Force Majeure's Not In A Million Years

Week Three : Caroline Baum’s rehearsal room notes

The difference between artists and athletes: the artist is full of self doubt and that self doubt is a prerequisite of the creative process somehow, a kind of anxious fuel, whereas the athlete allows no room for self doubt whatsoever and exhibit unnatural amounts of confidence. There’s an elite athlete in NIAMY, so the subject gets teased out in a scene called Measuring, devised by Sarah Jane and Vince.

Measuring is just shorthand, a working title written on one of thirty plus index cards laid out on a table where Kate and Roz are trying to devise a running order for the show.  Josh and Elizabeth rehearse a poignant scene called It’s Cold Outside. Other cards read Coma Drag, Ron Barassi, Miners Wives. That’ll keep you guessing!

The team have set themselves the task of creating two minutes of work a day. They plan on a total running time of around sixty minutes. Things are really coming together now, themes are beginning to cohere, instead of being made up of lots of disparate ingredients. It’s like the moment when you are stirring the eggs and flour and butter together and you realise it actually is all going to stick and make a batter that just might rise in the oven and turn into a cake instead of a goopy mess.

But even though I’m in the room for hours, the kernel of the creative process remains a mystery: how do Kate and Co turn an exercise in assembling a series of glances, shrugs and small pointing and scooping gestures into a beautiful synchronised movement sequence that is neither illustrative nor narrative? I overhear snatches of another kind of shorthand as the sequence is embedded in their muscle memory:  the cast prompt themselves and each other with quick tags for each move: ‘sad… shrug…. Pina Bausch.…’ When another sequence is being plotted, I overhear Kate say to Roz ‘that’s too dancey, too choreographic’- as if this means it’s a bad thing that will have to be corrected.

Perhaps it’s only right for the process to remain opaque; otherwise everyone could just follow the recipe.

Max comes in from working on True West for a shopping list of sounds and effects Kate needs; she mentions aeroplanes, explosions, atmospherics. She jokes about wanting music that sounds like Max Nyman (a reference to British composer Michael Nyman, famous for his Peter Greenaway film scores with their driving pulse).

Lists of clothing are being made. Liz will need a necktie to suggest her role as a flight attendant. Sarah Jane is unhappy at having to wear a crash helmet as a paraglider…  ‘I am going to be difficult about this’ she warns, but her resistance is accompanied by giggles and eventually she puts it on. It gleams in a spotlight and works, distinguishing her immediately from her other role as the elite athlete.

By the end of the week, Erin has broken out Bag 31 of polystyrene flakes. It’s an inspired choice of material, so versatile - one minute it’s a pile of snow, the next a pile of money and much much more. But when the performers go home, their partners are less enthusiastic: one had to vacuum out the washing machine.

No matter the task, Erin is the go-to girl. One minute she’s up a ladder shortening the length of bungee cords, the next minute she’s cueing music tracks and recording a sequence on video, or sewing up a quick bit of costume. I wonder what the job description was when she applied for the position. She is FM’s secret weapon. She is also the keeper of afternoon sugar hits.
 
When it’s time for a break, the team just sit on the floor. They seem to find it more comfortable than chairs, legs stretched out, backs straight, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Elizabeth is almost doing the splits but looks completely relaxed.  Note to self: rediscover those sitting bones they always talk about in yoga.

Caroline Baum

Have you booked your tickets yet? Not in A Million Years is at CarriageWorks 17 - 27 November.  Click here to book online.