nicandrews

I just saw the film that has proven to the world that Colin Firth is not a wooden, typecast film actor - A Single Man - and it was stunning. Beautifully restrained; stylistically symbolic; and moving from the first moment to the last.  He deserved that Oscar nomination - and he would have deserved it if he won.

But this post is not about Colin Firth however handsome or moving he may have been. 

Don't read on if you're not keen on spoilers. 

A Single Man isn't about much, but at the same time it's about everything.  I hate giving synopsis', but for those who haven't seen it, it's about the day in the life of a grieving man (50-year-old gay English Professor played by Colin Firth) who is planning to end his life at the end of this day.  He is grieving the loss of his 16-year relationship with his partner, Jim, who died in a car accident 8 months prior to the start of the film.

I was watching it wondering how many people in the room could really relate to that sort of pain. That sort of pain where emotional places you didn't know existed hurt so much you weren't sure if you could even open your eyes in the morning let alone get out of bed.   Where everything is relentlessly grey and you are a kind of alone that is beyond any kind of alone you felt when you had moved out of home the first time, or gone through your first breakup, or are in a foreign country in which you can't speak the language.  This is the kind of alone that has that permanency about it, the permanency of death, to the point where it is ingrained within you and everything you see is just shades of grey.


When I said earlier that the film isn't about much, I meant it.  Oh - it's loaded with intricate details of human interaction that you could analyze to your hearts content.  But really, it's just about moments. The moments of colour when someone offers you a smile or a brief conversation, when you see someone in the street and have an instantaneous connection, a dance with a loved one, a memory.

These are truly the reasons why thinking people continue to exist; it is where they find their purpose.  As it is touched on in the film, what are we but a mind trapped in a body that interacts with other minds trapped in bodies?  We are only able to see the world and people in it from a single, narrow perspective.  Life is given meaning by the connections we make with other people.  Yet, so often, this is the part of our lives that is devalued (I, for one, am incredibly guilty of often putting work etc first) and pushed back on the priority list.  Why, when our makeup as human beings is wired to link happiness directly with other human interaction, do we prioritize career money possessions so often before people?

This realization shames and humbles me.

Moments of connection with other human beings are what give our life purpose and meaning beyond the confines of our own bodies. Are they only valued when you can put them up against a tragedy?

There is that age old question in all our lives, that sometimes has an answer, but more often than not remains a mystery. That question is, why have we chosen to do what we do? Why have we chosen our particular career path/s? Why our hobbies? What draws us to them, and why do we love them?

I am still unsure about whether my new choice of career path is the right one. I do, however, feel more comfortable with the idea of it than anything else I've ever done.

So why lighting design? What is the intrigue here? Design does not come to me naturally, it is not an easy career choice, it does not come across on the surface to others as anything challenging. What, then, is the thing that interests me about it?

Ever since I was a child, I have always feared the loss of sight. I have always thought that I could do fine without any of the physical senses, with the exception of sight. I have never been able to participate in any of those school-ages trust games that involved blindfolds. I have never liked closing my eyes before sleep. I go into immediate panic when forced involuntarily into darkness.

I turned to lighting design somewhat hesitantly after a few years of being a not-very-good stage manager. With my tax return that year (thankyou, ATO) I brought myself a Nikon DSLR, the first proper camera I've owned. My lighting design professor also takes photographs, and he would always speak of how nice the light looks in certain places, or at certain times of day. I started to try to see the world differently - looking out for interesting interplays of light, taking my camera around with me to record my findings in a very amateur way. 

One day, the simplest idea dawned on me. It is, in fact, almost embarrassing to admit that this was my revolutionary realization: it is so simple. And it is this:
Okay, okay.  I took high school physics.  I know that this is not literally true, and that everything is actually made of matter.  What I mean is, everything we visually percieve is only able to be percieved because of light.  And everything we can't percieve is simply an absence of it.  We can behold nothing visual - not a beautiful view, not our lovers face, not a photograph of an unborn child, not the clouds or the colours of a rainbow - without the presence of light.  Our emotions are linked directly, inherently, in a way that is completely taken for granted, to the simple existence of light.

This is an idea that I found deeply beautiful.  That this possible career I have chosen for myself involves the manipulation of a medium that is linked so inherently to human beings in a way so integral that most of the time, we are not even conscious of it.  I have the chance to make people feel something in particular.  It is our job to do this.

Now, I see the world entirely differently.  I do not look at anything without noticing the quality of light, the direction, how it sculpts an object or person, its colour and movement and shape.  My entire world is transformed into a blaze of ideas that both the natural and manufactured world beholds.

Often I wonder what value a career in theatre has to the rest of the world. The reason why it is such a difficult industry is because it is seen as essentially, unnecessary. It is not a compulsory part of life in order for people to maintain their living, their health, their homes, their families. But to have the licence to be able to make someone - anyone - feel happiness, excitement, sadness, grief, nostalgia, or anger through what you have created - for them.

Surely, that is something valuable.

A lot of people who have heard of this book possibly throw it in the category of "self-help". It most certainly does not belong in that category. Enlightening? Self-affirming? Possibly. If you haven't heard of the book, or don't know who Ken Robinson is, go check out his talk on TEDTalks at www.ted.com/talks/ken_robinson_says_schools_kill_creativity.html.

That 20 minute talk is a very abridged version of his book "The Element - How Finding Your Passion Changes Everything". I'm only a third of the way through it so far, but here are some of my favourite bits that hit home the most.


"Children do not see anything so strange and different about art. They accept it; the understand it; they love it. They wall into a museum and they are looking all around, they do not feel threatened. Whereas adults do. They think there are some messages there they do not get, that they are supposed to have something to say or do in relation to these works of art. The chilren can just accept it because somehow they are born that way. And they stay that way until they start picking themselves apart. Now, maybe it is because WE start picking them apart. I try not to do that, but the world is going to pick them apart, and judge them this way and that - this does not look like a tree, or this does not look like a man. When children are little, they are not paying attention to that. They are just unfolding right before your eyes. 'This is my mommy and this is my daddy and we went to the house and we cut down the tree and this and that and the other,' and they tell you a whole story about it, and accept it and think it is wonderful. Because they are completely unrepressed." (Faith Ringgold, from an interview in "The Element")

"My initial definition of imagination is 'the power to bring to mind things which are not present in our senses.' ...perhaps more than any other capacity, imagination is the one we take for granted the most. This is unfortunate because it is vitally important to our lives. Through imagination, we can visit the past, contemplate the present, and anticipate the future. We can also do something else of profound and unique significance. We can create." (Ken Robinson)


Perhaps this is not so significant to most of you.

As someone who was a creative child, but for many years felt like this has slowly been ebbing away through fear of judgement and error - I have now taken a turn in my career path from the practical to the creative and I am back on the imagination bandwagon. And I tell you, it is tough. Ideas do not flow freely, a fear of making mistakes is forever present, I feel limited by my knowledge (or lack of it). All these things become almost crippling sometimes. But I know, that underneath all that, if I can gain enough confidence to make it go away, I can learn how to be creative again. I can read, and research, and play, and hack away at the fear, learn from mentors, and get absorbed in the art and culture and theatre around me and I know that I will one day (sooner than I expect, probably) have the greatest enjoyment out of what I do.

I've just been thinking how much theatre and theatre-related things I see and do.  And I know that subconsciously I probably absorb quite a lot from them, and whilst I'm there watching it I consider all the intricacies of the performance and production elements.  And sometimes I'll even be quite affected by it.  But a few days later, I've almost forgotten I even saw it.  And it shouldn't be like that.  So I've decided I'm going to try and write about the things I see.  I'm not going to write like a review, in fact it possibly won't make much sense to readers.  I'll try to make it make sense, but I won't really be writing it for you, I'll be writing for me.  The things about the production that I want to remember and utilise in the future.

I've seen some great things lately, and I don't want to forget them.

This week has been one of the biggest for many students of my school - the Victorian College of the Arts, Melbourne.  Why?

It's "Save VCA" week.

I'll be honest.  I was (and still am, in some respects) incredibly skeptical of some things regarding the campaign.  I don't think the "If it ain't broke don't fix it" line is valid.  VCA has, and has always had faults.  I don't necessarily believe that the incorporation of breadth subjects is a bad thing, provided that our practical skill-based training hours are not reduced. 

What I am most opposed to are the course and staff cuts.  Two courses that have been key in the training of Production students, which have formed the identity of the VCA - Puppetry and Musical Theatre - have been cancelled without notice, or much of a reason.  This is an unbelievably tragic loss to Australia and even the southern hemisphere (Puppetry being the only course of it's kind offered below the equator).  Melbourne is supposed to be the Arts capital of Australia!

Today was "the big day".  The day of the 1000+ strong students rallying - more as a colourful parade rather than a protest - through the Melbourne CBD.  Stopping traffic, amusing passers-by, entertaining them, making their day brighter - and how?  By using the talents that they are attempting to hone and practise at the VCA.  Noone minded that we were 'in the way'.  We were more like free entertainment than an inconvenient bunch of protestors.  Being surrounded by so much passion, and supported unexpectedly by so many people, was a wonderful experience.

And finally, to the staff of the Victorian College of the Arts - some new (but wise!), some whose long term presence is ingrained in the character and reputation of the school:

I firmly believe that the quality of education that is provided in any school is entirely dependant on the passion and dedication of the teaching staff and the knowledge that they impart.  We students have utmost faith in all of you that you do everything in your power to be our voices up in Melbourne University in assisting them to grasp an understanding of what it is we do at this school, and the fact that we are one of the few schools in which every student that attends it is studying to be proficient at a career that is not only a career but a discipline driven by passion.

We have complete trust that you as individuals, arts practitioners far more experienced as ourselves, and our teachers, will not allow a curriculum to exist that does not fulfil our requirements to become better and well-rounded technicians/designers/artists etc. 

You are fighting a hard battle for us and I, at the very least, appreciate every step you take.  Thank you.

Wicked (twice)
Woyzeck (Malthouse)
Moonlight & Magnolias (MTC)
Shane Warne the Musical
Mortal Engine (Malthouse)
Australian Ballet's Firebird
A Dream Play (VCA)
Peer Gynt (VCA)
NICA's At First Sight (NICA)
Realism (MTC)
Dralion (Cirque du Soleil)
Rhinoceros (Union House Theatre)
Innocence (VCA)
Black Sequin Dress (VCA)
Mad Forest (VCA)
The Bourgeous Gentlemen (VCA)
The Learned Ladies (VCA)
Optimism (Malthouse)
Billy Elliot
August: Osage County (MTC)
CircusOz's Barely Contained
Man from Mukinupin (MTC)
Happy Days (Malthouse)
Disagreeable Object (Chunky Move)
Knives in Hens (Malthouse)
Once And For All We're Going To Tell You Who We Are So Shut Up And Listen (A Belgian theatre compny)
Strangeland (Not Yet It's Difficult)
Pericles (Bell Shakespeare)
Traces (The 7 Fingers)
En Trance (Yumi Umiumare)
Billy Twinkle: Requiem for a Golden Boy (Ronnie Burkett Marrionette Theatre)
Once We Lived Here (45downstairs)
The Kursk (La Boite)
Year of Magical Thinking (QTC)
...with Attitude (Queensland Ballet)
One Night The Moon (Malthouse)
The Seewell Family Cabaret (VCA Puppetry)
The Hamlet Apocalypse (The Danger Ensemble)
God of Carnage (MTC)
A Black Joy (45downstairs)
Black Marrow (Chunky Move)
Invisible Stains (VCA Drama)
When The Rain Stops Falling (MTC)
Chicago
Jersey Boys

(This has equated to an average of one a week - not too bad!)

You may have noticed by now that I generally don't post on here about anything unless I feel like it's actually significant.

One of my first posts early last year was also about a Malthouse show.  Whilst I am by no means a wise or knowledgable critic, I do know that it is rare for me to enjoy a piece of theatre as much as I did Optimism (and I didn't even get to see the end!), so that fact that it needs to be written about is significant.  Also... because my friend Blair told me to.

Going into the show last night I was feeling fairly neutral, as I do often when going into shows.  I try not to be pessimistic (ha!) but generally don't try to set myself up for disappointment.  I was also feeling bad at the knowledge that I had to abandon my good friend and brilliant seats at interval and watch from a place where I could easily slip out 20 minutes before the end - c'est la vie.

Optimism was beautiful, on every level and in every way.  It was beautiful by being directly and wholly UN-lovely at times, then at other times innocent, and other times charmingly funny.  Frank Woodley made a hearbreakingly sweet and charming Candide, in a childs clown dress-up costume.

I was enjoying Optimism from the moment it began and was completely taken when Cunegonde (Carolyn Craig - absolutely perfect in her complete departure from hardass cop girl a la Underbelly) drops her handkerchief in the wind and sends Candide in a desperate moment of trying to catch it as it flutters around the stage.  Sheer, tear-inducing, theatrical brilliance.

I've heard from many people who were not particularly taken by the set and costume design (Anna Tregorlan) - the plastic curtains, almost unfinished clown costumes, smoke machines, etc - and maybe that is because they are tired of the Kantor/Tregorlan style that I still have not seen enough of (indeed, cannot GET enough of) to be jaded by it.  Certainly, the creatives (set, costumes, lights) seemed to be trying to throw in a lot of elements that were 'cool' or 'interesting' but nothing was there just for the wow factor.  Everything served a purpose - even multiple purposes, which is the sign of a brilliant design team.  The amalgamation of the creative elements was sensational, almost nothing seemed to be out of place or amiss.

I get carried away by the production elements, that is evident.  Because it is what I do.  Thematically, anyway, Optimism wasn't difficult to understand.  A bizarre journey of characters who encounter countless different levels of grief and tragedy, trying circumstances - some believable, some funny to the outsider, some bizarre yet depicted in such a way that one could still relate - whilst remaining ever optimistic in the face of it all.  Maybe it just hit home for me in particular - I don't know.  It's simply a beautiful story of hope, persistance, love and - of course - eternal optimism, even when it seems impossible.

I'm not familiar with the original Voltaire script exactly, so am not sure how far removed the Mathouse adaptation was - maybe I should look into that. 

I really cannot stop thinking about how wonderful it was.  Truly inspiring, filled with hope and fun and laughter.  And the "Hampster Dance" dance break smack bang in the middle was pure, 100% gold.

I find that I have to do this so often.  It's so easy to accept the bubble that you live in and believe that everything is okay.  When was the last time you took a step back and looked at the bigger picture?

For me, it's been far too long.

And I'm stepping back from this small piece of the puzzle that i've been working on the the past year and have forgotten what the rest of the pieces were supposed to show.

I am not writing this now because I have figured out what the bigger picture is.  I don't know what's important anymore.   I feel like I am more than this, I'm smarter than this, I can be better than this.  

What's missing, as naff as it sounds, is love.  I realised yesterday that there is not a single person in Brisbane that I have regular contact with.  A place that I lived in for 20 years, a place where I have been away from for 16 months, I no longer have regular contact with a single person.   What does that say about my ability to foster the important relationships in my life?  What does that say about how much people care about me?

I long to feel a deep sense of love for the people in my life.  But even in the past, those people I felt like that about have evaporated into the back of my mind - and I into theirs - and so what of the relationship in the first place? 

There has to be more than this.  There has to be more than theatre.  Than superficial friends.  Than relationships of convenience.  Than jobs that don't challenge you.  I know there is more, what I don't know is how to find it.

I'm 22 years old and feel like I'm going to be the same for the rest of my life.

There have been a couple of incidents recently that have reminded me of just how much I owe the people who made so much more of an impact on my life than they realise.  It is so easy to be inspired and have the utmost respect for people who are immediate in your life, who are 'current' inspiration and mentors.  But after a year of being in Melbourne I still think and remember constantly the people in Brisbane where my love for theatre began, whose support and encouragement means more to me than if it came from anyone else.


Warren Sutton; the theatre technician and venue supervisor at Q.U.T. who spent tireless hours teaching me most of what I know and staying behind until 3am whilst we bumped in or out.  Who was the first person to say to me, sitting on the Woodward Theatre seating bank at 2am after i'd been bumping out the 400th show that year with a broken wrist,  "Nic, what the fuck are you doing in that architecture course?  You know you're not meant to be there."  Two days later, I applied for VCA.

Mark Conaghan; who is a director so amazing to work for that I stopped my whole life to work on his show and the whole thing has been one of my most memorable shows to date.  I know he will continue to tell me that I'll be running West End stages until the day I retire, because I think he might actually be delusioned enough to believe I will. 

Greg Clarke; my favourite designer to drive around and run small children over with in the ENTIRE world.  For his relentless teasing; even getting me into trouble with La Boite for hearing me call him him a 'loser' because the company didn't realise it was actually a term of endearment.  I know that he is a constant source of encouragement for me, even if it's only to make sure I stay in the industry in the hope that I can spice up his life by driving him through red lights once more.

Jason Glenwright; my peer, friend and mentor who will continue to inspire and support me, and who knows that the support is reciprocated one hundred percent.  I am so proud to know him and to have had a chance to learn from him.  I owe so much more to him than he realises.

Andrea Moor; who I would work with again and again, who was involved with some of my biggest opportunities to date and some of the most enjoyable projects. 


These are the people that often one loses contact with, but nevertheless the impact that they make on your life stays strong.  I hope I never forget or take for granted the part these peope have played and will continue to play in my life; despite the fact that 2 states now separate us.  They have all meant the word to me as artists, people, and mentors.

Already there are many people in Melbourne who I know will be just as integral to my future as those above.  I'll never be able to thank them enough for everything they have given, and will give me in the future.  I feel truly honoured.