Backwards, Forwards or just Round and Round?

A full evening's rehearsal last night. The first time the whole cast (less one absentee) has been together. There are fifteen of us in the room and I see faces I don't remember seeing from the read-through. Before the start I have three quick run-throughs of my dialogue with Oliver, a clear and confident performer. I've known the lines for weeks and I'm word perfect in my flat or on the bus, but each time with him and in front of others I still stumble and stutter. Third time round, however, all flows well and the lines appear to have finally embedded themselves.

The first 90 minutes are taken up with Acts 3 and 4, in which I do not appear. As the play comes to life - far from perfect, but recognisable as a performance - I begin to get an idea as to each individual's ability to act. Among the men, Orlando has the greatest range of emotions and expressions, Touchstone clearly enjoys playing the fool and Silvius does the love-struck shepherd to perfection.

The older women enunciate clearly and give crisp performances, as limited by their role. Audrey also is a definite character, but I have difficulty understanding some of the others. Perhaps the full range of my hearing is going as I get older, but in this show, as in every acting class I attended, there have always been some women whose diction and adenoidal tones wrap their lines in aural fog. (And in this production one of men is also thick with nasality.)

But I'm a lowly cast member, here to impress, not to criticise. When Act 1 rolls around and I find myself alone on stage with Oliver, my mind again suddenly empties and the words come half a second too late for comfort. I flail, and try not to show it. It gets no easier when Oliver speaks; during his denunciation of his brother, my stock of expressions - shock, surprise, anger, respect - emerge in no particular order. Finally, I leave the stage, not even sure I am walking properly.

I don't do despair, but I am plunged into annoyance and uncertainty. This is so small and simple a role and I am finding it so hard to do. When I return for the fight scene and the assistant director interrupts to straighten out the entrances, I do not fully understand what is being said. Information is pouring through my head, taking with it whatever certainty I had. At least we get through that scene more or less intact and that is me done for the day.

The notes are brief - my only fault, it seems, was to sway too much when talking with Oliver; as the wrestler I should be more grounded and display more confidence. That much I think I can do. As for my overall performance, I have no idea whether my acting has moved backwards, forwards or just round and round. But it's time to leave and with a sense of relief I get the bus home, hoping that Saturday, when I am next called for rehearsal, will be better.