I even bought a second-handbalalaika with my pocket money and tormented my parents and the dog by playing ‘Lara’s Theme’ over and over. I begged Mum and Dad to book Russia for our summer holidays instead of Spain. (Needless to say, Spain won the majority vote.)
Some twenty years later, when my flight schedule took me to Moscow, I channelled my inner Lara once more, as I skated in Gorky Park, fantasising as I fell over,that I might one day be scooped up by a handsome Russian doctor who would write me beautiful poems.
The only person who ever came to my rescue was an ice marshal called Zoya, who reminded me of Miss Trunchbull and could lift you up with one arm. I decided then it was high time I grew up and left my Russian romance in my teenage past.
But today I am required to dig deep and channel my innerLara once more, as my first professional audition, two months after leaving drama school, is to play Olga in Chekhov’sThree Sisters.
How I’d love to say it’s an epic BBC costume drama, involving three months’ filming in grand Russian palaces and sumptuous ballrooms, but the truth is it’s a ‘profit-share’, pub-theatre production. I may have been awarded a D– in Maths, but even I am able tocalculate that 40 seats @ £10 ÷ 14 cast members + 5 crew = very little profit (and that’s assuming it’s a full house every night). But then I’m not in this business for the money, rather “to do interesting work that challenges me” – isn’t that what actors always say onThe Graham Norton Show?
With only travel expenses guaranteed, you’d imagine there wouldn’t be much competition. Apparentlyseven hundred actors applied to audition for the fourteen roles, as the venue’s prime location means you might get spotted by agents and casting directors. It’s an opportunity to hone your acting chops, playing the kind of roles awarded only to star names in the West End.
* * *
Ignoring the stench of beer and the odd peanut, I slither around the stained and grubby floor of The Red Dragonpub, going ‘sssss.’ I want to stand up and shout,Could somebody please explain to me what this has got to do with Chekhov?
‘Right then, that’s the end of the warm-up, and in a few moments we’ll be calling you into the room one by one, so please have your audition pieces ready,’ says someone called Rocket, with dreadlocks and a clipboard.
I pace up and down, quietly practising my speech– again:
‘“Sir, I desire you do me right and justice, and to bestow your pity on me; for I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, born out of your dominions, having here … having here …”’
Oh, God, what comes next?
‘Emily Forsyth!’ calls Rocket.
A queasy feeling floods my stomach. I’m ushered into a poky back room, where I’m introduced to the creative team.
‘Now, Emily, whataudition piece are you going to do for us today?’ asks Hugh, the director.
‘I’d like to do Katherine … Queen Katherine fromHenry The Eighth.’
Casting me a sympathetic glance, he nods. ‘In your own time.’
With four pairs of expectant eyes upon me, I breathe in, trying to steady my voice.
‘“Sir, I desire you do me right and justice, and to bestow your pity on me; for I am a mostpoor woman, and a stranger, born out of your dominions, having here no judge indifferent, nor no more assurance of equal friendship and proceeding …”’
With my audience just inches away, and crates of mixers, packets of assorted crisps, and pork scratchings occupying almost every available space, it’s hard to imagine I’m a sixteenth-century queen in a grand hall, begging my husband not to forceme into a quickie divorce.
‘“… in God’s name turn me away, and let the foul’st contempt shut door upon me, and so give me up to the sharps’t kind of justice.”’
I lift my eyes from my kneeling position.
‘Thank you,’ says Hugh, breaking the long silence. ‘Now we’d like you to read part of Olga’s speech for us.’
The script starts to quiver as I take it from him.
‘Turn to pagetwo, beginning from the top please.’
I try to channel my nerves into capturing Olga’s mood of despair.
‘“Don’t whistle, Masha. How can you! Every day I teach at the Gymnasium and afterwards I give lessons until evening, and so I’ve got a constant headache and my thoughts are those of an old woman …”’
PSSCHH hisses a toilet from above. GERDUNG, GERDUNG go the pipes.
‘“I’ve feltmy strength and my youth draining from me every day, drop by drop. And one single thought grows stronger and stronger …”’
I play the speech distractedly at first, but halfway through find myself relaxing into it and actually enjoying it.
