It was a day of some nerves and stress as I attempted to get the Christ on a Bike behemoth back on its feet after only performing it once in the last three and a half months. We had a very tight window to sort out the technical difficulties and then there was the question of whether I would remember the show itself. Thank goodness there was no massive test of memory in the middle of it. Oh hang on... Abraham begat who know?
To make it trickier God had sent snow to stop punters making it to the theatre and even more pertinently delaying the cab that was to take me and my projector and screen to the theatre. I was getting a little frazzled.
I think the cab had arrived more or less on time in fact, but he was parked up the street, had the wrong address and clearly texted the person who had booked the cab rather than me. These days taxi drivers don't get out of the car to ring your doorbell, relying instead of texts, which seems foolish if you get no reply and are just feet from the home of the person you're picking up. Having said that he thought I lived up the street anyway, so wouldn't have seen me peeking out the window, or intermittently coming out to look for him.
Typically we managed to get the best image for the slides on the theatre's projector and screen so I could probably have made it in on the tube after all, but we are (as with much of the show) going to refine things over the course of the run, so it might still come in handy. Around about 200 made it down to the venue, making it a half full first night (which I am pleased with given the length of the run, plus the less impressive houses coming up in the pre-Christmas mayhem) and I kept up a spirited performance, though felt a definite loss of connection in the first dream sequence. This is a tricky bit to pull off and perhaps my lack of familiarity with it made me lose focus. I know I usually nailed it in Edinburgh, but there were a few days where it fell flat. I had no bike and so it's possible that without the set-dressing the theatricality of the section fell apart a little. Or maybe I felt uncomfortable without the prop (in both senses of the word). There are some additions to the script which has perhaps slightly broken the flow of the show, but overall I think it hung together well and the second half particularly flew by. I was pretty pleased with my recall and lots of stuff that I had forgotten in my half-hearted run through in the bath came back to me on stage. I don't think I have done the 10 commandments bit better before, but maybe its looseness and slightly ad-libbed nature shone out a bit in a show that is quite scripted. I am looking forward to working up and perfecting the show over the next 90 performances (and that's one down of this sprawling tour which I will still be on in five months time). I am very pleased with what I have got, but also looking forward to what it will become. This is the nature of touring and as long as it all stays fresh the experimentation will be a positive force. Now I just need to sell the tickets. Hopefully the word of mouth effect will work - though I think that it's unfortunate that the first two weeks will be at a point where people aren't at work and able to spread the word. Come down this week if you can (cheaper tickets tues, weds and thurs via last minute.com).
I walked back up to the central line after the show, through the cold, slushy streets, where even in this busy part of town patches of snow remained. I was looking down at the footprints on the pavement and was surprised to see that one set of someone who had presumably passed by quite recently, were not in the shape of a show, but a bare foot. Who had been walking around in these conditions with no shoes and socks on? And how long would they survive? It looked like the foot of a female, as it was smallish and slender, but there's no way to be sure. It might have been a hobbit.
I love the way this city throws up these little stories and mysteries if you are prepared to look for them, if you are observant enough. There was something rather lovely and poetic about these wet footsteps on a cold pavement. They seemed bold and firm, like someone had been walking with confidence, rather than scurrying to get from one place to the other. I fancied it was part of a dare or a student showing off, but maybe it was someone homeless and shoeless for whom these conditions were just part of their daily horror. Or an invisible person who had forgotten to make their clothes invisible and could only get from place to place, shivering in the snow. There's no way of knowing. But usually you see footprints like this in the sand, in the heat, not on the pavement in the cold. So some part of my brain was almost fooled into thinking it must be warm, or that these footprints were somehow the shadow, opposite image of footsteps made in sunnier climes.
The rowdy, drunken crowds around me, were too drunk or in too much of a hurry to see this little bit of magic and mystery. But with my senses heightened by performance and not dulled by alcohol I was able to see them and wonder.
