Dr Who? Not me!

It is always disappointing when, after trying ones’ best, the part is offered to someone else. It is a constant source of sadness in our profession that there are simply some things which we are not going to be able to do owing to our demographic, our interpretation of the piece or a moody and unimagintive director.

Such was my feeling yesterday, when the new Doctor was announced. I myself had tried for the role with such vigour, such determination that I felt sure that I had it – in theatrical terms – in the bag. Then, to realise that all the time I spent gadding about in a forest in a cloak - garnering considerable concern from both the public and a couple of Police officers - was for nothing, well, it bothers me greatly. Not that I don’t think Joan Winterbottom will do a bad job. I have followed her career with great interest, from the early days when she was of course younger, to the present, where is a little older. I have marvelled in her ability to say the lines, remembering the next line and, possibly most importantly for an actor, not to bump into things. Oh, the powerful emotions she evoked in that thing she was in. And the raw passion of that other thing which may have been the same thing as the first. Oh, and that comedic talent she displayed in that thing that was probably on the other side. Jean is a fine actress and I am sure all these things will be proven beyond all doubt in her new role as The Doctor. And if not she can always write a book or something.

But back to my original point, auditions can be tough. This was a particularly hard to get audition, made much harder because they would not let me audition. I turned up at Broadcasting House in Cardiff, with my speech from "Fear and Misery of the Third Reich"
by Brecht, an excerpt from the Seagull by Chekhov and the parrot sketch, only to be blocked by a burly security guard called Darren who informed me I was ‘not on the list’.

Handling ‘not on the list’ type scenarios.

This is something all actors face, and it is known as a ‘hurdle’. Basically, it is like being a racing driver in a top of the range racing car and finding, just as you are about to overtake Fernando Alonso someone has placed a pelican crossing in your way and there’s a bus load of orphans making their way across the track. You skid to try and avoid any casualties, but it’s too much and the car somersaults through the air and you land in the VIP enclosure, killing countless celebrities and Viscounts before the car bursts into an inferno from which you do not escape. It’s sort of like that. Hurdles are something all actors must over come. You could almost say you have to learn to jump over them, if the metaphor isn’t lost a little there.

Getting over the hurdles

There are as many ways of getting over hurdles as there are actors. Some take it in their stride. Others cower and cry in a corner (NOT ME), and more still avoid the hurdles by simply buttering up all and sundry with the odd gift, card etc, hoping in the long term it will pay off with a plum role.

This rarelt works of course. All you end up with is a casting director with a house full of free stuff and maybe a part in Still Open All Hours.

My own way of getting over hurdles is self-examination. I like to go home, strip down to my underpants and stare at myself in the mirror and examine what went wrong. Sometimes I reeact the audition, playing all the parts, to relive and re-experience the whole thing. I try different approaches, things I wish I had said. Although I have stopped doing that now as I got completely in character and a fight broke out and I ended up breaking a lamp over my own head.

I recommend the first part, staring at yourself in your underwear though. It is quite theraputic and you can find out quite a bit about yourself after two or three days.

Anyway, I am pleased Julie Witchenhaus has got the role. I think she will be very good. I have offered to give her a few pointers, but maybe she feels she wants to do it her way – and that way of course she can take all the credit/blame for the success/unmitigated disaster it will surely be. Mark my words, it will be on.

Spare Time

One thing I love to do when I am resting is visit people in hospital. I know – you are thinking ‘Tarquin, where do you find the time?’ Well, I don’t act all the time. Sometimes one needs to take a break from the cut and thrust of the art of Thespis and walk the path of real life. Too meet one’s public is an honour, not a chore, and it’s especially nice when they know who I am without having to tell them. I carry a CV around with me now and a couple of colour prints.

Hospitals contain all life. From the new mother and her charge, to the old fellow in the corner who is making odd gurgling noises behind a curtain. The staff are quite ameanable to my presence, and direct me to whoever they deem most deserving of my attentions. 

I am told the patients face strict competition from each other to garner my audience. As I approach the bed, the game continues, and they pull the blankets over their face or sometimes pretend to be asleep. What japes we have. Now, I do have strict criteria of who I will and won’t visit. Prisoners – who while I feel should get medical help will only be encouraged if a celebrity such as moi comes to see them. 

And anyone who has some sort of skin ailment. Or has toilet issues. Or keeps being sick. Or has to be strapped down. Or anyone with any strange contagion. Cuts and bruises. Broken stuff. And anyone who, frankly, is on the brink of meeting God. Take my word for it, you don’t want to be at the apex of an hilarious story about a pantomime in Crewe only to find your audience has very literally died of excitement. As long as they don’t have any of those things going on I am delighted to pull up a chair and be their new buddy. 

Of course, staying healthy is vital in my line of work, and therefore I have invested in a Hazmat suit.