One day, back in the long distant past, before roll-on deodorants or hovercraft were invented and before Hemingway had written “The Old Man and the Sea”, I had the misfortune to be born in Bonny Soggy Scotland. That was the start of a life-changing series of adventures and misadventures that eventually led me to the South of France where, inevitably, I had to wear the kilt at special functions and to sing the odd Scottish song at Burns Nights organised by other British ex-pats. So far, so good.

But then, calamity! At one such informal gathering, my terrible singing was overheard by a lovely wee blond lady called Nancy. She really is quite tone deaf, poor lass, but I must have impressed her in some way because one day back in 2019 I received a telephone call from her:

“The ETC is looking for a man to sing a Scottish song in our next production - Ben’s War. I know you’ve a lovely singing voice so would you be willing to wear your kilt and sing Keep the Home Fires Burning for us?” Nancy being ever so persuasive and me being ever so gullible, I replied with a tentative “yes”.

That was the start of my exploration into the life of theatre productions. To me it had the great advantage of being my only opportunity for me to speak English - or at least my version of it. I very quickly learnt that my Scottish accent was virtually incomprehensible to the majority of ETC cast and crew. So back to basics - slow down, get rid of the Scottish words and phrases, ditch the accent and speak Guide Book Touristese.

But, back to Ben’s War. My French friends found it distinctly odd to be hillwalking in the Pyrenees with a singing Scotsman and his border collie (whit Heilanman disnaehae a collie dug undriskilt?). It was the only place I could practice my song without being led to the guillotine.

Despite Covid and my destruction of various peoples eardrums I ended up being a small part actor in various productions leading up to the current rehearsals of The Long Christmas Dinner. Although I only have a few lines I’ve begun to appreciate just how much time, effort and expense it takes to put on just a very small production.

The English Theatre Company is a real team of teams. Not one of us can manage without the support of many others. The actors are unable to perform without the back-stage team, the catering and bar teams, the technical, lighting and sound teams. None of these can manage without the input of the actors, who would be totally at sea without their director, the secretary, the box-office and the committee. So many people, all beavering away in small groups or often alone to bring the whole event to fruition.

At weekly rehearsals over a three month period prior to any performance each and every actor relies totally upon the presence of all the others. Not only de we have to learn our own lines but also the lines of all the other actors and, in particular, the actor speaking just before you. Woe betide you if you miss your cue or spout the wrong line at the wrong time. I never thought it would be so difficult.

But, on to the present, The Long Christmas Dinner is going to be a bit strange for all of us because there are no props, no Christmas Dinner despite the title. Imaginary turkey, imaginary wine. I ask you? If it wasn’t for the chocolate biscuits ant our rehearsal coffee breaks……. And now - we’re being told that we have to speak with an American Mid-West accent. That’ll be a laugh!

Chris Sutton

Being new to this acting lark and still riding high on the joy of participating in Calendar Girls, I am disposed to like anything that comes my way.‘What is next, after the undoubted triumph of ‘Allo ‘Allo?’ my friends and I asked, excitement dancing in our eyes.

‘Mamma Mia?’
‘No, too dancey.’
‘0ooh, how about Hamilton?’
‘Too big’.
‘Hamlet?’

The new play is...ahem...The Long Christmas Dinner by Thornton Wilder!
Imagine this dropping in to a room full of chatter and then silence, preceded by that record scratching noise.

What? Who? Why?
Well, a quick glance on Wikipedia reveals Wilder to be a ‘pivotal figure in the literary history of the twentieth century’. That is a heck of an accolade; if you also throw in composer, actor, teacher, essayist, then you get a vibe of a deep thinker.
I watched the TV adaptation, the one with David Soul and, plunk, fell head over heels for this play. Its so darn clever, with repetitive themes weaving in and out, creepy nurses, dark portals, invisible dining...what's not to like?
As I write, the play is being painstakingly crafted, movement by movement, inflection by inflection. In this play, its less what we say, and more the observing of the flow, the cyclical motion of the play. Somehow we have to convincingly move through time, age in front of people's eyes, depict birth, death, marriage in the blink of an eye.
I always imagined I was a dramatic actor. You know the type? Hand on brow, hand wringing at the drop of a hat, Oh woe is me? Turns out I am a bit of a Lucille Ball wannabee and I have found a couple of teeny moments that are hilarious and, I will hopefully be able to add my own comedic flourishes to my character.
And, one thing I haven't mentioned is that the play is set in America and we are all going to be speaking our lines in a selection box of American accents. Mid West is what we are aiming for and our language coach (thanks Kim!) has spent time with us gently ironing out Bronx or deep South inflections. We have this perception that everyone in America sounds like they are from Gone with the Wind and its been hard to shake this. You be the judge. How did we do?
Its strange writing this in the here and now and knowing it will be read in the future. So, take my thoughts as a snapshot in time, a brief peek into a process. This quote seems very apt:
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Perhaps this is what Ermengarde is thinking as she exits the stage at the last, leaving...nothing.