Today began almost immediately with the first of the two group competitions in which I have worked with our group, the drama piece. Actually, I should not call it that, for it fairly quickly became apparent that there was very little Drama going on. We had used the brief time last night after the show had finished to get on stage and establish some basic ideas such as where to stand on stage for our play’s opening; that was to be the extent of any rehearsal. But there was also a distinct lack of organisation to the whole process. It was difficult to find out when we would be performing (and even then that was thrown out of the window when the group before us had someone missing, and we were pushed on.
I also discovered, during one of the first group’s performance, that all of my emphasis on vocal projection was thrown away when it became clear that everyone was wearing a headmike (something not one of our performers had had any experience of.) Though not quite everyone, as there were only six headmikes, and our seventh performer was given a handheld mike. When she was also expected to perform physical tasks using props.
Even so, I was proud of our group’s performance. The mike on the lead character failed a few times, but I felt sure this would not be held against her, as it clearly was not her fault (now, I am not so sure. And I felt that they acted with sincerity and a touching, understated emotion. I congratulated them afterwards, genuinely believing they had delivered a really strong performance.
And I was monumentally unimpressed with the other groups. I did not see them all, the ones immediately before and after for the reason I was busy with our own group. Some were ludicrously melodramatic. Some were wooden in the extreme. One lip-synched the whole thing. None seemed to me to have the dramatic power of our group.
The main problem was the task that had been set. The competition itself was billed as “Boulevard of Dreams” – all of the various competitions had pretentious and ridiculous titles such as this. And the aim was to create a Hollywood musical, based on a piece of modern literature, with music and choreography, lasting eight minutes, including set-up, with eight people, ideally with live music. In other words, ridiculous. And not one of the groups came anywhere near to achieving this; hardly surprising, since it was so impossible. It was suggested that there should be a small ensemble to produce the music live (or even an orchestra, though where that was supposed to come from I have no idea.) Nearly everyone gave up and used pre-recorded music; we used a guitar played live.
It had been mentioned that the video screens could be used to project backdrops for the action. This was a suggestion I deliberately rejected, only very slightly because of my lack of technical ability with such things, but mostly because I believe such a device would destroy the imaginative power of the actors and audience to create an imaginative response. Such things are never used in “proper” theatre; they were on offer here because they could be, and nearly all groups availed themselves of it, using pictures of locations, or even clips from movies. Lazy, dead theatre, prioritising modern technical wizardry over actual theatricality.
But still, I lived in hope.
In the afternoon, there was the choir competition. At least this was not performed, as I had feared, in the auditorium; ironically, the room was actually too small, so that the various groups were unable to see and hear each other’s work, surely one of the points of the entire festival. The standards varied enormously. There is a cultural problem with Indian children singing western music, as their own musical tradition has a different tonal basis. It did mean that some were appallingly flat. A couple of groups stood out for having true musicality.
Our group were not natural singers, and so we had opted for performance skills of a different kind: a funny script, performed with a sense of fun. I had assured them they would make the audience laugh (no small achievement; Indian audiences find it difficult to respond in any way; they can scarcely be persuaded to clap.) Sitting at the back of the room, I could not see the audience, but the cast could, and I was greatly relieved when they told me afterwards there had been a lot of laughter. Which was probably the best we could hope for. I could only hope that our performance values would win the judges over.
The evening was intended to be the social highlight of the whole weekend: Retro Night, with promises of catwalk parades, photo opportunities, above all the opportunity to have fun. Our group, and I expect the others too, had prepared for this, brought their fanciest clothes. I have to say, I was looking forward to it myself, happy to play the clown. It was to be held in the school’s other huge campus, across town. They had been responsible for organising Odyssey, apparently, and wanted to bring the groups there. A fleet of buses had been laid on to take everyone there.
And then, without notice or explanation, it was cancelled. Just like that. The participants were instructed to return to their rooms. Surely, I thought, something else would be provided. They couldn’t just abandon the students. But they could, and they did. Apparently, it had rained heavily, and the event had been due to take place outside; their own auditorium was already booked for another event.
It had rained heavily during the afternoon – this was the monsoon season, after all – but there was no alternative provision. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to let the kids into the main auditorium where we were, plugged a phone into their sound system, and let all the kids have fun. But this did not seem to have occurred to anyone.
Not knowing how we would occupy themselves for the evening, we four – Yogi, Aparna, Anu and me – decided to go to the other campus, where there was to be a concert, I thought. A car was organised for us; I did ask about the students, but nothing for them; they would not enjoy it apparently. And it had to be said, neither did we.
It turned out to be a ceremony, commemorating both the opening of their new auditorium, and a celebration of the music teachers of the various campuses. And as such, monumentally tedious, with long speeches, and an even longer (and extremely badly organised) giving out of the awards. There was some music – unfortunately we arrived just as one piece was finishing, and there was a long wait before the undoubted musical highlight of the evening, a performance by Matt Bacon, a classical guitarist: quite superb, but he only played three pieces.
After some dinner, it was as though the organisers were adding insult to injury, for it seemed that we, almost entirely a bunch of adults, were to be treated to Retro Night. Not the full works, but exactly the sort of thing I had suggested for the youngsters – a phone plugged into a sound system, and the opportunity to dance. I didn’t feel much like it, but dutifully joined in. As did the others, all three proving themselves to be nifty little movers. There were some kids present, but they did their thing a little away from us, while we rather sad old things had a bit of a bop, remembering our lost youth.
There was one result to come out of the evening, which was the chance to be properly introduced to Geeta Ghandi Kingdon, daughter of the founder of the school, and now the manager of the entire operation. (I had met her mother the night before, when she had plonked herself down next to me, before initiating a chat. “I’m 91,” she had first announced, before revealing a still keen intelligence, and apparent interest in me.)
Anyway, back to her daughter. I explained the sort of thing I did, and was doing in Nepal. You could work at three of our schools for one rehearsal a week, she told me, which rather alarmed me at the sheer prospect. But shortly afterwards, clearly having given the matter some thought, she corralled me and Geoff, a music teacher at another of the schools participating in the festival. If I send a driver, she asked, can you come to my office at 10.30 tomorrow? And demanded an immediate answer. It did not seem possible to say no, so we agreed.
Discovered that the kids had had a great time while we were away, organising themselves to dance and socialise in the space in front of the main building, and letting CMS off the hook. Wished I could have joined them.
