“All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time takes many parts” – William Shakespeare - As You Like It – Act 2, Scene 7
One of the things that’s struck me, as a recent member of the Lace Market Theatre, is the length of the relationship that some of the members have had with the group. Look at the photos of previous productions in the bar and you’ll see familiar faces from as far back as the early 1970’s, probably earlier if you were to look through the archives. It’s longer than most people will stay in a single job, longer than many marriages, the span of my lifetime so far.
It’s hard to imagine many other groups and clubs that you could join in childhood and remain a part of for the rest of your life. Some sports clubs might manage it I suppose, but your time as a major contributor would be limited to as long as you could remain fit and free of injury, a few halcyon seasons before your decline. You’d end up on the sidelines, gazing out over the pitch with a few other old or aging men, remembering the feel of the grass and mud under your studs. Remembering that perfect, exhilarating, almost effortless feeling of striking the ball perfectly and knowing it’s heading unstoppably on a divine trajectory goal wards. Aching to take part again and remembering how much better things were in your day.
The theatre is one of a few hobbies/callings (delete as you like) where it’s possible to become better and better over that amount of time. The actors playing the romantic leads and ingénues when I was born have moved through to playing their parents and even grandparents now. The experience accumulated allowing them to bring a deep understanding to the interpretation of the roles and the skills built up over the years allowing them to bring this understanding to the productions. How much more able you are to play the father having played the son or the mother having played the daughter. It’s also possible to still be the star of the show or to steal a scene or two at any age. The chance has never passed you by.
There’s nothing else in life that’d give you the chance to work alongside and learn from people with that much experience and at the same time interact with them as equals. Last year’s production of ‘As You Like It’ had an age range of about 65 years between the youngest and oldest performers. It’s a sobering thought to think that the youngest actor in that show may perform in a Lace Market production in 2075. Who knows, the new air-conditioning might be fully installed and working by then. I know, I know, I’m a dreamer!
But then all these roles are, I suppose, just a microcosm of what happens to us as we move through life, Shakespeare’s ‘many parts’ that we all take. Not so much life imitating art but art imitating life. In the last decade I’ve slowly realised how parenthood has changed many of my friends. They’re still the same people of course, but subtly different. The way they see themselves, they way they see the world, the expectations they have of it and the ambitions they have for themselves have all moved on. They’ve taken these different parts on naturally, inevitably, maybe with a few regrets but mostly with a wry acceptance. I think even I’ve changed more than I like to admit. I’m not 21 anymore, even though I sometimes kid myself that I am.
“It's the most devastating moment in a young man’s life, when he quite reasonably says to himself, "I shall never play The Dane!" - Uncle Monty in ‘Withnail and I’
It’s also sobering to look at the lists of parts on audition notices and see the roles that I’ll never now play. The chances flew past without my even being aware they were there and for all my keenness now, for all the books I might read, the lessons I could take, the hours of practice, it’s just too late. That’s art imitating life again too. Just its little reminder that the conveyor belt is still moving whether I notice it or not and there’s no getting off. And of the parts that I could play? Well, there are too many shows happening each year. I couldn’t be in all of them. So pick the ones that really matter and know that there are many wonderful people you won’t get to work alongside and many great experiences you’ll have to miss.
Am an attendant lord, one that will do.
To swell a progress, start a scene or two”
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock – T.S Eliot
There are also parts that I could never have been cast in. I don’t have the looks to play a romantic lead, the wit to play the fool, the wisdom of a statesman or the gravitas of a king. I can hold a tune but my voice won’t reduce anyone to raptures. I can dance a step or two when no-one’s paying much attention but you wouldn’t want to have paid to watch me. Not even if there was a pole involved.
It’s funny. You go to the theatre to be entertained and to find out something about the human condition. You expect it to be the plays that do the entertaining and teaching, not the membership itself. It’s enough to get you down. Unless, of course, you can draw an uplifting life lesson from the experience. Here we go...
The uplifting bit is this. There’s neither a casting advisor nor an audience in life. Everyone’s far too wrapped up in their own performance to pay more than a fleeting interest in yours. Your only audience in the end is you. So you can play the parts you want to play. Sometimes act the fool for a few smiles and when the only thing you can do with life is to laugh at it. Sometimes play the lover, as long as you can find one person who believes in you in that role then that’s enough. Be wise sometimes and gracious at others. And play the jealous, petty , angry villain because sometimes it’s the only sensible response. But keep learning from every part and use that understanding as you play opposite all the other people you meet. Be a generous and giving performer. And be kind and patient. The people you meet might be struggling with their own production.
It’s your own one man show. Go for it. When the blackout comes, make sure that you gave it everything and hear your own applause in that moment of darkness before you take your bow.
Here’s The Lemonheads with 'Bit Part' - a nice bouncy song. I think we need one after that!
David Millington
18th February 2011
Nottingham
Fantastic post , Very eloquent and informative as always looking forward to your next one.
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