Why are village halls so notoriously damp? They could almost be used for teaching purposes in survival-course instruction demonstrations, on how to extract the maximum amount of moisture from the surrounding atmosphere. I have yet to come across a single village hall where it is a safe option to lean the exhausted body against any outside wall, especially when wearing a mixture of extra-thin and extra-thick garments-in other words, any kind of costume at all. Besides the bodily discomfort, unsuspected mishaps with leaning against condensation-covered walls can easily lead to unwanted hooting-with-laughter from the audience, when one makes one's entrance with what could unfortunately be interpreted as 'suspect' staining… no matter where on the body this phenomenon occurs. Many's the time I myself have been unexpectedly and unwantedly re-invigorated by unthinkingly leaning the weary body, 'just-for-a-moment', during the minutes of holding myself ready for my next entrance, only to be stung back into alertness by the North-Atlantic-style embrace of our performance venue shell. I think I prefer the adrenaline, myself.

Because let's face it, that's "why", isn't it? Compare the weary trudge of your average am-drammer (as I count myself) into the hall at the start of rehearsals. Likely, even late arrivals tend to trudge. (I'm speaking of the adult membership, of course-the more youthful portion of the societies seems never to run out of steam, oh spit!) Even during technical and dress rehearsals, a gradual transformation takes place. It's an interesting phenomenon to observe that as the evening wears on, the natural loss of energy seems to be more than compensated by the increasing flow of adrenaline, which not only keeps the trudger moving, but invigorates each step to such an extent that, having arrived world-weary at 7.30, s/he is actually full of beans by the interval, and raring to go half-way through the second half.

I both pity and admire the producer. What determination to work with such adverse conditions, and still manage to produce a show that has the audience not only clamouring for more, but expressing their happiness at having decided to come and see this particular production, as well as their wish to be informed of future happenings so that they'll be sure not to miss another winner.

Me, I think I'll stick with on-stage struggling for the time being. Before I succumb to the particular insanity that is producing, I'll have to rethink my take on amdram radically. Because while it definitely takes a certain kind of person to be on the amateur stage, the species specification for a producer is so much more demanding. While you can recognise an amateur actor anywhere, usually by the fact that s/he mutters constantly to her/himself, then clicks the tongue impatiently in mid-flow, after which the whole muttering starts from the beginning-sometimes accompanied by mystifying gestures-it is my firm belief that producers can be recognised by the glazed look as their sorely taxed brains try to cover all contingencies and requirements, and the wide grin of recognition that spreads as they bump into an unsuspecting victim just before s/he gets roped in to do wardrobe / prompting / props… This usually results in said victim wondering, as s/he declaims the hard-learned lines in front of the footlights, whether anyone in the audience suspects that they've not only made half their own costume, but crafted together their own (papier maché) crown as well as half the props on stage, and sitting down on their own furniture… With so many doubling- and trebling-ups, it's a wonder we're not all suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder, or even just mild schizophrenia…!

Or… are we?

the Hart