Glory and Gore

To the Greenwich Playhouse to audition for The Duchess of Malfi. The only role that meets my age range is the Cardinal, who - for those who aren't familiar with Webster's gory masterpiece - is one of the Church's more devious servants scheming, bribing and murdering his way through life. The speech I've learnt comes early in the play, when he first berates and then seduces his mistress, and I've chosen it because it allows me to convey a range of emotions from curiosity to mockery, desire to contempt.

Arriving early, I wait in the lobby below the theatre as the player before me auditions. There is much Sturm und Drang, but the words are unclear and I cannot determine which character or play is on offer. Then there is a brief moment of silence and a deep, impatient Scots accent offers notes even louder than the previous performance. It feels as if I am back at school, eavesdropping outside the headmaster's office; with a slight feeling of guilt, I remove myself into the bar and wait to be called.

A few minutes later a young assistant leads me up into the Presence. Short, smiling Alice offers me her hand; glowering Bruce does likewise. Producer Alice has me sit before her; Director Bruce sits to one side. Alice smiles a lot. I am not sure that Bruce has ever smiled. Alice and I chat and I respond primarily to her, but glance at Bruce every so often to acknowledge his presence. My lack of acting experience does not seem to be a problem and my choice of the Cardinal's speech seems welcome.

Using the chair as an improvised prop, I chide Alice "Why do you weep?", boast that "You cannot make me cuckold" and seduce her "I pray thee, kiss me". My voice is quiet, but it covers the range of emotions and while I do not give the speech full justice, I at least indicate I understand it and that my performance suggests I could do much more.

Alice thanks me, turns to Bruce. Bruce continues to  glower. Do I have anything more passionate? she asks. I offer Malvolio or Shylock. Bruce hums and haws about length and then goes for Shylock. With Alice as Antonio, I put more anger into the speech than usual. Again, I feel, I demonstrate both understanding and potential.

I sit down again. There is a lull in the conversation and I expect to be thanked and asked to leave. Then Bruce speaks. Most of the characters in this production will be young, he says, by which I understand I am too old for the part. But two actors will be needed for their physical presence. I puff myself up and deepen my voice in acknowledgement as the Cardinal's robes hover about my shoulders. These actors will play multiple roles, Bruce adds, and the robes fade. Not that they would be small parts, he goes on; as bodyguards, jailers, murderers they will be key to establishing the mood of the play.

The unspoken suggestion hangs in the air that I might just possibly be suitable for one of these parts, if no-one better comes along and I perform adequately in some call-back. Am I interested, I ask myself? Well, of course, any role is better than no role and the Greenwich Playhouse, under Alice's and Bruce's stewardship, has a good reputation. I would be a fool to turn down anything they offered. The only problem would be six weeks standing up to an irascible Scotsman who, appearance suggests, chews up and spits out novices like me on a regular basis. (The fact that I am half-Scottish and have the accent to prove it would be little defence; when it comes to aggression, the apologetic Englishman in me inevitably comes to the fore.) But problems and challenges can be met and overcome and if I can't play the Cardinal, I'll gladly be his bodyguard and bask in his glory and gore.

So I leave, once again quite pleased with myself. Of course, I've experienced this post-audition warmth before and I'm aware as I wait for my train to Charing Cross that today is likely to come to nothing. But once again I've proved myself, and for at least another month I have As You Like It to keep me occupied.




picture from the BBC