Open Book Theatre

My little theatre company made the front page of The Stage this week.

For those of you too far from a newsagent to pick up a copy for yourself, or who live in the future where paper is considered a barbaric relic of our savage past, you can also read the article online.

As you’ll see, what we’re creating here is nothing less than a new business model for fringe theatre.

We call it Open Book Theatre.

The concept is very simple: everyone in one of our productions gets to see the accounts. They know what we’re aiming for. Where the money’s coming in. Where the money’s going to.

There’s no longer any need for the cast and crew in a profit-share show to suspect that someone who isn’t them is coming away rich, because now all the information is available to them. And if they can find better ways of doing things, they let us know and we do it.

And everybody wins.

Open Book Management has been around for many years now. I first came across it about a decade ago in Jack Stack’s book The Great Game of Business (which is still an excellent introduction to the idea). But as far as we know, no-one in the world’s ever tried it in theatre before.

That’s changed now.

As well as helping promote transparency, we hope to improve conditions for everyone.

We as a company believe that the best thing for anyone is to have a proper union contract. Both of the founders of Red Table are members of the relevant Trade Unions – The Writers’ Guild of Great Britain and Equity respectively – and we recommend that as soon as possible any theatre company should use the contracts recommended by those unions.

But those contracts are still designed for larger productions, and in the case of small fringe productions it may not be possible to guarantee a minimum wage to cast and crew if the production is to happen at all. Instead, what tends to happen is that there are no contracts at all, and no protection.

We believe this should change, and are making the first steps towards this.

You can read the model agreements that we’re currently using on our website. Feel free to borrow them, use them, amend them – and let us know what works and what doesn’t. So we can improve the process for everyone.

As production on The Just So Stories continues, Rafe’s blogging about the open-book part of the process over at the Red Table website.

So feel free to go over there and ask any questions about how it’s all working out in practice.

Giant Happy Crab Is Happy

Some fantastic news: The Just So Stories – which I produced at The King’s Head Theatre over Christmas – is transferring to the Pleasance Theatre for a three-week run over Easter.

The show’s going to be better than ever, with a bigger and more comfortable snuggle pit for the children and a brand-new set from which the cast will find exciting items which they’ll use to bring to life five of Kipling’s best-beloved tales.

Just as with Red Table‘s first production, The Just So Stories will be run using Open Book Management, meaning that all of the financial and business information about the show will be available to cast, crew, and investors throughout the production period.

Rafe’s blogging about the process as we go over on the Red Table website.

There are some exciting things coming up in the world of Open Book Theatre as we introduce this new model to the industry – and there’ll be more news about that soon. But not quite yet. Stay tuned…

Tickets are £10, £7 for kids, and are available now from the Pleasance website

The London Screenwriting Gin Festival

I went to The London Screenwriters’ Festival last year. Successor to the now-defunct Cheltenham Screenwriters’ Festival, it’s a good way to meet other writers and learn from those already doing well in the business.

I had a great time, met some lovely people, and would thoroughly recommend going.

As you may have seen elsewhere on the Internets, the festival organisers are putting on a short weekend specifically for comedy writers on the weekend of April 9-10.

The going rate is £149. Which is actually good value.

The other thing you might have seen is a lot of people offering discount codes if you buy a ticket. This is an affiliate scheme, so basically you get £25 off your ticket and the blogger gets £25 for themselves.

The lovely Michelle Lipton has decided to donate any money she gets through the scheme to Comic Relief.

Which is nice enough, I guess.

But I don’t think you should give money to the children living on the street abroad, or to those in this country suffering from domestic violence and sexual abuse, or to people who are having problems due to mental health issues – which one in four of us will experience at some point in our lives.

Instead, I think you should give your money to me.
And in return, I promise to spend it on gin.

Here’s how it works: When you book, use the special code GIN to get a £25 discount on the cost of your ticket. I’ll then get £25, which I’ll put aside in a special GinTin in the house, and whenever we run out I shall buy another bottle and think of you as I enjoy a perfectly-made slightly-too-strong gin-and-tonic.

I like gin. You like £25 off your festival ticket. How is this not a winning combination?

Of course, if you’d rather give your money to deserving people instead (though why you would want to I have no idea), use the code michellelipton when you check out, and she’ll give the £25 she gets to Comic Relief.

And I’ll buy my own damn gin.

Why the Dead Island trailer is one of the best short films you’ll ever see

If you haven’t seen this yet, it’s embedded below. Watch it now, because there be spoilers ahead. I’ll wait.

Right. So, what’s so good about that then, eh? It’s just a zombie attack done backwards, right?

Wrong. It’s a fucking masterpiece of emotional film-making, is what. Let me talk you through it.

Fade in close on an eye. Elegiac music. We don’t know where we are yet. Camera pulls back ad rotates to reveal a young girl, blood-spattered, obviously dead, lying on the ground. In the background, out-of-focus, something is flailing about, obviously on fire.

So what we have here is intense curiosity, set up from the get-go. Why is she dead? What the hell is the flailing, burning thing? What’s going on here? The audience wants to know more already.

Snap-cuts of a young girl running along a corridor and gasping for breath. First her point-of-view, then an objective point-of-view of her legs running, then the point-of-view of something chasing her as she looks back over. We can’t tell if it’s the same girl or not until the third shot.

Then, suddenly, shockingly, the girl comes to life, rolls over, and – second shock – starts flying into the air, accompanied by shattered glass. At this point it becomes apparent that time is running backwards.

The first question: Why is she dead? has been answered, and a new question: How did she fall? is posed. We’re also gifted our first shot of the location. It’s an island, and she’s fallen from a hotel window.

Intercut her being chased. This time we can see her pursuers – half a dozen men stumbling after her. Out of focus. Again, we can’t see them.

The glass re-assembles, and we see her grab onto a man’s back, presumably her father, who is swinging her around.

At this point we have our first chance to put together a theory about what’s going on – look at his mouth there. We can’t see what he’s doing, but the mouth is in the right shape for laughter. He’s swinging around in a hotel room, with his daughter on his back. It’s a game that’s gone wrong, she’s let go and smashed through the window. Note how the blood disappears behind them as they twirl, so that this way, in reverse, it looks like they’re laughing and playing, a happy family.

The chase continues, and this time we see the pursuers. Still stumbling, close behind her, gaining. It’s obvious now that this happens before the reverse-time incidents.

In the hotel room, from out of shot, people come back to life. They’re using the fact that time’s running backwards to show dead people coming back to life – a major signifier of zombie films. Confirmed factually as we start to see more of the people in the hotel room and the chasers are all covered with wounds. The wider shot of the hotel room shows that it’s covered in blood spatters.

Again, we see the father and daughter, and as they continue to twirl it becomes obvious that he’s covered in his own blood, because she’s biting into his neck. Denial of the previous image and the play-gone-wrong theory, opening a new story – they’re not playing, she’s trying to tear his throat out.

New character introduced – a woman with a knife, glanced at previously as she came out from under a wave of bodies, now watching the father and daughter with an expression of horror. Obviously wife. The daughter jumps backwards from her father’s back onto the bed, with a little bounce. Using again a signifier of family play – jumping on beds – for emotional resonance.

In the jump-cuts, one of the zombies has caught up with the running girl, just outside a hotel room, setting up the (correct) expectation that it’s the hotel room we’re running the main story in.

The mother looks shocked and terrified, as her child falls back on the bed and stops moving. Again, see how the emotion plays – watching it this way, in reverse, her child has just died and the emotional hit being delivered still works.

In the jump cuts, a zombie has the girl and is pulling her away from safety. Suspense. Will anyone save her? The door opens and bright light floods into the corridor for the first time, signifying safety. We can even see see people’s feet, moving towards her for the rescue.

In the hotel room, it’s completely obvious by this point that we’re in a zombie movie. In the past, the girl screams as she’s bitten. The audience re-focusses its attention on the early scenes. All questions have been answered. We know what’s happened, and why.

Blood clears from the hotel room; the zombies are pushed out in reverse. One snarls through the door. Reading the film text in this direction, the father and mother have vanquished the monsters. Uplifting feeling, as one snarls through the door which has just been barred with an axe. Again, watch the father’s face as the zombies leave. In this direction, that’s a cry of triumph as he forces them out, successfully protecting his family. The mother goes to the bed, and we read it as checking to see her daughter is all right.

In the corridor, the father grabs the axe. And now, because he’s emerging from the door that he’s standing at in the reversed film, the shot juxtaposition says that he’s taking the battle to the enemy. The two of them take turns holding their child, and we read that as making sure that she’s safe. There’s no blood visible when her father holds her, so it reads like she’s sleeping.

Then he puts her down, and we see the expression of love on both their faces.

And then the last shot is of him withdrawing his hand completely, leaving her alone.

Finally, the shots of the happy, safe, family.

But we know that time has been running backwards throughout. Watched this way, the emotional experience is that everyone is saved. But rationally, we realise that it’s not that way. And it’s that terrible juxtaposition between presentation and content caused by time running in reverse that makes this one of the most emotionally moving short films I’ve ever seen.

Damn it. Crying again now.

Those Panels In Full

So here’s what I’m down for at Redemption this year…

Friday 4pm – Spies in Science Fiction. There’s a surprisingly high crossover.

Friday 6pm – Artificial Intelligence. I actually did a degree in this, back in the day.

Saturday 2pm – Does listening to fans make a show better or worse? If you don’t see me after this panel, send a rescue party. Look for the mob with burning torches and pitchforks.

Saturday 11pm – Can video games tell good stories? And how does agency affect the way that stories work? May also include digressions into RPGs, Fighting Fantasy, and Choose Your Own Adventure

Sunday 6pm – Computers in SF More plotty than philosophical, I suspect.

Other than that I will – as usual – be watching other panels, wandering around with a pint in my hand, in the games room, or nattering in the bar.

Redemption 11

This is a quick plug for the SF convention that I’ll be attending in a few weeks.

It’s called Redemption, and is really rather good. There will be many lovely people there, including Guests of Honour Ben Aaronovitch and Simon Guerrier.

As usual, I shall be on a few panels over the course of the weekend. Details here as soon as the programme’s confirmed. Feel free to come up and say hello!

The cost is 60 quid for the weekend if you buy your ticket within the next week, rising after that to £65 on the door. More details on their website.

Twitter hashtag is #red11.

It will be bloody marvellous fun, as ever. Hope to see you there!

Everyone’s a Critic

On my last trip to Mum and Dad’s I retrieved a few boxes that had been taking up space there for Some Years. And in one of those boxes, my English homework books from secondary school.

It may not surprise you to learn that I liked to write stories. And those stories were marked. With suggestions for improvements.

I’d like, therefore, to present for your edification and entertainment, some of the very first literary criticism devoted to my work:

“An excellent piece of atmospheric writing, Piers. Well done!”

“Mmm.”

“The final lines are the best feature of this illegible over-written melodrama. You can do so much better – now tighten up.”

“Some very intricate plots here Piers, and not one of them including a naked lady!”

“A very persuasive piece of writing in which I was pleased to note that you avoided false protestations of modesty” [this for a piece of work which was basically an ad for ‘Piers Beckley’s Best Ever Novels!’]

“Amusing, if rather precocious.”

“I don’t think this really examines the theme of guilt very well. Also, it would be refreshing if you could explore other settings and not stick to the science fantasy genre all the time.”

“If you refuse to take this work seriously, I will be asking you to do it again.”

“Need ghost stories involve violence?” [I have annotated the answer ‘yes’ after this.]

“As always your story is well-written and full of descriptive detail.”

“Avoid funny stories.” [A D+ for this one]

“I don’t think you have taken this seriously, Piers. I don’t quite see where vampires come into this tall/short question.”

So. Not much has changed, really.

Don’t Tell Beckley

Over at his blog, the delightful Jason Arnopp has introduced a new feature for the procrastinating writers of this world.

It’s called Tell Arnopp, and it works like this:

Whenever you’ve completed your writing for the day, you email him saying the type of project you’ve worked on – “World War II Drama” – and the number of pages you’ve written – “Ten”.

(Nothing more than that, mind, just in case he writes something similar one day, and you happen to be a crazy person.)

Arnopp then guarantees that he will read these messages, and will thus become aware of the fact that you’ve done your work for the day. And you will be aware that he’s aware that you’ve done your work for the day.

You therefore know that someone cares about whether or not you’ve been writing rather than procrastinating, without you having to write it down on your blog, twitter, facebook, or significant other. Which can be a bit exposing for some people.

He hopes that this will encourage you to write, as if you don’t do your pages, somewhere in the depths of his brain he will know. And you will thus be encouraged to write today, and every day from now on.

I’d like, though, to offer an easier alternative. It’s called Don’t Tell Beckley, and it works like this:

You don’t send me a damn thing.
I know that you haven’t done enough work today.

My pleasure.

Review: The Just So Stories

Hope you had a lovely Christmas Day. Mine was full of Christmas Pudding and Turkey and Family and Wine, and was generally all-round lovely.

I just discovered a review of The Just So Stories in the Hampstead and Highgate Express. You can read it via the Internets using The Ham and High e-edition. It’s in the section called etcetera.

Can’t be arsed? Here’s the short version.

Three stars. “The little ones are entranced throughout.”

🙂

The show finishes on the 3rd January, so I shall very soon now stop banging on about it and return you to your usual diet of incisive analysis interspersed with bouts of rambling nonsense. Until then, you can buy tickets here.

Can’t stop.

Updates have been a bit slim recently due to work on The Just So Stories. Who know that producering was such bloody hard work?

I’m having an assistant next time. Definitely.

Anyway, I’ve just found out that there are a whole bunch of reviews for my adaptation of A Christmas Carol up at the Giant Olive website. Check ’em out here, should you be so inclined.

Sorry, got to run. Hopefully will have a chance to drop a proper bloggy update before the New Year.

Happy Christmas!