Fired with enthusiasm, I reserve a place on a longer class at the same drama school. A few weeks pass. In the meantime some of the acting group come together to see the production of Betrayal at the Comedy Theatre. The play opens to the tune of two or three mobile phones in the audience ringing loudly and more than once, but once silence has been established we can concentrate on the performances. [Real Names follow] Kirstin Scott Thomas as Emma is excellent, Ben Miles as husband Robert is competent, but Douglas Henshall as lover Jerry is - in the eyes of all our group - appallingly bad. It's partly his Scottish accent, partly his immobility and partly his hangdog look, but they all come together to create a character who is anything but the witty, exciting, sexual, overwhelming man that any intelligent woman would fall for, especially when she was already married to Ben Miles. In the pub afterwards we all agree that the men in our group gave a better performance than the lifeless Henshall.
I see other plays in the meantime - Rosenstern and Guildencrantz at the Theatre Royal, where I'm impressed by the acting, particularly the Player King, who is, thank fate, not Tim Curry, but where I once again have Doubts about Stoppard, who I see as 80% rather than 100% genius; and Ibsen's The Emperor and Galilean at the National, which received at least one appallingly bad review, but which I and newly-found would-be acting friend Thom and ditto Nubia, all thoroughly enjoyed for its epic portrayal of the Roman Emperor Julian and his coming to power. At the forefront of my mind, however, is the Second Acting class, which began last Monday. (Which means that I'm catching up fast and in the next couple of days this Blog will be in © Real Time © !!)
Nineteen - twelve men (although one drops out after the first day) and seven women - of us gather in a dingy rehearsal room and briefly introduce ourselves. (I am last and prompted by our director, proffer a new Knock Knock joke which falls flat on its face.) Most are in the 25 - 35 age bracket; one gives his age as 56 and another is probably in his upper 40s. Several foreigners, including North Americans; three with pronounced non-native accents. A motley crew, I think to myself, which will never come together, but within an hour I am proved wrong as Ann, our efficient Movement teacher not only enables us to loosen and waken our bodies, but gives us a couple of exercises which fix everybody else's names in our head.
Personalities emerge like figures from a fog. By chance or subconscious design I find myself paired with Texan Jack, a slim young Leonardo diCaprio. When Ann has us leading each other around the room, by fingertips or hands on head, I am aware of Jack's intense closeness, energy and fresh sweat. He can't be coming on to me, I tell myself, but if he is... Of course I don't reject the idea, but think over the complications it would cause, in the class and with the Other Half. When the exercise ends and we are listening to Ann's comments, I feel Jack standing too close to me and I gradually draw away. Then the group moves on and we find ourselves at opposite ends of the room. I'm not wearing my glasses; is he staring at me? Uncertain, I consciously turn my gaze away.
As for the others... I'm quickly aware of Sean, short, 31, fit, strong personality and voice. My first reaction with such characters is always dislike - nobody should be that self-confident - but I check myself. There's Irina, the Russian, tall, slender, dark-haired, brooding in an skin-tight black dress; polite and pleasant; haughty and humour-free. Roberto, the tall nervous Italian; Matt, the offenceless drama teacher with the unnecessary stomach; Milt, the 56-year-old building contractor. And so on.
By the end of the day, I am tired, pleased and a little concerned. The exercises have allowed several of my classmates to demonstrate reserves of imagination and talent. I was more restrained and am not sure that I have the same depths they do. I have to expand myself to my full capabilities as quickly as possible, show them and the teachers how good I can be. Thank goodness it's only the first day, there are weeks to come. By the end of this course, I tell myself, I will be in the top four or five.
I find myself leaving at the same time as Jack. I ask if he understood that in one of the exercises I was surprised to find him leading, pushing into me, when I was expecting him to follow as I drew away from him. He doesn't seem to understand. I try to explain. It gets complicated. At last a light seems to go on in his mind. We part and I walk towards the bus-stop relieved that no, he wasn't coming on to me and I can go home with a clear conscience and looking forward to tomorrow.
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