Over the past few days, I have been trying to incorporate the stand-up style into the show, but I cannot find a way of writing it in this style that I am satisfied with. It feels much too dishonest as a presentation style for the subject at hand and I don’t want to make it feel like a waste of time – so I have decided to start my writing again. In doing so, I am taking on a different style, more inspired by the style of Spalding Gray’s Swimming to Cambodia. Having watched in class, and again recently outside of it, I found myself getting engrossed in Gray’s method of story-telling – the wide array of characters, and the running narrative, broken up by different sub-stories. This kind of structure is something I am exploring in my writing now. I intend to keep some elements the same – the production elements going wrong throughout the performance, the focus on dementia and forgetting and the colours of the lights to reflect the colour of my childhood bedroom. But in this case, I’m writing in a totally different style – moving away from the cabaret, towards a more serious, yet still humorous approach to memory and dementia (Where that can be managed). I will look at how to adapt my theme and how I feel performing in this different style, and how to incorporate my research on Music Therapy and how music has affected mine and my Granddads life:
Below, I have attached my former script:
“Hello everyone, and welcome to the show. Before we get started, I’d, uhh, just like to thank everyone for coming tonight – especially to those that have travelled to, um, Lincoln to see this. Some of you, erm, may know that this has been in the works for quite some time, uhh, particularly since I’ve had to, um, write and learn these songs for the show. I’d like to dedicate tonight’s performance to my Granddad, Bill. He um… He passed away in my first year here at University, and I, uh, am forever grateful for everything he did for me. Despite his Alzheimer’s in later life, he continued to motivate and inspire me with um… With his successes in his career and his pride in me. (Clears throat.) Aha, anyway, let’s start the show, shall we? There’s so much to get through… Um… House lights, please. (The house lights go down, and a warm wash comes over the stage.)
My name is William Joseph Cummings. My parents are Shelley Cummings and Danny Cummings. My middle name comes from my Godfather, Joe. My first name comes from my Grandfather, Bill – who was an Opera singer. I was born on the 15th of August 1996, in Chelsea and Westminster hospital. My birth was difficult. I was a ventouse delivery – which is a vacuum assisted birth. This is because, as ever, I was awkward. Though, in this case, my head was awkwardly positioned. My Mum likes to remind me that I had a cone shaped head for the first few weeks of my life – which I imagine must have made me look rather strange. Of course, I don’t remember any of this, being a baby and everything. In fact, my first memory was much, much later. I would have been about… 3 or 4. A bee stung my big toe and I was running around the garden, looking for my Mum to try and make it better. I don’t know what date this occurred, or how old I was, but it is my first memory. My most distinct memories come from around July 2002, when we moved into Greenholt. This is the house I consider to be my childhood home.
(The wash turns into a blue wash, with points of dark blue.) I still see it in my dreams, as vividly as I would if I still lived there. My bedroom had light blue walls, with dark blue circles on the walls. Mum painted it for me, and I stuck little stars in the dark blue circles. I don’t know why I did it, but I liked the way it looked. It made it look like one of those iPod adverts – you know, with the people dancing on brightly coloured backgrounds? And these colours are what I associate with my childhood, so when I need to remember that time, I think of those colours and suddenly, beloved childhood memories come flooding back. Memories of being 8, and watching The Simpsons at Nan-Nan and Granddads on a Friday afternoon. Nan-Nan would normally give us Heinz Ravioli, chips and peas, and then afterwards, we’d have raspberry ripple ice cream with lime jelly. Granddad would come in through the door, with his tweed jacket, and matching flat cap on. He’d have come back from the shop with a paper for him and my Nan-Nan under his arm. He was vibrant and alive. He made me and my brother laugh by popping his false teeth out, and then he’d pull this wicked grin at us. It’s one of my favourite memories of him.
(Light change, slow fade into green and yellow wash) I’m not well known for having a good memory for the important things. I always forget to do things that people ask me to do, but I can always remember simple trivia about all different things. (Light change: Single spotlight on the left side of the stage. I am standing on the right. I shuffle along to the spotlight.) Ahem… I know that the ocean is six miles deep. I know that the famous “All these moments will be lost, like tears in rain” line from Blade Runner was an improvisation by Rutger Hauer. But I can’t tell you what year my Mum was born, and in a couple of months, I won’t remember the date of this performance. Granddad went into the home in 2007.”