am dram
Why do people do amateur dramatics? One thing is for certain, it isn’t for the money.
For Ainhoa Agirre, who wrote Gona Gorriak for Donostiabased drama group Theatrola (part of Kattuarraiak) during an unexpected spell of unemployment, the most fulfilling aspect was ¨realizing it can be done... that in the end anyone can put on a production, if you put your mind to it¨.
For anyone who’s easily embarrassed, standing in front of a crowd of strangers and making a spectacle of oneself can constitute their worst nightmare. But while there are those who wouldn’t dream of ever getting up on a stage, there are
some people who simply cannot imagine their lives without it.
‘Why do I do it? I can’t do without it!’ says Crystal. Aged 64, she began acting at the age of 11: ‘It became my life,’ she says. ¨Wherever I move to, I always seek out a local theatre group to make friends and build links with the community¨, says Chrissie, member of the Richmond Shakespeare Society (west London), whose biggest life move was from her native Australia to
London nearly twenty years ago.
Aside from the obvious social aspect, however, there is a much deeper motivation behind that inkling some get to act in front of a crowd,while some seem destined to act from an early age. ¨I remember standing in the greengrocers shop amusing
the queue with my rendition of You are my Sunshine¨, says Evelyn, now retired.
Mark, meanwhile, also of Proscenium, had a tendency to “perform” in front of the family as a young child. ¨Maybe being the youngest of four made me desperate to be noticed¨, he says. Yet most actors aren’t looking to be the centre of attention at all, quite the opposite in fact. One of the biggest thrills of acting is the chance to escape oneself for while: ¨I enjoy the brief respite from being ‘me’ and the chance to walk in another’s shoes¨, says Chrissie, a former lecturer in Psychology. Evelyn agrees: ¨What I love about acting is that I can be somebody else
for a while. As a young Mum I remember being rejuvenated every night I played the glamorous debutante who had never even seen a nappy!¨
And of course, despite the absence of any monetary award – and in addition to the utter pressure on one’s free time, especially for those with heavy work schedules - one of the biggest advantages of amateur dramatics is the sheer scope of opportunity: ‘You get a chance to play roles professionals would die for... you are not dependent on the income to live [and] you come up against some of the best playwrights in the world,’ says Crystal. In 1963 a British academic called Edwin R Schoell wrote: “There is, particularly in professional quarters, a deep-rooted suspicion that amateur theatre is really an institution that exists in order to give significance to ¨amateur dramatics¨, a frivolous kind of amusement with no pretension
to art.”
Try telling Proscenium their productions do not aspire to art. ¨My favourite roles over the years have probably been Salieri in Amadeus, Macbeth, and Vladimir in Waiting for Godot (by Samuel Becket)¨, says life-long ‘amateur’ actor Mark. His least cherished roles, meanwhile, have included Trigorin in Chekhov’s The Seagull. ¨You get to play parts in plays you would probably
never get near as a professional¨, echoing fellow AmDram enthusiast, Crystal.
What differentiates professional from amateur theatre is often not the quality of acting, but rather the limitations on time and budget. ¨After our first performance there was a sense of relief¨, says Ainhoa Agirre, ¨mostly because we saw that the audience had enjoyed it. But also because we realized that if we could do [amateur theatre] more often we could create something really good. You see that the people involved are capable of great things. There are people [in Theatrola] who are really good actors or at least, if they had more time to dedicate to it, would be capable of creating really worthwhile productions¨.
¨At the end of the day, you go to see a professional production and, well, it might be professional, but there isn’t that much difference between the two. And it goes to show that, with more time and a better infrastructure,
[amateur theatre companies] can produce some really great stuff¨.
a raw example
For Ainhoa Agirre, the creative process behind Gona Gorriak was anything but conventional. Temporarily out of work and itching to get her claws into a new project, the origins of Ainhoa’s play, about a family of women living in 1960s Donostia, were ad hoc to say the least.
¨It came about randomly. One day I was with some friends and the subject of theatre plays came up. I said, “why don’t we do one? ”No-one really
reacted, but nobody said “no” either. That’s when I started writing the script, keeping in mind that most of the actors were women¨.
It was precisely the willingness and enthusiasm of Ainhoa’s friends that dictated the characters and story of Gona Gorriak, which she began writing
without any idea how it would end. ¨Initially I wrote the first act and showed it to all the actors, thinking...let’s see what they say!”.
¨I mean, they might not have liked it at all, or they might not have imagined themselves in those roles... But their reaction was “come on, write the second act. So I wrote the second and then
the third... Writing it was fun, and the fact it was a comedy helped me to forget some of my worries about work¨
The final product is a pot pourri of genres and ultimately something of a homage to old-style theatre: ¨there’s a bit of comedy, intrigue, clues, history, dancing, magic. There’s a lot of parody. It’s a play that sets out to amuse¨.
One of the most pleasing aspects of the whole process for Ainhoa was the enthusiasm among her friends and other so-called ‘non-actors’ who
took part. ¨I was surprised that so many people jumped at the chance as soon as I suggested it to them. They’d say things like “Great, I used to
do drama at school” or “I’ve always wanted to do theatre”. Ainhoa was soon to discover that co-ordinating the diaries of fifteen actors wasn’t the toughest part of the process. ¨You need somewhere to rehearse. For that you need permission from the council. You have to be identifiable as an association, you have to do all
the paperwork and you have to finance the whole set-up (props, costumes, etc) out of your own pocket. If you don’t have anywhere to store it, things end up in the rubbish¨.
Luckily for Theatrola, one huge obstacle had already been overcome: ¨We had already created Kattuarraiak, through which we could gain access to council premises in order to rehearse. We had a VAT number, which you need for absolutely any sort of contract.. without it we wouldn’t have
been able to put on the play¨. Sadly, says Ainhoa, the possible hinderances facing drama groups like Theatrola are a poor reflection on the situation which many people of our age are currently dealing with: ¨The grants available from the state don’t reflect the current economic and social reality¨, says Ainhoa. ¨Government aid supposes that from age 30 upwards you are working, paying for a mortgage and bringing up children. If you’re younger than 30 you’re entitled to grants for being young and if you’re aged 65 or over you’re retired and fall into another social group. But between the ages of 30 and 65 it seems you can’t put on a play. And
if you want to, you have to pay for it yourself.’
For Ainhoa Agirre, who wrote Gona Gorriak for Donostiabased drama group Theatrola (part of Kattuarraiak) during an unexpected spell of unemployment, the most fulfilling aspect was ¨realizing it can be done... that in the end anyone can put on a production, if you put your mind to it¨.
For anyone who’s easily embarrassed, standing in front of a crowd of strangers and making a spectacle of oneself can constitute their worst nightmare. But while there are those who wouldn’t dream of ever getting up on a stage, there are
some people who simply cannot imagine their lives without it.
‘Why do I do it? I can’t do without it!’ says Crystal. Aged 64, she began acting at the age of 11: ‘It became my life,’ she says. ¨Wherever I move to, I always seek out a local theatre group to make friends and build links with the community¨, says Chrissie, member of the Richmond Shakespeare Society (west London), whose biggest life move was from her native Australia to
London nearly twenty years ago.
Aside from the obvious social aspect, however, there is a much deeper motivation behind that inkling some get to act in front of a crowd,while some seem destined to act from an early age. ¨I remember standing in the greengrocers shop amusing
the queue with my rendition of You are my Sunshine¨, says Evelyn, now retired.
Mark, meanwhile, also of Proscenium, had a tendency to “perform” in front of the family as a young child. ¨Maybe being the youngest of four made me desperate to be noticed¨, he says. Yet most actors aren’t looking to be the centre of attention at all, quite the opposite in fact. One of the biggest thrills of acting is the chance to escape oneself for while: ¨I enjoy the brief respite from being ‘me’ and the chance to walk in another’s shoes¨, says Chrissie, a former lecturer in Psychology. Evelyn agrees: ¨What I love about acting is that I can be somebody else
for a while. As a young Mum I remember being rejuvenated every night I played the glamorous debutante who had never even seen a nappy!¨
And of course, despite the absence of any monetary award – and in addition to the utter pressure on one’s free time, especially for those with heavy work schedules - one of the biggest advantages of amateur dramatics is the sheer scope of opportunity: ‘You get a chance to play roles professionals would die for... you are not dependent on the income to live [and] you come up against some of the best playwrights in the world,’ says Crystal. In 1963 a British academic called Edwin R Schoell wrote: “There is, particularly in professional quarters, a deep-rooted suspicion that amateur theatre is really an institution that exists in order to give significance to ¨amateur dramatics¨, a frivolous kind of amusement with no pretension
to art.”
Try telling Proscenium their productions do not aspire to art. ¨My favourite roles over the years have probably been Salieri in Amadeus, Macbeth, and Vladimir in Waiting for Godot (by Samuel Becket)¨, says life-long ‘amateur’ actor Mark. His least cherished roles, meanwhile, have included Trigorin in Chekhov’s The Seagull. ¨You get to play parts in plays you would probably
never get near as a professional¨, echoing fellow AmDram enthusiast, Crystal.
What differentiates professional from amateur theatre is often not the quality of acting, but rather the limitations on time and budget. ¨After our first performance there was a sense of relief¨, says Ainhoa Agirre, ¨mostly because we saw that the audience had enjoyed it. But also because we realized that if we could do [amateur theatre] more often we could create something really good. You see that the people involved are capable of great things. There are people [in Theatrola] who are really good actors or at least, if they had more time to dedicate to it, would be capable of creating really worthwhile productions¨.
¨At the end of the day, you go to see a professional production and, well, it might be professional, but there isn’t that much difference between the two. And it goes to show that, with more time and a better infrastructure,
[amateur theatre companies] can produce some really great stuff¨.
a raw example
For Ainhoa Agirre, the creative process behind Gona Gorriak was anything but conventional. Temporarily out of work and itching to get her claws into a new project, the origins of Ainhoa’s play, about a family of women living in 1960s Donostia, were ad hoc to say the least.
¨It came about randomly. One day I was with some friends and the subject of theatre plays came up. I said, “why don’t we do one? ”No-one really
reacted, but nobody said “no” either. That’s when I started writing the script, keeping in mind that most of the actors were women¨.
It was precisely the willingness and enthusiasm of Ainhoa’s friends that dictated the characters and story of Gona Gorriak, which she began writing
without any idea how it would end. ¨Initially I wrote the first act and showed it to all the actors, thinking...let’s see what they say!”.
¨I mean, they might not have liked it at all, or they might not have imagined themselves in those roles... But their reaction was “come on, write the second act. So I wrote the second and then
the third... Writing it was fun, and the fact it was a comedy helped me to forget some of my worries about work¨
The final product is a pot pourri of genres and ultimately something of a homage to old-style theatre: ¨there’s a bit of comedy, intrigue, clues, history, dancing, magic. There’s a lot of parody. It’s a play that sets out to amuse¨.
One of the most pleasing aspects of the whole process for Ainhoa was the enthusiasm among her friends and other so-called ‘non-actors’ who
took part. ¨I was surprised that so many people jumped at the chance as soon as I suggested it to them. They’d say things like “Great, I used to
do drama at school” or “I’ve always wanted to do theatre”. Ainhoa was soon to discover that co-ordinating the diaries of fifteen actors wasn’t the toughest part of the process. ¨You need somewhere to rehearse. For that you need permission from the council. You have to be identifiable as an association, you have to do all
the paperwork and you have to finance the whole set-up (props, costumes, etc) out of your own pocket. If you don’t have anywhere to store it, things end up in the rubbish¨.
Luckily for Theatrola, one huge obstacle had already been overcome: ¨We had already created Kattuarraiak, through which we could gain access to council premises in order to rehearse. We had a VAT number, which you need for absolutely any sort of contract.. without it we wouldn’t have
been able to put on the play¨. Sadly, says Ainhoa, the possible hinderances facing drama groups like Theatrola are a poor reflection on the situation which many people of our age are currently dealing with: ¨The grants available from the state don’t reflect the current economic and social reality¨, says Ainhoa. ¨Government aid supposes that from age 30 upwards you are working, paying for a mortgage and bringing up children. If you’re younger than 30 you’re entitled to grants for being young and if you’re aged 65 or over you’re retired and fall into another social group. But between the ages of 30 and 65 it seems you can’t put on a play. And
if you want to, you have to pay for it yourself.’
