Acting Up
I have always been an actor.
Well, for all of my adult life that is.
I left school at fourteen – that was the norm in those days, one had to help out the family and bring in some earnings, however meagre.
I did many dead end jobs until I was eighteen years old when I somehow managed to gain myself a place at the Central School of Speech and Drama.
Yes, can you believe it? The CSSD.
I had to continue my dead end jobs for the duration of my tutelage of course. Not only to keep myself but also to help out at home. A home more than a little disappointed of my life choice.
From the moment I left college, I boast of being a contemporary of Sir Anthony Hopkins, I have only acted. Yes, I have “trod the boards” for my living. Very often it was barely a living.
It was everything to me then. It still is now.
But I survived the countless rough times. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger my Grandmother always said. I’m not sure that is true actually but I was determined to make it as an entertainer. Resolute is the word. The knowledge and belief that I was put on this earth to entertain has always sustained me.
I am now seventy five years old. Or is it seventy six? and I still love my job. I live, breath, and so relish the applause from an audience. Any audience. That tingle in my gut after a performance that tells me I have helped take another human being on a journey. Then brought them back safely, hopefully feeling better, and perhaps even wiser.
That applause, the appreciation it speaks, has always been sufficient to make the loneliness, the travelling, the awful digs, the disappointments and heartbreaks, even the occasional hunger, so wonderfully worthwhile.
But of course the theatre, always my first true love and one I would forever remain faithful to, is not enough to sustain mere flesh and bone. Stints of TV, films, which these days must include commercials for they are so similar in all but length, are vital. As are the product placements, Father Christmas roles, and the odd part in “Murder,Mystery Weekends” and the like. Each and every “part” plays its own role in feeding both mind and body of an obsessive jobbing actor.
I was never foolish, or too proud, to believe that theatre alone could provide. Unless of course you have the talent of a Dame Judy Dench for example. Ahh, Dear Judy, such a trouper – but I digress. Unless one is of her genius, industry and uniqueness, the theatre alone would not provide. Lesser talents than Dame Judy, of which I am one, must suffice with less. Not that I put myself down here. I have a couple of dozen films to my name and was a part of East Enders for nearly three years. But always as minor, unnoticed characters. Speaking roles yes. Lines but no dialogue as I describe it. I even worked for the RSC for a year or two, but as a spear carrier that mumbled, never roared.
I know my place – to quote the famed John Cleese sketch.
Oh, and variety. I almost missed variety from my little cv. I have worked end of the pier reviews, when there were ends of piers. Also Pantos everywhere, even two seasons at the at the Palladium. I hae been straight man to many a comic.
I am a “known” actor. Known by the profession, and respected I feel certain, but rarely recognised by the public. There are hundreds like me. Actors who have learnt their craft and done well enough to live without taking jobs waiting tables or on building sites. Known, yes, but not well enough known to retire to leisure in later life. There are certainly many, many thousands forced to take outside work to pay for their acting.
As I once said to my agent of nearly forty years, “Harold , I have few, if any, aspirations of greatness. I am a solid and dependable actor of competence and experience. I turn up, Harold, always, I hit my marks, I deliver and I am willing to take all and every role to entertain.”
I haven’t seen Harold for quite some time actually.
But, I have been busy. And he cannot really come and watch my current role can he? He would normally be there at the beginning of every engagement. To offer support and, more often, criticism.
I must give him a call.
And my son Andrew, I have not seen him in some time. That was always to be a troubled relationship I suppose. Valerie, his mother, and I never spoke after the divorce all those decades ago. It spoilt my relationship with Andrew there is no doubt. He does occasionally phone and visit when he can although not for quite a while I’m afraid. Always so busy. He is a writer. Another fraught craft, overcrowded with talent. I hope he is doing well and if not flourishing, then surviving, as I have.
I loved his mother, so much. But, if I am honest Valerie was a mistress. A mistress to my first love – entertaining. The divorce, with Andrew so young, proved a wedge too large to overcome. I am grateful for the attention he does afford me though I would dearly love to see him more.
Now, let me tell you of my current role. I am so proud.
It is for the NHS. Yes, the National Health Service. Would you believe it? You wouldn’t conceive they needed actors would you? Forgive me here, I am going to forgo the obvious jokes about “theatres”, “breaking a leg,” “casting” roles, and the “National.” I shall just tell it .
Let me start at the beginning. Four years ago, or was it five, no – it must be six years ago. I won an audition for a role that I have come to love. I was up against several actors and even more actresses. I am so glad Dame Judy wasn’t one of them.
But I won the part.
I am not surprised actually. That is not being boastful at all. Dear me no! Simply realistic. You see I had it all compared to so many of the “younger” thesps auditioning.
I was the ideal age, with all my marbles intact. Perfect. I had experience of playing all sorts of characters over my lifetime. Again perfect. And I look the part. Oh God do I look the part. I mean, naturally white hair since my late fifties. Small stature. An unimposing elder with a malleable face that can be instantly transformed to look as used and frayed as a fifty year old leather briefcase.
Plus, my lack of fame helped me out. I would never be recognised as, “that guy off the telly”. Thinking about it, for all her talents Dame Judy would not have got this role. Her face too well known.
I knew the gig was mine almost immediately I was called in to the audition. I sat in front of four people from the Geriactric section of the Uttlesford County Hospital, two of which were introduced as doctors. There was a fifth colleague who turned out to be Human Resources or something. As I sat in the chair facing them I knew the role was mine. They looked at each other and smiled as if they had found treasure. I embodied their vision of who was required. No makeup needed then – or since I might add, which also means I save a fortune on slap.
All I had to do was perform. To show them the various actions and emotions I had been doing all my working life. Just prove that my resume of past roles did not lie.
Could I be an old man staring vacantly, impossible to distract or motivate? Could I shuffle like an aimless and stricken old man? Could I get angry – in an instant? Could I show frustration? Could I speak slowly, thoughtfully and intelligently then unexpectedly explode in aggressive anger? Could I suddenly cry? Could I be lost for words, then bitterly depressed at not finding them? Could I be frightened of the strangers around me? Could I be frightened of life itself?
Could I do these things, and more, convincingly? As easy as falling off a log. I’ve been showing these emotions and traits for over half a century, for all ages and in every type of play going.
I walked from that audition through a full reception area of others waiting to try out. Only the wish not to seem cocksure and vain stopped me from saying “Your wasting your time. Go home. I have it.”
And I did.
The letter of engagement came later that week. Harold had phoned to tell me the news. He was croaky and under the weather I recall, but pleased for me nonetheless.
The fee on offer was good too. That perked him up somewhat.
I was to attend the hospital for the next six weeks for training. You see the role entails an elderly man suffering from, well, aging of the brain shall we call it. Dementia.
That man was to be me.
My “audiences” are the newly recruited staff to work in geriatric units, both here in this hospital and throughout the south of England. They are sent on day and week courses to the unit where I act as new intake. By using an actor the trainers can set certain procedures and parameters in motion. Emergencies set up and stressful situations immediately created from almost nothing. The trainers secretly film and then study how the staff prepare and deal with a patient showing whatever symptoms of mental disease I am instructed to portray.
They, the novices, including young doctors, receptionists and administrators are not to know that they are dealing with an actor. I would be most slighted if ever that was discovered. It never has, to this day. Together, afterwards, they all watch the videos once the scenario has been enacted and ended. Discussion, teaching and training, and of course any praise earnt, follows the viewings. In the early days I too was invited to watch these videos with my “directors” so that minor imperfections in my own performances could be improved.
I no longer need such corrections.
It was a great role to win. I loved it then and still do. The initial contract called for three full days every week for three months. Then it was extended for another six months but for each morning only. Then on an “as and when” basis which, now, due to it’s success, has turned out to be daily.
I was allocated a “dressing” room marginally away from the actual patients so I’m not seen. Those being trained, vetted, or reassessed, do not realise the set up. I am just a new, or relatively new patient. It all works very well. So much so that trainees are now sent from all over the country to attend the newer, week long courses. I am usually foisted upon them on their second or third day to give time for assessment and guidance after.
I remember, soon after starting, I sat awaiting my trainees when one of the hospital management team popped her head around the door of my room. My “costume” of hospital slip and dressing gown did its job.
She said, “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise the room was occupied. Is somebody dealing with you?”
“That’s ok” I said breezily, “I’m part of the assessment team“
She looked hard at me for a couple of seconds, “Yes of course you are dear. I’ll just get a nurse for you,” and she left.
I was flattered and laughed but since then I have never tried to explain my presence.
Part of my early training, what we actors refer to as research, entailed learning the various illnesses that can strike in old age. By illnesses I mean of the brain. Mental faculty problems as well as some of the physical ailments that get us all. There are so many disabilities of the senses that can strike. Too many. Far too many. If there is a God……but that is another argument for another time.
Do you know there are over one hundred types of dementia being cared for and researched throughout the world? Yes, there are so many, and still more to be found I’m afraid. The catchall term dementia is used but fails to tell how many variants there are.
I have learnt the overlap in symptoms makes it hard to get an accurate diagnosis. But, proper diagnosis is vital, critical for getting the treatment correct. Some medications for one type can be far from beneficial for a different form. At least, that’s what I’m told and why the training is so important. To get doctors and nurses to recognise those variants. Only then can a treatment be effective and helpful. Researchers have already identified many conditions that can cause dementia or dementia-like symptoms.
This terrible disease can and will be beaten. I just know it will. I am sure. The people fighting it are far too dedicated not to win this fight. They will succeed. That’s why I am here and so proud to play my humble part.
We spent several periods of my initial training building a varied repertoire of symptoms, and actions, for me to use.
Lunacy, weeing myself – a well hidden bottle of plain H2O. Feeling faint. “Losing the plot”, especially if a needle was ever mentioned – which has a little more truth to it than the acting I can tell you. Of course vagueness, bewilderment, hallucinations are all enacted. These scenarios, and a hundred more, we created from previous hospital experiences and diagnosis. Each shows a variation on the theme called dementia.
On occasions I was directed to, “Give this person a hard time, they need pushing.” Or perhaps “Go easy on this one,” she needs more time.”
Even though improvisation is vital, I follow the overall directive and theme religiously. I believe accepting direction has almost become a lost art for some actors. After all, a car may be of the highest performance and specification, but without someone to steer into the bends, tell it to stop or go, and not to wander off route, that car will never reach a desired destination will it?
I must admit that my favourite instruction is always the simple “have fun” before the trainees are sent in. That means the theme is set by me and the trainers simply want to analyse the unfolding situation and how the trainees manage and diagnose.
I feel sure this gig is my finest role to date. It suits. Lets face it, I will never be a leading man again. This is, without doubt, a testing and taxing part. The variation of symptoms and ailments affecting the aged, both physical and mental, is enormous. That means my repertoire and performance must match.
In all modesty I can say it does.
If only the Olivier Awards extended to the National Health Service…..……
Ahh, I can see them coming down the corridor now. Two young ones resplendent in their crisp uniforms. I’ve never seen these two before. New youngsters learning how to care for the elderly and impaired.
God bless them.
What would we do without such carers and the good doctors? I feel justified that I am doing my part. Helping to make complete strangers better able to do their jobs once they are out coping on their own.
Here we go. Curtain up. Break a leg eh?
“Who’s next Staff?”
“Mr Edmonds. It’s about time you met him. He was an actor once.”
“Wow. Would I have seen him in anything?”
“Possibly. Old episodes of Eastenders and the Bill maybe. He’s been here for years now. Sad story. He came originally to help train us all up. He acted being a patient so that the likes of you and me could get a feel for how things can get and how we cope. Training Under Controlled Circumstances they called it. We haven’t done it here for years now but some other clinics still practise it. I was one of his first trainees actually.”
“And now he’s here permanently?”
“Yeah. Shame. He just got old. His son is a well known writer who comes every fortnight but his dad doesn’t recognise him now. But he still visits, bless him. Mr Edwards only other friend was his agent but he died about five years ago.”
“Oh.”
“Yup. it’s a shame. It really is. It’s strange though. He is an unusual case and the docs can often get a little confused themselves.
“Why is that Staff?”
“Well, it’s uncommon to show all symptoms of each different form of dementia which, at various times, he does. Now that is quite unusual. As such he’s hard to diagnose, but it keeps us on our toes. It’s the delirium that I hate most. When he shows that it upsets me. Delirium and dementia have similar symptoms, but you’ll find that out soon enough Nurse. It can be hard to tell the two apart at times. Anyway, Mr Edmonds is just the loveliest old guy, just lovely. A sweet, sweet man – when he’s not acting up that is.”
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