STAGE DOOR

Confessions of a first time playwright. Part 4.

I have used Stage doors before, to visit friends in shows, but this is the first time I have ever walked through one because I am part of the company. I was hoping for a moment of interrogation where I could declare myself to be the writer but the genial lady at the door just waves me through. She knows what I am about to discover that finding your way through the warren of passages to the dressing rooms is a feat . ‘ Just follow the red line’ , but it might as well be the yellow brick road. I feel like Anne Baxter in All About Eve as she finally makes her way backstage. After a lot of false starts I finally stumble into the red and gilt splendour of the auditorium of the Theatre Royal Bath. It is like walking into a jewelry box. And for the next ten days my play will the jewel ( I hope).

I look for Dominic the deshabille, but I can’t see him anywhere. Finally, I see a pair of familiar shoes between a row of seats, and in the next aisle I see the recumbent form of the great man on the floor. It has clearly been a long day. The company is taking a break from the tech review which is involves trying to synch up all the lighting, sound and projection cues, as well as making sure that the cast come on from the right places. There is also the added hiccup of making sure that our Queen, Anne Reid, can see where she is going back stage. I trip over more than once, so this is a necessary precaution. Paul and Will, the lovely stage manager and deputy stage manager are looking dapper in the regulation back stage black. Everyone knows exactly what they are doing. Except me. I sit in the dark watching the actors find their way on stage and off, and wonder what I am doing here. Everyone seems pleased to see me, but then I remember that they are all theatre folk, adept at concealing their real feelings. But Dominic decreed that my presence is required and I know better than to argue. I also discover that there is nothing more likely to convince you of your own lack of writing ability than to hear the same scene acted again and again, while the crew get the cues exactly right. I imagined that the theatre was a bit loosey goosey but it turns out to be as rigorously plotted as a live television programme – except there is so much more that can go wrong. You can’t cut to an ad break in the theatre. The wardrobe mistress who is as hardboiled as they come, a veteran of many many shows, comes up to me in the green room. “ the play’s really good,” she says. I am thrilled.

The dress rehearsal goes smoothly. Everyone remembers their lines and hits their marks. But before I can feel smug, Dominic the cheerful ,starts muttering about false complacency. “ It’s much better when something goes wrong, and then everyone is on their toes for the performance.” He tries to send our leading lady to bed, but she is having none of it. Annie tells me that she first came to the Theatre Royal Bath fifty years ago as an assistant stage manager. She dreamed then of coming back as the occupant of Dressing Number One. She has always wanted to play the Queen. ‘ If I get sent a script set in an old people’s home or in a dementia ward I won’t even read it.” She orders another round of cosmopolitans. “ the secret is to be with younger people. People my age just complain about their health. So boring.”

The first preview is terrifying. This is the first time I have seen the show with a paying audience. Gratifyingly the house is full. The cast warn me that previews are not the real thing – ‘it takes a while for a play to really get into its stride’. Dominic tells me not to hold back on the laughter, ‘ it will encourage the actors.” I arrive early at the theatre so I can eavesdrop. But the main topic among the punters is the rain and the rugby. Finally I take my seat in the stalls. Dominic evades my attempts to sit next to him. I end up sitting sitting next to the producer’s mother who is a veteran of previews. ‘ don’t worry, dear, “ she says, “ previews are always disappointing.”

It starts well. There is a lady two rows in front of me who has a laugh that is even louder than mine. She finds everything, even the scene changes hilarious. But halfway through the first act she goes silent. I look over and notice that her head has sunk forward. She is not the only one – two of her companions also seem to be having a power nap. Then as one of the characters starts to make their big speech, there is a round of throat clearing. It turns into a Mexican wave of coughing, no sooner has one finished than another person starts to splutter. And then inevitably a mobile phone goes off. I look sideways at the producer’s mother for sympathy but she is stifling a yawn. I remember the Ian McKellen line, “ the theatre is a place where people go to sleep or cough.”

In the interval I sidle round the theatre trying to glean reactions. A lot of people seem to be googling the various events and characters in the show. An American man says to me, “ You British seem to really care a lot about hats.” Another German tourist in front of me says to the man next to her, “ I have to concentrate very hard to follow the language,” the man, who is Canadian, replies, “ don’t worry I don’t understand much of what they are saying either, it’s all about clothes.”

By the end of the show I am rigid. My laugh is so high pitched I worry about the chandeliers. The applause at the end is warm and sustained, but as I come away I feel numb. The Producer’s mother touches me on the arm, “ Never mind, dear, it can only get better.”

Two hours after the production ends , an email drops into my inbox – ‘ Company Manager’s Report - it is a bloodless but riveting document itemizing all the fluffed lines, the missed entrances, the big laughs, and the mobile phone interruptions.

Before the second preview Dominic takes me aside, “ Can you dial down the laughing. It’s putting the actors off.” I point out that he did tell me to express my enthusiasm. “ Yes but last night you sounded like a nervous author willing the audience to get the joke.” He is right, of course. The audience is a living thing, you can’t make them laugh just because you think they should. There is nothing more I can do, except sit back and clap till my hands smart. Three more previews and then it is press night. I order a dry martini.

BY ROYAL APPOINTMENT is at the Theatre Royal Bath until June 14th. It then goes on tour to Cheltenham, Malvern, Southampton, Leeds, Richmond and Salford.