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History ensemble member Nick Asbury on involuntary noises and 'drying'...
BLEEEUURGHHH!!!!
That's what I felt I sounded like on stage last night. Now, there are two things going on here.
 The first, of course, is cabin fever and manifests itself firstly with small involuntary noises made whilst reading a script, say, in the Green Room. These noises become part of you. Everyone makes them and they become inaudible to yourself or to colleagues. Any outsider listening in may raise an eyebrow but frankly at this stage they can whistle. Then, like an addiction, they grow insidiously. They become sudden exclamations. Vocal twitches which catch out not only the issuer but anybody within twenty feet. The body starts to cramp and spasm. Arms fly at weird angles. Teeth are sucked and spat out again. Then you run, mad and staring, through the back stage area into a wall. You look at the clock on said wall and it reads 10.45. It's only after a thorough mental search you realise it's the morning and not the evening and that you will still be here when the clock returns to that position in twelve hours time. Even a Histories actor will tell the right time twice a day.
The second thing going on here, extreme mental tiredness, involves brain spasms. Take yesterday. I spent the first half of the morning finishing a technical understudy rehearsal of Henry VI Part I where I play York AND Winchester. Then for the rest of the morning and afternoon it was an Understudy Tech rehearsal of Henry VI Part II again playing York and Winchester. Then it was a performance of Henry VI Part II in the evening, where I play Somerset. In Act 1 Sc 3 York and Somerset come storming on with the King and York says "If York hath ill demeaned himself in France/ Let him be denayed the Regentship", to which Somerset replies, "If Somerset be unworthy of the place/ Let York be Regent, I will yield to him". On we came, Clive says his line as York. I open my mouth and I speak utter pants. It's too much for me. The whole - York/Somerset who the hell am I, hang on, I've been putting in twelve hour days for weeks now and I've forgotten my own name let alone my character's or any other character I've ever played in my life - thing kicked in. Nothing. Not a sausage. But, wait a second sunshine, you say, I'm a professional actor; these people looking at me have paid good money to see you strutting your stuff, not some pathetic simpleton who looks as though he's just returned from a good session with Tyson in his ear phase. Get yourself together. You'll never work again. Aaaargh! The world is turning black. Eh? What's that noise?
The noise is someone speaking. Slowly, achingly, I realise it's coming from somewhere near me. In fact it IS me. I'm saying something. It's my line. It's Somerset's line. I'm on stage. I'm in the scene. I've finished the line. And other people are responding. And I'm back! All that's taken place in my head has taken about a third of a second. Long enough for adrenalin to be surging around my body, sweat beading on my head. The audience would never know but it's enough for me to wet my pants.
'Drying' is a horrible experience and one no actor, a species who will take the mickey mercilessly out of anything, will make light of. It can and has happened to us all. But we are so tired, so exhausted at the moment that it happened to me last night. It was infinitesimal but it really shocked me. I spoke a bit of drivel for half a line, but it was fine. But we're at that pitch now. Michael Boyd has been quoted in the press as saying he likes to drive his actors to the point of exhaustion, and then you get something quite new and interesting out of them. Point taken, but it's seat of the pants stuff. Quite exciting, though.
I said in a blog or two ago about the brain getting in the way and there is no danger of that happening. I read a fantastic quote from Peter Ustinov the other day when he was faced with a particularly fervent method actor in the 50s to whom he said: "Don't just do something. Stand there!" We are at that rather nice point in performance where, in my view, we are faced with no choice but just to be there. Be present. And that, to me, is the secret of acting. I don't know whether it's the old adage of "Get on stage, say the lines, don't bang into the furniture and get off stage", firstly because we don't have any furniture, and secondly because we care, but it is a useful note. Because the plays will perform and we are in them. The swords do the fighting. And we do the talking. It's a simple as that.
Except, of course, when you're making noises and running into the wall and wondering who you are and where the dickens you came from. Easy, really.
 Respond to Nick's blog
Watch extracts from the Histories
 View scenes from Henry V and behind the scenes in rehearsals.
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Latest blog posts
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About blogger Nick
Likes: Cricket and music. Fields and dark pubs with no music
Dislikes: Lager, crowded streets and light bars with music |
