Rolling in to Edinburgh Waverley at 11am on Thursday the 1st of August was like a breath of fresh air, having left the hustle and bustle of grey London at 6am in the morning, even Edinburgh’s cool breeze was a blessing. The familiar sight of the majestic Edinburgh Castle greeted us as we left the station in the oh too common Black Cab, our destination... the very classy Newtown, more to the point, the Royal Terrace. Quite an upward slide after the doldrums of Dumbidykes (a council estate where we stayed last year). Our Newtown apartment was a delight, with a kitchen the size of our whole flat last year, we were in heaven.
The first few days in the magical city were really used as a re-acquaintance, meeting up with old friends, sampling the rather small nightlife on our meagre budgets and of course relaxing into our home for the next three weeks. As always we are keen to find out our advance booking sales and this year was no exception, as soon as our venue office was up and running Craig was off to get the figures. And what a pleasant surprise it was, Born African, for the first week was almost sold out, and generally sales for that particular production were the best we've ever had. Taming of the Shrew was a bit disappointing, showing very low figures for the whole run, but we were not disheartened, we were determined to go into the festival with a bang, and that is precisely what we did.
Performing at our usual venue, St Augustine’s Sanctuary on George IV Bridge, made things so much easier, most of the crew know who we are, and often refer to us as their ‘star team’, which always means we have to work extra hard year after year to impress our audiences and in fact our venue. After a rather long Technical rehearsal on Sunday afternoon, we all went home to a fabulous meal (we had a Rota and everyone had to cook once a week), and then Wiina, Adam and Zane went off to the Edinburgh Conference Center for the official opening Gala of the Fringe Festival. Set up like a fairground, we were given free glasses of whiskey and treated to 10 minute performances by other companies, some dreadful, others rather interesting. We mingled with press and friends and finally made our way home across the city to snuggle up in bed in preparation for the big opening of our own play Born African.
Opening night was a smash, completely sold out with a queue stretching along the street just before curtain up, was a sight to warm the heart, filled with Brits and ex-pat Zimbabweans, it was a true sign that we had finally broken into the market. People finally knew who we were. This was to be a common occurrence, even out of performance, folk would recognise us from last year or as soon as we mentioned Born African, or Taming of the Shrew, we would get an immediate link to OTE.
Reviews in Edinburgh, make or break you and it was with luck that Born African was reviewed for the second year running by the Scotsman (the most influential paper in the festival) within the second week, thus giving us a sell-out show. Taming of the Shrew was not so lucky, having to compete with two other productions isn't always fun, and despite a review from the weekly paper ThreeWeeks, at the end of week 2 we were still playing to less than 50 people a night (the theatre holds 110). Flyering the Royal Mile is never a fun job, but it was one that had to be done, all dressed up in our Taming of the Shrew costumes we took to the famous High street in the Old Town and thanks to the ingenious designs of Heeten Bhagat, got quite a bit of attention, there was one day however where we felt the need to escape from the Mile, heads held high, after a passer-by thought we were linked to the most brazen of Drag Queens, Kandy Kane, the same hussy who camped outside the new Harvey Nicholls, so she could cut the ribbon! However despite her taking up the whole street with her pink dog, we managed to get rid of most of our flyers within one week... what a relief, there's nothing like trying to give some innocent passer-by a bit of paper that you know they are just going to throw away.
Despite the poor response to Taming of the Shrew, we were invited on to the BBC World Service for an interview, as well as one with BBC Radio 4. Exposure is always a good thing! On the same vein, we were twice invited onto Pick of the Fringe, a daily showcase of what the producers feel are the best shows on at the festival, with over 1500 shows to choose from, it is always an honour to perform on Mervyn Stutters’ show.
Edinburgh is always a hive of activity and by the beginning of the third week, we had 3 extra people living in our house, others had come and gone, some had slept on the floor, others shared beds, some slept on mattresses taken from the side of the road, and one in particular made a cosy nook in a cupboard! All the coming and going made for excellent fun and laughs, going to the local pub two doors down from the Venue, or the one round the corner from our house, even the infamous Blooms and Habana. We always managed to find a way to stretch that pound a bit further.
It was in the last week and a half that things became even more exciting, it was at this time that we were approached by Antonio Ribeiro of the Blue Elephant Theatre in Camberwell, who was very keen to have Born African in his theatre (we know the outcome of that venture!). Other producers and Artistic Directors from both the UK and worldwide had shown great interest in having the company at their festivals or in their theatres. It was also at this time that we found out that Born African was a runner-up for the Amnesty International Freedom of Expression Award. Although we didn't win, it was a real honour to be nominated and indeed to be at the ceremony with the top actors and directors in the industry.
It was toward the end of the festival that the biggest scare came. Taming of the Shrew had been reviewed by the Scotsman, but no review had been published. On the Friday morning with 4 days left of the Festival, the Scotsman called the venue requesting a photograph of Taming of the Shrew. This of course is the most terrifying thought, because it means they either loved it or they hated it and have it out on a rather nasty thing called the page of shame. All day we fretted over this and even that evening at dinner with some friends from South Africa (also performing at the festival) we were quiet and withdrawn. The Scotsman is released at midnight and so three of us made it our duty to go down into town to purchase it. The first place we looked was the page of shame, relieved that it wasn't there we flicked through the paper, until we found the picture staring at us with four glorious stars above it. The joy echoed down George Street, causing bouncers and guards to look at us strangely. But it was our night, our Shrew was ‘neither camp nor cheap’ Scotsman 2002. Surprisingly the next two days Taming of the Shrew was sold out… better late than never.
All in all this Edinburgh was the most enjoyable and no doubt about it, the most successful.
Zane E. Lucas (Artistic Director 2001/2)
Wiina's Battersea Arts Centre Production Report
Born African, London Calls Again
Battersea Arts Centre, January 21st – February 8th
Another year, another adventure, another horizon to conquer. The Clown Juggernaut was all geared up for a second outing to Foggy (and Icy) London town at the commencement of 2003 (which I will randomly, though with much affection, refer to as the Year of The Goat and War). First port of Call: A run at the Battersea Arts Centre as part of the Time Out Critics Choice Season.
The Battersea Arts Centre is a far cry from the edgily cosy world of Antonio Ribeiro’s Blue Elephant Theatre. Situated in the more fashionable and dare I say for some more palatable (for some) post code of Clapham Junction, it bestrides the area like the colossus of creativity that it is. Boasting no fewer than three performance spaces, it fleshes out its impressive home on Lavender Hill with a Café, a Bar a myriad of rehearsal and function rooms and an art gallery for Dessert. There’s never a dull moment in this joint. There’s always something or other going on… and woe betide the philistine who gets caught in the whirlwind. The corridors and Cafes were awash with painters, poets, trendoids, actors, writers and all other creatures of culture (and even a stray Home Office functionary slumming in the smoky cells of the supposedly anti-establishment). All this of course was sprinkled with a not inconsiderable dose of the brave, the beautiful and the brilliant.
Into this strode the four man Zimbabwe National Theatre Squad. Our numbers on this occasion filled out with all the crazy technical genius and slumming film bufoonery of the ubiquitous Heeten Bhagat. The Battersea Arts team, ably led by the tireless Kate Mcgrath and the cool as ice Greg Piggot, were professional, hard working and always on hand to assist in any way possible. At first one would be forgiven for thinking that the air of professionalism was a tad superficial and that these people really could not care whether we were there or not (Purity and Naivety in the land of Muted Smiles etc.) However, having witnessed the sheer mass of programming and the sea of bodies that populate the centre at all hours, by golly give these folks a pat on the back and a cold drink on me. In the final analysis, the BAC gang are passionate and hardworking and if anything had honourably done their duty by us, letting us play in their back yard (a very big, off West End back yard).
So Over The Edge embarked on possibly one of the most significant runs of Born African ever. Needless to say, Zimbabwe’s cameo appearances in the headlines (Cricketers, Cronies and Crumbling Crowns) served us well. This venue and this season was without doubt going to earn us Broadsheet Attention. Mildly put, this was make or break time, on the Threshold of the big time.
The audiences did not disappoint and neither did the reviews that were to follow. However, at this juncture I am moved to scrutinise, in some part, the content of some of the reviews. There was a definite sense of strong criticism towards the supposedly ‘Apolitical’ social drama that constitutes Born African. One critic was ‘ Surprised that in a drama about Zimbabwe, Robert Mugabe does not get name checked once’.
Inevitably this question comes up again and again. This does not mean to say that it is an invalid observation. Nevertheless, when we strip our people and our country to its bare bones, the socio-humanist drama that we continue to create with Born African is not enough for some people. Why should 11million people, with 11million different lives, voices and scars be validated or defined by the mention or absence of one name? Why does the press and by extension the society that breeds it see fit to define us as befits their own unilateral definition of who and what we are? By all means, fingers must be pointed, brows beaten and heads called for. This is the essential birthplace of any form of protest. Nevertheless I firmly believe that for any nation to be defined or judged by the whims of one name and all it stands for is narrow minded and disempowering. It seems to me that people succumb to oppression (in some part) by dint of the fact that we allow ourselves to be forced into a singular definition or unilateral validation by self proclaimed voices of the Masses. If Americans are not too chuffed to be judged solely by the actions and words G W Bush, why the hell should Zimbabweans be judged or accounted for solely by you know who?
We must reclaim our own histories. We must document our own ills and our pasts. Evaluate our own presents. This I believe is the first step to empowerment. This is the way to restore some hope for the future. It is a little sad and very annoying that as Africans we are still viewed and accounted by the crimes and catastrophes committed against and by us, rather than by the entirety of our own Humanity. For the rest of the world it seems there are Human Beings then there are Africans and Statistics.
That being said, it would be unfair to conclude that the critics had done us a disservice. Born Africans strengths and intentions shone through and received gracious mention from seasoned Art Critics.
As if further success in London was not enough, this period in time saw us commit Born African to the medium of Radio under the auspices of Producer/ Director Extrodinaire Rishi Sankar, of the BBC World Service. Rishi co- helmed the meticulous adaptation of the play from stage to airwave with interesting results. We found new levels and new resonance to the piece as well as learning the finer points of creating high quality drama for Radio. The acid test of course was the broadcast itself that went out on February 8th at 0000GMT…to a small audience of about 15 million people worldwide (Insert vocal/verbal expletive ejaculation response here). To date the feedback has been positive.
Then all of a sudden it was all over. Again. The whirlwind had passed and had left a trail of accolade and achievement in its wake. Not to mention of course some serious re-invitations to some of the most hallowed spaces and places in modern theatrical creation.
To the good people at the BAC; To the good People at Time Out Magazine; To Rishi Sankar, Alice Martin and the teams at BBC World Service; To Antonio Ribeiro, Honorary Zimbabwean; To Heeten Bhagat, friend and all round genius; To the audiences of all persuasions, principles and personalities; To the critics and their respective publications… To you all we say a big, warm and hearty thank you…and lets definitely do it again some time!
Wiina (On behalf of demi-sex gods everywhere) Msamati Artistic Director
Born African, The Blue Elephant Theatre , Camberwell London
September 24th – October 12th 2002-11-04
Cast : Wiina Msamati, Adam Neill and Craig Peter
Crew: Ross Markham (Son et Lumiere… literally!!!) “ There was an air of sentimentality as the three intrepid clowns set off for the foggy metropolis of London. Here it was. That magic moment that we had all so often dreamt of : A London Debut. For the uninitiated, the London Theatre Circuit ( Fringe or otherwise) is viewed widely in our trade as the equivalent to Hollywood. The lights may be bigger and brighter ( Literally) on New York’s Broadway, but it is the musty, foggy, fading, decadent opulence and ever so slightly intellectual air of London town that is the unholy grail of those who play this wretched, beautiful game that is our particular bread and poison.”
So, understandably one could not quite keep the lump from ones throat. After eight years of banging our heads against the combined indifference, intolerance and ignorance of self styled Svengali’s and audiences at home and abroad, Antonio Ribeiro was a veritable pillar of fire leading us to our northern promised land.
On a typically cold, wet Sunday Edinburgh morning, with the three week bonfire that is the Fringe Festival gently dying away, Craig and I had met the slightly crumpled native Portuguese Producer/ Manager at the fatefully monikered Elephant House Café across the road from our performance venue. We arrived with the well trained Zimbabwean veneer of casual indifference and world weariness. All this to disguise the excitement that a London Producer was interested in our little piece of new African theatre. One would have thought that we had no reason to harbour scepticism.
Our last three Edinburgh trips had been a cocktail of critical acclaim, awards, nominations… not to mention a few extra pennies with which to buy baked beans. Furthermore, we had now garnered somewhat of a reputation, clearly evidenced by the overwhelming pre festival buzz our name had attached to it. Yet in the oftentimes fickle world that we had become accustomed to in this life in Art, previous success and reputation were never a guarantee. The air of suspicious cool, was therefore academically sound not to mention crucial to our survival…
Yet here was someone (named Antonio) who was genuinely excited and eager to bring us to London. He was quick to point out that the Theatre was not immediately adjacent to Wyndhams Theatre or The Prince of Wales (the theatre, not the mongoose) ..in fact it wasn't even within regulation US Military bombing safety zone distance (and that's saying a lot…). Once we had agreed that an address anywhere near an Andrew Lloyd-Webber re-re-revival would really cheapen our show, the dates were set and a long time dream was about to come true.
The Blue Elephant Theatre is situated in the midst of a clutch of council estates in the Borough of Southwark in Camberwell, South London. The surrounding environs are a collage of all the cliches of a deprived urban settlement (Oh, the ironies of the ‘civilised’ ‘developed’ first world). The area was also predominantly black so the three ( now four , with Tech. Vet Ross Markham joining the squad) felt right at home! The theatre itself is very much an urban oasis. Downbeat and inauspicious from the outside, its interior is modern, smart and comfortable. So much so that at times it was hard to believe that just beyond the tastefully obscured windows was a very harsh and depressing reality.
It was almost as if the Heavens had conspired to create a vision, a parody even, of the land from whence we had come, the one we were tasked to portray.
The performance space epitomised `Le Theatre In time’. It is one of those spaces that an Actor can easily get lost in; one of those spaces that is as intimate as a blanket on a cold night- even when you are not clutching to it, it envelopes you like a second skin. So too, for the audience. Over the next three weeks and 17 performances of Born African, the 92 seater Blue Elephant Theatre became a portal to the heart of a nation. This was not just because of the quasi-reality the space afforded us the opportunity to inhabit. This was more because, for the legions of Zimbabweans who veritably ripped up the floorboards ( let alone popping out of the proverbial woodwork) to come and see us, It was the first time in ages, chronologically and emotionally, that they had gone home. For the visitors form lands afar, it was a journey into a distant place that was all too familiar.
Some post show nights were full on class reunions. Others were acerbic social warfare. Some still were characterised by gales of laughter and floods of tears... the ‘ Trappings and suits` of familiarity. There is a certain nakedness that is the preserve of the individual far from home. Emotions and ideas that are either to close or too distant for comfort at home, take on an almost surgical clarity when seen through a foreign lens. Indeed, we too found ourselves looking again at the state of the nation from a distance. I can only conclude that our future material will be an on-going exploration and evocation of the understanding our work gives us.
Also of interest was the racial make up of the audiences. The statistics currently in circulation, suggest that there are as many as four hundred thousand Zimbabweans based in the UK. Presuming that a fair amount are in and around London, why were our Zimbabwean audiences predominantly white? Where on earth is everyone else? The reasons as to why this was and is so would fill volumes ( There is also the small matter of taste, upbringing etc.). Nevertheless, I had the great pleasure of conversation and communion with South Africans, Cameroonians, Kenyans, West Indians, Dutch, Germans, French and of course the necessary English.
Technically, the on stage dynamic between the three actors, was nothing short of magical. This was enhanced by solid, professional standard sound and lights equipment. One often steps back and swallows hard at the discrepancies of the worlds we briefly inhabit. A small and hardly wealthy Theatre like the Blue Elephant, has equipment that not even the biggest theatres in Zimbabwe could dream about. Even so, such things should never be viewed as a hindrance or an annoyance. ( To each their burdens etc).
For Adam, Craig and I even the off nights ( Alas, we are but human) were an amazing combination of theatrical chemistry and great team work. This in turn infected affected the audience. Born African has gone through the internal and external construction and deconstruction that, I believe, is essential to the success of any quality piece of live theatre. Its power and success are also a result of maturity. We are not the same artists we were eight years ago. Some Zimbabweans who watched the show were completely thrown by the fact that Over The Edge produced and performed a literate, aesthetically sound and sombre piece of theatre ( There is always one person who does not want you to grow up).
There have also been intimations that Over The Edge have ‘lost’ their satirical/ critical… edge. Anyone who has seen Born African or Taming of The Shrew for that matter, and still believes that is misguided. If anything our technique and skills, have become more refined and sophisticated over time. No doubt, this metamorphosis, will continue. The voice is the same... it is the shape and form of the flesh that changes.
Critically, Born African was an outright hit in London. Somewhere, in the squalor of that false heaven called London, a Zimbabwean theatre company made a lasting professional, artistic and personal impression on all those who came into contact with them. We extend a warm thank you to all those who supported us and made this debut such a success. Not least of all Antonio Ribeiro and the wonderful team at the Blue Elephant Theatre.
To close, a moment of whimsical philosophical indulgence. On one Saturday night, after a matinee and evening show ( both of which were packed), the theatre Bar and lounge was jam-packed with bodies: Zimbabwean, British and just about everything in between. Amongst the sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces, three proud, preening actors hopped from hug, to table , to handshake, to innumerable free drinks. As the vapours of celebratory lagers and wines took firm root in our depleted systems, I was suddenly struck by something. Here, in grey and by turns foul London, in a smoky, trendily declasse theatre bar were black, white, brown, pink and some slightly greenish white people ( that's another story). Side by side, tear by tear, memory by memory, glass to glass. Together. Mbare , Borrowdale, Arcadia, Peckham, Buckingham bloody palace… suddenly didn't matter. All that mattered was your heart and your voice. And it was shared.
And with another swig of free beer, I thought maybe, just maybe, somewhere in a hazy vision of tomorrow, there is hope for us all.
Here's to another season completely Over The Edge.
The Battersea Arts Centre is a far cry from the edgily cosy world of Antonio Ribeiro’s Blue Elephant Theatre. Situated in the more fashionable and dare I say for some more palatable (for some) post code of Clapham Junction, it bestrides the area like the colossus of creativity that it is. Boasting no fewer than three performance spaces, it fleshes out its impressive home on Lavender Hill with a Café, a Bar a myriad of rehearsal and function rooms and an art gallery for Dessert. There’s never a dull moment in this joint. There’s always something or other going on… and woe betide the philistine who gets caught in the whirlwind. The corridors and Cafes were awash with painters, poets, trendoids, actors, writers and all other creatures of culture (and even a stray Home Office functionary slumming in the smoky cells of the supposedly anti-establishment). All this of course was sprinkled with a not inconsiderable dose of the brave, the beautiful and the brilliant.