Month: November 2017

And – it was fine. Having had almost every other fit up period of the past year in RCS fail to live up to expectations, though not through the fault of any particular person or group of people, this one was great. Every team worked well with each other, finding ways of working over and around one another that didn’t cause tension but instead made everyone more productive and faster at what they were trying to do. It felt like we’d all reached a point of trusting one another’s competency and ability to get the job done that no one felt the need to micromanage and could, instead, be productive in their own way to keep pushing the whole along. It was an amazing feeling and a great work environment – and within about two and a half days we had started focusing. This took longer than it likely should have done – however, with every dimmer in the room in use, there were a lot of lamps to deal with. One of our most productive sessions was an evening when Ben Terry and Fraser Walker were supervising the venue. Instead of sitting on their hands they joined Jazz in advising better ways of completing the task I was doing – be that a better way of focusing a fixture or changing lamps when they blew – along with focusing lamps themselves, and doing the perceivably boring jobs of walking the stage so I could get as much time up in the rig as possible. Like the fit up, this was just a really nice working environment to be a part of, and it once again made me feel like part of an electrics team rather than a Stage guy who is doing a turn as an electrician. It’s that continued support and respect that ran through this allocation and made it such a good one to be a part of.

Performing Minor Ti Surgery

Plotting turned into teching with as much refocusing as was to be expected in a show of this scale, and before we knew it we were into dress rehearsals. This was where the whole crew had a visible slow down. The energy and life that had been apparent up to that point was gone, replaced instead with the drudgery of running two shows days where there was very little to do. I tried to fill my time, getting an MA tutorial from Fraser whilst he was still in the building, which turned out to be a really interesting and useful way to spend three hours. To have the ability to ask really basic, beginner level questions of a guy who clearly lives and breathes the desk he was teaching me, was a really fun way of learning and I felt like I came out of the session far more confident about, not only the desk, but the specialism in general, than when I went in.  Jazz was also kind enough to bring in his Titan Mobile and give us an Avolites tutorial, by which point I was getting a grasp of the kind of questions that were useful to ask during training sessions, and the scare factor posed by new lighting desks was beginning to lessen. Coming out of this allocation with a basic to working knowledge of three desks is a massive deal for me, and something I’m aware is rare for non-specialist lighting students in the Conservatoire. It’s definitely inspired me to read up and train myself more on these consoles, as it can never be bad to constantly be improving on every aspect of my technical theatre knowledge.

And then came operating. Karyn and I had reached a mutual agreement where – due to the rather simple nature of the show – we would split shifts between operating and down days. Having successfully ran a dress rehearsal, I ended up at the desk for the second show. And I made a mistake. A cue ended up going three seconds late once I’d seen and fixed my issue – but that wasn’t the point. I understand that we all screw up occasionally, that no one is perfect. But I know myself to be a hard taskmaster, and one who is hard on no one more than on myself. The explanation of what had actually happened – waking up a screen by tapping in the wrong place, selecting the wrong cue, not fully understanding what would then happen if I hit GO, getting it back to the cue we were in without follow-ons, and the DSM being in the wrong cue to start with – was very poorly explained by my tired and angry self when Karyn went on to, rightly, grill me on what had happened; with Jazz in his usual role as peacekeeper from the side. By letting ourselves all get to a point of boredom and drudgery, any slip up was blown out of all proportion – I know this because I did it to myself. I have reflected before in these journals about my shortcomings, and have tried to fix them as best I can when they affect my work. However, clearly I shouldn’t let my common sense get away from me when a problem presents itself, and should have known to have the sense to ask what I should have done in that situation. Relieving the burden I put on myself may solve many issues; and could result in the positive side effect of making me more pleasant for others to work alongside. The only silver lining to this instance being that the second show I opped – was clean.

Just So Many Lights

And then, as quickly as it had gone up, Balm was over. The first four hours of the strike were amazing, ripping out catwalks, cleaning, and restoring with the energy and drive that had been missing since the fit up. Soon, everything was out of the air, the walls were down, and the set on a van returning to Speirs. Karyn, myself, and Jazz had replaced the lamps on the par cans we had changed, and had cleaned all the gantry carpets, LX control, and all of the catwalk bars and grate floors. And then everything just slowed to a crawl. The concept of teams jumping on to assist other teams when they’ve finished their strike is a good one and exactly how shows in RCS should work; the LX team would have not been as efficient as we were during this strike had it not been for the two Sound guys working with us. But when there’s one team left in the space, and there’s no communication as to what is going on and no clear plan as to what should be happening, that is when people start getting agitated. The TSM strike involved a lot for this show – it was clear. Catwalk floors had to go back in, along with tab track sections, and kit had to be flow from the catwalks for a Sound event happening in the venue the week after. However, there was no clear plan for how any of this was to happen. What we ended up with, instead, was a team struggling to put tab track in due to lack of bodies, whilst catwalk floor was being carted onto the gantrys due to the fact it couldn’t actually be fitted in situ yet, whilst all the while truss was being assembled under the ground team’s feet. Eventually, Jazz took Karyn and I aside and advised we went home – an idea that we were more than happy to take on board.

This allocation turned out to be a great soother back into RCS after Summer. Taking everything I’d learned from working over June and July and applying it to an internal production context, overseen by external industry professionals as HODs, was a gift of an experience, as I feel I have gained a clear ability to complete LX crew jobs to a professional standard – something I had set myself as an intention to have achieved by the end of this allocation. Looking forward, this show has also taught me the importance of planning and communicating every stage of your process, as it will often result in a slower and more forced working environment if this is not done. Also, it has demonstrated to myself that if I want to work in environments to professional levels where people are told to their face exactly when and how they have made a mistake, I should stop feeling so attacked when it comes back to bite me upon my own errors.

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After a Summer, which I had tried to fill with as much external production work as possible, I was anxious to return to an RCS venue and to see how everything I’d learnt over those past two months had changed my approach to my work within the building. I reasoned that this would be apparent in this allocation in particular as, before July, I really had had no experience in electrics in a production context. This show, therefore, would present the perfect opportunity to build on any basic foundational skills which I had whilst filling in this clear gap in my knowledge. What was slightly disheartening to find out upon arrival back in the building then, was the fact that – though the actors had started their rehearsals, and other teams (Stage Management in particular) were frantically hard at work, there was a lack of things for myself, Karyn as programmer and operator, and Jazz as Production Electrician to do, as we were not yet at a point where a lighting design could begin to take shape and the prep work around this could be completed. The lack of things to keep busy with was made even more apparent by the fact that Jazz wasn’t in the building for the first two weeks due to external commitments, prompting myself to take the initiative to reach out and ask what tasks would be useful for me to fill my time completing. As it turned out – not a lot.  What did prove very useful during this down time, however, was that I could use what free time I had to book desk training sessions with Christoph on the Ti – a desk which I had worked on before, though have clearly been using incorrectly – to reading up on some technical stage and electrics theory, so as I wouldn’t seem completely out of my depth during what was to be a speedy fit up period.

How to Make a Neon Sign

As the first production meeting came around and Katy displayed her model box, one glaring challenge shone out from the back wall of the set in all of its neon glory. This ‘Open 24 Hours’ neon sign would prove to be the only main electrical difficulty of the production, though due to the amount of time it would take up from everyone working on it this was likely for the best. Once Katy and Callum had settled on how they wanted the sign to look, I used my basic woodworking skills to knock up what was essentially a cake tin from ply and MDF. I cut out a 16mm deep, 800mm diameter circle to form the shelf of the sign, then floated this 30mm into a 100mm MDF surround, that way allowing an air gap round the back for cabling and batons to be screwed in, whilst still recessing the sign enough to make it look authentic. After a lot of screwing, wood glue, and praying, I gave it a couple of coats of white paint before, with the help of Karyn, we demonstrated that PTM students can actually be artistically creative, dry-brushing and rusting up the wooden base to make it look almost exactly like the reference image we were given. For the actual neon, however, Jazz had made clear that we would have to find a workaround. Not only is actual Neon tubing expensive, it’s also incredibly breakable and requires training and equipment to mould that we didn’t have access to. The solution was neon-flex, a red bendable plastic housing with LED tape inside that, when turned on, looked almost exactly like neon – except with the added perk of being a lot easier and cheaper to work with.

After Jazz had demonstrated how we needed to cut and solder the tubing, Karyn and I were left to complete the project. This was one of the first instances that showed that, despite best efforts, I am not a natural fine worker. Due to a combination of naturally shaky hands, and tools not being designed for left handed users, I melted through one of the connectors when trying to solder it, resulting in some angry cutting and expletives to try and make it work. I tried again, another two times, with better results, before succumbing to the conclusion that I should stick to hacksawing the metal mounting plates and leave Karyn to solder the remainder of the sign. This was mildly disappointing, as its definitely a skill I’d have liked to improve on and master to however far I could – though I realise that it wasn’t the kind of situation where mistakes could be easily rectified and that there’d be times in future when I could develop on this further without the production pressure of definitely having to get it right first time. So, after about three days of blood (hacksaws are painful on your fingers), sweat, and almost tears, our sign was working and ready to be installed. I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say that I’ve never been happier with something I’ve had a part in making for a show, and I was genuinely very proud of what Karyn and I had achieved. After prepping the rest of our kit, screwing together some pendants, and still riding a neon high, we went into fit-up.

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‘Balm in Gilead’ is a play written by American playwright Lanford Wilson. Set in the 1960s, this realistically staged production saw the entire play set in a ‘24 Hours’ diner, with hints to outside life demonstrated by a black street on the floor which encircled the entire performance space. The play is Brechtian in nature, exhibiting as more of a study of a situation than trying to convey a plot to an audience. However, the plot which does exist centres on Joe – a drug dealer – who meets a young girl called Darlene who has just moved to New York. Over three nights we see how these two interact; Joe pushing her away due to his overwhelming debt owed to a mob boss called Chuckles. Darlene, on the other hand, realises that she can’t handle big-city life and succumbs to the charms of some of the men who hang around the diner, who see her as an easy target to prey upon. The play concludes with Joe finding a way of paying Chuckles back, however just as he goes to return the money he is killed by one of the dealer’s thugs. The play ends with all the characters droning their lines from the first scene over and over again in a circle, implying that their lives are stuck in a circle of depravity and destitution.

There were several design decisions that were made about this production that would prove challenging to the electrics department, with which I would work as Deputy Production Electrician. One of the main challenges would be creating a neon sign which would hang on the back wall of the diner. Others included fitting pendant lights within the space, creating police siren effects, and trying to effectively light the entire performance area whilst avoiding the low hanging girders and garlands that cluttered the air above the diner.