Brighton Festival

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In fair Verona, where we lay our scene…

… or in this case, Brighton. Our location in Brighton is St Nicholas’ Rest Garden, a sunken cemetery. There’s trees all around and some glorious sepulchres all the way through the graveyard, which has a high wall that rebounds our voices back to us very nicely. It feels much more enclosed here than in Canterbury where the landscape (the cathedral and the ruins) were set out for the audience’s pleasure and I think our performances are becoming slightly more intimate because of this. If Canterbury set up the idea of the ancient city of Verona, Brighton is without a doubt is the Capulets’ monument.

The weather’s been a little windy at first but it soon changes to fantastic sunshine. The wind is a problem when the trees rustle; being upstaged by foliage is never a good thing for an actor. Evening performance in particular are magic; going from “The day is hot, the Capels are abroad…” (III.i.2) whilst the weather was absolutely boiling, to “her body sleeps in Capels’ monument…” (V.i.18) when it was just starting to get a little bit twilight, a little bit dusky in the evening.

The travelling was a little bit difficult; we left our digs in Canterbury and took this sweet little train along the sea to Brighton. Although we then had a couple of hours to relax, it was the first time we’d performed on consecutive days (evening then the next day) in different places. I’m absolutely dying for a hot bath, but the Brighton sea will have to do for now… I think our stamina for this sort of thing will improve.

The crowds are large, and although we were worried that the Brighton Festival audience would be more judgemental, they were as sunny as the weather itself. There’s a decidedly ‘boho’ feel to Brighton compared to the more straight laced propriety of the reckless schoolchildren of Canterbury. Actually, scratch that; there are a few anarchic children in Brighton; one preferred to play football during the play. I don’t blame him in this weather.

There seems to be more talking in the audience in this venue than in other places, and Juliet’s stabbing has been getting a very nice reaction: “oooooo”. Interestingly, the more we progress, the more we’re finding the lighter shades of the play. As much as it is a tragedy, I’m realising more and more the moments when it doesn’t have to feel hard and naughty. Tybalt particularly could be played quite heavily; I’m trying to keep him bubbling like sulphur.

You’d like to think that the fights are getting safer, but we’re all taking a bit of a beating from bundling out of the van, falling on wet floorboards and being bitten by giant mosquitoes. Michael, who plays Benvolio, actually hit his head on the van today during the brawl at the beginning of the play, and had blood trickling down his face throughout the show. What a trooper. The dressing room or green room is as ever a tent, and a very nice tent at that. The portaloos seem to be following us from venue to venue. A couple of the cast members didn’t want to share the portaloos with the audiences so the organisers, bless them, cordoned off our portaloo with what looked like police tape. It looked as if some murderous instant had taken place in our corner of the graveyard… Dominique’s burial dress is getting a little bit blue from the potion she takes. Most members of the cast have blood on their costume from a splinter, a slice, or something. It’s a lovely place, Brighton. I think I might have to move here.

Perri Snowdon

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