NY: DAY 2
With David's directions, I arrive easily at the Baruch Performing Arts Center - BPAC - a huge, modern college building on Lexington Avenue near 24th Street. The charming lady on the front desk is like a little barrel: short and rotund. She's in uniform: navy trousers, light blue badge-festooned shirt, navy tie with clip. However, above the uniform, her face is, if anything, quite glamorous. She has very dark skin, a mane of dark 'relaxed' hair in waves, lip gloss... "Andrew Price, I'm with Aquila in the theatre." I'm always conscious of how English I sound here, and all the more so when, as now, I see the slight pause and flicker in the eyes as the recognition dawns. A broad smile. Unexpected, as elsewhere here in the States, putting on a uniform on seems to be accompanied by taking off your sense of humour. "Hi Andrew," she drawls, "he's expecting you. Take the elevator three floors down."
I find Robert in the Recital Hall, helping some girls out with Shakespeare scenes. This is a course he's running. They seem barely out of school, although I'm told they're in their early 20s. Robert works on technique, encouraging good articulation and intonation. However, the fundamental challenge here is in getting these kids to connect with what they're saying. I suggest to one girl that Beatrice is in a state of considerable agitation when Benedick opens the conversation (Act 4, Sc 3). Her cousin Hero has received a public insult, the gravity of which is hard to grasp in 2005: she should think of it, perhaps, as a living death. She restarts the scene... with the exactly the same level of banal disengagement, as if Hero had just been given a hundred lines: "I must not talk at the window". The language is simply not connecting with thought.
Hamlet is still not fully cast. Rehearsals began before I arrived without a Horatio, Laertes, Claudius, or Polonius (played by me). The first performance is on the 31st of this month in the Skirball Center at New York University. Now, for some directors, staging a production of Hamlet represents a statement of confidence: a seminal work, the distillation of all their experience to date. In the UK, many newly-appointed directors choose the play as their first production. Here this is not the case. Hamlet is just the next play on the Aquila touring slate, alternating with Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.
If the preparations seem chaotic - and they do - the situation has to be seen in perspective. Aquila does not receive guaranteed public funding. It is, essentially, a commercial operation. It receives very little from the Center for Ancient Studies at NYU where it is the company in residence, apart from office space. However, this important status allows the company access to some limited educational funding. The majority of venues on the tour are theatres within colleges and universities, who use their own educational budgets to buy in company's The company's status also allows me to receive a 'visiting scholar' visa to get in to the country. The other key to facilitating my involvement is that actors in the company are employed on AGMA (American Guild of Musical Artists), rather than Equity, contracts. AGMA represents "the men and women who create America's operatic, choral and dance heritage." If, like American Equity, they made it difficult for visiting foreign performers to get intPavarottintry, Pavarotti couldn't perform at the Met. Pavarotti - Andrew Price - same thing. As for justifying its AGMA membership, the company recently took the unusual step of creating a dance version of 'The Invisible Man'...
The status of the company also means that they are able to offer two roles in the touring shows on an internship basis. Essentially, this means that in return for their work in the shows and some stage management duties, the lucky candidates get a small stipend (amounting to no more than pocket money) and the opportunity to acquire experience of classical theatre and to learn from more experienced artists. In other words, it's an educational exercise, which they themselves subsidise. It also means that the company fills the roles for next to nothing. Happy families all round. These positions are normally filled from students in one of the classical theatre classes run by the company.
One such candidate comes into the theatre to read for Horatio and Laertes. His name is Will. A tall, dark 'n' handsome guy in his early twenties, he's a little better than the girls of earlier in the day, but only just. Again, it strikes me strongly that the language is just not connecting with thought. Sentences are broken up, each sub-clause receiving exactly the same amount of emphasis as the main clause, adjectives given more weight than verbs. Frustrating to hear. However, if the remit is to help him improve, perhaps he could just about bring off Laertes...
We finish our gambol through some Malvolio scenes and end up at the Aquila office, overlooking Washington Square. While Robert piles in to some admin, I catch up with a few e-mails. We end up back at his place and order an Indian meal. Dionne is exhausted after another long day with Toby. I end up wrestling with sleep as I wend my way back to Astoria on the subway.
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