The last post

This will be the last post of this rehearsal period. We are finishing now for Christmas and working on the missing narrative. We need to work out where The Pilots are going and when they will get there? Why are they pretending to be pilots? What is the journey they are going on? Mole says he always imagined that as the journey of bombers to their terrorist destinations. What they pass on the way. Mole and Tim say the first time they talked about the project they were plotting a journey from where they were born to where they live now. We talk about the months and the passing of time and how that is a structural thing. At the moment we only have January and August. We've got some work to do. The Pilots meet again at the Arnolfini in Bristol in February 2008.

Watch this space

This is the transcript of the section Tim and I worked on this week. Keeping the times when we lost our place or couldn’t work out who had to say what or stand where. Finding the gaps in between the text. Now we have to find out how to fill the gaps left behind. Watch this space.

Tim: It’s just so hot. That should be you.

Mole: Mmm… well maybe I’m standing near the heater here

Tim: Yeah you stand by the heater then

Mole: goes to stand near the heater, Tim comes back to mic.

Mole: Can I do this without trousers; it’s just that I'm a bit HOT

Can I do it without socks?
Just in my underpants

Tim: YES OK WHATEVER
I don’t know what that is

Mole: YES OK WHATEVER

Tim: There’s a line missing there
You bastard you stole my line…
This is so confusing

Mole: Shall we try it again?

Tim: No keep going
I think it’s fine

Mole: Err… we

Tim: Yeah

Finishing sentences

No you’re not you’re…

Fucked up and insecure

You’re…

Fucked up and insecure

You’re finishing each other’s sentences. I do that all the time. did that all the time. I used to finish my Dad’s sentences. Now I don’t finish my own sentences. My mum does that. I keep guessing the end of her sentences. ‘Where did I put that… Mouse? Pterodactyl?’ We talk about how if Mole and Tim are filming their journeys from airports then they are living the role of pilots and coming to venues to work out who they are. When they are performing they are off duty. When they are not performing they are flying. When they are not flying they are performing. When they are performing they are not performing. The students who came to the work in progress last week said that you are very good at ‘Performing as if you’re not performing.’ Tim says in the new section: ‘Do I need to write this down? I’m going to write this down.’ As I’m reading it with him I see that line in the script and it still feels like it isn’t there. We are always performing not performing. Tim says ‘Yes I think we’ve really got into that mode with this performance.’

Narrative

Mole asks ‘What is the narrative?’ and I say it reminds me of a transcript from 9/11 where an air steward is describing what she sees out of the window. ‘I see water. I see buildings. I see the city.’ There is something about describing what you see at the end. I feel like it’s something locating them or locating us on this journey we are taking or not taking. Maybe that’s what we’re missing at the moment. The sense of (dis-)location. We talk about how maybe Mole is getting dressed in front of the heater into his Pilot outfit. Getting dressed. Getting ready for the beginning of the Story Part Two. ‘We had passed the flyover etc.’ Mole says we have to work out what that narrative is and whether it’s just a description of places we’re passing. Or whether it’s something more clever. I wonder if we walk from the nearest airport to the venue and document the journey. Taking photographs of a power station, a disused railway line, an out of town nightclub and a grand old theatre.

Good Pilot Bad Pilot

We talk about the moment where Tim says ‘I’m a good cop and you’re a bad cop’ and whether that should be a ‘good pilot and a bad pilot.’ One who wants to get you to your destination safely and one who wants to hijack you and commit an act of terror.’ I say ‘I have a knife in my pocket. In your jacket.’ because I borrowed Tim’s coat earlier for the Dr Zhivago moment. I’m holding something sharp to your throat.’ A box cutter. I think about what the terrorists used on 9/11. We talk about language and how this feels like I’m talking to the audience. Taking them hostage on an aeroplane. I am a bad pilot. We talk about how ‘Fuck’ was flippant earlier but has become a threatening word here.

I’m going to kill you, no I’m going to fucking kill you, if you don’t listen I’m going to take you all with me. I’m going to fucking kill you; I’m going to fucking kill you. If you don’t listen, I’m going to take you all with me.

Hello Tim

Tim’s mum sends him an email to say ‘Hello Tim. I’ve read the blog. Are you quite sure you know who you are?’ Mole says 'I like the way you use the microphone'. You’re always looking to the front when you speak but you’re looking at Tim in between. It’s very clean. I like the pauses. The bits in between. I like the way you’re not sure who says what or who stands where. I think we should just transcribe what you did yesterday and see if the two ends of the tunnel meet. I think you should say ‘We passed the security fence or the cameras.’ Like surveillance cameras or photographic cameras. This is where it begins to be something else. Its only little things. Just words. I like this repetition here. It’s not just repeating it’s a point of reference. Referring to something that’s already happened. A point of reference on a map. It’s doing it again but its different but it has a different setting or the situation is different.

Something else

We watch a video of Tim and I working through the untouched sections yesterday and Mole says ‘It’s starting to make sense. It’s about something else. That missing hole. Tim has this habit of repeating my first words. And for the first time I did or you did which means the roles have switched. It worked until the moment you put electrodes on Tim’s fingers. Then it became something else. Too explicit. Too in your face. I’m trying to remember when it began to make sense. And when it became about something else.’ We try the Trophy Text at the end of the day. After saying ‘It happened here, and here, and here, and over there and somewhere here’ I start dancing. It feels like a prediction. Later on Tim asks where I am and says ‘I get it, your John and your dancing?’ and I reply ‘I’m John and I’m dancing.’ I say ‘I’m in a night club and I’m vulnerable and I’m scared and I’m not sure whether this is the right dance for this song’ and it ties in with earlier when Mole says ‘I want to be vulnerable and alone’ and Tim takes his microphone away.

Thank you

We spend the afternoon looking at the text working out what we've worked on and what we need to work on. We have the beginning and the end and in between we have the bits we haven't looked at - at the moment called The Pilots - Untouched. The first section of The Pilots - Untouched is called the First Trophy Text and it's an award acceptance speech. I wonder if this comes out of Tim being on the floor. His 'Please go on without me' text always sounded like a bad parody of an Oscar nomination clip and now I wonder if it was. And maybe he stands up and he takes a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and maybe he says:

Thank you, no really I thank you, I’m not kidding, please believe me…

I’d like to thank you.
No you
All of you.
For coming,
For listening.
For taking the time.

Stop

Its great to get this,
To receive this acknowledgement.
For all of the work, the struggle and the pain.
Its all been worth it, up until now I thought I was walking through the wilderness, I though that I was taking a pointless journey.

And this changes all that.

Ive never received anything like this.

Somewhere here

Last week Tim and I worked together on what happens after Mole says 'Your motivation is this gun I've got pointed at your head?' and Tim head butts the microphone. It feels like he's dead but at the moment he's still talking. We find a piece of text on page 24. It's sad and mournful and it fits with Tim being still. Mole shifts his focus from Tim to the audience. The show travels from light to dark, comic to confessional.

Lift your head up and listen, you’re supposed to be quiet, you’re supposed to be paying attention, that’s the rule
I speak, you listen
You listen to me because I’m standing here.
I’m trying desperately to reconstruct something for you
I’m trying to make sense
I’m not lying; I’m not making this up.
This is all true,
This isn’t nothing this really happened.
It happened here and here and here and over there and there and somewhere here...

Who am I?

I watch video of Mole and Tim working on Friday when I wasn't here. Tim is standing on a speaker and I ask why. Mole says they were thinking of statues and speakers as plinths and playing 'Who am I?'

Tim: Who am I?

Mole: Youre Kofi annan
Youre The King of Sheeba
Youre Dr Zhivago, I haven’t a fucking clue who you are

Tim: Who are you?

Mole: I’m nobody

Tim: You are Nicole fucking Kidman. You are George fucking Clooney. No, you’re George fucking Bush. You’re George…you’re fucking George. You’re George George. You’re George the fucking airline pilot. How do you feel?

Mole: How do you want me to feel?

Tim: You’re George and Its raining.

Mole: You’re George and Its sunny.

Tim: No you're George and its sunny.

Mole: You're George and it's raining.

Tim: I'm George and it's raining.
I am entertainment.
I am entertainment.

I move you watch
I speak you listen

Mole: Don’t look at me no don’t look at me like that I insist… Please I insist don’t look at me look at him, he’s irresistible, watch, watch him very very closely, he doesn’t move, don’t look at me look at him.

Fire extinguisher

Mole sends an email to cheapfireextinguishers.co.uk

We would like to know if it is safe to use a foam extinguisher in a theatre performance on a person. And if so could this be something that you could supply for us.

cheapfireextinguishers.co.uk send an email to Mole

I wouldn't recommend that any extinguisher is used on a person unless they were on fire. There are Health & Safety implications regarding the Foam touching skin and if it gets in eyes, ears, nose, mouth etc or is ingested. I would recommend that you do not do this and find perhaps a safer alternative.

Les Dawson

We talk about what is real and what is pretending. Tim mentions Les Dawson having to play the piano perfectly in order to play it badly. Mole says Les Dawson lived round the corner from him in Blackpool. He says we need to know this show really well to look like we don't know what we're doing. Really not performing but there being some confusion about what's on stage but what's not onstage. What's already there. Witnessing something rather than watching a performance or being told to. Performances are meant to carry you through. With this you're always knocked back. It puts you back into the real world. The theatre. It doesn't carry you away into a magical world. We are conscious. Constantly. Of where we are. We're supposed to take you somewhere. But we're not. But we are. It's going to take us ages to work this one out.

Power station

In rehearsal last week we said the heater was a bus. Then it became a car. Today it becomes a power station. In this child play landscape where ladders are mountains and microphones are guns. We talk about how people we know used to say power stations are cloud machines. And how we use a fire extinguisher as a smoke machine which turns Tim into a cloud so it’s a sort of a cloud machine too. Mole says it’s an important moment. Clouds and smoke are the same thing. Or they look like the same thing. Tim and Mole talk about pyroclastic flows and smoke and ash and steam and bombs. We argue about how to spell pyroclastic. Tim says with an a. I say with an o. We still don’t know.

That's as far as we got

Tim was typing up the text earlier and during the read through we get to the point where he stopped. He says ‘That was as far as we got’ and Mole says ‘It’s all right’ and then they carry on from ‘Have we got anything easy.’ We decide to keep it in the text at that moment. It makes sense as a bridge. Slipping in and out of the text. The rehearsed and the real. There is something about us acknowledging the unfinishedness of the script. The uncertainty of the future of the script that we’re stuck in.

There's an H in it

There’s an H in it

There’s an H in what?

Hello

Hello?

Hello John?

Hello. Oh Sorry. My name is John and I’m an airline pilot.

I’ve got something here. It’s an airmail from John it says

‘My name is John and I’m an airline pilot’

We are bridging the gaps. Working out where to put question marks and how to get from one moment to the next. From Dr Zhivago to Hello. From Mole to George to Andrew to Tim to John. The Dear John letter always felt a bit incongruous. Coming out of nowhere. Now it appears like a plane on the radar bleeping across the screen. Like the phone that went off by accident during Tim’s Dear John monologue last week.

Question marks

Monday 10 December 2007

We are at Lakeside in an empty space. We arrive late and there is nothing here. An industrial heater and a couple of chairs. Mole says ‘I’m sorry. I’m not in the right space.’ We sit on the floor and read through the script in the red glow of the heater. Mole says it’s like the old days with Station House Opera huddled around a fire in an old building. The weird thing about the read through is that it’s impossible to work out when they are reading and when they are making mistakes. The breakdowns in the text seem so real. When Mole says ‘I don’t know what to say?’ It sounds like he genuinely doesn’t know. Then he says ‘Can you put a question mark in red after ‘I don’t know what to say.’ And you realise it’s a part of the script. He says to Tim ‘If there’s some gaps in the text, some holes which we’re not filling, then I think that’s what we’re doing with the question marks. We're trying to fill in the gaps.'

Marginalia

Mole is in a meeting. Tim is typing up changes to the script. I'm looking at the text trying to work out what to work on next. I find notes in the margins that I don't remember writing. I remember I was on a National Express coach on the way to Leeds. I remember borrowing a pen from the person next to me and forgetting to give it back. I don't remember the words and why I wrote them. I'm trying to work out what I was thinking when I made the notes. This is what I wrote in the margins.

Similarity / Simulacra / Simulacrum
Tapping into iconoclastic roles
Real show
What is this conversation?
Becoming Tim or finishing his sentences
Thinking / writing / reading
Love rhythm
Time check
Sound check
Rhythm
Starting point
I don't know where this is going
Is this you Mole as
Mole from Reckless Sleepers or
Mole performing Trophy texts
Crux
Internal
External
Munch waiting
Is
Isn't
About your relationship
Someone who makes me feel safe
I'm lost and confused
Waiting
Left
What is your answer
Is it an opportunity for you
to tell them about me
By now you should be there
It's got stuff in it
Presumption
What is here?
?
there is just enough space around the
metaphor for the illusion to perform
Important
SHIFT
You will stop coughing
Sometimes I
Cable
Heater
Liked looking up
Mic left hand
Planes
Dust etc.
I'm listening
Yeah
A heater as a seat
I'm in London
Big Ben
Burn sambuca turn glass upside down
suck gas out with a straw - only supposed to suck
Call it the Gas Chamber
Glocal
I'm busy doing nothing
Nothing the whole day through
King Arthur's space ship
Disney film
Introduction - echoes / collisions
Visual
Research
Heart murmur
When are you speaking to audience
Beautiful
Q&A
Introduction
It isn't finished

Praying

There was a moment when you were on your knees on the floor and you looked like you were praying or a prisoner or an image of an execution. I don't want to load that on too heavily but that image is there. Looking back now as I write this I imagine the terrorists praying on a generic motel carpet on the morning of 9:11 or at the airport facing east. That inbetween space again between checking in and taking off. Or a prisoner at Abu Graib again kneeling naked in a pool of his own urine with a hood on his head and an American GI doing a thumbs up to the camera. Or You Tube footage of a hostage being beheaded before it is taken offline and you hear about it and half of you wants to see it and the other half can't believe it could happen. All these moments that deal with acts of terror are starting to emerge from the piece and I wonder if this is where the show is heading now. Heading into darker territory.

Tunnel vision

Thursday 6 December

We watch a video of the work in progress. At the end of the show Mole says 'This isn't finished' and the audience laugh. I wonder if Mole should say that at the end of every show. After the video Mole says 'It's like a tunnel. We're digging a tunnel. We've got the ends and we've got the beginning. It's like when they build canals. One team at each end and they meet. I do know once they didn't actually meet. One end was higher than the other. We've got the end and the beginning and we're going forward. When you're making you always do the beginning and the beginning's always good. I suppose we're going backwards becuase we've got the ending and that's weird. Knowing how something ends before we've finished making it.' We talk about Oceans 13 and how they couldn't have bought the Channel Tunnel drills because they were left under the channel and how the drills were made of diamonds. And how the British bought a second hand drill and it was crap. Unbelievable. It's like my Dad was the production manager 'I've found this drill in the Sunday supplement'. 'I saw it in the Exchange and Mart.' We had this house full of batteries because half the house was battery operated.

Desktop

Tim starts his rant at the audience and a mobile phone goes off on the desk stage left. The desk is covered in scripts. A laptop with a clock on its desktop. A cafetiere. A couple of cups. A plate with chocolate brownie crumbs on it. A pile of DV tape cases. An Arts Council annual report. Post for Reckless Sleepers. A Hi-fi catalogue. A watch. A biro. A copy of Reckless Sleepers' book. A mobile phone. And the phone keeps bling bling blinging and Mole laughs. Tim gets more and more annoyed with Mole. 'Stop laughing. It's not funny. Why do you never take anything I do seriously.' Afterwards someone in the audience asks if the phone was meant to go off. At the same time the phone was bling bling blinging I was switching my mobile phone off and it occurred to me that I could be ringing the phone on the desk if I wanted. To ask Mole and Tim how they think it is going. I don't think they'd answer.

There's something wrong

We do another work in progress to invited guests and someone arrives late - Mole tells Tim to open the door to let him in. When he sits down he turns to the person sitting next to him and asks 'Have they started yet?' Mole says 'We could go back to the beginning' and does a summary of the show so far for the person who came in late. A fast recap of where we are and what they imagine to be in the space. Sunglasses and flash bulbs and famous people. The audience is quiet. Mole sings Space Oddity and stops singing on the line 'There's something wrong' as if there is something wrong with the show. A recurring motif. Mole and Tim respond to all the sounds. Sirens outside and someone in the corridor making a racket. They turn to look. Mole says 'There's something wrong. This isn't right. This isn't how I want to be looked at'. It feels true to this audience. There's something wrong.

Sometimes

Sometimes I forget to ask how to spell Dr Zhivago. Sometimes I forget to start the music. Sometimes I forget to put on the coat. Sometimes I forget that I've got to count to 60 just at the point where Tim says I'll be back in a minute. There's so much in my head. It's got an H in it.

One of the students yesterday said Mole should talk about how much he has happening in his head before he leaves the room. A list of things he needs to do. A mental checklist. Mole tries it as he comes back into the studio. Sometimes. We do one more run before a group of promoters come to another work in progress. There are more moments we can recreate. Mole tells Tim to watch the cable. Tim hears the Town Hall clock strike three and says he's in London and he can hear Big Ben. Mole sits on the heater instead of the window sill and I suggest he could say later on 'We're using a heater as a seat.' Mole goes to Tim's mic and it is too high for him so he has to stand on his tip toes and he looks like he's 'stopped for a moment to watch the planes take off.' We see that the shoes and the suitcase have connections to acts of terror. Taking your shoes off at the airport to prevent shoe bombers and carrying a camera case that gets searched by suspicious customs officers. Sometimes.

Fade In

Tim is on the floor and Mole moves the mic over his mouth and then moves it away again. Slowly turning the microphone stand. It's like a manual fade in and out. A mechanical sound cue. Mole says 'I've been thinking about clouds, I've been thinking about foam parties in Ibiza, I've been thinking about gymnasts when they clap their hands and I've been thinking about bombs, clouds, smoke, steam, ash. It's the same thing. It's just particles, it's just steam.' Tim says 'Let's get a kettle onstage.' I wonder if he should keep talking about the kettle and making tea and coffee and being self-sufficient. Mole points out that in this section they are not having a conversation at all - they are on different planes. Maybe they talk to themselves rather than each other. Keep talking. Coming together for 'What's my motivation here.' 'Your motivation is this gun I've got pointing at your head.' The mic Mole fades in and out over Tim's face is now the gun he predicted earlier.

Time

I know it's coming from you Tim. I'm pushing it up but I need to push it down. I was wondering Tim. He needs assistance etc. And then you say 'I don't know what to do here. I need assistance.' I was thinking that just repeating it but changing he to I. And then continue until 'What's my motivation?' And I can put the curtains up. I don't know how much Tim says for you to do that. This is preparation for me to be on the floor where we can perhaps push it a little further. It's all about death I remember. I think we're probably now getting back to where we were at the end of Leeds. I remember where we were. Can we try that? What we've tried before. There's a moment when Mole rigs a lantern and maybe he's rigging it for something that happens later. It's this separating moments as much as possible. This idea of time. The separation of time. And this sort of non-linear thing we have in Schrodinger's Box. Playing with time and the time it takes to play.

Sound Cues

Mole says 'We stopped for a moment and watched the planes take off' but when he gets to moment a plane flies overhead and he pauses. 'We stopped for a moment... [plane flies overhead] and watched the planes take off.' Perhaps the show should only tour to venues beneath busy flight paths. Later on Tim is on the floor and Mole says 'What can you hear? Or what can't you hear?' and the clock on the Council House at the Old Market Square starts to strike 12. Sirens and cars slip into the piece all the time. I've been thinking about how if we make mistakes then the sound check will mean making sure the sound doesn't work instead of making sure that it does. The sound cue is to miss the sound cue. At the moment the soundtrack to the piece is the sounds outside the space. Aeroplanes and town hall bells are our accidental sound cues.

Object to object

Tim and Mole do an 'object to object' run a sort of stagger through what we have so far working out where they stand and what goes where. It's like skimming the surface of the show. But it gives them a freedom away from the script to try things out and they start to climb ladders. Singing from the top rung. Leaning on speakers. Moving from object to object.

I'm here

Where?

Who?

You

The lights are out

I don't know where this is going

Oh shit

I stand here

Let's do a sound check

Hello

Put the sound on first

Let's do a sound check

Hello

Can you hear me

Hello

Hello Tim

I think we need a lead up here

What do you mean?

Like one two

One two

Three

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

It's no good

Wednesday 5 December 2007

Tim: It's no good I can't go on any more you go ahead without me it's OK please leave me here and you go on

Mole: Please don't stop I think this is some of your best work

Tim: Just leave me I can't go on any more go on please don't stop

Mole: Time's running out we've got to keep moving

It felt weird yesterday. I was a bit confused about who was saying what. Who was playing who. It felt like we were both the same voice. I don't understand that line. This sounds like some kind of war movie to me - a man down in the jungle - an oscar nomination clip. We tighten up who says what. Mole starts to sound like the man in control of Tim again. The child playing with a broken action man on the floor. Tim says: 'It's my legs you see?' I'm not sure how it fits but it speaks the same language of old war movies like Donald Pleasance in the Great Escape because of the way Tim says it. I wonder if it's another prediction and later on something happens to Tim's legs. Maybe they get broken like the goalkeepers arms in Escape to Victory. 'Make it a clean break skip?' Everything is threaded together. I find a note on my script from three months ago: 'There is just enough space around the metaphor for the illusion to perform.' I've no idea what it means. It's no good.

Predictive text

In this predictive text we are gathering new histories for objects, for performers, for the show itself. Mole now says 'We are using the microphone as a gun' before we use it as a gun. Mole moves a ladder for Tim to throw across the stage later in the show. Tim says 'He'll be back in a minute and then we will move on' and after Mole goes out he comes back in a minute. Literally. We predict the show will be 58, 59, 60 minutes long. We say it takes about a third of this for us to warm up. And it does. And it's happening as we say it. There is always this notion of us being stuck somewhere between past and present, the rehearsal and the performance or the performance at one venue and the performance at another. Wherever and whenever it takes place this show is a work in progress. The text is evolving to involve previous occurrences and accidents. The Pilots is gathering histories as it goes.

Mistakes

Tuesday 4 December

After a talk about the company history, Reckless Sleepers do a work in progress of The Pilots for BA Theatre Arts students from New College Nottingham. It is a very different experience. We do the technical set up with an audience. Mole takes down a light. I plug in a laptop to play the music but forget to check if it's on mute. We don't check the levels of the mics or even if they're switched on. Again the audience are talking as Tim starts the show. One of the students turns to me and says 'Has it started yet?' There are so many accidents. It feels unready. Unsteady. Underprepared. There is a moment when Tim forgets to turn on Space Oddity but Mole waits until he finishes the sound check before asking him to start it again but this time with the music. He starts again and plays the music but nothing comes out because I forgot to turn off the mute. Mole says 'Sorry. Can we do that again? Honestly that was a mistake. That wasn't supposed to happen.' When Mole goes out for his Dr Zhivago walk he forgets to start the Dr Zhivago soundtrack. When he comes back bringing with him the smell of cigarette smoke he says 'I forgot to start the music'. After the show the students say they never doubted any of it was a mistake. Can we make any more mistakes?

Clouds

As we stand there and stare at the clear blue sky the wind suddenly gets up and starts gusting from the west and this cloud appeared and moved across the sky. A big white fluffy cloud like you see on the weather forecast with three bulbous blobs. And the cloud suddenly gets bigger and bigger and greyer and greyer and these black lines start to come out of it and it's raining and pouring and pouring and the rain slowly slows down and the cloud slowly evaporates into the blue. The cloud disappears into the blue sky. I look up at the blue sky.

Tim reads the text as he slowly drops to the floor. Mole has a lightbulb moment and says 'It's about smoke. That's the subtext.' We remember a conversation we had on the last day in Leeds. Talking about smoke machines, foam parties in Ibiza and fire extinguishers. The smoke of a bomb. The smoke of a smoke machine. We print that entry on the blog out. Mole and Tim are on their feet. We film them reading the text of the conversation we had in Leeds on the last day. From a conversation in the ICA dressing room to a conversation in Leeds Met Studio. Rolling.

Get in

We spend the afternoon setting up the space. Two mics. Two speakers. Four ladders. Four speaker stands. One heater. One fan. Four cables. A lighting desk. A sound desk. A desk. A pile of papers. A packet of Belgian Marlboros and a spare microphone. A packet of Swan filter tips and an HDV camera. A packet of Drum tobacco and a mobile phone. A row of chairs for the audience tomorrow and a tripod. A dustbin. A TV monitor on a stand. A yellow floor stand. Tim stands centre stage.

Nothing

Mole says he wants to write a book. A little book about nothing. I've realised a lot of the work we do is about nothing. The text at the end of The Pilots is about nothing. 'What are you doing? Nothing.' Busy doing nothing. Nothing the whole day through. We talk about Beckett and how he said Waiting for Godot was a play where 'Nothing happens... Twice.' We talk about non-events and anti-climaxes and how nothing happens in The Pilots. Mole's performance lecture was about nothing happening. We ask what happens in a show where nothing happens? I don't know what happens. Maybe nothing happens... Once.

We didn't take you anywhere

About half way through the work in progress Mole says 'I'm sorry we didn't take you anywhere.' It feels too soon in the show to say this. Tim has already said 'We are supposed to take you somewhere. But you're still here' Maybe it should be 'I'm sorry we haven't taken you anywhere... yet.' We apologise in increments for not taking the audience on the journey we said we would in the publicity, before they sat down, before the show began 56, 57, 58, 59... minutes ago. We know how long the show should be because it says so in the script. The work in progress finishes. It's 30 minutes long. We're half way there.

The edge of melodrama

I forgot about the music that Mole plays before he leaves the space. Tim talks over the Dr Zhivago soundtrack. There's an H in it. The music adds so much to the scene and Tim plays it on the edge of melodrama. Letting the audience make it funny. He walks to the window and on cue Mole appears on the hill beind the studio walking into the wind and imaginary blizzard. The audience laugh. Watching it now Mole says 'This is a really important moment in the show. There's so much happening in this moment. Timing.' When Mole comes back. Catching his breath. Saying hello to the audience like a breathless lover. He loses his place in the script and after three months what felt like a moment feels like a minute. 'We need something there,' says Mole. Tim nods.

One Two

Tim and Mole do a sound check. One. Two. One. Two. I realise on the video there is a symmetry. Two men. Two pilots. Two mics. Two ladders. I wonder if there is two of everything. Two monitors. Two lamps on stands. Two projectors. Two of everything. The Leeds Met Studio seen through a wide angle lens looks like a theatre space within a theatre space. Like Schrodingers Box. A place of mathematics and rules and codes and numbers. A space of symmetries and dualities. Tim is floating to David Bowie again. With his script in his hand. Like he's stuck in space but also stuck in the future of the script we talked about.

Fade Out

We watch the video of the work in progress at Leeds Met three months ago. The audience are chatting waiting for it to start. Mole says 'I like this. We should use this.' Tim stands up to start talking and the audience become quieter. 'There's a real fade out. A real focus.' I wonder if we can recreate this. Like a Janet Cardiff installation. A choir talking before they're about to sing. Off duty. Offstage. I wonder if we should revisst the conversation from the ICA dressing room. Tim and Mole offstage. Off duty. Before the show as part of the show. And when the show finishes. Is there a way of a post-show discussion being part of the show etc. Something Teresa Brayshaw mentioned after the work in progress at Leeds Met three months ago. Back to the beginning.

I know where you are

Mole wants to film the Club Tropicana video in Blackpool. Where he was born and raised. He says it hasn't changed much. We talk about cities changing. Landscapes shifting. Unfinished buildings. Streets that look like works in progress. I talk about a street in Bristol I walked down last night and how every facade was covered in scaffolding. Tim says 'I know where you are'. But I'm not there any more. I'm in Nottingham. It's as if he is saying 'I know where you are in your head.' It's another 'Whereabouts in the world?' moment we had in Leeds. Confusing realities and notions of time and place. It's good to be back.

Reunion

Monday 2 December 10am

The Pilots. Reunion. We meet up again at Preset in Nottingham. Sitting round a table in the Reckless Sleepers. Coffee. Notebooks. We remember what it's like to talk about The Pilots after two months away. It's about pretending. We talk about pilots outfits. Whether they need to fit or not. And going to Blackpool and riding donkeys on the beach. We talk about filming the Dr Zhivago moment and whether we need live CCTV footage of Mole leaving the venue. Or whether we can prerecord it. We see a lantern in the office. Like a search light. Something that says film premieres and air raids, glamour and war. Something from another time. Another world. Something with a history. We decide the show needs a van. And a projector to show the Club Tropicana video. Set up in the space. Like the lights. And the control desk. On show. Onstage.

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

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?

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.

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.

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.

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
.

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.