And straight in at Number One...

Here is a superb review by Joan Davis.

Not just a good review for us, but a proper well written piece (yes, I've done that on purpose).

Here are her lovely words:


Donal Fleet: A Confessional
Joan Davies enjoys a Pinteresque play at 24:7 Theatre Festival
Sean Gregson has written an absorbing play about relationships – relationships between men and women, the young and their parents’ generation, old friends and near strangers, and, possibly, between family members.

The acting is superb. Lloyd Peters gains audience empathy for the middle-aged Donal Fleet, a jazz journalist who has not moved with the times. He types on a machine even more ancient than the shabby bedsit furniture and record player, his Bombay Sapphire bottle providing the only modern touch. An educated man, Fleet wants to progress, but needs closure from the past.

James French plays ‘The Lad’; an unsettled and unhappy young man. It’s a strong performance from this actor who convincingly jumps between outright menace to a matey approach which never fully disguises his threat.

Szilvi Naray-Davey exhibits power and vulnerability in her convincing depiction of ‘The Woman’. She’s the type of woman we’ve all met: she's got glamour and poise but has so little confidence that she can't imagine life without a male partner.

Even as she realises the need to escape one damaging relationship, she’s partially seducing her next man. Her glamour will give him kudos beyond his expectations, but he will never be able to give her the care and support she craves. And you know she could do so much better.

Programme notes recognise the collaborative work done by the whole team, particularly director Frances Piper, to bring this new play to such a mature standard. Audience engagement was high – lively and varied interpretations dominated the post-performance bar conversation. How long had the characters known one another? Were they related? The histories told or hinted at – were they true, false or just one of many interpretations?
If you’re happy to build your own story, spot the one the writer intended, or like me, view the characters as representational rather than real, you’re likely to have an enjoyable and intriguing hour.

With the mix of menace, unexplained relationships and Fleet’s conviction that he’s moving on, there are hints of Pinter’s The Caretaker, but few pauses. Like other plays I’ve seen during this great little festival, it’s leaves you wondering how a writer can pack so much into one hour.

Donal Fleet: A Confessional is performed on 23 July at 12.30pm and on 25 July at 6pm in New Century House. Tickets cost £8 (£6 concessions). Click here for more information.

'Mature standard'? Ha, that must be Frances' input. I wanted at least fifteen more knob jokes... (again, not really though).

So, yeah. Matinee today was almost totally full, and seemed to be a most appreciative audience, much like last night.

One last performance, this Saturday. for 24:7. Check their site for details.

REVIEWS...

Hello.

Okay, here are our reviews... I've left in the crap one too, mainly because the gentleman in question seems to have renamed one of the characters for us and he also accuses me on being not as good at writing plays as Harold Pinter.

NOT AS GOOD AS WRITING PLAYS AS HAROLD PINTER, YOU SAY? Christ, my twelve year old nephew could piss out a play better than the Birthday Party in a matter of moments...

I'm not bitter, I just get on with it.

So, yeah, I'll do a top ten of reviews. Only there's just four...

In at one:

Donal Fleet: A Confessional

(4 stars)

By Kevin Bourke

IN a unique play on my emotions, writer Sean Gregson claims in the programme notes to be waiting on the M.E.N. review to see how much better his script has been made by the contributions of director Frances Piper and the actors in his intense drama.

I don’t know if this counts as more or less than the 72 per cent improvement he’s calculated so far but this is gripping stuff, a play about memory, about deep dark secrets and lies, and also about the very act of writing.

Lloyd Peters plays Donal, an older man desperate to exorcise his past, with James French as the menacing Lad and Szilvi Naray-Davey as the woman whose relationship with the pair of them is as gratifying but harmful as their relationship with the alcohol that fuels this fascinating play’s revelations.

Reviewed: Wed, 22 July, 2009

And at two:

Donal Fleet: A Confessional (24:7 Festival)
Date Reviewed: 21 July 2009
WOS Rating:

New Century: 2, Manchester

It’s not terribly clear at the conclusion of this one act play running as part of Manchester’s 24:7 Festival as to exactly what Donal Fleet’s confession actually is and this is a shame as the piece has the makings of a very interesting insight into the complexity of dysfunctional relationships and the repercussions of past mistakes.

Lloyd Peters plays Donal Fleet, a writer on the brink of moving, whose flat is unceremoniously invaded by the Lad (James French) and the Woman (Szilvi Naray-Davey). Mystery shrouds the two guests and Donal is clearly deeply uncomfortable in their presence. Who they are and why they are there is explored quite cleverly through a dangerous opening of closets that, by the conclusion, leaves all three emotionally drained and shocked.

Peters is excellent as Fleet, managing to avoid many of the clichéd mannerisms associated with the portrayal of struggling writers. French, who is still a student, shows real potential as a dramatic actor and he and Peters work well together. Naray-Davey takes time to warm up but as she settles into the role her confidence grows and thus her performance becomes stronger.

Ian Sculley’s stage design is basic and functional but a little crowded and I certainly got the impression that director Frances Piper would have appreciated a larger stage.

Although there is no live band, original music by Anton Hunter serves to enhance the atmosphere. Using original music in a play on a scale as small as this is definitely to be applauded.

- Malcolm Wallace

Down one place to three:

(www.uktheatre.tv)

Caroline May

Donal Fleet: A Confessional by Sean Gregson is what you’d probably get if Harold Pinter had written a play set in Wythenshawe. The intriguing mise-en-scène - a mosaic of ill-matched second-hand furniture, piles of loose manuscripts, and a drinks trolley, Dansette record-player and antique typewriter - might once have passed for a sinister and seedy bedsit, but these days has the intellectual ambience of a Writer’s Room feature in an aspirational Sunday broadsheet culture supplement.

Donal Fleet, a middle-aged impoverished Bohemian living in self-imposed isolation and very good tweeds, is awoken by The Lad, a vaguely threatening presence from his past. Then The Lad’s wife, The Woman, arrives; a sexual temptress who reminds one of Ruth in The Homecoming, only with the added intrigue of a European accent.

It has to be said that, as in most Pinter plays, you’re never really sure what has brought such diverse people together, and they don’t behave like real people but like characters out of a Pinter play.


And keeping up the rear at four:

Donal Fleet: A Confessional

By Sean Gregson
24:7 Theatre Festival
New Century House, Manchester

Review by David Chadderton (2009)

Sean Gregson's 'first proper play' is set in a run-down flat where title character Don (Lloyd Peters), on an old typewriter, has churned out thousands of pages of his memoirs, which litter the place amongst the spirit bottles, suitcases and the portable record player.

Into this claustrophobic environment comes young man Tim (James French) – just called 'The Lad' in the programme – whose relationship with Don is uncertain, as they seem to exercise an uneasy friendship until there are hints of blackmail, but when Tim's girlfriend (Szivi Naray-Davey) appears unexpectedly after following Tim, it seems that she might have a link to Don that Tim never suspected.

The situation has a definite feeling of Pinter with the run-down, domestic, male-dominated environment, constant feeling of menace and the vagueness of the relationships between the characters. However the dialogue doesn't come close to that carefully-honed, hyper-real speech that Pinter always achieved, and lines that are obviously meant to sound mysterious or profound are just meaningless.

There is some fussiness in the direction and the delivery of the lines, when lines that could be effective as throwaways are given too much emphasis. For all the talk of stories in the script, the play itself never finds one and just meanders between mysterious conflict and confessional monologues.

Anymore, I'll throw 'em up here.

Running theme? If you're not sure, yell Pinter, it's what I do. (I like the one where she kind of forgets it's not a Pinter play. You know, 'as in most Pinter plays'... not though, is it?)

Cheers all who have come down, especially those who have a fondness for the name Tim.

Preview Night...

Back again...

Last night we put our play on a stage and pointed lights at it and there was seats and everything. It seems that a tech rehearsal is there so you know for sure you've been thinking way too big.

Mr Joel Clements was his usual cool, calm, and collected self, which made any possibilities of nerve breakdowns less (always a plus I'd say). And, yeah, it all looked all right.

Lloyd is back today, probably as tanned as Dale Winton. But still, after seeing mine and Kate Fallon's versions of Don, I don't think it can be anymore incongruous...

Then tonight we (or, rather, they) perform it proper properly in front of some peep, peep. And it'll go horribly and we'll all cry and then tomorrow, it'll be absolutely su-bleeding-perb.

Nothing much else to say really. Off to do twenty run throughs now... innit.

No Don...

Thus, I am Don.

You know, I only wanted to write the thing... I didn't want to play the lead. Lloyd is now sunning himself in Lisbon whilst I try to destroy every line in my own play. If I ever doubted my doubt over my ability to act, I doubt I was entirely in control of my faculties.

Thing is... it's bizarre how the other two are still totally on it. At points today, script in hand, muttering lines I really should know, it almost felt like I was Lloyd Peters, at least looking through his eyes... like that film 'Being Somebody or Other'. Good film.

I am amazed at how superb Szilvi and James are, especially James who I fear may become my claim to fame in years to come ('that guy, yes the one on the poster... yes, with Samantha Morton... he was in my play once'. 'Whatever, grandad'.) Enough of that.

What else have I learnt? Don't leave programmes, photos, and artists' passes til the last minute. But then, don't leave anything else that came before any of them any later than you left them before you did the programmes, photos, and artists' passes.

Anton 'the body' Hunter is apparently recording our score tomorrow. He's playing at Sand Bar in Manchester. He has a record label with Sam Andrea, who is a terribly fine person. They are not here, but here. (it's the last one)

That's about it... Well, apart from the weekend, we're all but set. I may well put up some boring stuff about programme design and that, but this is all really just for me anyway. A nice little record of the time I wrote a play and it got put on.

You can still read it though. I'm not being rude.

You know...

when you're told something again and again, but you just can't quite believe that it's going to happen, like seeing Neil Young for the first time...? Well, Lloyd Peters, our lead, has flown out to Portugal today and will return next Saturday, after our tech run. Frightening stuff. Especially as we're still tweeking the script... bugger. Hopefully, we can tweek everything else but Lloyd's lines and cue-lines. Easy.

It should (crosses himself) be fine. We've done as much as we could/can. The play must be getting tighter, because it's definitely getting shorter (46 minutes last run). There are now conversations being had about us making Hampstead a double bill. Whether that means us making something else, or getting in another show, I don't know... I quite like the idea of writing another thing to perform down there. Hmmm...

So, what else? Oh, Joel, our sound and lighting man (also a very lovely human being), came down on Thursday to talk... well, sound and lighting. It's excellent having mates involved, especially ones that are clearly over qualified for it. The 24:7 Festival doesn't really leave room for much creativity lighting-wise (we've only got four lights in total), so a lot of Joel and Frances' ideas will have to wait for Hampstead.

I have properly started working on 'the next thing' now. There's pages written and notes about structure and all sorts. It should be good, pretty weird how much you can learn is such a short space of time... and not least about the way you write. Hopefully, I'll have this written and find someone willing to put it on before I go down to Norwich.

Come back Lloyd, all is forgiven!

10 days?

10 days, indeed. Cor, I remember when we all cruising along on 13 days...

So, I've not been keeping this up, have I? Hmm. What's happened? Well, I don't think my little play won that thing in Cambridge. Either that or they're really relaxed about getting back to people... No, no, I'm not deluding myself, I was just happy to take part... and that.

This week has been the first since rehearsals started that I've begun working on new stuff. It's been more than a full time job these passed few weeks. A superb more-than-a-full-time-job, but still it's left me with little time to ask the question 'what next'.

But I did think it. We've got to the point now where we simply can't do anymore re-writing. You could spend a lifetime ironing out every extraneous word, but at some point you have to say no more and let the actors get it learnt. And learn it they do. Tonight, I'm doing draft 5 on Movie Magic (very good writing tool by the way, much better than First Draft, in my uneducated opinion). This should be the last time we waste anymore tree life on Donal and the others. However, it does mean that I can now think about what will constitute the next forest's worth of paper.

I think this is a problem a lot of writers, and theatre companies, suffer (not the tree thing, that's a whole other problem) You work so hard and constantly on one thing that it's difficult to plan ahead. I've had nothing but these three characters in my head for a month now... longer, and finally, now we're nearly there, I can let them belong to someone else. My, what a horribly crap line that last one was, but sort of unsubtly accurate.

My next thing is going to consist of one person, no props, and NO STAGE DIRECTIONS. (Actually, there's a play on at 24:7 The Last Chair which seems to take this tact... it looks very, very good.)

Everything play-wise is going well still. Oh, there's the odd row, the odd cross word (though, surprisingly, no crosswords), but nothing like you'd be led to expect.

And I think that's it for today.

Entirely forgot.

My one-page-play Staton's Fish was in the final of the Hotbed Festival's One-Page-Play-athon last night.

You can, if it's the sort of thing you like doing, read a prose version of the same thing here. You may notice that the writing credit is given to a certain Sean Gregory. Hmmm... Sean Gregson will be cross.

So, yeah, if my play won, I'll let yous know... and I'll probably have to change that post title so as not to appear like an arse.

ambiguous unambiguity

Okay, I've not done writing about the play for a few days, I apologise.

So, Thursday was when the supremely talented Mr. Adam Gilmour came down to the rehearsal room. As there has been a few rewrites, and concern from certain members of the 'gang' that the play is essentially 45 minutes of confusion, we decided to get some fresh eyes and ears on the case. Adam made some suggestions, raised some questions that we'd not thought of, and was generally very helpful. He also allayed some of my concerns, namely that we had gone too far in 'over explaining'.

This has been a bit of a tug-of-war. Not an angry, covered in mud, screaming, and 'orrible tug-of-war, just a 'are you sure?', 'do you think so?' tug-of-war. In my mind, the play is about the ambiguity of memory, especially one person's take on the past (how wanky am I?), but that's not particularly dramatic, is it? Therefore the play is full of little stories and narratives, some which don't go anywhere, others that seem like they don't but then... do.

So, we have to, as Lloyd puts it so well, create a sense of 'ambiguous unambiguity' or 'unambiguous ambiguity', you see? No, of course you don't. It's a case of trying to tease stuff that's already in the script out a bit further, so you don't end up with an audience who hate you and your play by then end of it. Although, I wouldn't mind that so much, to be honest.

On Friday Lee came down with our flyer and poster designs. You know, I sometimes get the fear thinking about putting together all this stuff for 24:7 on my own. The amout of work that goes into a show is unbelievable. Marketing, technical specs, web stuff, politics... I give thanks to IgnitionStage and all everyone else who's taken what I wrote down and got involved with making it into a proper thing.

Anyway, Lee's design is superb... here it is:

Two sided and everything...

Today at Fleet Towers

Things are hotting up, and then pissing down with rain the minute we finish rehearsing.

Me and the lovely Kate Fallon got swimming pool drenched on the way back from sunny/rainy/sunny/torrential Salford today. Luckily, it came after a superb day.

We did it. First full run through, with our new array of props and set. Yes, no-longer is our blue chair a record player, or the two red chairs a bed. It's amazing how much difference having a drinks trolley makes to an actor's performance...

We've been rehearsing, talking, rewriting, blocking, and all the rest of it for over a week now and you start to think that maybe you've written a three and a half hour epic. It's not. It's a 48 minute epic. And it works! My God, it works. Suddenly, all those questions that have been whirling around about whether there's enough of the end at the beginning fall away and it feels like a proper, proper play. I can't describe what a total narcissist, egotistical fool you feel when you laugh or are moved by something you've written, but then you have to remind yourself that you are, in fact, laughing at or moved by the brilliant actor who's taken your faintly funny, fairly emotive line and made it something much better.

And more... plans for Hampstead are in full swing too (and that's not 'til September). Ian Scully came down today to discuss set design for the London show. (I should explain, 24:7 is a truly fridge beast, where you have only 15 minutes to get the show up and 15 minutes to get your show down again.)

So yeah, all is good. We're even tentatively talking about the next play... very tentatively.

I will keep this up...

Yes, I will.

So, rewrites... hmmmm.

The one thing everyone has is a horror rewrite story, they're often:
'apocryphal': 'they made me change him from a one footed, sixteen nippled, blue alien into Samantha Morton.
'disquieting': 'they liked the Viet-Cong angle, but wanted to set it in New Zealand'.
or... 'laughable': 'I wrote "in a moment" and those bastards changed it to "in a minute", well, I pulled the script'.

Now, maybe I'm missing the point, but surely a changed 'you know' to a 'well, you know' isn't going to destroy your character arch.

So far in: I have changed the odd 'lad' to 'son' to 'fella'; I've rewritten dialogue from a Yorkshire dialect to a more standard dialect (for a actor whose first language is not English); and I've rewritten the end of the play several times. In fact, the last ten or so pages have been done away with, tinkered, and totally reworked pretty much every week for the last two months.

Maybe, I've sold out my writerly vision (have I balls). Maybe, I'm not strong-willed enough (double balls). MAYBE, the script wasn't up to much in the first place (triple... well, maybe). OR... maybe, the play is all the better for my listening to others.

I think that's the one. It may get frustrating, it may seem like you're losing control, but these people are directors, actors, and writers themselves, so to stick your fingers in your ears at them is just plain daft. Rewriting for me is a brand-spanking new creative process in itself. You get to talk about this thing you've written, with people who are (or at least should be, if they're in the room) genuinely enthused by what you've created, and you get to make it proper loads better.

Rewriting is the new writing as far as I can tell.

--------------

Oh, we now have a stage manager, Kate Fallon. She is lovely and is writing down blocking (which should be called 'where people have moved or will move to') so I don't have to... superb.

Tomorrow, we get props and a bit of the set.

In a bit and that.

Page 27...

Say it quietly, we did three new pages without the director...

Yes, we naughty boys and a girl have been rehearsing today sans director. I pretended to know what I was talking about, but everyone saw through my intelligence rouse.

What have a learnt today? Eh... that one page of script is NOT one minute... it's about two.

Tonight, I have two plays on here. The Hotbed Festival looks lovely, I'm sure you agree. My debut and my second debut (perhaps my penultimate play?) will be performed without me in attendance. I'm a bit upset really, but hardly precious... I only wrote them on Tuesday. So I hope Cambridge enjoys two pages of me and the audience vote one of mine into the grand finale, thus giving me an excuse to go down on Saturday.

If you're going to be there or have been, let me know what it was like... and why you didn't vote for me.

Monday is when we get proper serious and that. We have a potential stage manager coming down and we will get to the end... he says.

Tuesday is when Anton (music, beard, heart-breaker) and Joel (techy, sound and lighting, father of one Louis Fernando Clements) come down and we start talking about the soundtrack that Anton has so kindly not quite written for us yet.

Right, that'll do.

Good luck everyone, see you Monday...

Desperately Seeking Susan...

Or Brian, or Terry, or Duncan, or Phylis... Yes, we are looking for someone, a Stage Manager to be precise.

So, if you are, or know someone who is, a stage manager then come a be a stage manager in the same room that we're being actors, writers, directors and that.

Here's a link you can pass on (please note, I put 'date time', instead of 'day time' - I'm not using this to get dates, it was a genuine error, or Freudian slip).

I'm doing rewrites today, mainly edits, mainly getting rid of my excessive stage directions. Example:

DON: Here's your drink

HE GIVES THE LAD A GLASS

THE LAD: Thanks.

HE DRINKS.

DON: You staying long.

DON RUBS HIS LEFT EYE. THE LAD TIES HIS RIGHT SHOELACE.

Well, not really, but they're not far off.

Hopefully, we should have a lovely little website in a week or so, if I can convince Paul Gorton that my play is more important that his PhD... I can't, it isn't, he won't.

Well then, back to the script and my big DELETE button...

Rehearsal Uno...

Hiya,

We're all very excited here at Fleet towers. I say we, it's just me sat here on my lonesome.

Today was superb.

Back stories are solved, ten pages have been thoroughly 'got through', and Lloyd had a full Sunday dinner (Yorkshire pudding and everything) on a Wednesday.

It's funny, you expect, as a writer, to either hate every second of hearing your words back at you, or to become so precious about them you should probably just play all the parts yourself. Instead, it was one of the most liberating, creative things I've ever experienced. Lines were changed, slagged, cut, flipped, and lost, all for the right reasons and all for the good of the play. If I could offer any advice to any writer (which I won't, because I know nothing) it would be to let the people your working with use your words. Let them change them. You're not omnipotent. It may well be that your 'things' can be replaced with 'stuff' and work so much better...

Tomorrow our three lovely actors go for costume fittings. When asked if I had anything I did or didnt want, I simply said 'no denim'. This was met as if I'd said 'no lycra'. OF COURSE NO DENIM, YOU IDIOT.

Anyway, this cup of tea won't drink itself,

Good night.

Websites and information that have 'metaphorically' gone 'live'.

Hello,

So, yeah. The 24:7 Theatre Festival website is now all new and that. Only, it's not to be found by typing in www.247theatrefestival.co.uk. Oh no, that would be beyond far too easy.

From the 24:7 site you can buy tickets from Quay Tickets and look at when you want to go and all the other plays and that. Also, there is a map of how to get to the venue, as you'd only know if you once worked for the Co-operative bank and have since retired. If you have, why not pop back to the old place and look-see what we've done to it.

In other news, today was our first read through with all the actors and me doing stage directions but forgetting to read them out because I was too busy enjoying myself. It's weird, I've only experienced one read through before and it was one of the most sickeningly embarrassing moments of my life... I actually apologised to at least one of the actors for wasting their time. But this was lovely. Maybe it's because the pressure's off as the play is already being put on... and, oooohh, it's going to be on in London in September too too (at the Hampstead Theatre). Or, maybe it's because I think this thing that I've written is worth being read out by other people... actors they're called. More specifically again, they're called Szilvi Naray-Davey, Lloyd Peters, and James French (who has no link because we got there first, so hands off, yeah).

Tomorrow is the first rehearsal thing. It's when we get the play 'on its feet'. 'ON ITS FEET'. No matter how many times I say it, I bloody love that phrase (makes you sound like a knob, though).

I shall let you know about how that goes tomorrow... or the next day after that.

A blog about a play about a thing about now.

So, we're putting on a play here.

Hopefully, if time is something that I can use freely, I'll be putting stuff up here what we have done. For instance, this is a trailer for the play which features the superb Malcolm Raeburn, who sadly isn't able to be 'Don' come July. 

Once there is more to say, I shall say it. Here.

Thanks for looking at this,

Sean Gregson.