The first South Africa show is behind us. It's amazing, but it is. I have no idea how it went down, but I do know we got a t-shirt and I that I'll wear it. The battle with the fan in the restaurant below, the one which we had presumed was aircon, did provide a bit of a challenge for me. I had to use masses of voice in what is written as an intimate piece. And the humour fell very differently. I'm used to utter silence throughout the show, despite our wanting laughs, but usually such a big audience make more noise.
If there is one thing this show has taught me, and there are so many things this show has taught me, but when it comes to the audience, I have learnt that it's not my job to judge them. Of course, theoretically, I have always been the kind of actor who says, magnanimously with any show I'm in, we just put a show on and it's the audience's prerogative to make of it what they will.... theoretically. In practice it can be really... challenging, when you've worked long and hard on a piece, it's tempting to want to blame the audience for not realising how funny/tragic/moving/insightful your production is. When they do not react as they should it's their fault for missing the point. Of course it is, you have been working on this play, you know what you're doing. They, on the other hand, have just turned up, having done little if any research, and on top of that they seem to be a bit tired from their day at work, distracted by some problem with their teenage daughter, etc. Come on, guys, get with the programme.
And so, as I stand on stage alone not only am I reminding myself I cannot know what they are feeling - silence is not always a bad sign - but they are allowed, yay, verily, even to hate this show, if that is where they are at. It doesn't mean they're right, but then neither and Martin and I. There is no right here that's one of the points of the show, for crying out loud, Rebecca.
In this show I get into the foyer before the audience and I'm slightly worried about the reactions... but quickly I am surrounded by people who want to talk about the show, ask me about it, tell their stories: the Sometimes effect which nearly Always happens. Of course, I had no idea how many people fled, avoiding my eye, resenting my existence, but I meet some great people and some of them are the journalists I spoke to in the UK, during another life - over the past few weeks. They give me their cards, including one woman who lives in Streatham some of the time, just up the road from where I live.
There's a temptation to dwell on any performance, but there is no point in that. Rather dwell on the beautiful day we have here before we have to get to on a plane tomorrow to head for Cape Town. We decide to walk into central Durban and have a look around. It all looks the same and different to the last time I was here and we go looking for the plaza... which I have absolutely no chance of finding. I'd have no chance of finding it if I'd been yesterday, to be frank, indeed, if I were standing next to the plaza in front of a big sign with the word PLAZA on it and some arrows I might still struggle: I have an appalling sense of direction.
As we walk into and around town, Durban feels the same as it did before, although I find myself stalked by the ghosts of companions past, and even though they are all pretty long passed, I cannot shake them off. Even a school friend with whom I travelled in South Africa and who was such a close friend, who is alive and well and living in Norfolk, is there at my shoulder and I miss her, I miss us, I suppose, who we were. I wasn't even that pleased with who I was at the time, to be honest, but I'm even more disappointed in myself now, unable to let pastures old vanish and just enjoy.... this.
It's very hot and humid and busy in central Durban.... lovely, very lovely indeed. But I realise I'm starting to wilt and as Martin and Jacques are going to see Musho! shows tonight, and I'm off to do a radio interview we decide to head back to our hotel. Waiting for a cab to arrive we see two street performers on the other side of the crossroads, costumed, painted and body popping away to Michael Jackson. They're pretty good movers and nearly everyone is giving them a pretty wide berth: ah, yes, northern Europe and southern Africa are not so different after all.
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