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Tales of tour survival from actor Steven Burley….

Listen.  I will tell you how we survive.  I’ve done it for many years.

But, first: It’s windy in Peterborough.  It’s the kind of wind that comes on strong, then suddenly dies, and in that moment of calm, before the next push, it’s like the trees whisper ‘holy foof’.  We are on a hilltop next to our intended playing space.  Many of the actors are hoisting iPhones to the heavens, as if refracting the sky through the lenses of their mini-cams will stave off our obvious doom.  The cloudbank skimming towards us looks like an ink stain on Zeus’s palimpsest, or, simply, less pretentiously, an alien mothership.  An invader from that awful Will Smith movie.  I look around for Will Smith.  He is nowhere to be found.

There will be no show tonight, the heavens are saying.  No matter how electrifying your performances, or handsome your veteran actors.  Regardless of the hours of labour it took for the crew to build your stage and hoist your lights and run your miles of cable.  Also: nuts to the legions of patrons that usually flock (in the hundreds!) to this particular venue.  Forget your 100% rain-or-shine guarantee, the heavens say.  I am coming to kill you.

But I paraphrase.

Weather is one of the obvious, and most unforgiving, forces we fight when we tour.

But, then, truly—it has always been thus.  Even when we didn’t really tour.

And there’s the rub!

Driftwood Theatre Group, today, is known as a touring company.  In fact, it is one of the only touring theatre companies left in Ontario.  (Cue: wood-knocking.)  But in 1995, the year of its inception, Driftwood performed only 8 shows at 4 venues—Oshawa, Whitby, Bowmanville, and Port Perry.  (More a weekly excursion than a tour.)  Now, Driftwood travels to nearly thirty venues—between London in the west, St. Catharines in the south, Bobcaygeon in the north, and Kingston in the east.

So, here I am—twenty-one years from outbreak—nestled in a coffee shop in downtown Kingston, a few hours before show time, strewing my pearls of wisdom pell-mell about the blogosphere.  To tell you about touring. And, most importantly:  How.  We.  Survive.

Ominous, right?  Bet you can’t stop scrolling now, can you?  (Here’s a cute picture, just in case you can.)

First, a few logistical clarifications.  We have a company van.  We have a company bus.  I drive the bus.  It’s a sweet, sweet ride.  Tricked out for both style (sexy art/logo on its sleek, forest-green exterior) and function (it houses costumes, concessions, and about 8 company members avec duffels.  Also, the ‘Bard’s Bus’—hence, the tour moniker—when parked on site, becomes a change room.  A ladies change room.  Again, classy.

Now, an admission: I have a wee bit of road rage.  It’s gotten milder with age, and is frequently quelled by the stuffed toy kitten in my cup holder.  This is my Thera-Pussy.  When the microcosm of social decay that is bad driving begins to rile me, TP takes it upon herself to screech at the offending motorists.  It keeps me focused on my task, which is good driving.  A survival tool not as much for me, but for people who can’t drive properly.

Over the years, we have endured both the grind of GTA traffic, and the miles between Orono and Lindsay with nary a Tim’s in site.  Tips for survival here include: good confab, a compilation disc of reggae, the proper connecting cable to antiquated dashboards, so as to play your new-fangled devices, song circles, the latest Governor-General Award-winning novel, nap time, and Candy Crush.  (This is in NO WAY a promotion for that application/game.  It’s diabolical.)

Another way we survive the tour: CUTE TOWNS.  Oh, my.  Ontario is rife with them.

Many of our shows land in such unapologetically beautiful places as Westport, Bloomfield, and Port Perry.  Places near water.  Places with family-run coffee shops.  Places with stores that go ‘tring-a-ling’ when you walk through the front door.  These towns provide us a respite from the road, and the bustle of urbanity.

Which brings me to one of the main reasons I love traveling with Driftwood.

We are currently in that stretch of the tour (usually the second-to-last week), where we get SPOILED.  Just spoiled rotten.  It begins with The Luncheon.  The Luncheon is an annual treat on the lawn of Colin & Kerry Taylor, two of the company’s staunchest supporters.  Whether it is philanthropy or sheer madness, these two people host a mid-afternoon party (on their own property, mind) for our band of straggly babies.  It is here that you can: eat, drink, swim, compete with stage management for the Bocce ball title, nap in the grass/hammock/bed of kittens, and generally experience a state wayyyy outside of melancholy.  This Luncheon tends to take place before the Peterborough show.  And when we aren’t rained out (see above), that show tends to hum with clear-eyed contentment.  More wisdom: feed an artist, enhance an artform.  (THIS PHRASE IS COPYRIGHTED.  But spread the word.)

And then the tour heads east through Prince Edward County.  Artistic Director, D. Jeremy Smith has a family cottage in Outlet, a fizzy little burp of a place outside Picton.  This cottage becomes DTG’s HQ for most of the week, as we tour to outlying areas.  And—as many former company members know—the cottage rules.  (The ACTUAL cottage rule: DO WHAT YOU WANT.  Ridiculous.)

I mention former company members here for a reason.  Whether they (a) have moved on to other gigs, (b) are coincidentally homeless that same week, or (c) can’t take the words ‘you are FIRED’ as a reason not to attend, ex-Drifties tend to posse up and ride the tour’s coattails for a few days of DOING WHAT YOU WANT.  Which usually includes: campfire karaoke, beach-bumming, wine touring, and all sorts of salad-eating.  And, now that some of the company members have grown into adults and spawned progeny, there is an additional bonus: playing with babies.  My phantom uterus goes BOOM.

 

Barbara and Howard Smith, my other parents and Jeremy’s actual parents, host and tolerate us for the week.  Their generosity is immense.  Another reason we survive the tour.

And now.  Here I am.  Thinking that there’s actually a boil of sentiment brewing beneath this cheeky survival memo.  Penned not by the gristly survivalist I hinted at before, but rather the sap on Driftwood’s tree.

Here:

Survival on tour is ALWAYS an option.  Despite the odds against it, when we caravan about twenty people thousands of kilometres through columns of tornadoes, fatigued and hungry and missing home, we always survive.  We survive because we all become, and reunite with, family.  That’s why I’ve been around all these damn years.  Family.  Smiles new and old.  A growing narrative of people and places.

Plus, the shows we do are good.  Real good.  So come see us.  You have another week.

xo,

Steven

The actors are come hither…
The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral…
Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2

Rehearsals for Hamlet started this week. It’s always a thrilling time, full of possibility. Before we jumped into the first week’s work of table reads and meet-and-greets and design presentations, I wanted to take a moment to reflect on the process of bringing this incredible group of actors together for our summer tour.

Casting a production is never simple and it represents for me the very best and worst aspects of my job. I both love and loathe this annual process of narrowing a field of over 400 candidates to exactly the right combination of 8-10 individuals.

From one perspective the casting process is filled with unknown opportunities. At any moment someone can enter the audition room and bring that unexpected quality that you didn’t even know you were looking for – one which takes your thinking about a play in new and surprising directions. The challenge is always to create an auditioning environment where, within a very short amount of time (usually 10-15 minutes), a sense of trust and play can be built between the auditioner and the auditionee. And when you do engage with someone in a meaningful way, it’s a great room to be in.

From another perspective, there is the constant knowledge that in nearly 90% of the cases, you’re going to end up saying ‘no’ to the person who walks in the door. This is something I’ve never really gotten used to – even after over 4,000 auditions. It’s a serious downer. Auditioning is an imperfect system: one fraught with both excitement and considerable stress.

But when you do end up with that right combination of people – actors or who are both new and familiar, who will both trust you and challenge you (and in Driftwood’s case, who will continue to work well together throughout a five-week tour in a small bus) – it is an extraordinary experience.

The journey of casting Hamlet was particularly grueling. It took nearly four months (it normally takes one), involved numerous rounds of auditions and countless phone calls, offers and emails. But the end result is quite frankly one of the most exciting groups of people I’ve ever had the pleasure of bringing together.

Driftwood is very much an ‘ensemble’ company. When you’re working in touring theatre, a cast not only needs to perform well together, they need to get along well enough to enjoy being on the road together for over five weeks and 4,000kms. There needs to be plenty of trust, respect, patience and good humour.

For this reason, I’m thrilled by this year’s ‘core’ company members, Steven Burley, Chris Darroch and Rick Campbell. These three actors are not only among the very best ensemble members, able to deftly and quickly maneuver a number of character arcs, but they are incredible to be on the road with.

They bring ease, camaraderie and a commitment to Driftwood Theatre to the table. I’ve worked with Steven for over 20 years and with Chris for over 10: they are an integral part of the Driftwood family. I’ve admired and respected Rick for over 15 years and we’ve worked together twice. These three know the score when it comes to Driftwood and I trust them wholeheartedly.

But I also love what new energy brings to the process, and I’m so excited to be in the rehearsal room with our new company members this year, Nehassaiu deGannes, Jon de Leon, Sarah Finn, Natasha Mumba, and Paolo Santalucia. Throughout my limited time with each of them so far, they have all demonstrated a passion and energy for the project that is more than I could have hoped for. They each bring intelligence, passion, curiosity and considerable talent to the table. True to Driftwood form (where pairing emerging artists with established professionals is a stated mission of the company), they represent a range of experience from Natasha, who will make her professional theatre debut, to Nehassaiu, who has worked for some of the finest theatre institutions in North America.

Together, this ensemble has the potential to put some of the very best work on the Driftwood stage our audiences have ever seen. As with any cast, I hope they’ll challenge me and expand my thinking about both the play and my craft, and I sense that they are collectively up to the task of putting together a production inside of a grueling and busy four weeks. I have a feeling they’ll also be pretty stellar people to work and play with as we venture out on the road to 25 communities in Ontario this summer.

Still, you never really know how things are going to work out until you get everyone into the rehearsal hall and start working. At the time of writing this, we have been through one fantastic day together. I couldn’t be more excited.

– Jeremy.