Baker's Dozen

Well, Baker's Eight, really...

I loved working in Baker. We worked in there for Shakespeare last year and both times it was great to feel my voice booming out into the cavernous hall, the way it changed my rhythm and forced much more attention to articulation. I liked working individually in different locations - Alex and I played on the stairs and through the rows of seats - fun to be in an environment full of obstacles and levels and getting to experience the scene without worrying about the audience. It felt very cinematic.

It was thrilling and almost naughty to be in that big big space with all its imposing seats and reverb speaking from this ancient play - with tech people working out of sight, their little sounds revealing an outside modern presence in contrast with our grand speeches and flowing garments. I felt the religion of it, the spirit of this silly/ecstatic/painful/wonderful thing we call theatre. There we were, doing as the Greeks once did - rehearsing, sending our voices out and up, stretching our bodies in pursuit of expression. It was quite touching. All the earnest faces and bubbling desires to do well, to affect and communicate. I am frequently reminded of my love for people who try. I hope that doesn't sound reductive - not that they aren't successful in their trials, but merely the fact of them taking the risk, working at pushing past the point of the known and familiar and into the uncertainty of creation - that's what is so exciting about art. To experience it yourself is exhilarating, and to effect it in others (as director, for instance) is immensely satisfying.