Tag Archives: Fleur Du Cap Theatre Awards

A Sad Wank As Career Progression (The Nomination Boogie-Woogie)

4 Mar

It has been two weeks since my play “Champ” was nominated for three Fleur Du Cap Theatre Awards and a masturbating monkey of melancholy (Jesus, with the alliteration) has taken residence on top of my head and its jerky movements and lewd grunts has put me off balance. Not that I was ever in the realm of the well-balanced, but what little I had has been substituted by the shuffling gait of a drunk trying to determine the pattern of desire lines in an open field.

The Fleur Du Cap Theatre Awards have long been a magnet for praise and criticism, including my own rants on the subject, and it is with my knowledge (correct or not) of the way the Cape Town Theatre industry functions that I find myself dizzily standing on the picked-at carcass that is my play. I say my play, but I know full well that my contribution is only as the originator of the script. A play belongs to those who raised it as much as the one (or many) who birthed it. “Champ” is not my first play, nor my most ambitious in terms of what I aim to present. But it has proven to be the most popular and lauded of my works thus far. I have been congratulated by a wide variety of people, ranging from those I respect to those I believe should be shipped off to Siberia and put to work in a gulag for crimes against theatre (a bit dramatic, but I started off with a suggestion of murder by firearm, but Oscar Pistorius has ruined those jokes for the foreseeable future).

The nominations that the esteemed (some not so much) Fleur Du Cappers have thrown at “Champ” have certainly boosted my confidence that the play has a life beyond the confines of Cape Town, however it is not because of the nominations that the play has been offered a life beyond said confines. The play was picked up by The Fugard Theatre for a revival run at the beginning of this year (2013, for those of you reading this in the future… on Mars) and other offers for the play were made soon after that, well before the Fleur Du Cap nominations. Don’t get me wrong, it’s motherfucking aces that we got nominated and the prospect of hobnobbing with the “elite” at the ceremony fills me with joyous trepidation that can only be understood by people who share my love of free wine and food in massive quantities. There will be drinking, eating and all manner of debauchery if last year’s ceremony is anything to go by. The play itself will be spotlighted for a while and the backslapping will surely ruin the suit I’ve picked out for the occasion (I only have one, so it wasn’t much of a choice.)

So, why the melancholy, I hear you ask. It is not the prospect of losing, which we surely will seeing as “Champ” is up against such behemoths as “Mies Julie” (sex, apartheid, guilt, sex, boobs, apartheid, guilt, guilt, sex, sex), “Statements After An Arrest Under The Immorality Act” (Athol Fugard, sex, boobs, guilt, crying audience members, Athol Fugard) and “The View” (non-stop crying from everyone around me, the whole time, for an hour and a half, dead-puppy level crying, sick grandma level crying, crying, crying, crying.) *

*Disclaimer: The above plays are all terrific and worthy of the praise they have received. My lame attempts at humour should not dissuade you from seeing them and supporting the fuck out of them.

Back to me (what a dick, heh?). The problem with success in this town is that very often the praise is underhanded. Instead of agreeing that the work is above what the “critic” expected to experience, one is complimented for finally dropping to the level of the “critic”, as if the work has been compromised to fit in with the “critic’s” low expectations. For example, soon after the initial run of “Champ”, I was approached and congratulated by a reviewer of some esteem. The reviewer told me, in no uncertain terms, that I had finally produced a play worthy of their praise. By some miracle act of artistic compromise I had managed to write a play that spoke to them instead of alienating them like previous efforts had. If this is true, then it is an immense failure on my part as a playwright. One should never pander to the “critics”, but rather strive to elevate their viewpoints to meet or succeed your own. If what the reviewer said was miscalculation or a blatant lie, then what can I make of that? Will I only be praised and revered if I disguise my work enough to fool those who hold sway over the industry? Perhaps. But what then of the honesty that one strives to bring to every piece of writing? Should the mask be created before the face? Should the carefully constructed lie be thought of before the truth is decided on? Can this paragraph contain any more questions?

In a bid to alleviate my melancholy, I think of “Champ” as an aberration; a phantom blip on the radar of my career (Christ, enough with the metaphors). I don’t mean the play itself, but rather the resulting madness around it. I believe, rightly or wrongly, that it doesn’t help the play. At best, it leaves the play as is, without the need for alteration. At worst, it feeds the ego of the creators and their need for acceptance. We are, after all, a community of artists and low self-esteem and the need for over-compensation are perhaps the things we all have in common. To bend to the attention of something like the Fleur Du Cap Awards might lead to a breaking of integrity that will last longer than the warmth of the glow from the brief acceptance. Such moments, whether they are large in scale (awards) or tiny (a kind word from a critic), should be viewed as reminders to stay true to the work and not as inspirations for similar work. Lest we forget, we would be making theatre with or without awards or critics. Wouldn’t we?

%d bloggers like this: