Intro

The curtain goes up, to reveal Terry slaving over a hot keyboard. He turns to the audience….

“AYE, LET ‘IM COME!”

That was my main sentence, spoken at full volume around the apartment, while I was rehearsing for an upcoming play.

M, my landlady and colleague, could get no sense out of me for months. Well, not much anyway.

M: Terry, would you like a cup of tea?

Me: “AYE, LET ‘IM COME!”

Time to backtrack a little. In my thirties I decided to join an amateur dramatics (amdram) group. One of my colleagues was involved in the running of it, along with her husband, and she always announced to the staff when a new play was going to be performed. I went along to the first play I heard about, liked what I saw, and joined the merry throng. I’d never done any acting before in my life, and I’m something of an introvert. In other words, my decision was insane.

As it happens, being an introvert is not the same as being shy, but either way it doesn’t matter. I’d say that amateur acting is an ideal pastime for the introvert or shy person because when you’re on stage you’re playing a role. It’s not you up there being watched and listened to, it’s a character. If you have an opportunity to join an amdram group, take it. Before you laugh your head off at this and declare that I’ve lost the plot, consider these benefits.

Benefits

Observation

A huge plus point is that it heightens your powers of observation in everyday life. Let’s say you’re playing the role of a doctor. Doctors walk differently to the rest of us. When I have to go to a hospital for some reason, I can always tell which people are the doctors, just by the way they walk and the way they hold themselves. They have a self-assuredness about them.

This ought to be an obvious point, but I saw an American TV programme once in which there was a prince. This so-called prince shuffled around with a pronounced swagger and with round shoulders. Princes simply do not walk like that, so the actor was utterly unconvincing.

Another aspect of observation is watching what people do with their hands, and the rest of their bodies. If you look at TV programmes these days, a lot of actors stand stock still while delivering their lines. And they stand even stiller when they’re meant to be listening to the other person. But people in real life tend not to be like statues.

There’s a great section of On The Waterfront in which Marlon Brando is talking to a girl. Watch how he plays with her glove and then, later, a stick of gum. It’s magical because it seems so natural.

Here’s another scene from the same film. It’s the famous “I coulda been a contender” part, but there is much more to that scene. Look at how there are quite long periods of silence. At around 2:39 Rod Steiger pulls a gun on Marlon Brando, his brother. Watch how Brando handles it, and how Steiger behaves when he realises what he’s just done. It’s a masterclass in acting, the embodiment of Oscar Wilde’s observation in The Picture of Dorian Gray: “[Lord Henry] knew the precise psychological moment when to say nothing.”

(Incidentally, the taxi ride took place in the studio, with the back window covered, I think, with a blanket, while lights were moved around outside. It was cheap, but very effective!)

Power

Saying nothing on stage is hard, because people are not used to it, and they expect you to fill in the gap. So drawing out the action can be a great way of keeping an audience on tenterhooks. When I played Willie Mossop in Hobson’s Choice, I enjoyed my little power trip! Right at the end of the play, Mossop looks around at the business he’s just gained, says “Ee, by gum”, and walks off stage. When I played the scene I said “Ee, by gum” but then spent several minutes looking around before, finally, marching off stage. In those few minutes, the audience was so silent you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. I enjoyed the power of keeping them waiting!

In fact, it was in this role that I spoke those immortal lines “Aye, let ‘im come”, but really timidly, not belted out in a stentorian fashion at all.

Acting

When I was invited to take one of the parts, I read everything I could about acting. The biggest influence was Stanislavsky, and to a lesser extent Strasberg. These were proponents of method acting. I’m no expert, of course, but my summary of the somewhat disparaged school of method acting is that it consists of two aspects: inner motivation, and what has happened and what will happen?

For example, if the play requires an actor to shed some tears, you could put an onion in your top pocket or inside the top of your dress and hope nobody notices. A far more convincing approach would be for the actor to have in mind something that makes them sad when they think of it.

As for what has happened and will happen, I see this as trying to convey not only commitment to the play, that is, you’re not just walking on stage to say your lines and then walk off, but also a sense of your having a life outside of that scene.

For instance, you could be putting a pen in your inside pocket as you walk on, or be folding up a newspaper which you then throw onto a chair. These activities suggest that you were doing something before this scene, and by implication will be doing something afterwards.

By the way, if you’re offered a small part, bear in mind that there is no such thing as a minor role. “Small” does not equal “minor”. My very first part was the manservant Lane in The Importance of Being Earnest. I’m not sure I had any lines at all, but the role was there to act as a foil for two women who are being rather nasty to each other.

It’s interesting from a problem-solving point of view

There was one play in which someone had to be shot on stage. To make it more realistic we decided it would be good if a vase got shattered by the ricochet. How to do that? Behind the curtain behind the vase a technician had a bolt gun. As soon as he saw the actor pull the trigger, he fired the bolt gun into the vase, causing it to shatter. It was very effective.

Sociable

It was always good for a laugh. One of the things the group would do was play some sort of trick on the last night. My worst moment was when I was on the stage showing family photographs to the young lady sitting next to me. Someone had gone to the trouble of cutting out pictures from a girlie magazine and pasting them onto photos.

“And this is aunt Betty on her 80th”, I was saying while looking at a nude model. I could hear giggling coming from back stage. The young lady I was acting with was shaking with suppressed laughter, and I could feel her arm going up and down against mine. Somehow, though, we both managed to keep a straight face. So I suppose being part of an amdram group is good for self-discipline too!

On the final night there was always a party after the theatregoers had gone and we’d cleared everything up. The only one I recall was the one I got completely blotto at, because I almost never drink and so never get drunk. And the only thing I remember about it is standing on a chair in the middle of the stage while people chatted and danced around me shouting, ““AYE, LET ‘IM COME!”

Ah, those were the days!

A few words to the wise

Bear in mind that if you like the sound of being part of an amdram group but not being on stage, there are loads of other roles that need playing: lighting, props, costume, prompt, to name just a few.

I’d suggest being selective. If you go along to a club and they tell you that old Fred has always played the lead whatever the role, then find another club where the lead is chosen for better reasons.

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