That Girl from Derwent dwells on the value of religion this Christmas.
That Girl from Derwent has learned a few more things about prejudice since moving up North.
That Girl From Derwent reckons if you're going to be offensive, you should find a better reason.
That Girl from Derwent considers why it is that some words have wider implications than others.
Entry 3: Have we gone insane?
It's my eighth term at university. Time to move into the Harry Fairhurst building permanently, batten down the hatches, and do everything I can to try and scrape my average up. Right? Right. Except that I'm also entering the final weeks of rehearsal for the Central Hall Musical, 'Into The Woods'. My schedule, which doesn't currently include my course, production meetings or the inevitable emergency extra rehearsals, is currently totalling around 30 hours a week. My name is Freyja Winterson and I'm a full time idiot.
2am, Saturday, Week 2, Autumn Term. It was Emily (my co-director), Lucy (choreographer), Nick, Tom (Musical Directors) and myself. We'd been in L/036 for approximately sixteen hours, watching recall auditions of 53 people. We'd lost our marbles, any semblance of decorum and our sobriety. We had also cast the show. It was, on balance, a good place to be.
So there it was, cast and ready to go. We started off with a brief meeting in the music department where we were lucky enough to be visited by some poor fresher who had had the misfortune to be in the wrong room, causing much confusion. Nothing bonds a roomful of strangers like somebody else's awkward embarrassment, not to mention, a few hours later, being the first in the Willow, always an achievement... Fast-forward a few days to the day of the first rehearsal. I was a really nervous and had butterflies in my stomach as I arrived clutching my notebook in which the plans for the next three hours were meticulously laid out. First some ice-breaker games, something to learn everyone’s' names, all designed to appear very casual and fun - but organised with the precision of laser eye surgery. Why? Because we knew we had to prove ourselves, convince our cast that we would create a show that they would want to be in, trust us to extract the best performance they could physically give. In many ways, directing is like convincing a group of Premiership footballers that you should play Subbuteo using them instead of plastic figurines. I like to think that my directorial skills are at least marginally better than my Subbuteo skills (I am godawful at Subbuteo).
So as the nights drew in, rehearsals came thicker and faster. There were points where it was a little overwhelming. One porter was lucky enough to witness this effect when, on his late night rounds through the Physics building, discovered 'the Core 5' (directors, musical-directors and choreographer) as we had taken to calling ourselves, lying in the dark, on the floor, each with our head on the next person's stomach. I like to think that it was the team having a moment of togetherness, a spiritual gathering, a melding of minds: certainly the porter muttered something about 'HippySoc' before continuing on his rounds. In truth we were just languishing in the warmth before braving the chilling cycle home across Walmgate Stray, each of us half hoping that Estates wouldn't notice if we just kipped on the floor.
The holidays approached, the bags under our eyes darkening, the possibility of spending time with anyone other than the production team, the cast, or a mixture of the two, dwindling. But things were starting, just about starting, to assemble. There was some money in the pot (the result of the previously described slavish regime of selling glow-sticks); the set had been approved by the University's “Uber-Tsar” of Health and Safety and most importantly, from my perspective, the play was starting to take form. Characters were developing, scenes were coming to life, and the dances were looking great. Time for a three-week break; time enough for everyone to forget everything. Or so I feared.
But as it turns out, my fears were largely misplaced. Rather than forget everything, our wonderful cast had clearly worked incredibly hard over the holidays. Lines were learnt; dances were, mostly, remembered. I couldn't even let on that I was astonished and proud. After all, we had made it clear that we never expected anything less. I couldn't let on that I had underestimated them, I'll only be sharing that with you, the Internet, very private forum I understand....
Anyway, with a cast raring to go, a production team fit to battle dragons behind them, I couldn't be more psyched to get to week 5. I intend to, as many a wise man has said, 'SMACK IT!'.
You must log in to submit a comment.
