A Great Load of Greatness...

What makes a person great?

Is it what they do, what they say, how they're viewed? 

There are the obvious examples of human greatness: "Oscar Wilde, Kurt Cobain, Shakespeare, Madonna, Mother Theresa, Brangelina, Charlie Chaplin, Michael Jackson, Gandhi, John Lennon... The Spice Girls!?!?" Each completely different from the next and yet all have been hailed as 'great'... 

***Humans that shine***

I can't help thinking that we may have lost our way in the labeling of greatness in modern times. There's no denying that Shakespeare or Wilde or Woolf were amazing individuals, but it seems far easier to make the list nowadays. Most names that feature on any modern "Humans of Greatness" list, are or were celebrities of their day. I'm left wondering if they were celebrities because they were great or were they great because they were celebrities? Could it be that in modern times we confuse the word "great" with "Loud" or "Extravert" or "Extreme Press Coverage" or simply "Remembered"? Do you have to be great to be remembered?

I've always had a preoccupation with leaving a mark in life. I'm afraid of the oblivion of mediocrity and being forgotten in the pages of 'normal'. Ultimately, I want to be remembered after I'm gone... Don't panic, I'm not planning on going anywhere, anytime soon. But it is still something I think about.

I'm reminded of the Chinese tradition of longevity and leaving your name and image in physical form on every wall and surface you can squeeze it onto, in order that you are not forgotten. Short of scrawling all over my walls, what is a person to do to be remembered?

In considering this, I have found myself at a loss. It seems to all boil down to media coverage. The artists, playwrights, medical specialists, rulers, presidents, popstars and concert organisers are freely admired, and for very good reason. They do, after all, provide a great service to the community. However, the teachers that strive to ground and educate or the parents that struggle to make money but still make time for their children or the carers that devote their time to the well being of another are somewhat left by the wayside. Greatness and column space hold a very close relationship, I have learned.

Could it be that greatness is something you claim with your final breath? You hear of great last words, such as: "My wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One of us has to go (Oscar Wilde)" or "The taste of death is upon my lips... I feel something that is not of this earth (Mozart)" or "I should never have switched from scotch to martinis (Hunphrey Bogart)". They are poignant, wonderful words that smack of luck and wit and good timing. But what about the people that said " D'you want a cup of tea?" or "I'm off to the shop" or simply farted before they died? Are they any less great for having a not-so-poetic final moment?

Ultimately I realise, greatness is something that lies in the heart of the beholder, not the possessor. We can strive all our lives for recognition and still slip effortlessly into the shadows without so much as a second thought or glance from anyone. I believe the key to greatness is as simple as making a difference to just one person. If, on the day we die, we can say "I made a change in someone's life"or "I earned respect" or "I tried my best", I believe we have achieved greatness.  

I conclude that you do not have to be great to be remembered, you simply have to be remembered to be great.

x

The Simple Pleasures...

Food... I can't help noticing that nothing makes me happier (and I'm a pretty happy person) than good food. I simply love it. It effects me emotionally in a brilliantly positive way. 

Don't get me wrong... I'm a gay man performing in a nude review show... I watch what I eat. I have to. But, secretly, I don't want to.

I experienced it today. 

I had been dancing in an audition and was tired and sweaty and a little miserable at the thought of having to do a show afterwards. On the way to the theatre, I picked up some sushi for dinner. Just regular old sushi. Some tuna rolls, shrimp nigiri, salmon sashimi, yellow snapper and a cup of miso soup... Nothing remarkable there.

I clumped into my dressing room, also armed with a starbucks peppermint tea and a bottle of diet coke (i couldn't decide what drink I wanted) and set myself down to feast. Needless to say, fifteen wasabi and pickled ginger enhanced minutes later, I was content, relaxed, full and rearing to go for tonight's show. It's amazing.

Though I may not speak for everyone on this matter, food to me is one of life's greatest gifts and a pleasure I enjoy whole heartedly. I adore flavour, texture and smell. I'm fascinated by the intricacies of sweet and sour and hot and sharp and mellow and smoky and salty and bitter and the different feelings and emotions they create. 

I'm not a religious person, but if I had to put my faith in something, I'd raise my glass to Dionysus- God of wine and feasting. He seems like my kind of guy.

Though I work out and do my best to keep trim in an age of gym membership and muscle addiction I'm pretty sure that inside, the inner me is a short, tubby and very smiley child sitting before an ethereal table spread with wonderful things to eat. 

Cheers everybody... Eat, drink and be merry x

Time Spent Alone...

I spent the weekend alone. 

Not much of a feat, right? My flatmates were away and I had the pleasurable time of a flat all to myself... Or so I thought. By the time the fourth day had passed however, I was bored enough to start talking to walls and was genuinely disappointed when I received no reply.

Four days on my own drove me nearly stark raving bonkers. I realised how important company is to me...

I'm fascinated by the effects of loneliness. Being a bit of a literary fiend, I'm somewhat in love with character's suffering from great solitude such as Miss Havisham, Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, George Milton and Lennie Small, Piscine "PI" Molitor Patel and Holden Caulfield. I'm curious as to when a brain becomes lonely enough that fantasy outwrestles reality and invention settles in.

I was recently introduced to the splendid weirdness of "Grey Gardens". For those of you unfortunate (and I mean truly unfortunate) enough not to have seen it, it is a 1975 documentary about the lives of Edith Bouvier Beale Snr and Edith Bouvier Beale Jnr, the aunt and first cousin to Jackie Onassis. They lived for decades together in the Hamptons mansion "Grey Gardens" in near perfect squaller. The house was flea-infested, inhabited by innumerable cats and raccoons, lacked running water, and was full of garbage and decay. 

When a camera crew went in to film the documentary of the two women's lives, they discovered the pair lived in a bizarre fantasy world of pretend socialite grandeur. 

Edie Snr would force Edie Jnr to change clothes (what she called her costumes) up to ten times a day in a bizarre act of first ladyhood. The pair had created a world for themselves in which they were the centre of glamour and gossip instead of their world famous relative. The ravages of loneliness are more than apparent on the young Edie's face and the documentary stands (in my opinion) as one of the best examples of how solitude can effect the human brain in a negative way.

I highly recommend watching the documentary as it really is an incredible piece of real life drama. There is much to be learned here I feel.

Never will friends feel as important as just after watching the plight of Big Edie and Little Edie. It seems remarkable how easy it is to lose oneself to the ravages of too much time spent alone... The imagination, it seems, is wonderful but deadly.

x 

Do The Show...

Tonight, I was onstage in front of one of those audiences all performers pray for. They laughed at every joke, sighed at every poignant moment and clapped with never ending enthusiasm. It was one of those "I remember why I started all of this" evenings. It got me thinking about our role as the "performer" and the relationship we have with our audience.

The film "Alegria", directed by Franco dragone, has an amazing speech about the performer's role in society. The speech takes place in a sad scene when the Ringmaster of a dying and failing circus rouses his performers for one final show. He Says:

'We do the show. We do the show for the people in the dark... They need us. You know life is very tough, life is very hard and it's very cruel. When you step over the line into the light, you have a certain responsibility to the people in the dark. You've got to be strong. You've got to take all your pain and you have to bury it inside your costume. For 22 hours you can be just like them... You can moan and worry and cry and sleep and eat and drink and make love and suffer and grow old and die, just like everybody else. But, for two hours of every night, you're not allowed to let life in. So what are you going to do now?... Do the show! Do the show for the people sitting in the dark. The show is for them... Not for you...'

With only four performances left before our West End transfer, I am filled with great anticipation and excitement. My agent saw the show this evening and I was genuinely worried about what he might think. To my delight he told me he thought the show was "liberating and inspiring."

I'm very thankful for the chance to be one of the people in the light, baring all for the people sitting in the dark.

x