5 days ago
16
I step into the wings and the state of it all hits me. The hum of a packed, expectant crowd ready for a show. I inch my way down along the short passage and there, standing in the cubbyhole space backstage like a beautiful lost waif, is Ben Whishaw. It hits me how different he looks in full costume. We lock eyes and hug. We hold each other for a few moments, trying to breathe in sync and to connect. We can both feel the adrenaline pumping and rushing through each other. A final squeeze and I turn away and walk back to the edge of the wings where we are to make our entrance.
My breathing is steady, but my heart is pump-pump-pumping. This is as close as I get to full-on nervous. I am not afraid though. It’s excitement; anticipation; a sexy, knowing thrill. I know there will be a split second of sheer terror when the call comes though. The moment you know you’re past the point of no return. That thought-memory passes through with the next inhale-exhale. It’s as if I can feel the giddy heat coming off the crowd even back here in the wings, behind the soon-gone shelter of a curtain, feet away from where Vladimir and Estragon will come to life. It’s new and familiar all at once.
I know it’s only been a five-year absence, but my goodness, there’s nothing quite like this pre-show pump. This feeling was my bread and butter for decades, and I have missed it. I feel a definite lump in my throat. My breathing remains steady though. It’s funny how quickly the system remembers. I can think of nowhere else I would rather be than right here, right now. I glance over my shoulder – the whole team’s poised and ready. Ben is by my side. We hold hands in the dark. Finally, the call from deputy stage manager, Sophie Rubenstein: “That’s front of house clearance, guys.”
Terror surge inside and we’re off. We stop briefly at the edge of the platform. One last squeeze, then we step on. Ben heads to his starting position under the tree; I get settled on my stone. Just before I sit, I notice Jenny Grand, our company stage manager, ready and waiting to take up her position to rotate the platform. I wave her a “peace sign” to signal that we’re ready and “good luck”. I sit. Take a breath. Then the stage goes dark.
The crowd roars from the other side of the curtain. It’s a physical wave of energy like no other. The thrill of seeing something for the first time. The thrill of us doing something for them for the first time; nothing quite like it. Curtain goes up, platform rotates, lights up and we’re off.
Both Ben and I belt out our first few lines with the tight, pumped punch of seasoned pros back in the game. I can feel the cold, adrenal sweat down my back. I’m performing – aware of myself speaking, of my body coursing with too much energy, of my mind razor-sharp and focused, aware of 800 bodies cheering us on, aware of my castmate playing alongside me. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, in a kind of warped slow-motion, I’m caught off guard by a laugh we’ve never had before.
I hear Ben, as Vladimir, saying the end of his line “… we should have thought of it a million years ago, in the 90s.”
Which is my – Estragon’s – cue to say,
“Ah stop blathering and help me off with this bloody thing.”
I only get as far as, “Ah stop blathering …” as the crowd erupts into raucous, hysterical laughter. I’m totally thrown. I never thought the line was especially funny. But the crowd seems to find it so. As the laugh crests, I autocorrect and deliver the full line as written and we’re back on track. It’s amazing how quickly the old stage technique kicks in!
Jonathan Slinger (Pozzo) and Tom Edden (Lucky) swoop in for their first entrance in Act One and take the audience with them. The crowd is hysterical. I can’t help but feel a slight sense of relief when I see them; reinforcements at last. As Vladimir would say. I am very aware of my breath and of the now ice-cold sweat down my back. I notice the sweat on all of us.
Jon, Jon, Jon! So calm, so effortless vocally. A master at work. He even manages an extra laugh at the end of his “the same is true of the laugh” line. The crowd naturally laughs at the line, and then, cool as you like, without breaking the rhythm, as the crowd’s laugh dies down, he points out to them and mutters a just audible, “Hmm, see?” The crowd roars hysterically once more. Watch and learn, kids; watch and fucking learn.
And then Tom; ah, Tom! You flipping genius! Delivers his Lucky speech like it’s a new-minted thing. If ever there’s a masterclass on how to “turn it on” – in the right, proper and professional manner, that is – it’ll be Tom Edden delivering it. He has the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. Ben wrenches off Lucky’s hat at the appropriate point to stop his stream-of-consciousness speech, and the crowd goes wild. But Tom doesn’t collapse straight away. He holds the moment, waits for the frenzy to die down and then he falls. The crowd goes wild again! I turn my head ever-so-slightly upstage, breaking character a bit, to mask a giddy smile-chuckle. No worries, I’m sure. All eyes are on Edden at this moment; I’ll take a few seconds’ respite to privately break character and enjoy the brilliance of my colleagues, thank you very much.
We get through the play. The crowd is on their feet at the curtain call. For a brief moment, as we lap up the adulation we probably don’t really deserve but will absolutely take, I get a proper glimpse of the crowd. It’s young, old, in-between, black, white, brown and absolutely, unanimously loving us. Final bow. House lights up, curtain down and we fall into an elated-exhausted group hug. I burst into tears; then the tears are gone as quickly as they came.
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This is an edited extract from The Godot Diaries: Behind the Scenes of Beckett’s Play by Lucian Msamati (Methuen Drama)
