Four uses of the knife

On Monday my short play Catch a Falling Knife appears in the inner sanctum of RADA - the bar. Like any parent I'm proud of my offspring even when I can't be there to check out how it's behaving on the other side of the world (it's probably as well my own parents are no longer around to fact-check that one).

A playwright friend of mine reckons that the second time your show is performed it's like a cover band doing your work. But I mumble goodbye to the show in the rehearsal room - if not before. That's why Jo Punter's second most common question about an upcoming play (is it how you imagined it?) is always to be answered in the negative. It will never match the fabulous red-draped surroundings of the inside of your head. Much as we hate it (and make no mistake, there are many times we do) theatre is collaborative. Which is how it should be.

The alternative, the equivalent of thrusting the sulky teenager who sits alone in his bedroom into a spotlight and letting him do his own thing, gives us worthy, earnest, unwatchable shows.
It's the third different production and the fourth outing in six months for the play. Not bad for an idea that spent longer than most on death row. Like reading Mamet, there's a knack to chucking the chaff. And I have no idea what that is. But I'm still happy about Monday.