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In this the second installment of our Script Space blog, Director Chris Loveless (Normal, The Brewery, 2009) reflects on the Director’s role in putting a new piece of writing on its feet for the first time.

I love rehearsed readings. I love them because they’re impossible. Getting a play to a standard worthy of a paying public in a scant few hours… ensuring the technical support has at least a vague idea of what to expect… trying to keep a bunch of (understandably) nervous actors happy and confident… all part of the adrenaline-fuelled exuberance of the average rehearsed reading.

I’m reminded of the slogan for the Restaurant at the End of the Universe in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy: ‘If you’ve done six impossible things this morning, why not pay us a visit?’

Or put on a rehearsed reading.

So, starting from the point of seemingly insurmountable odds, I proceed on the basis that: everyone’s in the same boat; the boat won’t be rocked unless I position my considerable bulk in the wrong place; boats can be steered even with one hand on a script, and, if someone should fall overboard and be at risk of drowning, one of our more experienced members will dive in and save them. (One day I plan to direct an entire show using nought but boating metaphors, but I shall curtail myself for now.)

I think the primary purpose of any rehearsal process is to discover the true essence of a piece, from which everything else grows. As a director, I work collaboratively, harnessing (and stealing) ideas from all and sundry, the better to gain a balanced and rounded perspective. However, with such limited rehearsal time, readings often require a slightly more ‘dictatorial’ approach, as a plethora of challenges manifest themselves with relentless intensity. Snap decisions are made, regarding anything from a character’s entrances/exits to the play’s super-objective, and woe betide any whose thoughts flitter (however momentarily) to matters that fall without the realm of professional altruism (such as ‘When the hell are we going to get a toilet break??’).

One understands the paternal relationship a writer has with their work, and so it is inevitable that they, in the context of a reading, with their newborn ‘baby’ about to take its first tentative steps into the big wide world (familial metaphor, now…), will look to its surrogate father, the director, to ensure their creation is everything they expect of it. Many eyes will be appraising their baby, and the trials and tribulations of parenthood abound - from pride to shame, jubilation to depression, triumph to catastrophe; the writer can experience all this and more in a matter of minutes. Pressure is added as the sharp-eyed producer judges said baby’s ‘legs’ - its potential to grow into a hell-raising, headline-grabbing full production. But a director can only really hope to skim the surface with a reading, and his actors will normally perform with broad brushstrokes. Subtle and profound performance requires much time in rehearsal and exploration of the text, so we concentrate on finding a few simple hooks on which to hang the whole notion of ‘character’. Likewise, relationships between characters are complex, and their intellectual unravelling cannot be shoehorned into a few hours, so we content ourselves with loose-fitting adjectives and approximations.

So, all this can leave a director somewhat apprehensive and frustrated that just as the fun of exploring a text is getting underway… it’s time for the performance. Will the writer think you have truly done their work justice? Will a paying public blame the director (an easy target in such circumstance) if the performance grinds to a halt as actor and techie get out of sync? (‘I thought it said rehearsed reading…’ you imagine you hear someone say…). And one starts to see so much of a play’s potential in rehearsing a reading which cannot possibly make itself apparent in the imminent first showing. Or can it? The invariable outcome is that actors’ instincts and experience kick in, the magic happens, and not only is the essence captured, but a surprising amount of detail appears. I’m never less than amazed at the capacity good actors have for creating on the fly. As long as you set them off in the right direction, and on the right rails (big finish: transportation metaphor) they can pick up sufficient power to leap breathtakingly over those perilous sections of unfinished track.

Script Space readings are a particular delight for a director as the standard of writing is exceptionally high, the actors are genuinely talented and the Tobacco Factory is a prince among regional theatres. The audience is supportive and knowledgeable and the behind-the-scenes folks really know their stuff. What better way, then, for us theatre types to spend a summer’s weekend than a sunny sojourn in south Bristol with the Script Space crew?

Playwrights have just 3 more days to get their scripts to us for entry into this year’s competition. Full details here.