Arts Development... A Voyage to Change the World Kate Campbell - a volunteer Stage Manager and professional writer - documented her day when the production performed in the City Centre Piazza on 25th July. While Gina Sherman - an emerging writer and professional theatre maker reviewed the show. Saturday 25th July '09 7.30am, Saturday July 25th. I was enjoying walking through the relative stillness of Plymouth City Centre and was making my way through the thronging silence to the Piazza with the huge tv screen. I was part of the volunteer stage management crew for the theatre’s summer production of ‘A Voyage to Change the World’ – a collaborative piece of dance theatre that I had worked on as a writer and now found myself working on as part of the backstage team whose mission that particular day was to set up for an open air free public performance of the show. Although I hadn’t relished setting my alarm for 6.30am, peeling my eyes open and stumbling around trying to get dressed without disturbing anyone else, now I was here, in the fresh air with the sun shining, the birds singing and the world waking up, I actually felt pretty good, pretty glad to be up and about and pretty, well, I can think of no better cliché, just glad to be alive. Then I turned the corner into the Piazza and saw Gemma, one of my fellow crew members. She was standing bending over a large pile of white poles and a piece of tarpaulin looking like she didn’t feel pretty good, she wasn’t glad to be up and about and that she felt pretty, well confused about why she had volunteered for this in the first place. I decided to circumnavigate Gemma and instead headed for the large white van full of stuff that needed to be unloaded. Mark, the artistic director, appeared from behind it wielding some tri-light (part of the stage set-up). He looked like a man on a mission who wasn’t in the mood for people being cheerful near him. I scanned the square. There was Doug, Production Manager and generally nice guy, usually pretty cheerful and not prone to shouting at you. I headed over towards him. Before too long I found myself marvelling at the things we find ourselves doing that we never in a million years imagine we will. At that particular moment of marvelling, I was sweeping the Piazza prior to rolling out the dance floor. Not long after that I found myself at the top of a giant comedy prop ladder tying black curtains to the now fully constructed tri-light. Much easier said than done. A large proportion of the next hour involved huge amounts of gaffer tape and an ever-increasing number of curious members of the public who were being prevented from entering our work zone with a thin piece of white and red tape tied around four conveniently placed trees in the Piazza. It is amazing how people respond to silent instruction – not a single member of Joe Public transgressed the demarcation areas now deemed inpermissable to walk in. No-one lifted up the thin piece of plastic tape, wandered over and asked us what we were doing. Inside our little cordoned off area of exclusivity we worked. We were joined by Jamie and Lucy, two more volunteer stage management crew. Between us we lifted, loaded, swept and sorted. We asked increasingly more and more bizarre questions of each other. A popular one was “Where are the beardy old women?”. Actors and dancers arrived with white and grey faces and antiquated costumes. The buzz was palpable. As the cast rehearsed, people stood and watched, curious to know what this strange break in normal transmission was. Why were we there and what was it all about? Was this the main event or art in action? Props were checked and re-checked, the sound system was rigged up, a last minute dash to find safety pins was made (again, easier said than done – have you ever tried to find a haberdashers in Plymouth City Centre, or any city centre for that matter?) And all of that is what made me glad I was there in that square and not at home in my garden or on the beach on a Saturday afternoon. Because of the sheer spontaneous, creative, organic nature of it all. Even after the two performances were done that afternoon, even after the van was loaded carefully (again), even as I trudged through the city streets ten and a half hours later, as the sun dropped behind the buildings and the light went from the streets. As I walked past the people who were just beginning their Saturday night out, I felt good. I felt like I had been part of something quite amazing. We had picked up a theatre production and dropped it right into the heart of the city and it had worked. It had really worked well. Even after the mid-play, non-sticking beard disaster. Even after clearing up the rubbish that had been left where some members of the cast had dropped it. Even after feeling like I would pass out if I didn’t get something to eat but trying to find the time in a hectic day to go and get it was almost impossible. Even after eating chips and wishing I had eaten a salad sandwich because I am never going to lose weight eating junk. Even after all of it, good and not so good, I remember thinking I would do it all again the next day – which is good for the theatre because the next day we did do the whole thing all over again at Port Elliot Lit Fest, and this time in the pouring rain. We unloaded, set up, wobbled on ladders, swore, used a bit more gaffer tape and got very wet before finally cancelling the performance, taking down the set and reloading the van. But and to quote another well worn cliché, I loved every minute of it. (Except maybe, if I’m honest, I could have lived without the porta-loos…). Roll on next summer. - Words by Kate Campbell
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A review of A Voyage to Change the World A Voyage to ask questions and celebrate difference. - Words by Gina Sherman - Photography above by Kevin Clifford |
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