and you predicting what is going to happen. But it doesn't really happen in the same tense. Tim says 'you wanted me to do this...' before you do it. We're stuck in the future of the script. And the future of the performance. In the knowledge of the history of the making. Go back. You're suspended on a stool. I can't remember where it is. 'There is a bit. I can't remember where it is. You wanted me to take my clothes off and stand on a stool.' But we can't remember where it is. It could be where it is on the page. Where it is in the script. Where the stool is on the stage. Where the image of the stool is. Abu Graib or Guantanomo Bay. But we can't remember where it is. On the bus today Tim goes 'Oh my god' about a story in the newspaper. He tells us about the story. Mole asks 'Where is it?'. Tim says 'On page 11'. Mole says 'No - where in the world?'.

Objects

1.46pm

We construct histories for these objects. If you have an object what's it history? Where does it come from? Why have you made that choice? I'm starting to think about not having objects. I think it's going to be quite minimal. Because the object isn't there when we talk about it it's more open. It's not so fixed. I suppose that's about planting images. And planting the holes for the audience to fill. I've got two images of stools in my head. One of them in the kitchen which we use for Last Supper and one from my Mum and Dad's house. I've got a milking stool in my house. Or we are talking about giving a stool a history. Different stools. Different histories. Maybe it's the wrong stool and it's got the wrong history. You're looking for histories. Isn't that what it's all about? History. I imagine it's very much about present. When we perform it. Next week. It'll be about now. Being about this time and this place.

Invisible Wall

1.23pm

I feel like its becoming something. Already. Can I ask about the invisible wall? Is that something you've always had in mind or something you've just built? Something I've just built. And that's a response to the idea of vulnerability. Yes. And how some people throw up a wall around them onstage. Yes. And pretend that it's not there. Yes. Although they know it's there. This thing I'm doing now. You've constructed a really strong thing in your head and I've just destroyed it by saying 'Can you do limbo?' At one point before Club Tropicana That beginning page. Several bits during it. Originally I was going to be on a stool. Do you remember. Just before Club Tropicana. There is a stool and I was going to stand on a stool and hang myself. Like Ian Curtis?

Mirrors

12.55pm

Later on in the day. The runway becomes a discotheque and the mirror glasses become a mirror ball. It's all mirrors...

Later on in the day we watch a video of a conversation between Mole and Tim in the dressing room. They are recreating a conversation they had in the ICA dressing room in 1998. I film it via the dressing room mirror. It is a conversation between Mole and Tim, the mirror image of Mole and Tim, the Leeds Met dressing room and the ICA dressing room, 2007 and 1998.

Playback

Tuesday 18 September 2007

12.35pm

Three tables. Three laptops. A DV camera. A TV monitor. Wrestling for electricity from a four way. We watch video from yesterday's session. Taking notes Tim is jumping up and down with his arms out. Mole says 'Don't be lazy' on tape. We laugh.

invisible wires
invisible walls
invisible clocks


And stop. That's good. That's really nice. I want you to stand there for a minute and you've got 30 seconds to think about it. OK shall I give you a countdown. What have I got to do then? You've got to decide when a minute's up. I've got to decide when a minute's up? Yes. And then you've got 30 seconds to describe it. 30 seconds? Yes. I'll start you. 3. 2. 1. Go. Mole stands against the window with his hands on his head. It's an interesting way to choose to stand against a window. He comes to life and starts talking about imprenetrable walls and atoms. He sounds like Johnny Ball. Later. Tim stands with one hand on the white board and the other on his hip. Mole tells him he is a small ball on the floor. Tim asks 'Is this Drama School?'.

There's also...
What is there?
I can't remember...
You're standing still.
Oh... there's a stool
Brilliant!

Making the Pilots - The Beginning?

Monday 17 September 2007

The end of the beginning

I think the most important moment was when you said 'That bit you made me do...' and that playing with time. Who is the you? I like the duality of 'you' being me and 'you' being the audience. I think we have started to make work that is not afraid of being conscious of where it takes place. And that the journey begins outside the space. We have found a beginning. We have found a voice for the beginning. We have found a space for the beginning. Onstage / offstage. That in between space. The control room. The cockpit. I like the 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. We've opened up the space. I wonder if we should have an aisle in the middle. Or two seats next to each other then an empty seat. Let the auditorium correspond to a seating plan in an aeroplane. We walk across the space with a paper aeroplane when we hear aeroplanes outside. I've been thinking about liminality. About pre-liminal and post-liminal spaces. A conceptual space which you are physicalising. I am thinking of the beginning as a threshold. Maybe you have one foot on one side and one foot on the other. I am thinking about the airport as a liminal space. As a point of departure and arrival. As the end of the beginning.

Silhouette


4.50pm

On this side of the stage is a screen. Quite high. 8 feet. It's made of some opaque material. Possibly paper. So when a light shines behind the screen all you can see is a silhouette you can't actually see my face. And for me this screen this space behind the screen represents a space that is neither onstage nor offstage it's a limbo space in between where you're not actually performing you're preparing to perform reality theatre and on this side it's a similar size screen but it's not opaque its made of a solid material so you can't see through it and so at some point it's just at the moment before Club Tropicana plays I'm standing on this stool behind the screen and the silhouette gives the impression that I'm being tortured or hung and I'm struggling to stay on the stool possibly because the legs are being slowly taken away. It's also evocative of an image of torture at Guantanamo Bay. A man standing like this with a hood on his head. I could be holding on to the rope but I'm not sure.

Limbo



4.45pm

Tim: I am standing behind the screen. This space is safe. This is where we are offstage and onstage at the same time. Not onstage not offstage. Not one thing or another. Odd area between the two. A limbo thing.

Mole: Can you do limbo?

Michael: Do you feel safer in silhouette?

Tim: It's a real theatrical cliche I know but there's something nice about being in silhouette. I just have this image with that thing on the chair. When you make me take my clothes off. I think I'm in silhouette.

Stand Up

4.14pm

What I'm worried about is just us two standing up like some kind of fucking stand up routine. You know what I mean. I'm falling. I'm going. I'm fading. Where to? Over there. Can you fall again? It's a bit hard. You know like... when we did that falling in... no not that one... OK the image I've got in my head at the moment is... err... right let's stop. There's an impenetrable wall. We're having a chat. What time is it? It's 3 O'Clock. It's like there's been a crash. A big crash. In an aeroplane. That never took off.

Vulnerability

4.10pm

Vulnerability is the susceptibility to physical or emotional injury or attack. It also means to have one's guard down, open to censure or criticism; assailable. Vulnerability refers to a person's state of being liable to succumb, as to persuasion or temptation (see Thywissen 2006 for a comparison of vulnerability definitions).

Common application: In relation to hazards and disasters, vulnerability is a concept that links the relationship that people have with their environment to social forces and institutions and the cultural values that sustain and contest them. “The concept of vulnerability expresses the multidimensionality of disasters by focusing attention on the totality of relationships in a given social situation which constitute a condition that, in combination with environmental forces, produces a disaster” (Bankoff et al. 2004: 11).

Describe the Space

15.40pm

Could you describe the space in a minute?

What I originally imagined was at the back there was a screen here with a light behind it. So you can silhouette us. Over here there are piles of glasses on the stage which we make into a runway. Over here we have clocks hanging in a row. LA. London. New York.

Could you do it again? This time I'm going to ask you to do nothing for a minute. Then you're going to have 30 seconds to put in all the things you didn't put in the first time. What are you looking at us for? Try to be still.

OK so at the back there is a screen here and it's got our silhouettes on it. Over here ther's a runway that's been made out of sunglasses. Over here there's the clocks of the world. New York. Paris. Tokyo. With all the times underneath.

You've got to decide when a minute's up then you've got to describe what's in the space. 3. 2. 1. Go.

It's 1977 and th Clash have just released 1977. And they're standing by the wall. Over here is the screen which is impenetrable by anything except really small atoms. Over here is a silhouette of me and Tim sitting like gnomes with little fishing rods.

So can you do it this time in a minute but you can't stand anywhere for more than five seconds and it's really hot in here. Can you do it so you're in a small ball. Like you're really small. Over there. On the floor. You're like a small ball. Yeah that's good. You've got to stay like that for a minute.

There's a blue sky. There's lots of blue sky band there's clouds as well. Big and fluffy. And flying from the clouds are paper aeroplanes which we made earlier. And also over there there's a stool and you have to stand on it sometimes. But you have to take your trousers down before you stand on it. And over here there are lots of cameras which flash. Lots of flashes. And over here there's a weather forecast.

Now you're sinking. The floor's made out of quick sand.

There's black symbols of clouds. And they turn into white symbols. Then they have little lines coming out of them like this.

And when I wrote this performance I was thinking about lots of famous people. Sophia Loren. It's all mirrors. They're all digital cameras now but they've all got mirrors in them. This is really difficult. I'm going to stop it now. I don't want to carry it on. It isn't working. We're going to have to try something new. Something with a history.

Flight Safety Instructions





A Hackneyed Speech

1.25pm

A Hackneyed Speech

Hackney \Hack"ney\, n.; pl. Hackneys. [OE. haceney, hacenay;
cf. F. haquen['e]e a pacing horse, an ambling nag, OF. also
haquen['e]e, Sp. hacanea, OSp. facanea, D. hakkenei, also OF.
haque horse, Sp. haca, OSp. faca; perh akin to E. hack to
cut, and orig. meaning, a jolting horse. Cf. Hack a horse,
Nag.]

1. A horse for riding or driving; a nag; a pony. --Chaucer.

2. A horse or pony kept for hire.

3. A carriage kept for hire; a hack; a hackney coach.

4. A hired drudge; a hireling; a prostitute.

Hackney \Hack"ney\, a.
Let out for hire; devoted to common use; hence, much used;
trite; mean; as, hackney coaches; hackney authors. ``Hackney
tongue.'' --Roscommon.

Hackney \Hack"ney\, v. t. [imp. & p. p. Hackneyed; p. pr. &
vb. n. Hackneying.]
1. To devote to common or frequent use, as a horse or
carriage; to wear out in common service; to make trite or
commonplace; as, a hackneyed metaphor or quotation.

Had I lavish of my presence been, So
common-hackneyed in the eyes of men. --Shak.

2. To carry in a hackney coach. --Cowper.

Lines

1.15pm

Mole takes off his jumper. I'm just about to start talking. About lines. And this is an invisible line. Although you can see it. And about here is Greenwich Mean Time and then we crossed over into European time zones about here. 12 O Clock. 11 O Clock. I think these are erm have you ever gone to a business meeting and they talk to you about how to set up a business. And they go Marketing mmm mmm what is it? And this guy he just used to go 'mmm mmm?' Arrivals and Departures. Yeah.
What I liked about that was just smiling. Smiling. Expecting something. Too much to think about. Just think about one thing.
Finding form not content. Finding a way not to perform like me. Same applies to Mole but nobody telling him not to do it.

I'm suppressing being over the top. I'm suppressing over-acting. I'm not sure I'm suppressing anything. I'm never going to fill it with meaning.

Waiting

12.35pm

Mole likes moments when Tim was waiting. We talk about Warhol's Self-portraits. And filming sequences for Weddings when Mole went to the toilet and left the camera running. He asks Tim about putting his hands in his pockets. He says hold your hands in his pockets and keep them there until you have thought of the next thing you want to do. Then articulate something on the whiteboard. But give me enough time with your hands in your pockets. I want to write something down. I think we need to get out of this idea of how you perform as Tim with Reckless Sleepers. Which is about suppressed Englishness. Again.

Tim picks up his mobile phone and sets the timer. He stands there with his hands in his pockets. Mole is writing something down. Tim shifts on his feet. He looks at the board. He looks at the 'Performance ends at...' sign on the door. He says 'Of course the strange thing was I never got to see her face I only got to hear her voice over the tannoy thing. I thought this could be the last voice I ever hear. Later on I did get to meet her, I did get to put a face to the name. But I do remember the first word and the last word that she said and in the space of a few minutes. It was 'Hello' the first word she said and the last word was 'stop'.

Flightplan

12.20pm

We decide to synchronise watches. We find out it is bad luck to wear a watch onstage. There is a flightplan on a white board. From time check to time zones via 20 points of arrival and departure. In a red pen after I accidentally used a black permanent marker. It starts 'Making the Pilots - The Beginning?' and down the side it reads 'This is not sacred.' This took 30 minutes. I think we have started to find rules, the logic and the language. This is page one. Mole asks Tim to find a way to articulate this flightplan. Mole is filming. Tim is standing next to the white board. Thinking. Mole says 'Whenever you're ready Tim.'

Tim turns on his mobile phone. I think he is sending a text. He puts his phone on the window sill. He walks to the corner. He looks at the control room. The cockpit. He starts to sweep away sunglasses to make a runway downstage. He stops at taped lines on the dance floor. He looks out of the window. He checks his mobile phone. He looks at me. He walks down the runway. He looks at the white board. He checks his mobile phone. He puts his hands in his pocket. He looks at the audience. Timer goes off. He walks to the front. He says 'Hello we have now started the show.'

Day One

11.15am Monday 17 September

We arrive at the studio. Three men. Three laptops. We are online. I will be your blogger for today. Not sure what I'll be writing. Tim is talking to his mother on the phone. She has a sore throat. She is going to 'bitch and stitch' today with the WI. Or is it 'knit and natter.' Mole is sitting on the fire escape. The day has begun. Three men. Three laptops. Making The Pilots.

Good evening everybody, we are glad that you could make it.
We are nearly ready; we are just waiting for clearance,
And we need to finish getting dressed, I apologise for the delay,
Was that OK would you like me to do it again?