by Lisa Gee
My answer has always been, ‘If something comes up that feels right, why not?’
The Sound of Music experience was fabulous. Dora loved the feeling of belonging, the challenge of meeting the high standards required and the sheer, unbeatable buzz of performing. It was, I’m certain, good for her emotional and intellectual development and had no adverse effects on her school work – although it wasn’t brilliant for her relationships with her classmates.
She still leaps at every opportunity to sing, dance and act, not caring whether the production is amateur or professional, whether the performance takes place in a West End theatre, the local town hall, or simply in a living room in front of a couple of mums. But she gets frustrated if other performers don’t take the quality issue as seriously as she does.
It’s a good job that Dora doesn’t care where she performs, as there’s been a big gap between jobs. She was offered the role in the police drama that I turned down, then nothing for six months. So she didn’t go out to work again until a year after she finished her run on The Sound of Music. It felt like an eternity to her. But to have upped her chances of getting work, I would have had to take a deep breath, plunge us into the full-on world of working children, commit us to life-eating rounds of auditions, and not be too picky about which roles we said ‘yes’ to. And even then, that would have been no guarantee. You can be perfect for one part – like Gretl in The Sound of Music – at the age of six and then not what the casting directors have in mind for anything else for years and years. Or, indeed, ever.
Instead, slightly grudgingly, I have given up my lazy Saturday mornings and now drive her to Redroofs, where she dances, sings and acts her way through tap, script workshop and musical theatre classes. ‘I fit in here,’ she says, happily. Then, a week before this book went to press, she landed two parts – a little job as an extra on the BBC production of Little Dorrit and a lovely role in a bright and quirky mixed live-action and stop-motion animation film. Made by graduate students at the National Film and Television School, Goodbye Mr. Pink features a young brother and sister, Alex and Rose – Dora plays Rose – dealing with the death (of old age, as the director specifies, rather sweetly, in the script) of their pet rabbit.
I still don’t fully understand what drives people to get up on stage or in front of the camera. Or why the act of performing seems to come so naturally to some and not to others. Having observed Dora and her pals, I’m convinced that, in the main, it’s not about attention-seeking. If anything, it’s quite the opposite: about fitting in and being part of something, the desire to contribute, and so to belong, rather than the wish to stand out. I’ve found myself explaining this to a number of people who, when Dora experienced a period of fedupness at school, told me that she must be missing all the attention.
‘The actors I know,’ Boyd Tonkin told me, ‘are, in most cases, the opposite of egomaniacs. They are people whose skills of cooperation and group working are incredibly highly developed.’
Aside from the economic imperative, which has, through the ages, always been a powerful factor propelling people into the entertainment business, why do people perform? I asked Catherine Hindson, who lectures in performance studies in the department of Drama: Theatre, Film, Television at Bristol University. She told me about the discipline, introduced and inspired by American academic and director Richard Schechner. ‘Performance studies thinks about performance as a more general, extensive and complicated thing than what happens on a stage or a screen. Performance is something that human beings do, very naturally. It’s something they share. So, any kind of ritual, any social occasion or event involves a human performance, and when we engage with other people, when we participate in those rituals that make up our everyday life, be they very small rituals, like going shopping, or bigger, more recognised rituals, like weddings or barmitzvahs, we are performing as human beings.’
So performing is a natural part of what it means to be human. Everything we do is, in this sense, a performance. But that doesn’t explain why some people are ecstatic on stage pretending to be someone else, while given the choice, others (like me) prefer hiding under a duvet. Or why, when you watch your child’s first nursery class assembly, there are some three-year-olds standing there heads up, singing (or shouting) at the tops of their voices, and grinning excitedly into the audience, while others stare at their shoes, twiddle their plaits and mumble. Catherine, mother to a small daughter, doesn’t know, either.
I asked Sam Keston (now Dora’s agent), Sylvia Young and Maggie Melville-Bray if they think the children who perform are in some way different from their peers.
‘Before they are given their first “break” or once they’re established?’ Sam asks, before answering both questions. ‘Raw talent is indefinable but very easy for us to spot. A sparkle in the eye, an awareness, an inner confidence, wisdom beyond his or her years. These children are often very centred. Again, though, it depends whether we’re talking stage or television. The screen loves vulnerability, and self-possessed children appear far from vulnerable! Once they are working,’ she continues, ‘these kids exude a sort of adult “way”. Going to work in the theatre, or carrying a big TV or film role, is far from a hobby. It’s a massive responsibility that is likely to put them into a different headspace from their schoolmates.’
Sylvia and Maggie aren’t sure there is any difference. ‘You do,’ Maggie says, ‘see a spark of something and then it’s exciting to develop that. It’s the same with swimming. Or showjumping. It’s an enthusiasm too.’
‘I think it’s inborn,’ says Sylvia. ‘It’s an instinct to get enjoyment from something that you hope is also giving enjoyment to others. A stage performance is totally different from anything else. The adrenalin. There’s something unbeatable about theatre.’
‘Performing,’ says Maggie, ‘is like winning.’ But she also thinks that if there is something different about performing children, it’s that they’re not scared of failure. ‘They’re not frightened of falling flat on their faces and having to pick themselves up again.’ It is, she says, a characteristic of successful people, who fail more than unsuccessful people. ‘It’s a personality type,’ she says. ‘They relish a challenge.’
Dora certainly does. She’s the same upfront, enthusiastic person she was when I asked her if she wanted to audition, but also different, changing in the ways that all children change as they grow. She wants drama taught at her school (good idea) and to do more auditions and more performing – professional and amateur. Having witnessed a motorbike accident (thankfully one in which no one got hurt), she’s changed her mind about motorbikes and now doesn’t want one because they’re too dangerous. But she would still like to go into space. ‘Mummy,’ she announced recently, ‘it’s really not fair that children aren’t allowed to.’
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Copyright © Lisa Gee 2008
Lisa Gee has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
First published in Great Britain in 2008 by
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ISBN 9780099522591
