It's been marketed as an improvised version of 'Cinderella' which poses problems from the outset. In theory when something is improvised you should be able to say anything and the other person should say yes and then say the first thing that comes into their head which is usually filthy and then the other person says yes and rubs part of their body and says something even more filthy and then the other person touches the first part of the other persons body that comes to mind and then both actors pretend to have intercourse before the third actor comes on stage under a blanket pretending to be an animal and wraps the scene up by fainting.
As statistics have proved that men think about other men having sex every seven seconds it's no surprise that an art form where self-censorship is severly frowned upon usually descends into the gutter very quickly. When you're dealing with a children's story like Cinderella that is riddled with IED's (improvised explosive details) like, balls, fairys and a clock with a big donger, you have to be very careful. You also have to be careful to include important elements like Cinderella, at least one Step-sister, a Fairy Godmother, at least one Slipper, a Prince, the Prince's Big Ball and a Clock with a Big Donger.
As a conscientious director I have tossed and sweated night after night trying to grapple with the crucial question, 'How much can you change Cinderella before it becomes Pretty Woman?' I'm a big fan of Julia Roberts however I don't want the children to go away believing the way to a better life is to shag someone much richer than yourself, even if they have a gerbil up their bum. The message I want to get across is the importance of wearing nice shoes and good foot hygiene.
It's not really the children I'm worried about as they will go along with anything as long as it's entertaining. It's the grandparents who write the letters that cause trouble. Old people have lots of time on their hands and gleefully grab the opportunity to be outraged at anything, especially if they think their grandchildren's minds are being subverted by subtext. They'll sit there scowling and scribbling as their grandchildren laugh at one of the ugly sisters being portrayed by a man as this will undoubtedly lead their little grandson to put on a dress and run away to Animates to buy a gerbil to shove up their arse.
The other stressful thing about directing is that everybody wants to ask you questions. Costume people ask you how long you want Cinderella's skirt to be, sound people ask you how long you want the dongs at midnight to be and lighting people ask you how long you want the fade on the Chrome Par 16 Long Nose 12V to be and whether you want to close the barn doors after Cinderella has bolted or blow some smoke up her gobo. The pressure is enormous and now I can understand why the Wicked Witch of the North foamed whenever I asked if I could put my foot on a chair. I've found the secret to directorial success is to pretend you know what you're talking about by screaming things like, "I'd like a chase and a three phase fade with some DMX interpretation" or, "Cut some mids and sub the woofer by 3dB" or my personal favourite, "Make it more Brechtian." That last one is guaranteed to impress and confuse everyone within a two metre radius, even Bertolt Brecht... who looks a bit like Ronnie Corbett.
And if anyone knows an easier way to put bloody photos side by side on Blogger I'd love to know.
Anyway, to finish, here's a photo of me in the second sexiest car in Christchurch.
Austin 1300. I used to have one and it was purple.