Chapter 17
Seventeen
I PASSED. I DIDN’T get a special speech or anything this time, but I passed. Frida wasn’t available to join the other tutors for Crits that first term of second year but still emailed feedback around. I’ll admit, a tiny part of me was disappointed. I clicked on the email.
Voice: Pass.
Movement: Pass.
Solo comedy: Pass.
In any further comments she wrote that my listening and awareness had improved but that my eyes appeared hooded onstage and I needed to open them more, that this was something I ought to be aware of.
I frowned. My eyes? Why bother mentioning my eyes?
Surely they were just eyes, two incontrovertible features of my face.
I glanced at myself in the mirror but they looked just the same as they always did.
The next day I walked around the house as wide-eyed as possible until Jolly asked me to please stop, I was scaring him.
Victoria passed too, just. Lola had been her scribe. When we met outside the pub after Crits, Jolly asked what Victoria’s feedback had been like.
Lola sat back against the wall and took a long draw on her cigarette. ‘I think you would say room for improvement?’
We asked for details, hungry for any morsel of criticism that might justify our own accomplishments. But then Victoria appeared at the gate and the subject was swiftly dropped.
That Christmas, I checked the Facebook group every day to see if anyone had been asked to leave.
It seemed no one had. After scrolling through the mostly dormant page, I’d visit Victoria’s profile and cycle through the latest pictures she’d uploaded of herself: slope-side with her family in Vermont; a thick pair of ski goggles pulled down over her beaming face; feet tucked beneath her long legs on a bear-skin rug.
It’s a mulled cider kind of night . Victoria had actually said she’d visit me again in Yorkshire – she’d been promising all year, in fact.
But then in November her dad had booked the chalet and, well, that was that.
Next year though, babe. We’ll definitely do next year.
When we returned in January, Victoria had a lot to say about the fact no one had been cut from the course, even though it was obvious that if anyone had struggled, it was her.
‘I just don’t understand why Hettie is still here?
’ she said, crossing her legs. We were sitting on a bench in the cafeteria.
It was the first day back. ‘I mean, she’s a nice girl, don’t get me wrong.
But she’s dragging us all down. Honestly, if she’s still here for showcase she’ll embarrass us all.
’ She sat up, warming to the topic. ‘We’ll be tarred with the same brush.
Me-di-o-cre.’ She sipped the foam from her coffee.
‘I mean, I don’t know if I should even invite my agent to our third-year shows any more. ’
Victoria needn’t have got so worked up. Hettie dropped out a few days later anyway.
We never got a full explanation as to why, but Jolly said he’d seen her ditching her sandwiches at lunch and Obi made a comment about how he was able to fit his thumb and pinkie around her entire wrist in courtly dance.
I thought back on the year and a half I’d known her.
It was true that while the rest of the girls wore skin-tight leggings and figure-hugging sweaters, Hettie shrouded herself in shapeless hoodies and sweatpants.
She never scraped her hair back either, not after Frida made a passing comment about her head being shaped like a lollipop.
Anorexia. She hid it well.
I thought about reaching out to her. But then things got busy again, and Victoria said it would only make things worse and that the girl probably just wanted to be left alone. So I didn’t.
I regret that. I regret a lot of things.
SPRING TERM WAS AMERICAN term. Victoria, a few others and me were grouped together in Arthur Miller’s The Crucible; the other half of the class did Death of a Salesman.
Victoria was given the role of Elizabeth, while I played Abigail.
Victoria was happier that term. After the complete car crash of solo comedy, she was back on firmer ground.
‘Finally, actual drama. Serious plays for serious actors.’
The other focus of that term was animal studies.
This might’ve been one of the stranger experiences of my time at drama school.
In animal studies, students observe animal behaviours, then make human character choices based on them.
In practice, this meant a lot of squawking, grunting and swinging from the rafters of Rehearsal Room Five.
To support our research, the school bought us each membership passes for London Zoo.
In our second week, Frida announced with great satisfaction that she’d secured us a patch of grass not far from the camel enclosure, where she’d be leading some of our lessons.
The ground was slippery with ice as we approached the zoo.
Grey banks of cloud loomed in the distance.
Jolly and I trudged arm in arm, still tired from our beds, past the tall fences and netted enclosures of Regent’s Park.
As we walked, hundreds of pairs of eyes, glum, alert, doleful, peered up at us from the undergrowth, down from trees, out from behind fibreglass rocks.
After taking a wrong turn by the bug house, Jolly and I eventually found our way to the others.
They were standing beneath a limp banner.
The Wonders of the . Obi beckoned us over and Victoria, leaning against him, gave a small wave.
I noticed she was wearing fur, an interesting choice for the zoo.
We’d each been assigned an animal to study.
For our final assessment we had to transpose that animal into a human character within a five-minute scene.
Obi was given a Transvaal lion. Stefano, a spotted hyena.
Jolly, an albino ferret. Victoria was given a Japanese red fox and I, a black witch moth.
The teachers never said outright, but it was widely assumed among the students, a rumour passed down from year group to year group, that the animals were based on us as individuals, that our animals were a physical and emotional representation of our true selves, our spirit animals.
Jolly pointed out that this might’ve been what pushed Hettie to quit.
Rumour had it she’d been given an elephant.
‘Come here, sleepyhead,’ Victoria said, pulling me towards her. ‘You look freezing.’
I nodded and let myself be tucked in beside her. My hands were stiff, the skin pale and thin. I snuggled against her pelt and we waited, shivering in a tight knot of limbs.
Frida arrived a few minutes later and led us to our designated patch, a puddle-pocked square of slimy grass, where we reluctantly shed our coats and began our daily warm-up.
Early-morning tourists and families strolled past, pointing and giggling.
We must’ve looked a sight: a miserable group of students, all dressed in black, stretching on a muddy lawn between the aviary and a block of vending machines on the coldest morning of the year.
Frida had to politely shoo away a family of American tourists who asked if they could take pictures.
She gathered us in a circle. ‘You, Stefano.’ She fixed him with her sharp gaze. ‘Tell me about a character from a play you admire.’
‘Erm, Stanley Kowalski from A Streetcar Named Desire.’
She nodded. ‘Now, the character of Stanley. What do we know about him? We know he is driven by lust and power. We know that Blanche describes him as an “ape”. We know he is violent, a soldier, an abuser. So, with that knowledge, what animals come to mind when we think of Stanley?’
‘An ape?’ Stefano replied uncertainly.
Frida clicked her tongue. ‘Thank you for that enlightening response, Mr Bianchi. Perhaps the other tutors and I should’ve assigned you a parrot.’
A few people tittered.
‘Anyone else?’ she said, training her gaze on the group.
‘A tiger.’
‘A lion.’
‘A bear.’
‘Very good.’ Frida walked between us. ‘So, if you were asked to play Stanley, you could draw upon the qualities of these animals to inform your characterization, yes?’
A few people nodded.
‘What form might this take?’ Frida asked.
‘A roaring voice.’
‘A purposeful walk.’
‘With a heavy tread.’
‘Curled fists.’
‘Strength.’
‘Power.’
‘Good.’ She stopped. ‘But what if you chose to play against these stereotypes?’ She gazed around at our puzzled faces.
‘We have already seen a thousand actors strut around in the role like a bear, have we not? What would happen if you chose more unexpected characteristics that played against type?’ She paused.
‘Name some animals that go against the preconceptions we have about the character of Stanley.’
‘Poor Stanley’s just a kitten,’ Victoria said, earning herself the hint of a smile from Frida.
‘A Shetland pony.’
‘Butterfly.’
‘Puppy.’
‘Good, yes,’ Frida said. ‘Now you’re getting it.’
‘Worm.’
‘Sparrow.’
‘Mouse.’
‘Excellent. What happens if instead of attributing power and status to Stanley, we imagine he’s a Shetland pony who wishes he were a tiger, or a sparrow that dreams of being a lion? How would that change the characterization?’
‘Well, he’d feel he had something to prove,’ Victoria said.
‘He’d feel small and pathetic,’ I added.
‘He might bully others to overcompensate.’
‘He would never feel good enough,’ Victoria continued.
‘Precisely,’ Frida said. ‘Do you see? No one who goes around being thought of as an ape feels like an ape inside. Human beings are complicated. We are a mix of the past and the present, the future and all we wish to be. We are all tiny vulnerable kittens and puppies who just so happen to have grown into leopards and wolves. We are both predator and prey. We are never just one thing. Nor should your characters be. To create a fully rounded character you need to inhabit the tiger, the lion and the sparrow.’
People nodded; murmurs went around the group.
‘With that in mind, today I’d like you to think about your characters from scene studies. Please gather in your groups.’
I shuffled towards The Crucible lot.
‘Make your way around the zoo and observe the animals but, and this is important, watch out for the unexpected. Seek out animalistic traits you might juxtapose with your roles’ more obvious attributes. We’ll meet back here in an hour.’
Victoria slipped her arm through mine and propelled me towards the butterfly house.
‘Why there?’ I asked.
‘Because,’ she whispered, ‘it’s warm in there and I’m freezing my tits off.’
INSIDE, VICTORIA FOUND A windowsill to perch on. She unravelled her scarf and removed her fur. I sat beside her. Above us, a canopy of vines crowned the fogged glass. I pulled out my copy of the play. She watched me, her brows knitted together.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Well, we’re meant to observe the animals, aren’t we?’ I tucked a pencil behind my ear. ‘I thought I could make some notes.’
Victoria threw her head back and groaned. ‘God, you never just exist, do you?’
I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, we’re here’ – she gestured at the space – ‘surrounded by some of the most beautiful, entrancing, exotic creatures in the world, and you want to stick your beak inside a book and make notes?’
I closed it, hurt. ‘I just thought we should do some work, that’s all. Frida said—’
‘Frida said, Frida said,’ she sang. ‘All you ever do is work, Shannon. I don’t think I’ve met anyone who works as hard as you, except maybe Jolly.’
I should’ve felt proud. But something in Victoria’s tone, in the pinprick sharpness of her words, made me feel ashamed.
‘So, what, you think I should just exist?’
‘Yes,’ Victoria said, gazing up at the glass ceiling. ‘Exist. Be. Live in the moment.’ An intricately patterned green butterfly landed on a leaf beside her. ‘There, you see?’ She leaned back until her eyes were level with the tip of its wing. ‘Isn’t she marvellous?’
‘How do you know it’s a she?’
‘She just is. She’s a queen. Look, she’s beautiful.’
I watched the small creature, the fragile quiver of its wings.
‘Isn’t she magnificent?’
‘Yes,’ I replied, wondering what it would be like to pluck its powdery, trembling body apart, piece by piece.
Victoria cooed at the tiny creature as it flew towards another leaf. Her eyes followed it. ‘You see? You see?’ she said, grabbing my wrist, entranced.
‘I see,’ I said, my voice flat.
I watched Victoria’s eyes dart across the room, hopping from creature to creature, and it suddenly came to me: Victoria and I were different species.
I was earthbound, while she could fly. I hid behind rocks, watchful, frightened and alert, while she soared on an invisible jet stream available only to her.
Victoria didn’t worry. Ever. She had always been comfortable and taken care of.
She knew no other existence. The future wasn’t a scary place, but one filled with marvellous, curious moments just waiting to be experienced.
She didn’t need to think about the consequences of not doing the work, of not taking the notes or missing the rehearsal, because failure simply wasn’t an option for her.
Everything in her life was brilliantly assured, every whim a shining possibility.
‘Look at that one,’ she said, pointing out a translucent blue butterfly fluttering above us. Her finger tracked it across the room. ‘See how delicate it is, how its wings capture the light?’
‘Yes,’ I said, following it, watching it pulse higher and higher, scattering the other creatures in its wake. ‘I see.’