What Bloody Man Is That (6 page)

‘No, no, I'd rather come to it fresh.'

‘Oh.' This clearly didn't sound a very good idea to her, but she suppressed further objections.

‘Erm . . . now, inevitably, with such a big cast we're going to be into a bit of doubling. Now I've cleared extra parts with some of you . . .'

Charles and John B. Murgatroyd chuckled knowingly.

‘Some parts I'm cutting. For instance, I've divided Angus's lines up between Lennox, Ross and Mentieth . . .'

‘Gosh,' whispered John B. to Charles in a voice that had overtones of Felicia Chatterton. ‘That could be tricky. I mean, I'll have to
talk
Lennox and
think
Angus.'

‘Then the Fourth Murderer,' Gavin went on, ‘I've assimilated into the other three, and of course I've cut Hecate –'

‘Have you?' asked Felicia Chatterton, shocked.

‘Yes. Well, everyone cuts Hecate.'

‘The recent R.S.C. production didn't.'

‘No, well, I mean everyone in the real world –' He thought better of finishing his sentence and said hastily, ‘Anyway, I've cut her.'

‘But surely that removes any occult frame of reference for the Weird Sisters?'

‘Well, yes, I suppose it . . .' Gavin looked totally nonplussed. ‘Yes, well, I'm afraid we're just going to have to live with that,' he concluded firmly.

‘Hmm. Well, if you don't feel you're short-changing the audience . . .'

‘No, I don't. Now a few more doublings. Charles, I know you're already giving us your Bleeding Sergeant and your Drunken Porter . . . would you mind adding a couple more snippets . . .?'

‘No problem. The more the merrier.'

‘Right. Well, if you could do the Old Man who talks to Ross . . .?'

‘Sure.'

‘And the Third Murderer . . .'

‘Fine.'

‘Um, and the English Doctor . . . you know, the one who comes in and talks about Edward the Confessor . . .?'

‘Okay.'

‘Oh, aren't you going to cut that bit?' asked Felicia Chatterton.

‘No.' Gavin looked uncertain. ‘Why? Do you think I should?'

‘No. No, goodness, no, it's terribly important in terms of the definition of Kingship.'

‘Yes. Exactly,' Gavin agreed, thinking on his feet. ‘That's why I'm keeping it in.'

‘Good. Just a lot of directors do cut that bit.'

‘Not me,' said Gavin Scholes smugly. ‘Very important, the definition of Kingship. Then of course there's the other Doctor . . .' he went on hesitantly, ‘. . . the Scottish Doctor, the Doctor of Physick in the Sleepwalking Scene. It's a natural doubling with Duncan, actually. Often done. I was wondering, Warnock, whether you might possibly . . .?'

‘No.' The word was loud and unambiguous.

‘But it would be a great help if –'

‘No. I am Warnock Belvedere and Warnock Belvedere does not double. I was engaged to play Duncan in this production of
Macbeth
, and that is the only part I intend to play.'

‘Ah.' Gavin hesitated for a moment, as if contemplating remonstrance. But his nerve gave, and once again he turned to where he knew he would get a more accommodating response. ‘Erm, in that case, Charles, I wonder if you'd mind . . .'

Eventually, the read-through started. Felicia Chatterton wanted to stop and discuss each line as it came up, but grudgingly conceded agreement that they'd do one straight read-through and then start talking.

The reading demonstrated a marked contrast in styles between the two principals. Felicia, in spite of wanting to discuss interpretation so much, had already done a great deal of homework. For a start, she knew the lines. And she spoke them with enormous skill and passion, utilising the full range of her magnificent voice.

George Birkitt, by contrast, gave an appalling reading. He appeared never to have seen or heard any of the lines before in his life and, from some of the readings he gave, certainly not to understand them. Even famous quotations were delivered with leaden incomprehension. George Birkitt's approach to intonation seemed to be based on the simple rule that all personal pronouns should be emphasised. ‘
I
have done the deed.' ‘How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags! What ist
you
do?' Even ‘
She
should have died hereafter.'

There was also a problem of volume. Not only did George stumble, he also mumbled. He was used to the intimacy of television, where, with microphones continuously poised above the actors' heads, there was no need for projection. Obviously he was going to have to be reminded what it was like to work in the theatre.

But the actor himself did not seem worried by his bad reading. There was no embarrassment as he fluffed and floundered through some of the most famous lines in the English language. Charles was going to be very interested to see how that particular performance grew in the course of rehearsal.

The rest of the cast read predictably. Russ Lavery's Fleance was way over the top, clearly the product of much detailed agonizing in front of his mirror.

Warnock Belvedere was also over the top, but with a chilling authority. From his first line, ‘What bloody man is that?', he dominated his scenes, and Charles the bloody man in question, looked forward with interest to sharing what was left of the stage with him.

The reading went through jerkily, but without major interruptions, until they broke for coffee at the end of Act Three. The only long silence in the second half occurred in the Apparition Scene. The first Witch cued the first manifestation (an Apparition of an Armed Head) with the line, ‘He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought', and nothing happened.

‘Erm . . .' said Gavin vaguely. ‘Oh, sorry, haven't I cast this? I wonder, Charles, would you mind . . .?'

As he read the lines, Charles Paris reflected on the ambiguity of his agent's words about Gavin being ‘optimistic that there could be some other good parts'.

Charles had blithely assumed that that had meant parts in future productions. From the way things were going, it looked as if they all would be in
Macbeth
.

AFTER THE read-through they broke for lunch. The theatre was some way out of the town, so most of the company ate and drank in Norman's bar, where a pair of motherly ladies dispensed salads and one hot dish (Irish stew that Monday) from behind an angled glass counter.

Charles Paris joined John B. Murgatroyd and a group of other small-part actors for a good giggle about past theatrical disasters. Warnock Belvedere still held court to a circle of admirers, regaling them with further apocryphal anecdotes of theatrical giants, and drinking far more brandy than seemed suitable for an actor proposing to work in the afternoon.

Gavin Scholes, not surprisingly, found himself monopolised by Felicia Chatterton. But, recognizing that he was going to have to hear her views on the true meaning of
Macbeth
at some point, he shrewdly decided to give up his lunch hour and get them out of the way quickly.

When the company assembled in the auditorium at two, however, he made it clear that there was not time for further discussion.

During the break, the ASMs had marked out the stage, showing the proportions of the fixed sets, and had assembled a selection of tables and chairs to represent the moving parts. Gavin Scholes moved to the centre of a stage that looked like a furniture warehouse and clapped his hands for attention.

‘Erm . . . Okay, everyone, now we're going to block the play through from the start. We'll get on as quickly as possible, so please I must ask none of you to leave the theatre premises, because I don't want any delays. Go to your dressing rooms, by all means. Or the Green Room. Out on the terrace, if you like. But, please, be somewhere where the ASMs can find you. Okay? Right.'

He reached round for a ring-file on a chair and opened it, revealing the text of Shakespeare's play, interleaved with blank pages. ‘Okay. “Act One Scene One. A desert heath.” Could I have the Three Witches up here, pronto? Come on love, leave your knitting, cut the cackle. We've got work to do.'

‘But, Gavin . . .' came a predictable husky voice from the auditorium.

‘Yes, Felicia love?' Already there was a hint of strain in his voice. He had listened to her right through lunchtime and he felt he'd done his duty by her. From now on he couldn't afford the time to be so accommodating.

‘You aren't really going to start blocking now, are you, Gavin?'

‘That's exactly what I'm going to do, yes.'

‘But we haven't discussed the characters.'

‘You and I spent all lunchtime discussing the characters.'

‘But that's only scratched the surface. And we can't start making decisions about where the characters are going to move until we know who those characters are, can we?'

‘So what do you suggest we do?'

‘Well, I suggest . . . I'd assumed that we'd talk through the characters for a bit, try to sort out their interrelationships . . .'

‘For how long?'

‘Oh, only a week.'

‘A week! Out of a three-and-a-half week rehearsal period? You've got to be joking. What, a whole week before we start blocking any of the moves?'

‘But once we know who the characters are, then the moves will arise instinctively. We'll know where to go because we'll know who we are.'

‘I'm sorry, Felicia.' Gavin tapped his ring-file. ‘All the moves are in here.'

‘What, you mean you've actually worked them out before we've started rehearsing?' she asked, appalled.

‘Exactly. And I'm afraid, given the time-scale that we have, that is the only way we can possibly get the production ready for the opening.'

‘But –'

‘Sorry, Felicia. We're already ten minutes late starting.' And he turned his back on her. ‘Erm, Witches. Okay . . . Right, I know the text says, “Enter Three Witches”, but I want to have you discovered when the tabs go up. Okay? So let's have you centre stage and . . .'

Charles saw Felicia turn in bewilderment and ask, to no one in particular, ‘Does he always work like this?'

‘I should bloody well hope so,' snapped Warnock Belvedere, sprawled bad-temperedly across a seat beside her. ‘About the one good thing so far you can say for him as a director is that he seems prepared to just get on with it.'

‘But how can you make a move that doesn't feel right?' she asked in plaintive incomprehension.

‘You can make any move you're told to, so long as you're visible to the audience.' Warnock fixed the flower of the R.S.C. with a bloodshot eye. ‘And let me tell you, theatre was a damned sight healthier before everyone started bloody intellectualising about it. First, the directors began taking the text apart. Now we've got bloody pea-brained actresses turning academic on us.'

‘But –'

‘When I started in the theatre,' he continued inexorably, ‘actresses knew their bloody place – which was either getting up there and saying the lines, or getting down there on their backs and giving the actors what they wanted. They didn't fart on about characterization and motivation.'

‘So what you're saying is –'

‘What I'm saying is just be thankful you're in work and keep your bloody mouth shut!'

There was no ambiguity about this rudeness, and the offence was compounded by the fact that some of Warnock's circle of sycophants sniggered at his words. The colour drained from Felicia Chatterton's face; she turned and moved with dignity to the back of the auditorium.

On stage, Gavin Scholes pretended he hadn't heard the altercation and continued studiously showing the Three Witches where to move. The blocking of the short scene was quickly completed, the Witches ran it a second time following the pencilled notes they had made in their scripts, and then the director was ready for the next scene.

‘Okay. “Act One Scene Two. A Camp near Forres.” Let's have you on stage, please, Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain . . . oh, and this is Lennox, isn't it? Come on John B. and Charles. Bleeding Sergeant.'

The Bleeding Sergeant and Lennox rose to their feet and moved forward.

‘No, loves, no. You stay there. I want you to make your entrance from the auditorium.'

Oh God, thought Charles. All the old tricks. Gavin Scholes really was a boringly traditional director. The predictable set, all the moves worked out in his interleaved script (moves which, Charles knew, would always end up, whenever there were more than three characters on stage, in the time-honoured theatrical semicircle). And entrances from the auditorium. How corny.

In a flash Charles saw exactly what the finished production would be like – a faithful telling of the story, no controversy, no excitement, ideal Schools Matinée fodder.

‘Right, so, Duncan, you enter downstage left.'

‘Downstage?' echoed Warnock Belvedere.

‘Yes.'

‘I think not.'

‘But –'

‘Duncan is a King. The natural place for a King to enter is through the upstage centre archway.'

‘Erm, yes, except that that entrance is going to represent various castles in –'

‘This is where I will enter,' announced Warnock Belvedere, stationing himself firmly upstage centre.

‘Well, I suppose that'd be all right if –'

‘I'll have some attendants, won't I?'

‘Well, you'll have Malcolm and Donalbain . . .'

‘What about Lennox?'

‘No, I've got Lennox helping on the Bleeding Sergeant.'

‘Surely the Bleeding Sergeant can come on on his own. He's not bleeding that much.'

‘No, I'm sorry.'

Warnock Belvedere sniffed his disapproval. ‘Oh well, I suppose these two will have to do. Right, we'll try the entrance.'

Duncan, followed by Malcolm and Donalbain, disappeared through a break in the curtains at the back of the stage. There was a long pause, during which a muttered confabulation could be heard, then the curtains parted to admit Malcolm and Donalbain, who took up positions either side of the entrance.