Twenty-Six Theo
Twenty-Six
THEO
W e feel it the moment we walk out.
The buzz .
Somehow its presence is magnified in the sunlit garden. It isn’t just by the stage, where I expected it to be, where our audience is gathering. It’s everywhere .
A waiting audience generates a unique energy. Anticipation, excitement, the challenge of those yet to be convinced, a sweet-yet-bitter coming together. You feel it pulsing through theatre curtains into the wings, reaching out to you, inviting you onto the stage to play – but also reminding you that everything you do out there will be judged. It’s terrifying and exhilarating – and any actor who tells you they don’t live for the rush of it is lying through their teeth.
I’ve felt it on theatre stages, on film sets, even out on location, when crew and the many hangers-on you find there are waiting for you to begin a scene. It’s different every time, even during a long theatre run. Every new mix of people brings a different kind of energy. It keeps the challenge fresh, never allowing you to settle. Because what went down a storm with a matinée crowd might bomb with an evening audience, and what triumphed in the street filming yesterday might fall on its arse tomorrow.
And I bloody love it. Even though it twists my stomach and grips my heart. Even though my entire body is shaking.
I thought I’d lost this. But here I am.
Here we are .
We let Ophelia lead the way, heading for the stage, while the three of us pause, our collective inhale as shaky as our still-joined hands. It could all go wrong. We could fall apart in front of the audience. All of our careful planning and endless rehearsing could be lost in a moment of panic.
Those are all possibilities. But I know I won’t be there alone. Whatever’s gone before, the three of us are united in this moment. I can’t think beyond that.
We move to our starting positions, just out of sight of the audience, awaiting our introduction.
‘Break a leg,’ Ced whispers. ‘Except please don’t on the first performance. We’ve nine more to get through after this.’
We share a quick group hug and then the noise beyond the trellis flat hushes.
My heart does a double beat as we perform our pre-show rituals. And then …
‘… Please give your warmest welcome to the Birthplace Garden stage – Cedric Millington-Harvey, Lucinda Hart and, for this summer season only, our very special guest, Theo Larkin!’
We run out in the order we’ve been called, applause and cheers swelling as each of us appears on the stone stage. As the audience comes into view, my breath deserts me. There are so many people! Beyond the three rows of chairs we saw for the press performance are another four, the audience squeezed into the space. It’s a sea of delighted faces.
Ophelia looks back at us, tears in her eyes. Ced is flourishing wildly, a huge smile on his face. And Lucie just glows.
We take maybe a minute more than we’d agreed in rehearsal before Lucie and I run off the stage, leaving Ced to do his introduction – Menenius Agrippa’s welcome from Act II, Scene 1 of Coriolanus .
‘… A hundred thousand welcomes: – I could weep,
And I could laugh; I am light and heavy: – welcome …’
It’s only a short speech, but Ced works his magic on every word.
Lucie shrugs the shawl from her shoulders and checks the pins holding her hair braids in place. She catches me watching and blesses me with a smile.
‘Ready?’ I whisper.
‘No!’ she grins. ‘You?’
‘Too late to worry now.’
She gives my arm a soft pat as applause swells for Ced beyond our hiding place.
It’s time.
I watch Lucie take a breath as Ced sprints behind the rose trellis flat.
‘They bloody love us, darlings! Go out there and cause havoc !’
Lucie leaves first and Ced steps aside to let me pass, his nod a final blessing as the audience quietens to a fevered hush.
I worried that the enormity of the occasion might steal the words from my mind, but as soon as I’m on the stage it’s as if Lucie and I are back in the crew room, wheeling around one another, making every breath, every gesture and every line count.
Lucie pauses a moment longer as Juliet’s eyes meet Romeo’s and I’m aware of gasps in the front row. Her chin rises a little – imperceptibly to anyone watching but me. It’s a sign that she feels the swell of anticipation from our seated guests, the knowledge of what they’re about to see firing her confidence.
My life, she’s beautiful …
For a second, I’m lost.
… And then I hear myself speaking the lines, as if my mouth has decided to override my racing mind. I settle into their rhythm as delight radiates from the crowd in my peripheral vision.
‘… My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss …’
A squeal erupts from within the crowd, met with a flurry of shushes and a ripple of laughter as the unbearable tension breaks for our audience. It’s only for a moment, and then they are right back with us.
I catch the flash of fun in Lucie’s eyes as she replies with her line – and the game is on. I was concerned we wouldn’t find it in the supercharged tension of Romeo and Juliet’s scene, but here it is, just at the moment we needed it.
It’s fun. It’s playful. And we carry the crowd with our every move.
We build up to the first of our two kisses, the audience with us all the way. They know what’s coming, but they don’t know what’s coming with Lucie and me. It’s the best feeling to be in charge of that knowledge.
‘… Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? ’
‘… Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. ’
A ripple of laughter now, as Juliet’s flirty answer registers. It disappears the moment I speak Romeo’s next line, moving forward to close the gap between my Juliet and me …
‘… let lips do what hands do …’
I reach out towards Lucie, my fingers almost touching her before my hand sweeps back to meet the other at the striped velvet of my chest in a prayer gesture. She lets out a gasp – practised to death in the crew room yesterday but now as real as if it were spontaneous. It’s perfect and it registers with the crowd immediately.
Lucie moves a little closer, mischief playing in her smile.
‘… Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.’
‘… Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take …’
The garden holds its breath. I take my time as I bridge the remaining gap between Lucie and me, watching her gaze move slowly to my lips.
As we kiss, the garden falls silent. Against my lips I feel the slightest curve of a smile from Lucie. It’s a secret sign that we’re doing well, that the hard work and arguments and tedium of repetition are paying off at last.
We break the kiss and step back from each other and I’m aware of a sea of phones trained on us.
If you think that’s good , I say to the audience in my head, just you wait …