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.