That one duff review!

"...If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same..."

Well I'm sad to say it seems that I can't. Yes, I take praise with polite thanks and treat it lightly, looking for a reason not to take it too much to heart, but give me some public criticism and it seems I'll lie awake at night like a five year old who's just accidentally seen "The Exorcist" (I should point out though that I didn't wet the bed) (last night anyway -after "The Exorcist" I almost certainly did)

The reason for this bout of insomnia and self doubt? "Marcus Webb's Detective-Sergeant Trotter lacks something of conviction behind the eyes". I know, I know! Yes, it could be worse. And leaving aside the physiological queries about what sort of talented specialist oculist might be able to see behind one's eyes, it still hurts.

It doesn't matter that people have written in to congratulate my performance or we regularly collectively receive whoops and cheers and "bravo"s at the curtain, all I can think about is my perceived lack of conviction behind the eyes. The show immediately after reading the review I nearly strained a retina trying to convict everyone in sight from behind my eyes. I baffled myself so completely with extra eye acting that I doubtless gave the worst performance of my career (And theatre goers on the Scilly Isles in July 2005 will know that that is quite a claim).

As I write this I don't yet know the solution to this problem or when my obsession with my ocular inadequacies will pass. Maybe it never will, maybe this is not just the final nail but all the preceeding nails and the rosewood lid and brass embossed plaque to the coffin my career will lie in. I doubt it but one never knows. In the meantime perhaps I should either ask for character glasses to disguise my failings or go back to Rudyard's "If" and try and be a little more zen about it all.