diary of a gaffa-taped hamster #mach 2
i was looking through an old notebook trying to find a phone number, and came across the following... it was from when we took our play to a drama festival in scarborough with our company autumn fish's play, 'the hamster theme park', a couple of years ago...
We run 1st night. Everything flat. Blackouts too long.
Next day we run scene changes. After second performance we find we have knocked 6 minutes off our running time just through scene changes alone. Great. And it shows.
After 3rd performance we strike our set in record time and head for the bar...
Thursday night, or technically friday morning, Chloe and I wander from the NOffice to the mini-bus to a befuddled commotion. Our Autumn Fish walking alarmed and bewildered towards us, an ambulance in the road. Theo (one half of our majestic underscore creation-team) has rolled down the cliff. No, he hurtled down the cliff, and cracked his head on the concrete below. Thought he could fly, or something.
Sam leaves in the ambulance, the rest of us make our way back to the accommodation trying to get our heads around the whole thing.
"He moved his legs", "he was out cold for 2 minutes", "He remembered his name when he came round", "He launched himself off", "so fast, came down so fast", "Theo's dead" Tim said.
I drive us back in silence. Almost. Except Tim is saying, "He cracked his head open, his head smashed on the concrete. He threw himself off."
He looks at us as though he is trying to tell us something very important;
"He was drunk, he threw himself off a cliff, and now he's dead. Splat. Gone."
There is growing discomfort in the mini-bus. They just don't understand this guy's nonchalant and dismissive attitude.
Tim seems slightly annoyed too. "Why do you lot care anyway? You hardly knew him. He's just some guy who did sound on your play. It's not as though he was a friend of yours. He was alive, now he's dead, that's what happens when people roll down cliffs. You're alive then you die. People die all the time."
Silence.
"I knew him, not as long as Sam, but he was a good friend of mine and I watched him splat, 10 feet away from me. Stupid bastard. For 5 years I'll see that image."
People are getting angry. They want Tim to shut up. He doesn't.
"He isn't dead Tim, he was moving and talking when he came round."
"He should be dead" Tim says. "Technically when you hurl down a 20ft cliff you should be dead when you hit the bottom."
That's the mathematics of the whole thing. There are ways of descent that work, and others that are just plain stupid.
"well, even if he's not dead, he deserves to be for falling from that height"
And so Tim's laconic mantra soldiers on... "He's dead." "he's dead" "he's DEAD"...
The heavy diesel mini-bus rumbles on, parks, and shell-shocked Autumn Fish slump tentatively into the flat. Now everyone is piecing together what happened, step by step, roll by roll...
i stayed up until 8 in the morning with tim, talking, sitting, just so he could relax and get some sleep. then, news came from the hospital that theo was stable, and we had to prepare for a day at the festival, defending our creative choices before an arena of 350 judges, trying to be coherent and pretend that it really mattered.
theo was fine as it turns out, and after a few days was driven back to london to rehabillitate back home. he really did think he could fly (aided by medication and 6 pints of beer) - it's not the first time either... apparently he has jumped off a few buildings in his time, hung from balconies, that sort of thing, is like an extreme sport to him... was... in hospital he was reflecting, confused, quite a bit... i don't think he ever expected to really get himself in trouble, mortal trouble, and not remembering really simple things like the name of his doctor freaked him the fuck out, truly. i think he felt like a bit of an idiot and suddenly realised just how much he wanted to live. bemused that he couldn't hear, his fingers would go to his ears where blood was congealed in dark delicate trickles from his drums, and he'd look puzzled - "wh-what happened? what did i do?", he'd suddenly seem so young, a bewildered frightened little boy, just needing something to make sense, some reassurance, someone to stroke his forehead, hold his hand...
theo won the award for sound design... yeah... he's good too!
listening to: nusrat fateh ali khan
We run 1st night. Everything flat. Blackouts too long.
Next day we run scene changes. After second performance we find we have knocked 6 minutes off our running time just through scene changes alone. Great. And it shows.
After 3rd performance we strike our set in record time and head for the bar...
Thursday night, or technically friday morning, Chloe and I wander from the NOffice to the mini-bus to a befuddled commotion. Our Autumn Fish walking alarmed and bewildered towards us, an ambulance in the road. Theo (one half of our majestic underscore creation-team) has rolled down the cliff. No, he hurtled down the cliff, and cracked his head on the concrete below. Thought he could fly, or something.
Sam leaves in the ambulance, the rest of us make our way back to the accommodation trying to get our heads around the whole thing.
"He moved his legs", "he was out cold for 2 minutes", "He remembered his name when he came round", "He launched himself off", "so fast, came down so fast", "Theo's dead" Tim said.
I drive us back in silence. Almost. Except Tim is saying, "He cracked his head open, his head smashed on the concrete. He threw himself off."
He looks at us as though he is trying to tell us something very important;
"He was drunk, he threw himself off a cliff, and now he's dead. Splat. Gone."
There is growing discomfort in the mini-bus. They just don't understand this guy's nonchalant and dismissive attitude.
Tim seems slightly annoyed too. "Why do you lot care anyway? You hardly knew him. He's just some guy who did sound on your play. It's not as though he was a friend of yours. He was alive, now he's dead, that's what happens when people roll down cliffs. You're alive then you die. People die all the time."
Silence.
"I knew him, not as long as Sam, but he was a good friend of mine and I watched him splat, 10 feet away from me. Stupid bastard. For 5 years I'll see that image."
People are getting angry. They want Tim to shut up. He doesn't.
"He isn't dead Tim, he was moving and talking when he came round."
"He should be dead" Tim says. "Technically when you hurl down a 20ft cliff you should be dead when you hit the bottom."
That's the mathematics of the whole thing. There are ways of descent that work, and others that are just plain stupid.
"well, even if he's not dead, he deserves to be for falling from that height"
And so Tim's laconic mantra soldiers on... "He's dead." "he's dead" "he's DEAD"...
The heavy diesel mini-bus rumbles on, parks, and shell-shocked Autumn Fish slump tentatively into the flat. Now everyone is piecing together what happened, step by step, roll by roll...
i stayed up until 8 in the morning with tim, talking, sitting, just so he could relax and get some sleep. then, news came from the hospital that theo was stable, and we had to prepare for a day at the festival, defending our creative choices before an arena of 350 judges, trying to be coherent and pretend that it really mattered.
theo was fine as it turns out, and after a few days was driven back to london to rehabillitate back home. he really did think he could fly (aided by medication and 6 pints of beer) - it's not the first time either... apparently he has jumped off a few buildings in his time, hung from balconies, that sort of thing, is like an extreme sport to him... was... in hospital he was reflecting, confused, quite a bit... i don't think he ever expected to really get himself in trouble, mortal trouble, and not remembering really simple things like the name of his doctor freaked him the fuck out, truly. i think he felt like a bit of an idiot and suddenly realised just how much he wanted to live. bemused that he couldn't hear, his fingers would go to his ears where blood was congealed in dark delicate trickles from his drums, and he'd look puzzled - "wh-what happened? what did i do?", he'd suddenly seem so young, a bewildered frightened little boy, just needing something to make sense, some reassurance, someone to stroke his forehead, hold his hand...
theo won the award for sound design... yeah... he's good too!
listening to: nusrat fateh ali khan
posted by tara at 10:44 am
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home