All aboard the Train to Nowhere

2021 kicked off with a brand new episode of Doctor Who! A big New Year's Dalek invasion special, with lots of chaos, screaming and plenty of exterminations. Then there was that whole thing with the Doctor being locked up in space prison, my god, what a cliffhanger to leave us on! Fortunately, she escaped fairly quickly, with the help of who I hear you ask? Captain Jack Harkness of course! Just a few months after his brief appearance in Series 12, it had been an entire TEN YEARS since he had last appeared in the show. Wow! Just...wow!

However, this isn't about that, despite how much I'd like to indulge in my obsessions, there is something much different I'd like to talk about. Here is my attempt at speaking my mind, in a way anyone on youtube might talk to a camera, this is something I'm much more comfortable doing.

So let's begin, shall we?

Due to a pandemic taking the world by storm, I had to remain at home and experience the start of my second term of University through a computer screen. I had been greatly bothered by the first term because I hadn't actually done anything of substance, I had written two fairly okay essays about subjects I had barely any real interest in because I was dealing with an intense depressing feeling caused by huge bouts of isolation. I wasn't having much fun at all and was pondering the idea of giving up all together, which I didn't want to do.

The second term was an instant improvement from the first because I had the chance to finally do something I was interested in; writing. I was placed into a group of nine other people, all of whom were also very happy to start making theatre as soon as possible, we were tasked with creating a short twenty to thirty minutes theatre piece where the characters had to have attributes similar to various Grimm's Fairytale characters, it also was required that the play take place on a train, which sounded easy enough to do. 

The first thing we did as a group was designate roles, of course, I nominated myself to be the writer, and the group happily obliged. Hooray!

I was pleased as punch, I had assumed someone else would want to take the role, but nope. I was free to live my dream of telling stories, I was grinning from ear to ear, the realisation that I'd have to actually write something GOOD not yet hitting me, it took a while.

First things first, come up with a cool name for our group. Something clever, something funny, something that would stir fear into the hearts of the other group, something that had something to do with trains (obviously).

"The Choo Choos?" Someone said, "Because that is the noise a train makes, Choo! Choo!"

"Perfect." We agreed. 

The rest is history.

We started with the basics, which were the basic ideas of the story, what did we all agree had to be in there? After that was sorted out, they then ushered me off to go write the damn thing. I had an awful amount of creative freedom, which was nice, as it allowed me to basically do whatever I wanted when it came to how the characters were portrayed and how they went through the story. 

We hadn't figured out an ending yet, well we had, but nothing concrete that all of us had agreed was good, so I was left to just come up with something myself. At the time of writing it, I was suffering from a fairly bad headache, which usually clouds my judgement a little, but I persevered, I wrote an ending and sent the final piece (edited slightly from a whopping sixty-plus pages to about fifty-something) to the group and went to bed. I woke up the next day, the headache now gone, in total panic at what I had written, with the assumption I had lost my mind and the group had begun looking for a different writer. However, that was not the case, they loved the ending, they loved the characters, they loved the story and they loved me. Which was great!

Rarely, my suspicions are ever confirmed, my suspicions being that I'm at all a good writer, because I'd rather not think about it in case it turns out I'm not and I just have a big ego. It's an ongoing problem with me, so to have my suspicions confirmed by someone else is always welcome. I am a good writer...apparently.

The play ended up with the title "The Train to Nowhere", a title that I love and will never change because it truly encapsulates the stupidity of the story and the silliness of the characters and concepts. Its ghostly mission statement being that anything can happen and will happen, so why not?

A week later we had been tasked with making a presentation, to show off our ideas, our characters, our set plans, our costumes, all of the pieces of the puzzle that would show what we intended to do with the performance. We had a wonderful time showing off everything we had come up with, it was clear we enjoyed what we were doing; making GOOD theatre!

We had to do the presentation in front of the other group (who had named themselves "The Chugga Chuggas" - very telling, eh?), we went on after they did, so we also got a good look at what they intended to do for their show. There was an aura of friendly competition between us, so low blows and childish mocking was to be expected. I doubt it'll ever die down, but deep inside, we appreciated what the other group was doing, even if ours was clearly better.

Obviously, not everything was perfect, if everything was perfect then everything would be rubbish. Imagine a world where everyone and everything is perfect? It would be creepy (yet also dramatically compelling, good idea for a Doctor Who episode? Nobody steal that idea, it's mine!).

The feedback I had been given regarding the script was expected to be honest.

"Fifty pages is way too long, it's meant to be a twenty to thirty-minute performance, this script is at least an hour." They told me.

"Could you make an exception?" I begged, on my knees and my hands clasped together, not wanting to edit the script any further, it was my baby, they were asking me to edit my baby, to cut my baby down, how dare they!

"No!" They shouted, dramatically leaving the Teams call, for a door was not available at the time for them to slam.

I promptly edited down the script to reach a page count of forty-something.

"That'll do." I whispered to myself, silently praying, hoping I wouldn't have to hurt my baby anymore, it's crying was hurting my ears.

And it did do. They told me it was fine. Thank god.

And that was the last we heard about the whole thing, not a peep after that, not even the slight mutter of the word "train" graced anyone's lips for many weeks.

The process from then, to now, was a long one, where no one really knew if we would ever get the chance to perform it. We rehearsed anyway, just in case, it was also a pretty good excuse to go outside, to finally do some theatre, in a proper theatre! 

We had fun. Well, I did anyway, it's been an annoying task meeting people during the dark days of a pandemic, so to have a few hours a week to do that was nice, I had a wonderful time rehearsing with these people, even if none of us knew if the show would ever happen or not. It was worth the time spent.

Then, all of a sudden, the clouds parted, a ray of sunshine streaking through, a glimmer of hope basking us all in its miracles. 

We were given a weeks notice. The show would take place on the 10th of May. No sooner. No later. Now or never. The time had finally arrived. As expected during a time like this, we all began to panic.

The days leading up to the show date were days filled with early mornings, getting up incredibly tired, hoping the energy would arrive for us to finally start dramatically moving about and putting on silly voices. It was hell, but we pushed through. 

We, unfortunately, had no Train set available, but we made do with some tables and chairs, the cheapness provided a somewhat wonderful filter, allowing the context of the actual story to come through a little more. I can now relate to what the people in the sixties had to put up with when filming Doctor Who, the cheapness gives it charm. 

We all were praying everyone else would see that too.

Then the day was finally here. The stage was set and the audience (made up of "The Chugga Chuggas", who had just performed their piece) had been silenced. Backstage, there was electricity in the air, everyone was nervous, but we all knew our lines, we knew what to do, we were confident in our skills - and yet we were still nervous. The energy in that room was palpable, we could all sense it, it was wonderful. I will never forget that feeling.

Over the speakers, the familiar rhythmic clapping of "Mr Sandman" began to play, then just as quickly as it had arrived, the music was cut short by a loud CHOO! CHOO! because that was our group name and the play is set on a train, very clever I know, my intention was for it to be a very subtle dig at the other team because I'm petty and they'd have no way of knowing, how would they? Then, after the Choo Choo, the lights came up and two characters (Jacob and Wilhelm, the names of the Grimm - once again, very clever) enter from either side of the stage, officially starting the play:

"Well, so the journey begins." Said Wilhelm.

"But where we'll end up is difficult to say." Said Jacob.

Showing my state of mind at the time of writing, I had no idea where the story would end, for we didn't have one in mind, I soon remedied that by the time I got there, thank god. A story with a bad ending is a story that will go on throughout history as being terrible, the end bit is the last thing the audience sees, you can't leave them on a bad ending. It's a CRIME and should be punishable by death, how's that for an ending?!

The play ends, with me once again showing just how clever I am:

"Well, so the journey has come to an end."

I love a good mirror, a sense of coming full circle. The ending is built into the beginning, as Kaufman put it. Without context, it might sound rather silly, but within context, it's very silly and that's the point. Just good fun, like a fairytale. So I feel I absolutely nailed the brief with flying stars and wonderfully colourful fireworks, ones that really bring out the "Oohs" and "Aahs".

The show ends. We pack up the set. We turn on the house lights. We make a terrible attempt at gathering up our stuff and panic when something that should be there, isn't. We then go out for drinks (water for me, thanks bartender!) and pizza, both groups, both alike in dignity, laughing and chatting as one big happy family. That's how I saw it anyway.

It went incredibly well, we all had fun playing the roles after months of thinking it was never going to come into fruition, and as we did our bows, the lights went dark over the stage for the final time - the dreaded "post-show depression" sank in. Months of writing, rehearsing, laughing and getting to know my fellow performers, and it had all come to an end. A bitter sweet final chapter for the Train to Nowhere, as it had finally arrived at its destination.

I was so proud, to write something that everyone enjoyed, that everyone would appreciate - they all laughed at the jokes in the correct places, each character got a chance to shine and show off their acting chops, we managed to create something that ended with a multi-layered applause because we kept milking the ending down to its final drops, and yet the audience kept clapping anyway, and they were happy to do so because they loved what I, what WE had created. My god, it felt good to know that, I can see why people can get addicted to that sort of stuff.

I had fun. As did everyone else. I'd gotten more compliments about my writing this year, more than I had ever done before for something that I had made. I am so desperate to write something else for the stage and get my new friends performing again, not only for myself but also for them, it could really help get our names out there for any future endeavours, I'd need to record it and get us out there into the world. Share it amongst the masses.

We'll see, fingers crossed, toes crossed, veins, and all that, are also crossed. 

We'll see, in time. Choo! Choo!