Female Shakespearality

Firstly, apologies for the title of this blog. Once I'd made up the word Shakeapearality, I just couldn't get it out of my head so unfortunately it's a keeper.

This time last year I wrote an open letter to the artistic director of a major producing theatre company in the UK, but words of warning from people close by said it would be detrimental to my career if I posted it. It was about women in theatre. Here's an abridged version (all names have been redacted as I still have a little fear):

Dear ****,

The *** has always held a very special place in my heart and I saw numerous productions as a child; now as an adult my loyalty is waiving, and a wall of your theatre posters reminded me of the disproportion of males versus females employed by the ***. You are not alone in this astounding gender bias, but it does baffle me how the biggest subsidised theatres in this country can discriminate so blatantly. As a woman and artist I am often made to feel like a second class citizen in the theatrical world.

I am not blind to the gender bias in Shakespeare's work given its historical context but it seems that centuries on, we may be able to find new and exciting ways to advance this, after all we are creatives. One of the most exhilarating pieces of theatre I've watched this year was Phillida Lloyds Henry IV at the Donmar; not solely because it was all female (though of course this was a draw for me) but because it was innovative storytelling at its best. The performances were astounding and I have never felt so captivated by a piece of Shakespeare. I understood the words, was intrigued by the characters and engrossed with the story - is this not what we are looking for in theatre?

The industry has embarked upon questioning diversity and there are great ideas coming from Act for Change and supporters. Women can no longer be the oppressed majority and there needs to be discourse on how to overcome this. My words are not written in anger or bitterness, but in hope. Hope that the theatre company that introduced me to the stage and captured my soul in a world of magic and make believe, will again pique my passion and be at the forefront of a new wave of thinking towards women in theatre. 

Sorry that wasn't massively abridged! 

Fast forward a year and not much has changed with my 'mystery' theatre company, though there may be more female faces on the posters. However I'm now working with The Faction and I'm playing the character of Derby, wait for it- Shakespeare wrote him as a man. Yes, some pronouns were changed in the making of this theatre, but re-gendering a character isn't a hindrance, it's a whole new page of possibilities. New relationships emerge, textual alter-egos and exciting ideas spring to the stage. A new found femininity within a character is no bad thing.

By no means is this production about feminism (in fact it's just me who's harping on about it) and that's the greatest thing about it. The Faction have brought together a cast of 21 (!) great actors, regardless of age, sexuality, gender to create 'unforgettable theatrical moments'. So there's a challenge to the big boys and girls in town. I think it's about time everyone found some Shakespearality?!

Richard III is at the New Diorama Theatre and runs from 5th January.

I'm also doing an incredible new version of Brownings My Last Duchess by Jessica Sian as part of the Reptember Reloaded season. I'm playing boys and girls in this monolgue! Versatile... Me? Come see them both!

End of feminist rant and shameless plug.

The 29 Year Itch

Oh God, I'm almost 30! Am I supposed to be an adult?!

The last few months have been dominated by my imminent crash into 30; sometimes with cautious glee but mostly frenetic fear. Overwhelmed by questions of worthiness in this world and constant comparisons towards anyone else who might have one up on me. Looking around all I could see were friends and peers who had their shit together, and I occasionally couldn't help but recognise the condescension from others over my poor life choices. I couldn't care less about wrinkles or saggy skin, it's not actually the age bit, it's the concern I haven't achieved enough and I'm running out of time. People younger than me are married, have proper salaries, don't drink until they puke, what have I been doing?

I decided to create a pre 30 bucket list (obviously). It swings from the divine to the debauched; Ibiza was a wonderful triumph but I have decided that a threesome is just unnecessary... Of course, there are a ton of things that I didn't bother to put on there (marriage and children seem out of the question) and then when writing this infinite, ridiculous list I realised how many things I still had the freedom and opportunity to do.

'Oh, I'm 30, not dead'

Now to all of you sensible people/over 30's, you probably already knew this, but it's taken my tiny little brain a tad longer!

For every person who has taken a more conventional path in life, there is another who's doing something in a different way and they are all equally as valid. Clearly my biggest tormentor is me and this judgemental woman needs to get a little perspective. My life is fine. My life is great. I suddenly want to shout a massive thank you to my loved ones, my brilliant friends, for putting up with me and always seeing things sunny side up.

I'm hugely grateful for the opportunities I've had so far and bloody excited for what's next. I'm only 30 (actually, not yet) so I've probably got more than double this time to keep playing. Judging by recent 30th celebrations, there's still a lot of silliness to be had and I've decided to have my first proper birthday party, it's never too late!

Wahoo, I'm turning 30. I'm not worried about being an adult.

And to any other twenty something's bothered about getting older; if you're feeling itchy, give it a good scratch. It feels good

Don't call us, we'll call you (Or not)

Last week my agent let me know I didn't get a job and I was ecstatic. Not that I didn't want it, I would have loved to have been picked, but I was chuffed to confirm that this job was not happening. I was actually lucky enough to get some positive feedback (bragging) but that was a bonus, the real high came from a solid NO.

I'm a dreamer, a believer, the minute I get an audition I begin to imagine the enormous possibilities this meet will bring; the words I will read, the friends I will make, the places I'll see, the career I'll forge & the lovers I'll find. This meet is not just a scratch in the diary, it is the door to my (new) future. Now I know that this door is often closing before I've even knocked, but all I ask is to be informed when it's shut.

We're all talking about equality right now and great people are shouting great things, but with equality we must also fight for respect. An actor regardless of their race, gender, sexual orientation, hair colour, shoe size, whatever, deserves to feel that their part in the puzzle is recognised even if it doesn't make the final cut. I don't dare to understand the difficult & hectic world of a director/casting director/producer or any of the mystics that control my work load, but I do request a tincy bit more... We are all contributing towards the good of the work and play our parts to make the 'magic' happen. I read a play, research a role, take time off my other job, travel, talk and most importantly imagine! I would love it if there could be one more step in the casting process; a result. A generic email:

[Insert Name Here] has been unsuccessful on this occasion. Thank you.

I know I'm asking for more work but I really am asking nicely!

I had another audition recently (more bragging) with a director whose work is frighteningly brilliant and politically charged. I am in awe of him and his work, but I couldn't help but be disappointed when a friend of mine got a feedback text message via her father (who has connections!) and I'm still in the dark... Presuming I'm not the star of his next film and this isn't some elaborate rouse to highlight the social inequality festering within the middle class acting diaspora, I just want to be treated like a human being with the desire to know what's happening next.

Perhaps I digress.
Perhaps I am a pedantic narcissist who can't stop complaining, but Aretha Franklin had the right idea: All I'm asking is for a little respect...
And possibly an email.

The Never Ending Family

As a child 'The Never Ending Story' was the most frightening film I had ever seen! I understood it was not in the horror genre, but all of that floaty intangible weirdness, strange beings and the fact that it JUST NEVER ENDED was far too much for me! For a while now it has felt like my life has created a strange echo to this film: The Never Ending Family...

For as long as I can remember, it's been me, my mum and my bro. Close knit but with a strange 'Don't ask, don't tell' attitude towards our personal lives. My dad had always been at the edge of the frame, close enough to love but too far away to trust. There is a long and meandering story detailing mine and my dad's relationship, but ultimately he's been a persistently wayward figure who I've kept trying to remember is a human being as well as a dad. Obviously we all have faults, so in 2007 after a few years in absentia, my dad returned and we became mates again! We developed a new version of father/daughter life and everything was ok. My close family jumped back up to 4!

3 years ago, my father revealed the existence of 2 teenage brothers living in London. I didn't really know how to deal with this so just stopped speaking to dad and pretended that this major life explosion had not happened.

Last week I received a message from my older sister! Oh shit! I've just discovered my third secret sibling in as many years...

And now I feel scared of what other bloodties will drip through the gaps and stain my life. Staring at a man in the street I wonder if he could be my relation & though I feel guilty about it, I have no more love to give (is that a song?!). I question every positive memory I have with my father and consider the fact that he has lied to em every die of my life. Wow, this is getting dark...

I hope that writing this will be some type of cathartic purge and make me feel better. I worry it may not! I'm sharing this quaint little tale to try not to be ashamed and also to recognise that there is no normality when it comes to family dynamic and no perfection, so here's me throwing my hat into the ring. I am (somewhat) ready for what life has to bring.

White Noise

I've never really had a problem with sleeping, until I had mice.
I've never really had a problem with mice, until they started living in my house...

After discovering mice not only in hung out in my flat, but navigated their way to my bedroom too, I developed a fear of sleeping. Literally paralysed with an irrational fear (it's not like they could kill me), I often cried, refused to sleep alone and one night I found myself hiding in the bath screaming at a mouse who had got trapped in my bin!!!! I stayed up all night and in the morning had to facetime a friend to coach me through getting back in to my room for clean clothes and an escape plan!
Whilst the infestation was being dealt with, I genuinely became more and more mentally fragile. In my head I silently overreacted to every crumb left in the kitchen by my flatmates, and engaged in OCD tendencies to try and find some control in the situation. At night, heart beating with extreme anxiety I struggled to switch off and every sound was a potential danger. Like a child afraid of the dark and afraid of the unknown, the fear of mice grew exponentially into a fear of being alone. The last moment in the day, when action has abated and waiting for sleep; I found myself trapped in a fuzzy gap in the middle. My coping mechanism was white noise. Loud, in my ears, white noise.


White noise is a strange sound to get acquainted to and though it often woke me up, I began to meditate into the sound as a bizarre comfort blanket. Somehow this abrasive sound became my friend and held my hand in a dark loneliness. I write this in the past tense, because since going away with my mum (I suppose she was my protector then) and coming back to London, I have slept alone and with no sounds. I have however started waking up at first light, but this seems to be aiding my productivity! I'm reading more, running again and trying to turn off the tv (more displacement sounds). Now I listen to the trains chug past me and the crows caw, and though I am still afraid of mice, and still alone, I have created my own white noise. Softer and more generous than the exterior sounds, I welcome this pause from the myriad of thoughts & fears in my head, and hope that eventually I will be able to enjoy the silence in life.

To Be (Black) or Not To Be (Black)

I'm on the penultimate day of my holiday so I've missed the initial explosion that was Rachel Dolezal, but I would have had to be on the moon to avoid the full fall out. My reaction has been of incredulity and confusion, but there also seems to be a lot of anger out there. The concept of changing race is a bizarre one, but are we most shocked because 'why would anyone WANT to be black?'. As this story bulldozes the heartless prejudice against a young black girl at a pool party, and we are becoming increasingly aware of racial disparity, again who would WANT to be black? I have spent the last 9 days in Zambia and though on the whole I have had a joyous time, occasionally I have witnessed a shocking level of disrespect & disdain towards the indigenous people. What I can only describe as 'ancient Rhodesians' incredible rudeness and ignorance, made me question again who would WANT to be black?

Let's be honest the trend has always been to westernise and white'ise' from black. Michael Jackson (debatable), skin lightening creams (frighteningly     available in Africa AND Peckham) and the type of adverts I've watched today that show few or no dark black faces and certainly not at educated levels, recognise a white supremacy in our daily lives. 

I have known people of dual heritage in UK, to in effect disown the more foreign part of them and see themselves only as English. There are cases of children adopted into a family of another race who don't recognise any difference, even in skin colour. What about Mowgli?! I jest but there have been a number of stories about children living with and as wild animals in the last decade. The point is: We are what we know. Of course Dolezal's transformation was a manipulated one, but is it so crazy to believe that growing up with her 4 black siblings she developed an identity aligned with them. Watching (I presume) a generic discrimination towards her brothers and sisters both at home in the U.S. and world wide, her political and personal ideology perhaps grew into something that transcended race. Is that even possible? I don't know! 

I am half Ghanian and half English. Half black and half white. To some dark and others light skinned, and I suppose sometimes I navigate around the semantics of my race dependent on where I am or who I am with. In Zambia the guys selling curio love calling me 'Sister from another mother' and I embrace the African side of me!

Whatever her reasonings, Dolezal has proactively done more (this furore aside) campaigning for civil right and equality in her role at the NAACP than I have ever done, and for that Rachel I thank you. 

It may not be physically possible, but is it so bad to want to be black? That is the question.

The Understudy

You've got an audition with a major theatre- hooray!

It's for an understudy role- Oh...

A mini rollercoaster of emotions ranging from the pathetic pleasure of just getting an audition, to mild annoyance verging on anger and finally fear. Almost 8 years since graduating from LAMDA, there are still plenty of times that auditions are thin on the ground and so of course I can't be picky. But of course I can actually, because this is my chosen career and I'm quite good it at when given the chance, so it's hard to subdue the disappointment when I get a casting but it's nowhere near the 'dream role' (even if I make it on stage) and potentially not even a script I'm interested in, but I suppose that's the nature of the beast.

I have always imagined being an understudy to be the hardest thing to do. Expectations are just as high but with minimal rehearsal time and therefore less ability to develop relationships with your fellow actors and even trust in yourself. I truly questioned if I was up to the job of being an understudy, surely these need to be the most dexterous, talented and confident in the pack and it can be hard to feel that when in effect you're second choice. Regardless, I went to the audition and it was surprisingly lovely & any anger I had was wholly unwarranted. I didn't get it (I'm presuming!) but it was a positive experience and also made me think about my general attitude at the moment; am I living my life as an understudy?

Sometimes it seems that I'm filling time. Each day is a necessary step to get to the next and inevitably something of substance has got to materialise at some point. I find myself waiting, waiting for love, waiting for a career, waiting for something more than I have and it is debilitating. I have removed myself from engaging in my own life and it's time to press play again.

This morning I got back on my bike and cycled through the rain to the Sonia Delaunay exhibition at the Tate. Overwhelmed by the beauty of this retrospective, much to the amusement of other visitors I found myself smiling manically as I walked through. Her life was art and art was life. Daily reality was interwoven and intrinsically bound with each piece and for the first time in a long time, I felt present. London can be the loneliest place to live, exposed to everything but connecting with nothing, however this morning I stopped pretending and just enjoyed a real moment. Subsequently, I sought out art, colour & inspiration visiting the Tate Britain & Southbank Centre with my good friend Rob and the world felt just a little more glorious! An epiphany of understanding that all of this contributes to my life as an artist and that if I wait forever, I will miss today and will have always been my own understudy.

I'm not entirely sure what this means but I promise to try and take centre stage, fully recognising that this may never be the stage I had aspired to. At risk of sounding utterly contrived and pretentious, life is for living and I better start now.