Tom Hanks is actually a woman.

I've never been to acting school so I don't really know what they teach there. I imagine there would be classes on voice, breathing, maybe some Meisner, a bit of Method and a touch of moving like a tree. I attended the Kay Scrivener School for Speech Singing and Drama from the age of eight and learnt my craft by singing 'Alice Blue Gown' with a bunch of girls. Here's a video of Babs singing it. If you're not familar with the tune I encourage you to watch to the end as it gets quite racy and involves some ingenious fishing wire action and a naughty plump boy.

After watching this video a few times I think the aspiring actor could learn everything there is to know about acting right there and save themselves three years and $30,000 dollars. My big break-through came half way through 'Puff The Magic Dragon' when my voice decided it was sick of oscillating between two notes on the subbass clef and suddenly, for no reason, soared to the treble clef on the chorus. Mrs Scriv immediately made me sing by myself and much to mine and all the other girls surprise, I was now singing higher than them with a cheeky grin to boot. She then made me sing 'Alice Blue Gown' solo just to make sure it wasn't a fluke and I nailed it before encoring with a kick-arse rendition of 'All Packed Up In My Little Bottom Draw' that would have made Gracie Fields proud.

None of this helped me on Thursday January 14th, 2010.

I knew I was in for trouble as the Wicked Witch of the North is one of those directors who like their actors to have their books down by the first rehearsal. 'Book' is a luvvie term for the script.  'Luvvie' is a luvvie term for an actor. I hate learning lines at the best of times however I really really hate learning lines before the scene has been blocked. 'Blocked' is a luvvie term for walking round the stage and putting one foot on a chair occasionally. I'm a reasonably quick study ('study' is a luvvy term for how quick you can remember when your lines are coming up in order to pull faces or think about the crossword while the other actors are saying their lines), however I hate learning lines cold as it involves time and effort. It's much easier to retain lines after the blocking process as you can utilise things like 'flow', 'intention', 'sub-text' and 'mugging'.

I had read through my script numerous times and thought the lines were sitting in the dome however when it came to my first scene my stupid vortex of an anus sucked them into its comedy vacuum and turned me into the worst actor in the world. If I had been directing me I would have fired myself and recast the chair I had my foot on as its performance was less wooden than mine.

All I was trying to do was remember my lines however The Wicked Witch of the North was more interested in getting me to stress the right words, cue up, move with intention and direction, pronouce the nouns, inflect the verbs, do everything better and be less of a cunt.

In one day I was called an 'arsehole', 'bitch', 'fucker' and 'suckhead' as well as being accused of 'Christchurch Acting' later promoted to the even greater sin of 'Australian Acting'. Australian Acting is slightly facing out to the audience all the time when you should be facing the character you're talking to which I didn't even know I did but now I know I do and am too scared to face the audience, even for the curtain-call.

I have also discovered I'm 'tight' and 'stiff' and need to 'open up my groin'. The Wicked Witch of the North is determined to loosen me up by any means and curb my instinct to stop moving at the end of lines which is 'amateur' and 'shit' and 'Christchurch'. Every line I say without being interrupted is a minor achievement and if I had a cent for every line reading I've been given I would be able to buy an iPad.

After nearly three weeks of this I'm beginning to enjoy myself.

We're doing our first full run of the play tomorrow and I'll let you know how it goes.

Who's motivation is it anyway?

My once a week blog resolution has been well and truly broken before the end of January due to being in regular employment. I never know what to call myself usually however at the moment I am definitely an actor and not just any old actor, I am a real adult professional theatre company actor working with the cream of New Zealand acting talent and being directed by one of the two legends of the New Zealand directing fraternity.

Suffice to say I don't really know what the fuck I'm doing.

I'm working on a play called 'Le Sud' and didn't really have to audition properly for my part because my good and loyal friend Mark Hadlow whispered sweet nothings into the directors ear and after a bit of a chat and a read-through I was offered the role straight away. For a fleeting monent I felt like a star,  like Jude Law, who doesn't need to audition for anything and gets scripts, parts and au pairs tossed in front of him willy nilly every day just begging for Jude to give them a good seeing to.

This all happened last year and just over two weeks ago I sauntered to the Auckland Theatre Company rehearsal rooms for the first read-through with a flat white in my hand and the tightest little white ring I've had for ages. I was absolutely shitting myself and it was only the fact that my arse had turned itself into a brown hole busily sucking all the confidence from my body  that kept me from driving Miss Daisy in front of an array of theatre luminaries and the director who shall not be named.

Read-thrus, (I can't be bothered spelling it properly anymore), are usually a doddle and if I had been doing one in Christchurch I would have worn a skivvy, smoked a stogie and thrown a tantrum before the end of the first half however up here I was a quaking, sweating, heaving bundle of torment and tears. I was so bloody nervous and wasn't quite sure why. The other actors were lovely, I had met a few of them before, I had met the director before socially and he had been lovely and anyway, it was just a read-thru and they're a bit like first dates where the more you fuck up the more endearing you look. I managed to say most of my lines in the right places and then all the arty people talked about design and costumes and lighting and other things that make us actors look better.

The first three days were quite enjoyable because the writer was with us and we were workshopping the script. It's a political farce I suppose and as such is constantly updated according to the events of the moment. We all sat around and I squeaked up my two cents occasionally in between running to the toilet to see if Jessica Tandy was ready to come out. I love the process of script evolution so I found all this to be very interesting plus there was no pressure on me to perform so I could sit back and nod and smile and pretend I was Jude Law at a nanny academy.

On Thursday January 14th 2010 it all changed. Two understand why I'll need to fill you in on a bit of New Zealand theatre history. Before 1950 there was no theatre in New Zealand except for plays directed by Nagaio Marsh when she was bored with writing her crime novels and the output of The New Zealand Players, who were directed by Richard Campion, who may have been related to Jane Campion who directed 'The Piano' where you got to see Harvey Keitel's knob for the 14th time.Two young men who worked as actors for these people decided to go to London and studied acting at LAMDA and RADA respectively before embarking on acting careers in the mother country. One starred in a musical by Lionel Bart about Robin Hood called 'Twang' and the other stayed on at RADA to teach stuff.

Then they came back in the 70's as tyrannical directors. One settled in Auckland and one settled in Christchurch.

I have never been directed by the Wicked Witch of the South however I have been in his presence many times. I brushed passed him on the stairs dressed as a shellfish once and he exclaimed, 'Oooh, young boys in make-up, it's just like a brothel.' I closed my shell and ran away. I had heard the stories of how he would reduce actors to quivering husks of self-doubt on a daily basis however I'd never experienced his powers directly.

I don't know what was going on in theatre London in the 50's but the principle of 'break 'em down, build 'em up' must have been pretty popular as the Wicked Witch of the North had the same raison d'etre. I had heard the stories and thought I was ready...

I was not.

And on that note, hopefully like the end of a Da Vinci Code chapter where you're all gagging to find out what happens next, I shall stop. It's late and I've got to go over my lines for tomorrow.

Trademeat

Those of you waiting with bated breath for my final five new years resolutions will have to bate themselves a bit longer. It will be hard but you can master the bate...can you see where I'm trying to get to here, I can't be bothered going through the next few steps so let's just skip to...masterbated breath. Whew.

I've lost interest in more resolutions but the other five may turn up around June as mid-year resolutions so keep an eye out then. What has caught my eye even though my eye wasn't out is yet another headline concerning yet another figure of national importance accused of indecently assaulting yet another young person. What the hell is going on? Why have all our  national figures decided to start touching children inappropriately? There must be a reason or at least someone or something to blame. Usually when this sort of thing happens people blame video games and the lack of role models so I'm going to blame 'Tiger Woods PGA Tour 10'.

Good golly, that's a cum-face if ever there was one. And perhaps the celebrities thought Tiger was implying it's OK to touch wii people inappropriately as long as they are aged 3+ and your PAL.

Whenever I see these headlines I head immediately to the General Discussion section on the Trademe Community Message Board to find out who the accused of national prominence is. I've never bidded, bought or sold on Trademe but the discussion forums are filled with strange people wanting to discuss things with stranger people about strangers. In this case the identity of the latest name supressed has not surfaced although at least one trademeite has asked the question. It doesn't matter though as you can entertain yourself for minutes reading the other threads...here are a list of thread headings at the moment:

I WORE A WHITE DRESS AND PEOPLE LOOKED AT ME LIKE

Ppl at the movies are so messy

Is New Zealand a bigger version of Pitcairn Island?

Is 12 hours long enough to charge a cellphone for?

Finished the ham yet?

woodchips in place of dogs ashes

do the swissballs come any smaller?

OMG my cat just came home after 4-5 days missing

moose get in here

50 year old women - do you regret your tattoo?

I'm sure if you amassed enough of these things you could make some stunning beat poetry to read in an underground New York club and people would think you were groovy and wait on your next utterance with bated breath but I'm off to see Avatar. Wish me luck.

Rubber rubber Rasputin.

Happy New Year everybody. New Years are great because they come around without you having to do anything and are free. I think the only other thing that regenerates regularly without costing you anything is Dr. Who and according to some other blogs I've read this has just happened as well. I wish New Zealand would catch up with the rest of the Dr. Who world. We're still half-way through William Hartnell's run and are eagerly awaiting the arrival of a young upstart called Patrick Troughton who has black floppy hair and looks like the star of another popular show here called 'The Monkees'. New Years is also good as no matter what the year by the time you get to December 31st everyone is sick of it and has been saying things like, "Well, it can't be any worse than this year", "Next year is going to be the best year ever" and "Next year will be shit but it won't be as shit as last year and the year after next will be the best year ever."

My 2009 ended on a sour note, sort of like a G flat. I don't want to name names or blame anyone however you my dear readers are to blame. I admit my last post was a bit rushed and rubbish however it did have a picture and a couple of links and if you had read it you may have come to see me as Rudolph in 'Rudolph'. This would have been good cause in one show we only had about 70 people which is fine when you're playing a small venue like the mens urinals in Albert Park but is a bit depressing when you're prancing round dressed as a big brown pooh in the big brown 1200 seat Bruce Mason Theatre. I went and saw Boney M at the Bruce Mason and Boney wasn't even there, it was just Liz Mitchell with a couple of backing singers and a backing tape and she had lots more people than 70 in her audience. It was a good gig though, she's still got a marvellous set of pipes and I danced and sang along to 'Rasputin' with the best of them. For most of my youth I thought the lyrics to Rasputin were "Ra Ra Rafferty, rubber rubber Rafferty, you get a seat and you get it gone", so I felt all high and mighty to finally know the correct lyrics and sing them with Liz herself. "Ra ra Rasputin, rubber rubber Rasputin, you get a seat and you get it gone!"

Anyway, there I was checking Facebook every five minutes after I'd posted my post anticipating all the notifications piling up in my note box from friends telling me how they 'liked' my post and maybe, God willing, the occasional comment. After every five minutes without a single notification another tear filled my eye and finally after two days of checking every five minutes I  poured all the tears I'd collected into Puss Puss's water bowl so at least one of God's creatures could find some pleasure from my pain.

I'm not going to dwell on it. I know you're all busy people and I know it takes seconds to click on that 'like' tab. I know that because I've just done it myself on my own post. That is what you have brought me to people, I've had to publish to the world that I'm the only one who liked my last post. I am officially the saddest man in 2010. And don't even think about going back and saying how much you like it now, I don't need your pity, I've got murder mysteries for that.

Right, now that's done, let's get on with some New Year's resolutions. Usually my resolutions are things like, "Write a play that will be staged at the West End, Broadway and The Forge simultaneously." or "Come second in  The Sunday Star Times Short Story Competition", however those resolutions are dumb because they are just too difficult. I always forget about the Sunday Star Short Story competition until I see the entry form a week before the competition closes and cut it out thinking $5000 would be handy and then the next thing I know I'm reading the winning story about someone's father who died from eating too many potatos while a taniwha floats menacingly on a raft. So this year I'm making them really easy.

1. Publish a new blog post once a week. (Done)

2. Wear my new glasses everyday. They are not strictly new as the frames are vintage. I got them from a place called Cutler and Gross in London and I've convinced myself they used to belong to Ronnie Barker and the ear bits are slowly osmositically transferring Ronnie's creative juices into my brain so this time next year I will have my own BBC sit-com about a stuttering dead-pan Kiwi folk musician trying to make it in London while running a corner store. Here is a photo of me wearing the glasses next to the cat's arse to prove I'm well on track with this resolution. The Ronnie Barker resemblance is uncanny isn't it.

3. Stroke the cat everyday. (Done. See photo.)

4. Drink my tea with no sugar. (Done)

5. Buy an Apple. This will be a big one as an Apple Pro iMacpodintosh II is very expensive but I'm determined to finally do away with my crappy PC and get a hot looking box free monitor driven desktop to plug my Zune into.

Ummm...that will do for now. I will think of five more resolutions for my next post next week...or maybe even earlier. That's what I did for my ten things I love about Christchurch series and that was hugely successful so here's hoping the trend continues. If it doesn't Puss Puss will have her thirst quenched again with my tears so no harm done.