The Other Half

There's a beautiful book by Simon Annand called "The Half" that with several hundred photographs shows several hundred actors in those last 35 minutes before curtain up. It's a super book filled, as you might expect, with vivacity, ebullience, frivolity, playfulness, as well as no small amount of ego, but also as you might not expect with introspection, doubt, melancholy and subdued focus.

I suppose naturally enough it started me wondering what sort of an image might sum up my pre-show experience. The truth though, which Annand's books captures so wonderfully, is that the half is a slippery, multi-faceted beast. Not only is it different for each actor but also different for each show.
Firstly and most obviously varying make up and costume demands mean that some roles take longer to prepare for than others. Incidentally during the course of a run you'll often find actors, consciously or otherwise, 'playing chicken' with each other- leaving getting ready as late as they dare until one night someone arrives on-stage breathless and still fastening their flies. I suppose this stems from a desire to inject some drama and excitement back into proceedings. Speaking of excitement, a good friend of mine, whose name I will never disclose (or at least not for less than a double gin and tonic) is a strong advocate of what he calls "The Danger Wank": a form of self amusement taken as close to your call to the stage as you can stomach. Needless to say I always knock twice before entering his dressing room and I'm sure there isn't a costume mistress in the land that would condone such an unsavory gamble.
But self imposed distraction aside, tying your own bow tie, fat suits, wigs, aging up, fake moustaches and tights all take large bites out of that last half hour. My own bête noire is cravats- a cravat seems to me a very oily critter indeed: One night it may well give in easily and do as instructed but the next the same neck-tie with the same technique will ruck, writhe and wriggle like a catholic schoolgirl in a front row seat at a JLS concert. There's no telling what mood those damn things will be in so one has to leave plenty of time (or swallow your pride and ask wardrobe for a pre-tied one with a Velcro back fastening)

In addition to costume and make-up requirements some shows (and also some theatre spaces) are more physically demanding than others, or require an explosive energy from the get go. Cue much pre-show limbering, shaking and bouncing. Equally though (and I risk being thrown out of the magic circle for saying so) some shows/roles you can pretty much just turn up. In that case lounging on a green room sofa watching others limber, shake and bounce on "Strictly Come Dancing" is more than sufficient prep.

Finally you get the unusual exceptions: If one starts the play partly naked, the half may well find you frantically squeezing in some last minute press ups to desperately try to make up for the two months of taking it easy in the gym. Or you may need to be set on stage before the audience arrive (often to make a surprise entrance): For one run I spent twenty pre-show minutes every night curled up in a tiny cupboard (although receiving "The Anne Frank Award"at the end-of-run-party nearly made up for it). Some good friends have had to immerse themselves in baths of mud (for 'The Tempest' i think) and paddling pools of water (For the sodden beginning to 'Neville's Island') so the half isn't all crafty cigs and coffee.

So what best sums up my half experience? In addition to those above, contenders could be gobbling grizzly remains of a microwave meal, looking for a plaster, on the phone directing friends to the theatre, trying to learn last minute line changes, throwing up, writing first night cards, trying to stop a nose-bleed and once on tour when the half was called myself and the entire company were in a minibus more than 35 minutes away lost on a Belgium B-road (the theatre was at least in Belgium- we weren't that lost. But we did go up late).

I had originally thought that my half would best be summed up by a picture of me laughing and horsing around with friends. But actually I think a fairer image would be one of me in some state of dishevelment, undress and light panic looking for the costume mistress for help with my missing sock/shirt/wig tape, unruly cravat or breached breeches.
Incidentally this seems to be an omission in the book so Mr Annand if you want to fill this gap for the next edition of "The Half" you can find me flapping about between 6.55 and 7.25pm nightly until next Oct in dressing room 8 of the St Martin's Theatre, London!

Is "Whiting-Up" Allowed?

I have just been in the very unusual but fortunate position of going on holiday with my agent's blessing. It's normally a real quandary for an actor: You're desperate for a break away from the big smoke but you know as soon as you book that flight your agent will call with an audition to be the new face of Persil and an offer to do a guest spot on 'Midsummer Murders' (or more likely an audition to be the 'face' of Anusol and a schools tour around the Lambeth borough).

It's not that you get told off as such for taking time off but the "disappointed" tone says it all and there's an implication that you've somehow sabotaged your own career: As if the only reason you'll be playing children's parties not the National this autumn is the ten days you took off in early May. I've even tried sneaking off for a week on the qt, but it's odds on that despite the fact that you haven't heard from your office for several weeks you'll get a non-plussed call asking why you have a foreign ring-tone. I was actually caught out by my agent once while on a ski-lift in Austria, he had bizarrely called just to see if i could scuba dive. I can't scuba dive, but was tempted to say "If you hadn't have discouraged me from taking that holiday to Egypt last year I might be able to" but as I was AWOL up a mountain I thought I'd better not.

Anyway I had already planned to slip off (I have an 11 month contract about to start in town so it's my last opportunity for a while) but still hearing my agent say the words "You'd better take a holiday now" was a novel and pleasant experience.
So off I toddled to Egypt (no I still can't scuba-dive) and had a very nice time thank-you-very-much. Unfortunately despite trying to avoid one I now have a deep, golden tan which may well look slightly incongruous when in a months time on stage I will turn up on skis in the English mid-winter as a sergeant in the Berkshire police force. I'm hoping a combination of powder and stage lighting will bring me back to a suitably pasty pallor. If not a slight rewrite might be needed: "Good evening sir. Sergeant Trotter, Barbados Police"