Chapter 15
Fifteen
‘IT’S A PASS FROM me for your independent movement piece this term, although not a strong one.’
A panel of faces stared at me. Critical feedback. ‘Crits’ for short. On the last day of term, when the assessments were over and the holidays were in touching distance, we were invited to receive ‘constructive’ feedback on whether we’d passed or not.
Frida continued, ‘There is something odd about the way you move your limbs. It’s as if your brain and body are disconnected.
I could see you were trying and that you’d taken on the advice I gave you in week three, but really, Shannon, I think this is something you need to be aware of.
You were like a broken-stringed puppet. It was quite uncomfortable to watch. ’
I nodded and swallowed. I glanced across at Jolly who was bent low over his notebook, scribbling furiously.
Jolly was my scribe that afternoon. Whoever was scheduled to go after you sat in and took notes.
This was for our benefit, apparently. With a scribe, you could fully absorb your failings, truly take in the tsunami of shit that washed your way without distraction.
We’d been asked to buy Dictaphones at the start of term, and mine sat blinking in front of me.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to read Jolly’s spidery handwriting and that I’d simply listen back and transcribe the whole thing myself.
He needn’t have been there. But now I think about it, that wasn’t the point.
They didn’t make up the scribe rule to help us, they did it to hold us accountable.
Scribes were spies, inserted into this private, shaming moment to deny us the chance to lie about our successes.
If, following Crits, you dared to bullshit about your achievements, there was always someone there to set the record straight in the pub after.
‘Shannon, are you listening?’ It was Casper.
I nodded and he pursed his lips. ‘I’d also like to add to Frida’s comments on your performance in The Seagull.
Ultimately, I have to agree. You didn’t inhabit the role of Masha as much as you could’ve.
I felt you were technically committed, but emotionally held back, slightly out of the frame, as it were, like you were hiding something, like there was something you didn’t want the audience to see.
’ Casper shook his head. ‘And that’s a real problem if your aim is to build connection.
’ He scanned his notes. ‘As far as your voice work goes this term,’ he sniffed, ‘vocally you’re weak.
Your voice lacks fullness, richness. Now, this is just term one, so there is still time to improve, but you’ve got a long way to go.
I’ve given you a pass for your monologue, but again, it’s not a strong pass, Shannon.
You need to work a lot harder if you ever realistically hope to perform on a professional stage. ’
I held my forearm, pressing the pads of my fingers into the doughy flesh. I smiled and nodded. I could already feel the bruises forming.
Next up was Malcolm Hurst, a gin-soaked man with a wandering eye who the school still kept around, I can only assume, for the prestige of him having once worked with Peter Brook.
Casper gave him a sharp kick under the table, and Malcolm woke with a snort.
‘Ah, ah, ah, ah yes. It’s Shannon, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I replied. He’d only taught me for the last eight weeks.
‘Good, good, ah yes.’ He shuffled his papers and leaned forward.
His eyes twinkled from behind his spectacles.
‘Yes, I’m afraid, Shannon, I have to agree with Frida and Casper.
’ He beamed at me, his crooked grin belying the barbs he was about to inflict.
‘It’s as if you weren’t totally present.
Masha is such a complicated, vital and engaging character, and I’m afraid you failed to live up to the richness of her inner life.
’ He paused and pushed his glasses up his nose.
‘And in my lessons this term, well, I’m afraid I’ve found you to be, my dear, a little solemn.
You never seem to take any joy in what’s happening in the room.
It’s as if you wish to be absolutely anywhere else but here.
But you’re at the Royal London School of Dramatic Arts!
’ He gripped the table and shook it. ‘You should feel like you’ve won the lottery!
I often see you glowering in the corner of my lessons, and I’m sorry but that sort of attitude simply won’t cut the mustard out in the real world.
Directors want to work with women who are happy and cheerful and light.
I think you need to work on your openness, and, dare I say it, your likeability.
There are a million young actresses out there who are fun and amiable and, frankly, a delight to work with, and if you don’t nip this attitude problem in the bud, then I’m afraid the industry will not be kind to you.
’ He shifted in his seat. A faint whiff of sulphur leaked across the room.
‘I’ve given you a pass for your scene study presentation from last week.
Again, not a strong pass. The research was there, but your actioning was a little underdeveloped.
But you’re on the right lines at least.’ He glanced up.
‘So work harder, and let’s try and be a little cheerier next term, yes? ’
I nodded and gripped the underside of my chair.
‘And what about a smile, eh?’
I did something with my face, although I couldn’t say what.
‘There you go,’ Malcolm said, grinning and folding his papers in half. ‘You can be pretty when you try.’
‘That will be all, Shannon,’ Frida said, replacing the lid of her pen.
I reached for the Dictaphone, stuffed it inside my rucksack, and stood to leave.
‘Oh, Shannon,’ she continued. ‘One more thing before you go.’ She narrowed her eyes and pressed her hands into a fist. ‘Why exactly are you here?’
I clutched the strap of my bag. It was a trick, surely.
‘What do you mean?’ I said. I could feel myself floating, lifting out of my body, out of the room.
‘Why did you bother coming to this school? Why are you here?’
‘I – I’m here because . . .’ An imposter, floating, doubling, slicing in two. ‘Because – because I . . .’ Face disappears.
‘Oh dear, Shannon.’ Frida tsked. ‘The fact you don’t have an answer worries me.
This is a top conservatoire and you are extremely lucky to be here.
’ She sighed. ‘Passive: that’s the word I’d use to describe you.
And an actress needs to be anything but passive.
This industry is tough, perhaps the toughest. If you’re going to succeed, you need passion and, frankly, I’ve not seen that from you these last eight weeks.
’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t adjudicate your initial audition.
Had I done so, I’m not sure I would’ve put your name forward as a suitable candidate for this course.
You have some of my more sympathetic colleagues to thank for this opportunity.
’ She glanced sideways at Malcolm. His eyes were closed, his chin on his chest. A wad of white spittle clung to the corner of his lips.
‘Anyway, you’re here now. And, I suppose, you do have some potential.
’ She sat forward. ‘Potential is a rare and brilliant thing, but potential also so often disappoints. This is only your first term. Next term will be harder, and the one after that even more so. If you seriously hope to complete your three years here then you will have to make some huge improvements to your work. If you really want to be here then I would come prepared in January with an answer to my question.’ She gave a tiny shrug.
‘Or don’t come at all.’ She stood from her chair and went to the door.
‘Thank you, Shannon. You’re free to go.’
Jolly, not meeting my eye, handed me the notes.
‘Next scribe, please,’ Frida said.
She held the door open. I walked past her, my legs shaking.
Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry—
‘Oh, and merry Christmas, Shannon.’