Guest Speaker #2: John Haidar

John Haidar looked set to be a terrific Surly in The Alchemist. Moody, acerbic, asexual - all that good stuff. Then tragedy struck. The play was disbanded due to mumpish rumblings, and the company left to imbibe an unseemly cocktail of disappointment, mild relief... but mostly disappointment. This Michaelmas though, John will ascend to the director's chair to wrestle with the unique challenge of remounting The Alchemist for an early ADC run. John's also played one half of the Sal and Sol double act in The Merchant of Venice (always safer to share the anti-Semitism about) and a well-received Macduff in Macbeth, as well as appearing in Brian Friel's Translations at Queens. More recently, I acted opposite John in Selwyn's Love's Labour's Lost, in which John had his fair share of the good speeches whilst I mugged and grimaced from afar. He'll also be getting piratical with his fellow rogues and cut-purses for the Edinburgh run of Silent Cannonfire. John's always been a friendly and interesting sort of chap when I've run into him, particularly given that he shares my same insane passion for all things Phantom of the Opera - to the direct exclusion of Love Never Dies! Hurrah! I'm also told that he flirted outrageously with Anne Robinson on The Weakest Link. I rigidly maintain that this should be his specialist subject if he ever gets round to doing Mastermind.


I’ve always found fantasy easier to live with. Reality’s all well and good but eventually it’s all just a bit monotonous, isn’t it? Whilst this immediately sounds like the prologue to a pretentious rant worthy of Blanche Dubois, I’m not saying that we’re all in it for the “magic” of Cambridge drama, whatever that is. The point here is that I came into the wonderful world of acting in the vain hope that through it I might be able to escape myself, to become something bigger and better than I had been up to that moment in time. And, to be honest, the biggest and best lesson that I’ve had to learn in the past year is to forget all that. Whilst it’s easier to live in another place, time and circumstance, if only in your head, it won’t help you become a better actor. At least, I don’t think it will.

Now, let’s get this straight: I am no expert. I’ve only been around for a mere nineteen and a half years, so what right have I to be preaching (preaching!) to you, Dear Reader, about my unfulfilled passions or (get this) my Promethean ambitions, inspirations, motivations or desires. Well, none at all, really. Blame my friend, James Swanton. Anyway, here goes.

Anybody can act. I’m not one to subscribe to the belief that only a few, ‘sensitive types’ have what it takes, that it’s some sort of God-given ‘gift’ only handed down to the elite few. Theatre, in its purest form, should incorporate all aspects of the society in which we live, and, as a result of that inclusivism, should incorporate all types of people from all walks of life. In my opinion, this happens to be one of the many reasons why that Shakespeare guy’s done quite well in recent years. For me, the greatest writers have always dealt with everyday life, ‘from the gutter to the gods’, and this is why acting has always represented one of the most insightful and meaningful ways through which we have an opportunity to explore other people, people who may be entirely different from ourselves in character, place and time, or, on the other hand, with whom we may share many trademark characteristics.

I once heard someone describe the first drumbeat of Bob Dylan’s Like A Rolling Stone as “kicking open the door to your mind.” Maybe this is what I’m getting at – that acting, as a living art form, is about constantly challenging the preconceptions we create for both ourselves and others and shattering them if necessary. There’s always a new direction to take a character in and, for me, the kaleidoscopic nature of dramatic interpretation is what gets me excited about rehearsing a scene, whether it involves a monologue from The Crucible or a fight scene from Hamlet or just messing around and improvising a comedy sketch. I want to play Mercutio as a sufferer of bipolar disorder, so who’s going to stop me?

Soooooo, without getting all autobiographical I think I’ll put on my director’s cap now and talk about that for a bit, now that we’ve solved the infinite complexities of the dramatic art form, from an actor’s perspective at least…

The thing is, you see, I’m about to direct The Alchemist for The Marlowe Society at the ADC and, I can tell you, it’s a tall order. Not impossible but very, very tall…giraffe-like, one might say (but not me). It’s a play, written by Ben Jonson, celebrating its 400th birthday this year. Considering this, it must be at least a 7/10 to have stayed around for that long, I suppose. Apparently, along with Sophocles’ Oedipus and Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones, it represents one of the most perfect plots in all literature. Thanks for that, Samuel Taylor Coleridge. No pressure then.

I tend to like comedy with a dark edge to it and so, since this is both the greatest farce in the English language and the most vicious satire, it is right up my street. Whilst the play’s themes of greed, credulity and fraud are universal and timeless, they are probably funnier, in my opinion, when set in a more familiar period, which means that, in collaboration with my set, sound and lighting designers, we’re likely to give it a modern, but, at the same time, deliberately ambiguous context. For example, the music of a certain Sheffield-based indie rock band will make a special appearance in the opening scene… A further obstacle to consider is Jonson’s language, which can be a bit opaque at times, and for this reason, we’ll be working on some judicious cutting (and even re-wording!) in rehearsals to make sure it is accessible to our audience. A necessary evil of directing, which, in the case of this gargantuan, intellectually-hardcore-full-of-classical-allusions-and-Latin script, is o so very necessary.

I suppose that, in spite of all the technical stuff and creative artistry though, being a competent director is about staying true to the writer’s intention whilst not only keeping but capturing an audience’s interest, whether this is achieved via a new interpretation of the text or simply a technically masterful rendering of its original performance style. To my mind, all great art should evoke a reaction in us, and whether that’s love or hate, sorrow or joy, it should grab us by the throat, wrestle us to the ground and rearrange our reality. Furthermore, in the case of directing a theatrical production, it should serve as an excuse to have a good laugh with some great people and put on a bloody good show. Dates for your diaries are the 12th-16th October. Was that a plug, James? I think it was.

Before I retreat back to my summer reading list, then, I would just like to re-iterate the words of another of my friends, George Potts, who has both written a brilliant blog entry and brought your attention to Mr. Swanton’s one-man extravaganza, which I have no doubt will be a really great piece of theatre for our viewing pleasure next term. Go and see it.

My thanks go to James for allowing me to muse so freely and to you, Dear Reader, for reading. It’s been a pleasure, this one-way conversation malarkey. See you again soon. Same time, same place, yeah? Otherwise, in the ADC Bar. That’s where us actors live.