I was forced onto a crowded
commuter train this morning for the first time in an age. I’d forgotten quite
how hideous the experience can be. The trains were so crowded that I found myself for at least 20 minutes in an
ever-growing scrum of people at Highgate waiting patiently as train after train
pulled into the station and left again without anyone being able to get on
board. These cattle trucks seem to go more slowly the more people there are on
board, obviously just to add to the general hell of the situation. The sweat
starts to pour from your forehead and then trickles down your back. You lose
your balance as the train inexplicably lists to one side. You fall against someone,
who loses their patience and gives you a dirty look. You arrive at your
destination, starting the day feeling angry and uptight and smelling of wet dog
and someone else’s breakfast...
I had a rather unpleasant email exchange
yesterday with a theatre director. A friend of mine has written a pretty decent
play, which I’ve promised to help him to promote. The director I contacted on
his behalf is a good friend and a highly-respected director and I thought they
might both benefit from an introduction. My writer friend had already written to
the director (on my advice) a few weeks ago but heard nothing, so I thought I’d give him a nudge. The ensuing exchange was a little upsetting, and I ended up feeling rather worthless.
Thing is, we all know that there
are two lists in this world; the list of people who are recommended by trusted
colleagues and the list of people who are, well, unsolicited. Whenever I
feature on the second list, the horrible truth is that people are very unlikely
to bother to reply to me. It’s the nature of our industry. There are thousands
of wannabes, all talking the talk and chancing their luck. When I worked in casting,
for example, we’d get 20 or 30 letters a day from actors, which immediately
went in the bin unless they really stood out! If an agent, however, or fellow
industry professional went to the effort of contacting us to say we ought to
meet someone, we’d go out of our way to see them, if for no other reason, just
to let them know that we valued their judgement and their status in the
industry. It’s the same in every profession. I guess it’s why head hunters
exist.
Problem is, when you put your neck on the line and
make a recommendation, it can be really humiliating if it’s rebuffed. Maybe my
friend’s theatre has a socialist policy where everyone goes to the back of the
queue regardless of status or quality? Perhaps all plays are read blind so that
no favouritism takes place? Maybe he’s snowed under at the moment, and sick to
the back teeth of industry professionals getting in touch and asking him to read
plays? But if Lord Lloyd-Webber contacted my director friend suggesting he read
a play, would he be told to submit the piece as per instructions on the
theatre’s website...?
Seventeen years in the business, and still no friggin’
clout!
October 3rd, 1662, and Pepys and
Elizabeth ate herrings for lunch, the first of the season. Pepys spent the
afternoon with Captain Ferrers, a man who seemed to draw trouble and mayhem towards
him like a magnet. I suspect these days he’d probably be diagnosed with some
form of mania, because, in the heat of the moment, he was apt to throw himself
out of first floor windows for dares of his own making. On this occasion he was
nursing a cut hand from a sword fight he’d picked with one of Lord Sandwich’s
footmen. Ferrers, who had been in the Huntingdonshire delivered a letter from
Pepys’ father, naming October 13th as a day for the family to go to
court to settle some outstanding financial business. Pepys decided that Ferrers
must have been walking about with the letter in his pocket for some days,
writing; “it is great folly to send letters of business by any friend that
require haste.” He’s not wrong. I once gave a card to a friend who said he was
going to a post box. The card never arrived!
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