Read by Beverley Longhurst - Listen to full podcast
Acting is a hard gig [sighs, looks upwards]. I’m fast approaching 40, living in a flatshare [wipes forehead, raises eyebrows] and I can barely afford the rent. I’ve had some pretty good parts recently [nods head, pouts lips] and I thought I was getting somewhere [wry smile, raise one eyebrow, continues to nod head]…
Reads like a Beckett play, doesn’t it? But without any of the good writing. I don’t know if you know Beckett, but he didn’t leave much to the imagination of his actors… I’m sorry, I should just read this story out properly, this isn’t very professional of me. But then, how am I supposed to take this seriously?
I mean just listen to this part, for example: The constant cycle of audition and rejection [strain voice, hunch shoulders], audition and rejection, is the actor’s curse.
It’s like, I’ve got a lot of time for Liars’ League, but when they gave me this story… I don’t know… here’s Samuel writing a story about actors, knowing an actor was going to read it out. That’s a real doozy, Sam. A humdinger of an idea... But it’s like, who is this guy? What do you know about me?
I don’t know if I can read this rubbish [punctuates air with paper]. See! It’s got me stage directing my own actions. It’s an absurdity! Anyway, what was it that really got me? Oh yes, here it is. Let me read this bit out. It’s a note before the story starts addressed to, “the actor, whomever that may be”. Whomever. Bravo. That’s very literary… Anyway, it says, “Please memorise as much of the story as possible, as this will make the story more believable.” What am I to you, Sam? The meat puppet with a memory? That’s what acting is to you, I assume. Remember your lines and move your limbs to wherever someone points them to.
The worst of it was the rehearsal, last week it was. And I’m going there thinking: OK, maybe I’m missing something with this story. Maybe this guy’s all right. I’ll hear him out. Figure out where he’s coming from.
Well, I’ve got a note here I made from that rehearsal. Let me read it out to you: Striding back and forth, adjusting his glasses as he stares off into the middle distance and tells me what it is to be a struggling actor – what gall!
See, I have a bit of love-hate relationship with writers. More acceptance-hate, I guess, but anyway… I had something here I wanted to say. I scribbled this down in a bit of rage to be honest: The thing about writers is they’re all so self-involved. Why do they write stories? They write these stories because they’ve never moved on from the their childhood realisation that they’re not the centre of the universe. That revelation shook their overly sensitive nature so severely that they could never quite accept it. Their protagonists are invariably thinly-veiled, romanticised versions of the person they wish they were. Or worse still, they burp out some mental spittle about a type of person, a type of work they have no idea about.
And I stand by every word of it [pregnant pause, awkward silence].
Look, so maybe I’m not in the latest Ben Wheatley film, and by the way I nearly got a part in Sightseers, so… anyway, that’s not important… it’s like the world of acting isn’t split into the Jude Laws and the Extras of the world. You know, there’s some incredibly talented actors out there who have to grind out the pay cheques, working jobs most students pass over. Just to get by, just to practice their art.
But in Sam’s worldview there’s no greyscale. He even gives his story the Hollywood ending. Listen to this: When my agent finally called [mimic telephone call, hand raised to head] I was a nervous wreck [fidget, tap foot quickly]. I didn’t really listen to anything after I heard the words ‘you’ve got it’ – my mind was racing [dart eyes side-to-side].
Sam, Sam, Sam… you’re living in La La Land! Who saw that, by the way? Big film. Emma Stone got the Oscar. What a story, eh? You’ve just got to love what you do, and never give up, and one day, one day all your dreams will come true. Ahhh, isn’t that nice? Gives you that fuzzy feeling? Makes you all warm inside? Bullshit. And don’t give me, Oh it’s only a musical, it’s just a film. It’s a lie, that’s what it is. It’s the kind of drivel old Sam laps up on a subconscious level and feeds into his inane stories.
I’m sorry, I’m getting a bit worked up [shakes head, exhales deeply]. Ha! You have to laugh… it’s just… Oh, who cares… I don’t know... I’m looking at you all, and you’re all staring at me smiling, and you’re probably thinking: It’s a story. It’s acting. Look. I’ll rip this up [rips up paper, throws on floor].
Look at me. Am I acting? Or are you acting? Is your life just one long, badly acted play? At least I’m aware of it, I do this consciously. So watch a film if you like a bit of escapism, write your little stories if you want to. But don’t kid yourself. The theme of this evening is truth and lies, right? So I want to ask you – what do you believe in?
[actor bows, audience applaud]
(c) Pascal O'Hara, 2017
Pascal O'Hara lives in London. He's currently finishing a collection of short stories and working on a novel set in 21st-century London.
Beverley Longhurst trained at Webber Douglas. She has worked in a range of theatre including All My Sons, Remembrance of Things Past and Mourning Becomes Electra (National Theatre), Way Upstream (Derby Playhouse), Shadow Language (Theatre 503). She has also worked in TV including the BBC sketch show Little Miss Jocelyn, and film. Beverley is a narrator for the RNIB.
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