MAGIC MOMENTS

 There are moments in life, however long ago they happened, that flood back into your memory and bring with them a golden glow.  It could be your Wedding Day, the birth of your first child, passing an important exam or visiting somewhere abroad or the British Isles where the beauty of nature took your breath away. It can also be a moment of revelation when something happened within a routine situation that brought with it an illuminating understanding.

Perry Como was an American crooner very popular when I was a pre-teenager, Italian good looks, warm voiced, dark and handsome - maybe you are old enough to remember him?  I would argue one of his greatest hits was “Magic Moments” - magic moments filled with love.  The song was a reminder of the little routine occasions like a barbecue or a sporting match or a ride on a hay-cart when out of the blue the overwhelming feeling of love stopped you in your tracks.   How very precious and human.   Nowadays, with AI seemingly aiming to take over our very humanity, unexpected magic moments are important to remember.

I started in the entertainment business back in the nineteen sixties.  In my time I have seen technology rapidly develop and change audience preferences.     Television took over in popularity from Radio and Variety Shows and began to challenge Cinema.  Recently, since Covid, we have seen online streaming ramping up to challenge the once mighty film studios, and now, in its turn, recorded media may be facing the prospect of losing its edge as, or so I like to think, the public turn their backs on it, suspecting Generative AI is duping them into believing that which is actually unreal is real.

And there could be a plus from this.   Theatre, for far too long the poor player of the creative industries, may begin to have the limelight again, and more importantly the funding, as audiences turn back to it to share true, dramatic human experiences with real people face to face.

Most performers will tell you that though a good television part is financially and creatively very satisfying and a joy to win, there is something about sharing a story with a live audience one to one, that a recorded performance technically sealed for posterity, however successful, never quite has.

An audience is like an animal.  Every night it takes on a different persona drawn from the combined emotions in the room.  It’s not just the number attending or the individual ages, financial backgrounds, health or race, but the weather or news that day, even the actual day of the week can affect whether the animal is excited, purring or slightly irritated as you step onto the stage.  Your job then as a company is to tame it, draw it in to share the drama with you and thus feed from each other.  No two nights or matinees are the same and the advantage the live performance has over a recorded one is that you always have the chance to redeem yourself and make it better the next time.

Don’t you agree, as an audience member, what makes a fantastic performance more special in your mind than one you enjoy on celluloid, is knowing that when it happened it was just that once, exclusively for you?  A magical moment you had the privilege to share with only those present that night.

With AI so much in the news I have found myself reflecting on the art of live performance and my involvement in it. 

Like many actors I started my career in theatre, progressing from work in civic repertory companies - those were the days! - the Chichester Festival Theatre and the National Theatre at the Old Vic. Touring was hard work and never paid a lot, Panto paid better, but what was most valuable for me was learning from my fellow actors, directors and writers.  I learned from those different ‘animals in the room’ too, night after night.

I treasure many wonderful memories of my career but there are two little magical moments I can still recall vividly.   At the time they were both illuminating but in different ways and I’d like to share them with you.   They also happened just as, or as I was about to make an entrance onto a stage.

I had left Larry Olivier’s National Theatre company and found myself in an Ivor Novello musical - Perchance to Dream.  Set in three timelines - Regency, Victorian and the nineteen forties - it traces unrequited love which finally ended happily for my parallel characters Melinda, Melanie, Melody in 1945.   I really loved Novello’s romantic music, particularly his use of string instruments in my solo number “The Night when I Curtsied to the King”.

I remember so clearly our first night at the Theatre Royal in Richmond and the thrill as a spotlight picked me out as I entered upstage centre,  slowly advancing  towards the audience through the middle of a swaying chorus of debutantes, all  of us dressed in white Regency  gowns. 

In front of me lay the beautiful Frank Matcham auditorium reflecting stage lights in its gilt ornamentations, and the expectant smiling faces of the audience.  Below me a surging swirl of violin bows struck up the intro for my song.   The sight and sound of violin strings almost took my breath away in excitement and anticipation.  The moment was truly magical and I felt I could never be more uplifted and fulfilled on the stage again.  In my young mind this was my most magic moment.

As it turned out, I was wrong.  A couple of decades later I was waiting in the wings of York’s Theatre Royal for the lights to come up on the next scene in Alan Ayckbourn’s delightful comedy The Chorus of Disapproval, and my entrance as sexually voracious Fay Hubbard, Northern, definitely a bit chavvy with a hint of footballers’ wives!

As a middle-aged actress I had become extremely grateful to Mr. Ayckbourn who has written some wonderful parts for older women, far more I maintain than any other successful playwright of his generation, and Fay Hubbard was proving to be a very funny character indeed. 

The Chorus of Disapproval centres around an innocent abroad, Guy Jones, who, newly widowed, moves into a little Yorkshire village joining the local operatic society to relieve his depression.  He proves very popular and ends up taking over the lead in the production they are soon to be launching of The Beggar’s Opera.  Men are thin on the ground and the women are thrilled to have a new young one in their midst and the men believe he has valuable insider information on a piece of land in the area.   The Hubbards invite him round for dinner and a bit of wife swapping though he has no idea that is their intention.

The lights came up and I heard the doorbell go.  My cue for entering.  I had already played what I called the “Veal scene” a couple of times by then and had found myself experimenting with how long I could make a pause last before I uttered the one word “Veal?” in response to Guy’s confused and perfectly honest reply when asked if there was anything he disliked.  It seemed the longer I made the pause last, the bigger the laugh.  It was becoming rather intoxicating.

Short skirted and high heeled Fay was alive with anticipation, but so was I as I took a deep breath before entering. Then in an illuminating flash I suddenly understood what highly successful comedians must feel night after night.   They were high on the power to control an audience’s response, just like me.   Like a terrible, intoxicating habit, they were high on the exhilarating power of laughter.

My brother came to my dressing room soon after curtain down, still chuckling and confessing he couldn’t stop the tears rolling down his face during that scene.  Another truly magic moment for me.

I wonder what yours are?