A glorious day of consolidation yesterday, working through my To Do list, reading and note-taking – a mix of my spectacularly blistered foot, plus, well, not being a tourist, gave me every reason to stay put and try and bring a few things together. So many little threads and snippets of information and ideas e.g. did you know that after Dorothy Arzner stopped directing in 1942, there wasn’t another woman taking on that role until Ida Lupino in 1949. Her last feature was in 1953, and although she carried on directing TV shows, we had to wait until 1971 when Elaine May directed A New Leaf. And don’t get me started on the eradication of women directors when the independent films companies were swallowed up by the fast-emerging studio system in 1924. My tiny little room is awash with notes and newspaper clippings.
On Friday, I spoke with the manager of a women I want to interview, and she alerted me to said actress’s one woman show at a theatre about 20 minutes drive from my base here in what I think is called either Mid-Wilshire or Dockweiler. I went online a purchased a ticket – well, what better way to begin a conversation with a familiar-faced actress than to talk about her recent live performance? So yesterday evening, I checked on the map to see if there were any restaurants in close proximity to the theatre, ordered an Uber, and sped off north east. As with London, around this area, it seems that you move from low-rent to well-heeled, just by turning a corner, and so a left turn onto Plymouth Blvd had me driving past very chi-chi houses, some with outrageous Tudor-like edifices or crenulated turrets! Then, a left turn, and we were passing through Koreatown, many of the billboards and signs in Korean. I was dropped at my final destination at around 6.15, plenty of time to find somewhere to eat. Car departed, and I looked around. Ah… while not exactly South Central, it did appear that I had been deposited somewhere that resembled the less salubrious parts of Tottenham or Hackney, and while there’s nothing wrong with that in itself, bear in mind that I am completely oblivious to the local geography, and anyway, it was pretty clear that I wasn’t going to be able to find somewhere to have a lovely salad and glass of sauvignon blanc! Way too early for the theatre to be open, so I put on my best ‘urban scowl’ (a wee bit rusty after nine years in lovely Minch’, I admit, but over 20 years of living in Poplar, Bethnal Green and Hackney never completely leaves you!) and set off down the road. The constant between the opulence of Plymouth and the deprivation of this part of Beverly Blvd was extreme, with countless tents and makeshift shelters everywhere. An interesting 20 minutes was spent, me weighing up my in-built prejudices against the simple fact that I was a stranger in a strange land, until I returned to the theatre and checked the door. Open, to reveal one of those rough-and-ready theatre spaces that I love, reminding me of my brief time as an actor. The box office wasn’t open, the bar was, so a beaker of white was retrieved, and I sat and had a good ol’ look around.
Cats. CATS! Profound apologies to those who love their kitties, but I just don’t get it (although I do make exception for Maud, my cat from the late 80s/early 90s, but, well, she refused to accept that she was, in fact, a cat!). My base is cat-central, SO I was in my element when a rather beautiful little dog wandered over to me and demanded attention. This led to the theatre’s scenic and lighting designer to come over, and we started chatting. The woman behind the bar joined in, and were quickly discussing how theatre in LA basically serves to showcase, is devoured by Hollywood, which in turn offer nothing in reciprocation. Once again I was reminded how much I love the fringe theatre scene, the passion, dedication and determination. Finally, audience members began to arrive, so I picked up my ticket, and took my seat in the theatre space. Large, stage area, really not many seats, that intimate setting which brings audience and player into very close proximity. The play, Sister, is a one-women piece which brings together the different faces of a woman who is a struggling actor by day, and a prostitute by night, bringing in other characters, male and female. Fascinating style of writing, rhythmic and poetic, and the actress (who I am seeing a week on Tuesday) was, I confess, superb. A dancer as well as an actor, she was captivating, very physical and able to shift between characters seamlessly. It was gritty stuff, but as soon as she appeared on stage and delivered her opening lines, all eyes were fixed and what followed was a brutal and mesmerizing 85 minutes, during which the audience around me hardly budged. Reading that back, it sounds like a review, but, well, that’s what I thought. On reflection, it also ties right into what I am working on – female actors at the top of their game but, at 50-plus, become under-used, their talents wasted or overlooked. As A said in a radio interview from 1985, ‘At 50, I can be hired to look decorative, but not to kiss the leading man anymore’. I think the jet-lag is beginning to fade – slept ‘til 7.00am this morning!
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