Want to Dramaturgy Me: Ben SantaMaria @ Edfringe 2018

"Really Want to Hurt Me" 

A funny, bittersweet and painfully honest new one-person play about growing up as a gay teenager in rural Britain in the 1980s, featuring a soundtrack of that decade’s greatest music 

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FLAMING THEATRE presents Really Want to Hurt Me Edinburgh Festival Fringe Assembly Hall, Baillie Room (Venue 35) 2–27 August 2018 A funny, bittersweet and painfully honest new one-person play about growing up as a gay teenager in rural Britain in the 1980s, featuring a soundtrack of that decade’s greatest music by Culture Club, Eurythmics, Tears for Fears, The Smiths, Kate Bush, Cocteau Twins and more. WATCH THIS NEW TRAILER! https://vimeo.com/278238286

Devon, 1984. Under constant pressure to be straight and act “masculine”, a 14-year-old lad feels his life is more like George Orwell’s “1984”. School bullies… Teenage heartache… Suicidal self-hatred… An accidental first orgasm… Trying to tape the weekly Top 40 from the radio without the DJ talking over the songs… Dancing defiantly to your Walkman…

With seven ★★★★ London reviews, this acclaimed play is a celebration of surviving all that life throws at you and escaping into the joys of pop music like your life depends on it. Because in a way it actually does. It may be set a long time ago, but are things really that different now? “Do you really want to hurt me?”

Written and directed by Ben SantaMaria. 

Performed by Ryan Price.

What areas of mental health are you looking at in the performance?

Really Want to Hurt Me is the most autobiographical play I’ve written, so I’ve tried to balance the intensely personal memories with what’s happening on the bigger social canvas. It explores a schoolboy’s growing isolation and suicidal self-loathing in Devon from 1984-86, and his coping strategies to survive that trauma and build a liveable identity. The regimented policing of gender and sexuality in that time and place, with violent bullying at the sharp end of it all, makes him retreat into the comfortable and transgressive fantasy world of pop music. The mental and emotional gymnastics he has to perform to make sense of himself in this daily life of compulsory heterosexuality and rigid ‘masculinity’ means he feels he has nowhere to turn but in on himself for failing to stick to the social script. The lack of role models, or even basic acknowledgement that queerness and gender diversity might belong in this world, gives him a stunted adolescence – an arrested development – that so many LGBTQ people still find themselves damaged by, at that age and throughout later life. We watch those with heterosexual privilege, and those who successfully pass as such, live out the lusts and loves and group bonds thate everyone needs to grow up with a grounded quality of mental health. Ironically, LGBTQ kids and teens are often punished and marginalised for an identity they don’t have the support or life experience to actually discover yet. The play uses comedy and intimate confessions to take audiences deep inside the boy’s secret struggles with all this, and to ask how much of this repression has actually changed significantly for young LGBTQ people since the ‘80s. Stonewall’s School Report study last year found that almost half of all LGBTQ pupils still face bullying, half regularly hear homophobic insults and many suffer low self-worth, self-harm and attempt suicide.

In what ways do you hope that your play can help the audience to move forward in their understanding and actions towards a greater sense of mental good health?

I’ve developed it to hopefully speak directly to anyone who sits down to watch it at Assembly Hall. It’s important to me that it feels genuine and recognisable for LGBTQ audiences, but also intimate and vulnerable for everyone, because it’s about going right to the heart of the character’s most shameful feelings of worthlessness and guilt, to then be able to push past that self-punishing internalisation of the rejection outside him and fight back. This is maybe where it connects with all of our different struggles to find balance and belonging. The play doesn’t reach for easy answers to the boy’s situation, or shy away from the lowest points where mental health and happiness feels alien and he’s convinced he has no future. But because we get to see all of this, the stumbling steps he gradually takes to connect with the world, instead of only retreating to listen to his headphones, possibly ring truer to audiences as brave risks than some more generic self-help advice would. That need to take real action beyond being soothed by a Walkman definitely still applies to most of us with our phone and screen binges!

And given the high pressure nature of the Fringe, do you have any ideas about positive self-care during August in Edinburgh?

Speaking of binges…! The Fringe is a great big glorious jump into all the fantasy worlds we’re bringing to life around the city. It’s a unique place to get lost in just about everything you could imagine. A refrain I keep hearing, though, is what a lonely experience it can be for most people at some point. So maybe we can all take a tip from that scared ‘80s schoolboy and dare to reach out to connect with others that bit more often, instead of getting trapped in thinking we don’t belong. I also personally swear by Transcendental Meditation - something worth considering as a more powerful form of stress release than the surface-level, thought-control “mindfulness” approaches to meditation that get more publicity. And a good old dose of keeping it all in perspective can’t hurt. Balancing Fringe time with getting to know the city beyond it. Remembering why you’ve chosen to share this particular story on stage this year, regardless of how much attention it gets. Or thinking about what it is you’re looking to get from the particular shows you choose to go see, instead of numbing out and just ticking them off. That all-important, elusive balance!

Ben SantaMaria, writer and director of Flaming Theatre’s Really Want to Hurt Me (performed by Ryan Price). 2^nd-27^th August, 3pm (not 13^th or 20^th) in the Baillie Room at Assembly Hall (Venue 35). Tickets and show trailer: www.assemblyfestival.com/whats-on/really-want-to-hurt-me.

Sold-out London previews at the Old Red Lion and at Theatre503. Pick of the Festival at the Bike Shed Theatre, Exeter. Developed with support from Arts Council England and Soho Theatre Young Company.

Stonewall’s 2017 School Report study found that almost half of all LGBT pupils face bullying, half regularly hear homophobic insults and many suffer low self-worth, self-harm and attempt suicide. With a growing public awareness of mental health issues for increasing numbers of young men, Really Want To Hurt Me has strong relevance in 2018.

Ben SantaMaria’s earlier play lulla reached the Top 100 list from 1060 entries for Soho Theatre’s 2017

Verity Bargate Award. He took part in the National Theatre Studio Directors' Course, assistant directed at Shakespeare's Globe and co-directed After Orlando for Chaskis Theatre Company at Theatre Royal Stratford East and The Vaults, Waterloo. His other plays have been staged at Theatre503, Southwark Playhouse and ARC Stockton.

Flaming Theatre’s previous work includes Jarman Garden about filmmaker/artist Derek Jarman at Riverside Studios. A finalist for the Oxford Samuel Beckett Theatre Trust Award. Neil Tennant (Pet Shop Boys) called it “a beautifully choreographed tour through Derek’s life and world”. The Times said it was “a rollercoaster ride of sensations…a sublime interdisciplinary sensual assault”. One of Mark Shenton’s 5 Best Shows in London.

London reviews for Really Want To Hurt Me

“Wow, this is powerful stuff. A cracking script and a superb actor. Hilarious. Wonderful.”

★★★★ LondonTheatre1.com

“Enchanting, funny and uneasy in equal measure. Beautiful. Not to be missed.” ★★★★ Reviews Hub

“It certainly has something special. Natural charisma and vulnerability. Wonderful moments of  exploding angst.” ★★★★ Stage Talk

“Funny, touching and beautifully showcases the talents of the charming Ryan Price.”

West End & Broadway director Sean Mathias

Web:    assemblyfestival.com  Twitter: @FlamingTheatre  Facebook: FlamingTheatre

LISTING INFORMATION

Venue:  Assembly Hall, Baillie Room, Mound Place, EH1 2LU

Time: 15.00   Running Time: 60 mins  Suitable for ages 14+.

Dates: 2–27 August. Previews 2-3 August. No show Mon 13 & Mon 20 August.

Tickets: Previews £7; 6-7, 10-12, 17-19, 24-26 August £11 (£10); 4-5, 8-9, 14-16, 21-23, 27 August £10 (£9)

Mental Health @ The Fringe: Bebe Sanders @ Edfringe 2018

First of all, how do you define mental health? What does the term mean to you - do you have a social model of sanity, for example, or is it concerned with neural atypical conditions?

Mental health is so personal, and means different things to different people. There might be one person who flies through something that would induce a panic attack in another. For me personally, it’s about knowing oneself. Knowing what the triggers are, knowing what works in managing the difficulties. I think the best example of sanity is someone who has become self aware enough to know what is and isn’t good for them. Ironically, some of the most well balanced people I know are those who live with mental illness, because it has forced them to become self aware and adopt habits and lifestyles that help them stay well.  

What areas of mental health are you looking at in the performance?

In ‘Violet’ we explore themes of loneliness, and depression – which I believe, often come hand in hand. It is primarily a show about friendship, and human connection across generations, and how by opening our minds and letting a lot of the insignificant ‘stuff’ go, we can begin to feel more whole. Our character Bertie starts off in London, which she finds totally overwhelming, and by moving down to the beach and letting go of the pressures she thought were inescapable, she begins to feel more sturdy, mentally. 

In what ways do you hope that  your play can help the audience to move forward in their understanding and actions towards a greater sense of mental good health?

I hope it reminds people of what really matters to them. That it reminds them to take the pressure off when it comes to the stressful, little things that ultimately are not serving them well. And hopefully it will inspire people to reach out and connect with people they may not usually speak to or interact with. It's a reminder of the importance of human connection. 

And given the high pressure nature of the Fringe, do you have any ideas about positive self-care during August in Edinburgh.

If you are feeling anxious or mentally unstable, it is a categorically terrible idea to drink a lot of alcohol! So hard to do in the environment of the fringe, but truly something I have learnt the hard way. Also, all the basics we all know; try and get enough sleep, eat good food, not just chips from a van. And also try to connect with other people who might be experiencing similar things to you. There are some wonderful ways to connect with people – just reach out. If you’re struggling, don’t feel like you have to do it alone. 

Hidden Dramaturgy: Gary Thomas @ WAF

Gary Thomas

HIDDEN

Hidden is about the darkest thoughts we can’t always share with others, and the darkest places we can find humour.

We follow Sam through from his teenage years to his 20s to his psychosis following a police stop and search. He tries to make sense of it all as he successfully recovers, and goes on to lead an extraordinary life. Nothing is so tragic that you can’t laugh at it.

What was the inspiration for ‘Hidden’?

In 2013 I received arts council funding to write the first 30,000 words of my memoir and write a one man play. I’d been making films for the past 10 years and wanted to just concentrate on writing and theatre seemed the most appropriate medium to go with the book. 

I knew I wanted to focus on my own experiences of mental health issues for the play, particularly an episode of psychosis which I felt had so much in it to explore.

How did you go about gathering the team for it?

I met the Director Tom Latter through workshops he did with his company Sheer Drop Theatre. The first one I attended was where they read some of Hidden and everyone gave feedback on it. It was a really supportive and encouraging environment to be in, especially as I’d recently expanded it and hadn’t heard some of the new dialogue before.

How did you become interested in making performance?

I saw Finnish Artist Eija Liisa Ahtila work at Tate modern way back in 2003, it was really the first time I’d seen artist film and video like that and I was blown away. I left the gallery thinking ‘If that’s art then I want to do that!’ 

So I was lucky enough to be successful with a few arts council funding applications to make film installations, and worked with actors on those. I’ve had a lot of fun doing it, my passion is writing and working with actors, so theatre seemed to be the next logical step.

Was your process typical of the way that you make a performance?

Not at all actually, as I’ve directed all my other work (including previous versions of Hidden). But this is the first time I’ve worked with an other director – Tom Latter - and its been great to see that process happen. I wanted to learn as much as possible by watching Tom & Adam Donaldson (who plays ‘Sam’) work and I think I have. Although I will say it was slightly scary / strange when they randomly improvised a scene from my childhood (not in the script). It was quite accurate lol!

What do you hope that the audience will experience?

Gosh, I think I’m happy for them to have free reign on what they experience! The show is about mental health – someone who suffers psychosis following a police stop and search but its also funny. Ultimately I want them to follow Sam’s journey through his childhood to overcoming his mental health issues and the extremes in between, and maybe see that they can be in control of their own emotions, just like Sam got to be.




What strategies did you consider towards shaping this audience experience?

The most important thing was putting aside the ‘literal truth’ (my own experiences) and realise this is a fictional characters journey, and to never forget the primary purpose of the script and performance is for entertainment. Which is why I wanted this new version to be funny, but also take it outside of my own life so I was free to expand it any way I felt. 

Do you see your work within any particular tradition?

Well, this is my first theatre piece, so I’m still learning about the traditions. When I wrote this (and my new play) I realise I’ve done some of the traditional stuff anyway. Its interesting because each actor has found the rhythm in the piece, and at the time I wasn’t even sure that’s how I was writing it! I just knew for each line the shorter the better. And give the actor freedom to come up with ideas.

pure dead mental

One of the reasons that I admire Nick Cohen is for his ability to acknowledge good - whoever it is done by. He is also capable of changing his mind – as he did in the matter of Tony Blair's involvement in Iraq. While I may disagree with his conclusions, his flexibility, combined with a determined belief in freedom of speech, and generosity are rare qualities in contemporary writing.

When he praised the Liberal Democrat minister, Norman Lamb, for putting mental health issues into the agenda for the election, he suggested that this matter was long overdue some attention. Unfortunately, his glowing portrait of Lamb is soured by the revelation that the minister has been the 'victim' of 'trolling' by activists, who regard his commitment as hypocritical. The Lib-Dems, who are currently trying to distance themselves from the government that they have spent five years supporting, have made mental health an issue because they have a clear manifesto statement of intent on the matter. The activists suggest that, actually, Lamb was part of the government that has cut back the services that he now claims to defend.

Despite Cohen's endorsement, the inclusion of mental health in the political debate is a mixed blessing. On the one hand, there is clearly a problem with the current thinking on the issue. Many of the benefit cuts of the Conservatives have fallen on the mentally ill – they are vulnerable to bullying or difficult questioning in a particular way. And, as Cohen points out, it is possible that the language around mental health has encouraged a soft approach to addressing its consequences.

Yet anything that gets included on the political agenda will rapidly become a political football. Education seems to be getting a pass this year – austerity, taxation and national independence, with a side order of mild environmentalism are the hot topics. The abject failure of Labour to take the fight to the Tories (which plays into SNP and Green claims that the two parties lack any real differences in policy), has left open the debate, with side issues (note: the SNP will not be running the country in 2016, so the detail of their policy does not need a slamming, Mr Murphy) hiding the political panic that is really at the heart of party politics.

(This panic goes like this: the economic system has been exposed as a failure, in so far as the boom has turned to a bust, and no fucker managed to stop it. Trickle down economics, which is a crock, doesn't work, but we have no idea what to replace it with. So, the parties are shitting themselves, and their call for austerity is the desperate croaking of a man stuck in the bog looking for toilet paper after he has broken the flushing mechanism).

Mental health has long been a lazy plot device in theatre: not so much Chekhov's gun as Chekhov's anti-depressants. If it becomes part of political banter, it's likely to be caricatured even more than it already is, with the mentally unhealthy ending up as either the poor victims of illness who need to be cared for (as long as they accept the magical charity of the state), or a bunch of shiftless bastards sponging off the welfare state.One of the reasons that I admire Nick Cohen is for his ability to acknowledge good whoever it is done by. He is also capable of changing his mind – as he did in the matter of Tony Blair's involvement in Iraq. While I may disagree with his conclusions, his flexibility, combined with a determined belief in freedom of speech, and generosity are rare qualities in contemporary writing.

When he praised the Liberal Democrat minister, Lamb, for putting mental health issues into the agenda for the election, he suggested that this matter was long overdue some attention. Unfortunately, his glowing portrait of Lamb is soured by the revelation that he has been the 'victim' of 'trolling' by activists, who regard his commitment as hypocritical. The Lib-Dems, who are currently trying to distance themselves from the government that they have spent five years supporting, have made mental health an issue because they have a clear manifesto statement of intent on the matter. The activists suggest that, actually, lamb was part of the government that has cut back the services that they now claim to defend.

Despite Cohen's endorsement, the inclusion of mental health in the political debate is a mixed blessing. On the one hand, there is clearly a problem with the current thinking on the issue. Many of the benefit cuts of the Conservatives have fallen on the mentally ill – they are vulnerable to bullying or difficult questioning in a particular way. And, as Cohen points out, it is possible that the language around mental health has encouraged a soft approach to addressing its consequences.

Yet anything that gets included on the political agenda will rapidly become a political football. Education seems to be getting a pass this year – austerity, taxation and national independence, with a side order of mild environmentalism are the hot topics. The abject failure of Labour to take the fight to the Tories (which plays into SNP and Green claims that the two parties lack any real differences in policy), has left open the debate, with side issues (note: the SNP will not be running the country in 2016, so the detail of their policy does not need a slamming, Mr Murphy) hiding the political panic that is really at the heart of party politics.

(This panic goes like this: the economic system has been exposed as a failure, in so far as the boom has turned to a bust, and no fucker managed to stop it. Trickle down economics, which is a crock, doesn't work, but we have no idea what to replace it with. So, the parties are shitting themselves, and their call for austerity is the desperate croaking of a man stuck in the bog looking for toilet paper after he has broken the flushing mechanism).

Mental health has long been a lazy plot device in theatre: not so much Chekhov's gun as Chekhov's anti-depressants. If it becomes part of political banter, it's likely to be caricatured even more than it already is, with the mentally unhealthy ending up as either the poor victims of illness who need to be cared for (as long as they accept the magical charity of the state), or a bunch of shiftless bastards sponging off the welfare state.

Chlorine @ Zoo

I have concerns about theatre's relationship to 'mental health.' In fact, I don't even like talking about 'mental health': the phrase suggests that it is dealing with the wide range of possible consciousnesses, when it really means 'mental illness' (but it is trying to avoid the stigma).

I have a deep conviction that what has been called mental illness is not a strict category of consciousness, but a series of common symptoms that are bundled together when an individual becomes dysfunctional and called a diagnosis. That is not to say people do not suffer - depression is more or less the standard setting in modern life - or that anyone ought to throw their pills in the bin. However, from my position, all discussion about mental health is fundamentally flawed.

And theatre has been responsible: 'mad' characters have always been either comic (thank you, Shakespeare and the Fool) or deadly (the character who takes pills for their moods will end up killing someone). The representation of madness in performance has encouraged the idea that the mentally ill are other.

Recently, there has been a change: mental illness has become an issue, giving plenty of plays that take it very seriously. Better than this are verbatim works that try to give voice to the subject's 'victims,' and Chlorine goes one better: it is the experiences of the writer.

Nest question: what will this do for representations of 'madness?'