drama

Did I mention they filmed my monologue?

I announced with great delight recently that Slackline Productions had chosen my monologue, I Could Murder a Custard Cream, to be filmed for their Slackline Cyberstories. It is now available on YouTube starring Susannah May and directed by Callie Nestleroth, and it’s been done so well I grinned incessantly for the full 9 minutes and 51 seconds.

It’s a dark comedy set in a village in the Yorkshire Dales, and revolves around the magnificence of the humble custard cream (that’s a popular biscuit, for those not from round these parts). Susannah was glintingly wicked as the nameless biscuit-lover.

She was also kind enough to say that this was one of her favourite monologues,

and Lee Stuart Evans, author of the novel Words Best Sung (which I reviewed a while ago) said it was brilliant.

 

Lee’s a genuine TV and radio comedy writer by day so I’m choosing to believe that he knows what he’s talking about! As does my dad of course, who declared it ‘most amusing’.

If these endorsements have made you think that this film might be worth ten minutes of your life, I urge you to go and watch now at https://youtu.be/J4BR3odiNQI

While you’re there, I’m sure you can spare a few more minutes for the other Cyberstories too, they’re good. You can quote me on that if you like.

Monologue for the socially distant blues

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So here I am with writing time on my hands and although I’ve got a major project or two to be getting on with, everyone knows I’ve got a butterfly mind. I skim through Twitter and the BBC Writersroom looking for opportunities to submit to, a challenge, something to get the brain exercised, and everyone is asking for monologues.

It makes sense, if you think about it – they want to record them quick and stick them on the internet to entertain a bored nation stuck at home, and what with all the actors being stuck at home as well, the best way is to make it short and make it for one person, and they can read it out in their own bedroom and nobody has to meet anyone else. Great, I think, I can do monologues, I’ve done monologues before, I did the one for the Ilkley Writers river project, I did Viv’s 64th that always went down well (I must put a new recording of that up, the Chapel FM one isn’t available any more), even Pat’s part in Lavender Ink started as a monologue in isolation.

So you’d think, wouldn’t you, that with all that experience and a copy of Talking Heads to hand, not to mention the Mslexia guide to Writing for Radio (even though these aren’t for radio), I’d be laughing. Slackline Cyberstories even want strong female characters over 35, and anyone who’s read The Little Book of Northern Women knows I can write them, I bloody love writing them. But it won’t come. I’m sat at the keyboard waiting for an outpouring of monologue in the voice of a northern matriarch, preferably one with some curbed liberties so I can try the Popelei Seed Commission, and all I want to write is scripts full of silliness featuring as many characters as possible. It’s no good, I must’ve got the socially distant blues.

Lavender Ink, my first radio drama

Script of Lavender Ink by JY Saville and Rosalind Fairclough

We did it! Rosalind Fairclough (who you may know as poet Rosalind York) and I read our way through half an hour of the drama we’d written, live on the radio, and lived to tell the tale. We were fortunate to have technical assistance from Chapel FM‘s Elliot who was thrilled with our comprehensive cue sheet, and in return did a sterling job of dropping in sound effects and music. You can listen to Lavender Ink here, but you might want to read a bit more about it, first.

Having started out saying we were writing a Victorian melodrama, we ended up with an early 1960s drama with events during the second world war referred back to. Previously when Roz and I did reading and discussion programmes with Andrea Hardaker for Writing on Air, we were encouraged to include music to break up the programme, so I always had a musical element in mind. Once I thought about the practical side of two people in a small studio reading for half an hour, I knew we needed to give ourselves the odd rest when the microphones were off. It was most welcome, on the day.

The two eras of the play lent themselves to two different musical styles and we each picked three tracks we thought were appropriate. My character Pat, a less than enthusiastic bride on her wedding day c.1961, I imagined as having a portable record player and liking rock & roll. Roz’s character Marjorie, the bride’s mother, had been dancing during the war to vibrant (and quite rude) songs popular in the late thirties. She chose Bo Carter, Lil Johnson and Bessie Smith.

I initially wanted to stick to English rock & roll, Billy Fury for preference, though I was briefly worried that Pat might be an Adam Faith fan. My dad (a teenager himself in the early sixties) suggested Marty Wilde, so the intro is Billy Fury (Gonna Type a Letter) and the first interlude Marty Wilde (Bad Boy). When Roz and I spent five hours in the pub rewriting the script, the music they were playing was about the right era for Pat, and Shakin All Over by Johnny Kidd and the Pirates stuck in my head for the rest of the evening, to the extent that I decided it had to be one of the tracks in the play despite not being English. It became Pat’s ‘one more song’ before she puts the dress on.

We set the play in the West Riding of Yorkshire, though we never explicitly say where (nearby places are mentioned). That means Pat was written for, and read in, more or less my natural voice, though I tried not to sound too deep for a girl in her late teens.

If you’re a fan of late fifties/early sixties kitchen sink drama then Lavender Ink might be right up your street. If you like my Little Book of Northern Women, you’ll love it. If you want to hear me (39 and gruff) attempt to portray an innocent teenage bride, what are you waiting for? Sister Number One (notoriously hard to impress) has pronounced it ‘very good’.

Lavender Ink by Jacqueline Saville and Rosalind Fairclough – you heard us here first.

The North, the working class novel, the iplayer

For those of you with a passing interest in Northern working class culture and writings thereon (and let’s face it, on this blog it’s a definite benefit) there are a couple of rather interesting radio programmes on the BBC iplayer and they look like they’re available for quite some time yet.

The first is Beyond the Kitchen Sink, which I must have missed last year when it was on as part of the British New Wave season. It does make the occasional reference to other programmes from the season, which I don’t think are still available, but it’s an enjoyable documentary in its own right. For just short of an hour, Paul Allen talks about the plays and novels of the mid-fifties to sixties which brought working class voices to the fore. There are archive contributions from the likes of John Osborne, David Storey, Stan Barstow, and clips from the film and radio adaptations of their work. A much more intelligent treatment than the BBC TV documentary from September 2010 with an overlapping focus (which I reviewed here) it asks questions like why were the writers mainly northern, mainly men, and why did it appear to be a brief trend. A suggestion for part of the answer to the last question is that writers following in their footsteps went into TV rather than writing plays or novels, which brings me neatly to the next programme.

Bingo, Barbie and Barthes: 50 Years of Cultural Studies is a dreadful title for a thought-provoking two-part documentary on the origins and legacy of the Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies which Richard Hoggart founded in 1964 after he’d written The Uses of Literacy (which I’ve written about before). It features interviews with co-founder Stuart Hall who died recently, as well as other cultural studies academics past and present. It’s interesting to note how far removed cultural studies now seems to be (particularly in the popular imagination) from Hoggart’s intention but I do think that at its most incisive it can tell us a lot about the state of our society, for instance by examining the prevalence and format of TV talent shows or Downton Abbey or celebrity gossip magazines.

If any of that’s put you in the mood for some Northern writing and you haven’t sampled it already, you could try my short story collection The Little Book of Northern Women. Some of it even has a working class setting…