Down and out and struggling in London – part one

 As I lean heavily against the Formica counter of my new job, worried I may be permanently damaging my back by slouching all day, staring at a haunting Santa mannequin, handing over tacky, synthetic, easy-to-tear, sweatshop made costumes to a variety of ultimately dissatisfied customers, I reflect on what lead me to this point, what decisions I made, what sacrifices I undertook, all ultimately geared at ‘living the dream’.

When I arrived in London five weeks ago, bulging backpack practically crucifying me and threatening to explode, desperate to avoid the mass of bodies, hurrying wherever they were hurrying, and frenzied for a public toilet that just doesn’t exist in this city, I decided to sit down and collect my thoughts. Spying an empty space in the distance I charged ahead to what turned out to be the steps of a huge theatre showing Wicked (a musical about how the Wicked Witch of the West became so darned wicked). I collapsed onto said stairs and gave my aching back and legs a rest. Summoning the last of my energy together I flicked through my dog-eared London A to Z to find where Willesden was. F-ing miles away! I’d have to get back onto the tube! Despairing this I suddenly heard ‘Oi!’ behind me. I ignored it. ‘Oi!’ they repeated. ‘Oi you!’ I turned to see a 30-something box office manager, who clearly hadn’t been laid in a long time (not that I can talk), scowling at me. ‘Go! You’re not allowed to sit here.’ I was too tired to resist. Grabbing my about-to-explode backpack to me and willing myself to vomit over her precious steps, but unable to do it, I hurried back into the crowds.

And there it was. My Welcome to London.

More importantly, my welcome to London theatre.

 

Right. Time for introductions.

My name is Thomas Sainsbury. You don’t need to know much about me except for the fact that I will be the narrator of this regular blog (at which point I must thank the enchanting Michelle, the beautiful Morgana, and the enigmatic Charlie for the auspicious task) and that I have moved to London to essentially pursue my dream. That dream is very wanky. That dream is to encapsulate the entire human experience (in an entertaining, thought-provoking, socio-political way to huge audiences) in theatre, film and prose. I’m desperate to be bigger and better than my three heroes Shakespeare, Hitchcock and Steinbeck. I don’t necessarily want this to be my dream. I know I’ve much blood, sweat and tears ahead of me. Along with crippling disappointments, fear-induced insomnia, premature stressed-induced aging, and a heart attack at 35. But this is what I’m lumped with. And I know that not going after your dream is the worst thing a human can do (besides killing a puppy perhaps).

Anyway, that’s me. I’m also writing this blog in the hope that people will be entertained and informed from my tales. Hopefully someone wanting to make a similar life decision can learn from my mistakes. And I’m predicting there’s gonna be a lot.

 

Okay. Let’s begin. Week one (after my depressing start). Walking around and stressing about the whittling away of my abysmal savings. Stressing about my lack of accommodation and job. The gnawing voice at the back of my head saying ‘what the hell were you thinking? You were doing so well in New Zealand!’ Another gnawing voice in the back of my head saying ‘you’re wasting time, brother. You’ve got one life. Hurry up and achieve something mother fucker.’

 

Week Two. Found the best flat possible. Can’t move in for a month. Holy hell. What am I going to do? Sleep on people’s couches, seduce strangers and sleep in their beds, walk around the city until sunrise then sleep in a park. I also watched some live theatre and visited some famous theatres.

Side note: My impressions of London Theatre. Either completely amazing or completely unamazing. The first theatre I visited was The Bush. http://www.bushtheatre.co.uk/. The Bush does a lot of new writing, so you writers out there must send in your scripts. My friend directed one of the three shows showing the night I went. All three were earth-shatteringly good. The theatre is also my ideal type of theatre. Everything was stripped out. The floor was a mishmash of plywood, wooden planks and black fibreglass. There was no lighting rig. One of the plays was in total darkness. Just people talking. So inspiring!

The next play I went to was at the Royal Court. http://www.royalcourttheatre.com/ Amazing! The whole play took place in an apartment (within the theatre) that included everything (including a flushing toilet and working taps) except a ceiling. So the audience was up around the top of the walls watching the harrowing action play out. All you writers out there must send your scripts to the Royal Court. They’re very good at sending feedback and you may even get a play put on. Woohoo!

 

I also went to the Old Vic in that second week. I watched a play called Drama Queens. It followed five remote controlled sculptures voiced by Kevin Spacey, Jeremy Irons and Joseph Fiennes, who were all seated to the side. Funny concept to begin with. Then there wasn’t much room for the story or concept to move. The theatre was also my least favourite kind of theatre. It was cavernous and the stage was miles away. You couldn’t see the performers’ faces (or sculptures’ faces as the case may be) clearly, therefore couldn’t be carried along with their journey. At least I can say I’ve seen an Oscar-winner in the flesh, however. And ol’ Kev is exactly as you would imagine him.

 

I also went to see a play at the Arcola Theatre. A good space. Went to see it with the delightful Lucy Wigmore. The play was about a group of Asian (as in Indian/Afghanistani/Pakistani etc. as opposed to Korean/Chinese etc) immigrants who have to deal with the difficulties of living in a new country. One Muslim girl even cut herself with anguish. Yawn. Nothing new or challenging about the story. Then afterwards Lucy and I walked outside to find it was snowing. How romantic! Tis a pity she’s married. And twas a pity it was only October and it was snowing already. A bad omen, perhaps? Maybe we’re in for a very chilling winter.

 

After watching these four plays, my overall impression of London Theatre? The whole thing is not too much of a leap from New Zealand. It’s all done exactly the same. And the results are just as variable. Only difference? They say ‘tan’ instead of ‘ten’ and ‘fish’ instead of ‘fush.’

 

Week Three: Networking!

The unfortunate fact is, if you want to short cut your way to career success you have to meet the right people. When I arrived in London I had a list as long as my arm of people I had to contact and ‘do coffee’ with. Here are some highlights. I met with so many characters, but I just don’t have time to go through them all.

First meeting. Blake, a dishevelled, delicate-faced, late 20s aspiring filmmaker shuffled towards me as I waited outside Waterloo tube station. Thinking he might be a homeless man, and clutching my A to Z in case a weapon was of import, I was relieved to find him a very mischievous imp of a man. We went for a pint (I was drunk after a quarter of a glass, close to vomiting after half) and he regaled me with tales of trying to get short films made in England. It is much harder to make films here, as opposed to NZ, for one reason. Attitude. There just isn’t the ‘get in there and do it’ attitude amongst the Brits. So he keeps his crew small. I tried to enchant and impress him with my film biz know-how. I didn’t think he was impressed. The next day, however, after a particularly pleading email from me, he read one of my play scripts. He then asked me to work with him on a short film script about Polish immigrants. Woohoo! He’s only interested in gritty drama whereas I, let’s face it, am fucking uproarious without even trying. But I’m working on him. Just the other day we were in hysterics over a youtube clip of an old man falling down on an escalator. http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=yHBwi_CGQ-k

 

Next meeting: Emma, a minute South African director. After several emails back and forth she invited me to a pitching night where ten minutes plays are presented to a room full of directors. She was amazing. A ball of energy. And was about one year into a struggle I am only just beginning. She told me where to go and who to sleep with in order to get ahead in this godforsaken town. Desperate to find directors to work with (so that I don’t have to keep directing my own shows) I sent her some of my scripts. She isn’t so interested in my style of writing, I don’t think, but we are working on a project together. A retelling of Medea using physical theatre. Yawn! But who knows where it can lead.

 

Finally I met up with the committee of KDC. http://www.kdctheatre.com/ KDC is essentially a London based theatre group who aspire to great productions (yeah, we’ll see, guys). I was put in touch with them by a darling New Zealand friend of mine who had done shows with them. I went to a playreading they had organised. The play was terrible and I was asked to read a French character called Pierre. My performance was appalling and the writer rolled his eyes whenever I opened my mouth to speak. I talked to the ‘literary manager’ of the company and he asked to see some of my plays. Sure enough, the following week my play LUV was read by a group of English “actors”. They couldn’t comprehend the nastiness of the piece but they all did a very good job (though some was lost in translation). Then afterwards a “director” approached me. She had bloodshot eyes and was a smoker. She apparently loved the play but would demand changes if she were to direct. And she wanted to propose it for the KDC one-act new writing season. I never hold my breathe for anything these days, but it was good she liked it. And she seemed to have a bit of nounce.

A few weeks later I saw KDC were wanting proposals from directors for classic plays. Leaving it until an hour before it was due I worked on a proposal for Tis Pity She’s a Whore, Revenger’s Tragedy and Winter’s Tale. All a director has to do is direct the piece. KDC does everything else. And apparently their shows sell out. My thoughts of KDC and amateur dramatics in general? I think one has the opportunity to make something great, especially when they give you such creative control. And you may just impress someone along the way. And you also have access to a huge database of active theatre goers. And how often do you get the chance to direct an amazing Jacobean play? But in terms of career? I think it’s a great start. Do a couple of shows, start developing a loyal audience, and loyal actors. And you’re away. You can’t approach dream-achieving wanting everything at once. A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, remember.

 

Week Four: Getting your own show up!

Not one to sit around and wait for opportunities I decided to go out and make my own. My ex and I have decided to put on our first London show together. Our impatience inner voices wanted to get it done before the end of the year but we decided it wise to leave it until late January. We also decided to make sure the venue was locked in before we started rehearsals (a mistake I have made so many times before and caused so much heart ache!). We decided to approach the Tristan Bates theatre in Covent Garden. WEBSITE. It’s a black box of a theatre and is ideal. It wasn’t too hard to get a season. The universe was on our side and there was only one week going, and it was the week we wanted. Now we just have to work our arses off to pay for the place and get people along. At this stage in the game I can foresee four people coming. And they would probably all demand comps. So the next big problem is – finding an audience. No doubt a subject for further blogs.

We will be producing my play . . . and then you die. It has had a season in Auckland and San Diego and is about to be unleashed in London. Jesus I hope it works out and that people come and enjoy it. We’ve cast a British fellow in the male role and two Kiwis in the female roles. And we’re going to set it in Britain. Eek. Watch this space. No doubt I will be stressing over it a lot over the coming weeks.

 

Week Five: Earning a crust so that you can live in one of the most expensive cities in the world.

So I signed up with a temping agency because you need to work a lot to live here. Sigh. I got a job straight away, working at a costumiers, selling cheap costumes. I was hired for the Halloween rush and, because of my New Zealand work ethic, I was asked to stay on until Christmas. It’s a god awful job, let’s face it. I’ve resorted to counting down the hours until the job is over and done with. But it’s regular money. Sometimes I’m headed to work in the morning and I’m tempted to throw myself in front of the tube just to avoid it. Isn’t that ridiculous? I know I should try and get another job, and that is the plan. But I just need some kazash right now. And then I will forge my way into a ideal money-making parttime job. Well, that’s what I say. No doubt in ten years I will still be working there. Will be obese, bald, suffering gout, and be one telling off by the boss away from hanging myself with a China-made Jedi belt.

 

Week Six: Reflections.

Okay. That’s the end. Geez I went on! Hope it was insightful. Sorry there was so much to get through. Things will calm down now as I will be ‘blogging’ (not sure about the usage of that word) more regularly.

My latest insights on London? There is so, so, so, so, so much to get done here. No time to breathe. London really is done at a sprint. But there are so many dazzling possibilities! And it’s all so inspiring. I’ve had literally a hundred story ideas since I’ve been here. It’s just impossible to find the time to write them. Which reminds me, I have five pages of a new play to finish. It was due several weeks ago (will I ever be punctual?). A play about consumerism in the extreme (shameless self-promotion alert) It will feature in next year’s Auckland Fringe Festival.

As well as this I have a list (god I love lists) a mile long of things to do. Get a London writing agent, seduce the Royal Court literary manager, get a film made before I’m thirty, write a booker-prize winning novel, sign up for a yogalates class, cure AIDs . . .

And finally, a great website for all you writers out there. http://www.oldvictheatre.com/pdf/writing.pdf

Much love.

Tom

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