Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Acting (But Were Afraid To Ask, Dear) (22 page)

Christmas Eve: the day when a great theatrical tradition lives in every theatre across the land. ‘The speed-run’, dear.

Pantomime

Once a year a great theatrical tradition is practised in most theatres around the country. It is an event that has been passed down from father to child, from mother to milkman, from cross-dresser to giant. It is a marvellous, magical time when theatres actually make money. It is, of course, the Christmas pantomime.

Pantomimes are a hugely important event in a theatre’s diary. They are the show that sells far more than any other, and in many instances it is the success of the panto that allows the theatre to survive for the rest of the year.

Sadly, many people in the business look down on panto as an inferior form of theatre. It is not in the slightest. These people have just not seen a good one, or don’t really understand the joy of pantomime. Most people’s first venture into a theatre is to see a panto with their family at Christmas. Children have a wonderful time, and leave the theatre amazed by all the colours, effects and good honest fun – unless the panto has got Jim Davidson in it. In which case the child is put off theatre for life.

A panto is steeped in tradition and derived from the Italian style of theatre called
Commedia dell’Arte
– which was popularised in Britain when Christopher Biggins and Danny La Rue got carried away dressed as French sailors at Soho fetish clubs in the sixties.

A modern panto has many expectations – one of the most important being the promise of a huge celebrity. Of course, in today’s climate the word ‘celebrity’ is used in the loosest sense possible. In reality, for producers it is far more important to have a familiar TV face in their panto than a ‘nobody’. The simple reason for this is that it is much easier to fill an auditorium night after night after night with a ‘name’ – even if that name has no talent at all. You see, when a producer pays for a name we are not just buying the performance, we are also buying all the publicity that automatically comes with it. For instance, if we get someone who has just been on
Big Brother
, all the local press are interested, local radio stations will do interviews, and local TV shows will be keen to have them on the sofa. With an unknown it is very difficult even getting a little write-up in the local gazette. Which is a sad state of affairs – but when I get criticised for employing celebrities I have to remind everyone that I am trying to make money. I don’t do it entirely for pleasure. Theatre, TV and radio are all types of showbusiness. And that’s something you should always bear in mind: it’s called show
business
, dear.

Actors should always remember they are working in a business. It is marvellous that some actors are enthusiastic, dedicated and willing to work for nothing, but they have to realise they are always working for someone else – and that someone else is always trying to make money. Whether that money be instantaneous, or whether the show is primarily about promoting someone’s reputation, it is a business. There is no point being bitter about the fact that celebrities or reality stars get the job – it is because they help sell the product. And the show is the product. And this is particularly true in a pantomime.

There are many rules in panto that can make the whole process a lot easier. One of the most important is to be nice to the celebrities, even if they are terrible. I understand how frustrating it is for actors and dancers who are on £500 a week when the celebrity is on £30,000. The usual panto celebrity will not have done much theatre work and will spend most of the rehearsal process trying to figure out how to say their lines. This requires patience from more experienced members of the company, who are sometimes required to assist them in their learning process. Many times I have witnessed dancers telling the celebrity how to open and close their mouth on cue. And still the celebrity gets confused and ends up dribbling all over the kids from the local dance school.

A good friend of mine is a panto producer, and has become a millionaire from his success. He is very clever when dealing with celebrities and in particular their wages – and can substantially knock down a celeb’s wage depending on the media coverage they’ve had that year. For example, if a celeb has recently been on
I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here
, their ‘bums on seats’ value hugely increases and consequently they demand a higher wage. However, if they’ve been in the press for having sex with strangers in public places then their ‘bums on seats’ value decreases – so he is able to knock five or six grand off, dear.

If you are ever in the unfortunate position of being told by a celebrity that they ‘do the funnies’ (make the jokes), you are in for a tough time. This doesn’t really happen now with new-style comedians – it is something that ‘old-school’ actors and comedians tend to do. Their aim is simply to scare you, and establish their status. They are the stars. It is their name on the posters. People are in the audience to see them – so how dare you be better! It really is infuriating when this happens, but whenever I’ve had complaints from younger actors I just tell them to accept it and get on with it. There is nothing worse than a star who doesn’t feel like the star.

I remember one case where a certain actress was aware that a fellow actor was getting more laughs than her. So during one performance she had her husband sit in the audience with a copy of the script and make notes on when the other actor got the laughs. The following night she changed the delivery of all her lines so that she got all the laughs, leaving the other actor looking like an embarrassing amateur. Naughty.

A panto is one of the hardest acting jobs it is possible to do. It will often involve more than twenty shows a week, living in the theatre, and cross-dressing on a daily basis. This can be a heavy burden on your voice, your physical stamina and your sex life. Many actors find that, after performing twenty shows a week, the last thing they want to do is an extra performance in bed. In fact, the best example of ‘suffering for your art’ is a pantomime at 10 a.m., dear.

Your time in a panto depends entirely on what the rest of the cast are like. Usually a panto cast are lovely and will just get straight on with the job as the rehearsal period is so short. Most pantomimes will rehearse for one or two weeks – unless it is a panto for the RSC or Old Vic – in which case you will start rehearsing in March. Many people think eight months is far too long to rehearse a panto, but anyone who witnessed Ian McKellen’s Sarah the Cook at the Old Vic will tell you it was the most moving performance ever seen on a London stage.

Never trust a Buttons who is over the age of thirty-five. Many older actors who first played Buttons when they were eighteen are now still playing him at the age of sixty – which makes no sense whatsoever. It is very uncomfortable when the OAP Buttons tells the twenty-two-year-old Cinderella that he loves her. Unless, of course, the panto is being produced by the BBC – where this kind of thing is normal, dear.

When playing Snow White, never be fooled by your seven dwarfs. I have heard countless stories where the dwarfs convinced Snow White that she should sleep with them so they could all be truly close and comfortable. Never, ever do this. Unless you want to witness Grumpy feeling Happy.

Another ingredient of a successful panto are the ‘babes’. To be honest, I find the term ‘babes’ a little wrong, as the ‘babes’ are the young children who are brought in from the local dance school, and not the women who work in the local strip joint. I always feel uneasy calling these kids ‘babe’ and instead I call them the ‘little dears’. This term is useful, as it sounds both affectionate and condescending all at the same time. Whenever the ‘little dears’ are in or around the theatre they will be followed by some large ladies who have an abundance of facial hair. These are the kids’ chaperones. These ladies (and men) have the difficult task of keeping an eye on the children at all times and making sure no one goes within two metres of them. Naturally, it is very important that these children are protected and cared for in the theatre – particularly when there are men dressed as women, women dressed as men, and people called Dick. And because of this, the chaperone has to remind the children constantly that they are in a theatre – and it is not real life. They also have the important job of making sure that the adults keep their distance – and it is usual that in order to speak to the ‘little dears’ you have to send a letter, get it approved, be CRB-checked, sanitise your hands, go in front of the local council, and promise not to talk about burgers, chips or One Direction.

When Abanazar bonks Widow Twankey – it’s called ‘awankey’, dear.

A hugely important tradition at Christmas time is Secret Santa – where every member of the company buys a present for someone else anonymously. It is a lovely festive game that reveals what everyone thinks about their colleagues. There is usually a budget set of around £5 – although sometimes people spend a lot more or a lot less. People who spend less are the cheapskates of the company, and people
who spend more are the show-offs. But, of course, if you are the lead in the show, you are legally obliged to spend at least three times the set amount.

The aim of Secret Santa is to offend as many people as possible. This can be done by buying inappropriate gifts, cheap gifts, or gifts that you were given the year before. I have seen many companies reduced to tears as a result of the Secret Santa gifts. It really is quite funny, and something which I always aim to witness. There are no real rules to it either – apart from making sure that everyone gets a present. There is nothing worse than a gift-less performer screaming and sobbing in the corner.

In approximately the second week of January most pantomimes finish – and many tired, withered, alcohol-sodden actors head back home. It is a sad time when frocks are hung up, greasepaint is packed away, and gurning is forgotten about for nine months. If you ever see one of these ex-panto actors wandering the streets, please do your bit and buy them a biscuit, a cake, or simply give them a smile. It’s not easy being an actor. And it’s even less easy being an unemployed actor in January.

Actors resign themselves to the fact that they won’t get any auditions during January – as this is the time when casting directors and directors sit at home watching DVD box sets whilst playing with themsleves. And why not? We all need to do that once in a while.

When actors finish a show, in this case a panto, it can be very hard returning to normal life. Particularly after you’ve been busting your gut for three months entertaining families across the country. Suddenly coming back to nothing can be very disheartening indeed, and is, in many respects, the hardest part of being an actor. I have seen it first hand, when ex-partners of mine took weeks to get over their post-show depression. And that is what it is – a form of depression, as you attempt to move on from the life you have been living.

I am always upset when I see unemployed friends of mine wandering aimlessly around London at the start of a new year. It saddens me deeply, so I do my bit and buy them a sausage roll. Actors love a bit of cheap meat in flaky pastry, dear.