-•✦--✦--✦•-
D+5, After Audition
It was my last day off work before I would go back to working four days out of five. I would have a late audition for David Copperfield, so I was trying to blend some of the advice I had received from various well-meaning people. The camcorder or the light fixtures hadn't been moved, and if I wanted to save myself the trouble, it would never move again. Adrian told me to use a grey background, so I had commandeered a bedsheet and taped it to the wall. Grey combined with the white diffusers of the clunky lights to make the room feel cluttered. Just a couple of days ago, this room had the air of serenity. Now it was industrial, makeshift and practical.
Both my grandparents were in this newly transformed room. Granddad read off the script to the left side of the lens.
"Let the fate of the miserable wretch you see before you be a warning. Annual income — 20 pounds. Annual expenditure — 19 pounds and six. Result — happiness.
"Annual income — 20 pounds. Annual expenditure — 20 and six. Result — misery! The blossom is blighted, the leaf is withered! You are, in short, flattened!"
Granddad delivered his lines exceptionally, partly because the line was someone imparting wisdom onto a child. Granddad had a hard time reading lines of characters he couldn't relate to, so he was exceptional today.
For my part, I mostly looked up; my eyes were focused on my Granddad. I had no part in this scene other than to show that I could act even when my character's only part was to listen. Only yesterday, I had sat through a lesson he'd taught me of keeping my promises. So it was no wonder that my performance and our connection in the scene was impeccable.
"I thought you might be hungry," I said, handing off a rubber ball that I liked to bounce off the wall.
"You have... no close family of your own, Copperfield? — Beyond Mr Murdstone, I mean," Granddad questioned.
I had coached him through the line to make him sound more like a worried adult for a child. Let me tell you that he understood a child having to work in a factory — especially when I had replaced the word factory with mine. Clive Price understood my character then and saw himself in me. Result was our dynamics today, at times it felt even more real than even our relationship. Ready made lines could do that.
"Mr Murdstone hates me," I said sadly. "I have no one else. Though there's an aunt that lives in Dover. She hasn't seen me since I was a baby, and I don't think she would want to meet me now," I added.
Instead of theatrical acting, I was doing more subtle work. Adrian had told me over and over again that my eyes were special. They were a lovely green colour, but it wasn't the colour that Adrian liked. It was the deep sadness or great knowing in my gaze. I still didn't understand what he meant by it, though it was a no-brainer to use it to my advantage. My eyebrows crinkled as I made an uncomfortable expression when telling that sad fact, reluctance clear in my eyes. Hopefully, it also looked pitiful, as the script required.
"My advice is seek her out. She may be overjoyed to reacquaint herself with you," Granddad delivered another line with perfection.
I showed my feigned reluctance but was ready on beat to display shock to a sudden new entrance.
"Wilkins! Our debts are settled! You are a free man again!" Nain said with urgency and excitement.
Oh right! Reason for my own great performance was that every single Charles Dickens novel seemed to involve a boy getting on well with a convict or a prisoner. Mr Micawber was just the latest one, but his crime was only that of not being able to pay his debt. So far, I had auditioned for all of them.
Granddad actually exchanged a kiss with my Nain behind the camera as the script had described. It was a chaste kiss on the cheek but probably the first time I had seen them display affection for each other. It helped me bring the happiness that the scene demanded. I was all smiles at hearing my prisoner mentor's good news.
"Ha! I knew it! The Lord Chancellor's acknowledged a miscarriage of justice! I wrote to him personally, you understand," Granddad said, exultant in victory.
"My family's remembered their obligations," Nain said.
"Not, in short, before time," Granddad complained.
"They think Micawber should quit London and exert his talents in our hometown of Plymouth." Nain explained to me,
My face shifted from a content smile to instant hurt—a look many Englishmen only pulled when their team had the win in the bag, only for the opponent to equalise in added time. I glanced from Nain to Granddad, hoping my eyes captured the sadness I felt. My emotions were sharpened by imagining Granddad leaving once my stint in London was over—it turned out I really hated that thought.
The two of them made cheerful noises, cooing at the imaginary baby that Nain's character had supposedly brought in, but I kept looking between them with the sad, pleading expression of a puppy.
We cut to the next part by employing a camera trick of simply pausing and restarting. I didn't want to lose a moment of that sadness because I'd been employing Julie's teachings.
"I shall never think of our period of difficulty without remembering you," Granddad said.
By the time he had finished his line, I was shedding ugly tears.
"God bless you," Nain said, actually coming into the frame to give me a kiss.
"I never will forget you," she said seriously, her hand hanging softly as if unwilling to leave.
I smiled in happiness and cried in sadness, rubbing at my eyes. I smiled even brighter even as new tears replaced my old.
"Farewell, my young friend. Farewell!" Granddad said.
"Remember, Copperfield. Annual income — 20. Annual expenditure — 20 pounds and six. Result — misery!" Granddad couldn't help a last line of advice.
I gazed as if I was looking at a carriage disappearing over the horizon. A single tear rolled down my right cheek, rogue and lone, like the boy being left behind in London without my Granddad.
"Cut!" Nain said, laughing. "My goodness, Wilf! That was absolutely brilliant! Come here, bach!" she said, squeezing me with a hug.
"Brilliant, it was," Granddad said — short and sweet, as only a Welshman would show their happiness.
"Thanks— hey!" I said, trying to keep my Nain at bay. Though I couldn't help myself from basking in that glory.
I had used Julie's methods but got sucked into actually putting myself in the character's shoes. Perhaps it was only a shoe because I imagined my Granddad leaving more than the Mr Micawber character he was playing. It had been an effective mix of the two, and my emotions were raw. Some comfort from my Nain was as perfect a fix as any.
"I want that copied!" I announced.
Both my grandparents laughed at my shenanigans.
—✦—
I had a copy of the tape made at a shop nearby. We didn't have a computer at home and only a VHS recorder. Hi8 was common in places, but not at my place. I also didn't see the point in having one when my camcorder could play it on the tiny two and half inch screen.
"How many copies?" the clerk at the shop had asked.
"Two!" I had replied.
Because that was another thing I could do — just because I went in person didn't mean I couldn't hand them a self-tape. A self-tape with the finest acting I had ever done in my life!
Casting directors only recorded a tape during callbacks where the director or a producer hadn't been able to come for. But if I gave a self-tape at every audition, wouldn't I be setting myself apart from everyone else? The only person who had a tape before a callback. The idea was so juicy that I planned to do it after today's audition.
Janey Fothergill's office was one I had been in before. Rather, it was owned by the BBC or one of their production houses and used by casting directors all throughout the year. Common turf was always a welcome sight, and having a good performance I could replicate again was like knowing I had twenty pounds in my pocket. I had a great feeling for today — perhaps even better than Great Expectations. My acting ability was the thing I put all my belief in today; there weren't times where I was so confident in my acting and understood the character I was portraying so well.
Charles Dickens wrote a lot about boys, but most of them were bland as bread! On a second thought, that wasn't fair to bread — there were so many unique taste profiles to bread, sweet, sour, salty. No, I mean that Oliver Twist, for all his importance to the story, is a completely bland boy. He is the main character, yet he is a no-character. The audience needed someone to experience the story through, and so it was Oliver who got the short end of the stick. Why were Fagin or the Artful Dodger so memorable? Because they were proper characters.
Great Expectations' Pip was a wholly well-built character when he becomes an adult. Young Pip was still quite bland until he meets Miss Havisham. But there was a lot more action to him than Oliver. David Copperfield, on the other hand, felt much more real, mostly because there were so many parallels to be had with Harry Potter. A boy who became an orphan young, a boy who had an abusive new family and was treated like dirt. It was a character that could stand by itself; there also weren't more memorable roles like Dodger to upstage him.
David Copperfield was now my top target, and it was also the one I was most confident to get. How quickly can a mind change after reading a script? Adrian had a point — I needed to move on after an audition because you never knew what you could get next.
There were so many boys in the waiting room, two dozen and their parents. I ignored them all and meditated on the previous performance I'd delivered for the camera, trying not to forget the emotions I felt at each moment — emotions I would replicate. I was stuck in my mind, thinking of nothing much, when a voice cut through the fog in my mind.
"Wilfred Price!"
I opened my eyes, ready to repeat the performance of a lifetime.
"You'll do just fine, cariad," Nain said in encouragement, leading my hand.
"Aye, you show them what you did before!" Granddad said, happy to stay in the waiting room.
I slapped my cheeks softly to get the blood flow going. Theatre had taught me so many things. First, I learnt how to move, to be in control of my body, to portray emotions through gestures, the subtle acting. Then, I danced — danced until I could evoke emotions in others. Then the singing came, even with how weak Leslie's songs or my parts in it were, it still left kids in wonder of a world more fantastic than they were in. All of these were great lessons but not the thing that theatre taught best to its performers.
No, theatre taught only one thing to perfection. Rehearsals, run-throughs, techs, previews, and premiere. All of them had one purpose one common element — the performance. An element to be repeated endlessly until we had perfected it, and once we had, we needed to repeat it endlessly. Again and again, Tuesday and Wednesday, Tommy had to be Tommy. Friday, Saturday, Stubbins needed to be Stubbins. Actor to actor, character had to remain.
If I gave a performance once, I was fairly sure I could give it again. I just needed my memory of the performance, my emotions at the time, and I would replicate it. I had to! The magic of theatre was making every performance feel special — special for that audience on that day. Even if I had a matinee and then an evening show in the evening, the two performances should not feel tired or repeated. It had to be fresh and new, and I would draw the memories and perform David Copperfield exactly as I had in the afternoon.
My steps were as firm as a man utterly confident in his own righteousness, fully aware that I was marching into a battle I knew I'd win. Behind me, the cavalry stood ready, a shield wall so vast I had no need to fear any foe—not even the casting director. And hidden in the woods, my longbowmen waited. It was Agincourt all over again.
The audition room sat right beside a row of chairs where adults and children waited. My eyes flicked over my competitors, gauging the mood. A blonde boy nervously reading his sides, a brown-haired one rehearsing a line with his eyes closed, and a chubby boy with a stupid, empty smile plastered on his face. Each of them was nervous and fearful of the audition—much like I'd been in most of mine. I'd risen above that fear now, at least for today.
My feet suddenly caught on the flat floor, and I jerked to a halt. My eyes stuck on a particular boy I could recognise anywhere in the world.
It felt like my frontal lobes were floating out of my brain, goosebumps rose as my stomach made a twisting noise. A boy who would go on to have instant stardom, a boy who would be the envy of all, and every boy would want to be him. Most of all, me.
Daniel Radcliffe sat there — he had his big blue eyes open and was curiously watching the kids like I had been before. My sudden stop drew his attention, he looked my way, and our eyes met.
I don't remember what happened after that well or what went through my head. I just remember walking away. But I remembered his face — he had smiled at me with a nod, then giggled when I kept staring at him dumbly. He had this laughter that could make every children laugh. I don't know if I laughed then, but then I didn't really count as a child. But I had escaped the waiting room, like a child, no a baby!
My mind raced. Daniel! Of course he would be around; he was in my age group. Only, he'd never shown his mug around auditions I had been to — all sixty-seven of them! He'd not been at one, at least I didn't think so. I would remember it; I would have recognised him! Why was he then here, at the first audition I felt ready to deliver my best performance for?
"Hello? Hey!" a voice sounded.
I shook myself awake — I was inside the audition room. A brunette with a severe face looked at me strangely.
"Uhh— Eh?" I let out, completely off my kilter.
"Are you fine, lad? Do you want a cup of water or something?" the lady, the casting director said.
Closing my eyes, I ground my teeth, trying to forget about that chance encounter with the boy, trying to summon my own confidence from before. Trying to remember whose office I was in.
"Excuse me, I think your grandson is injured or hurting somewhere," Janey said worriedly.
Janey! That was her name.
"Are you fine, cariad?" Nain asked in worry.
There hadn't been a moment in my life when I felt as unbalanced as this. Closest I can think of is getting my revelations for the first time. My parents had worried back then — it was unnatural for such a small child, basically a toddler, to be so quiet and still for hours.
"Hey? Do you want to go home? We'll hand the nice lady your tape," Nain comforted from the side.
The word tape brought me out of my spiralling mind.
"No!" I let out sharply. "—Sorry," I said softer, holding up a hand to forestall any argument.
Shaking my head, I slapped my cheeks again.
"Sorry! I just recalled something. I'm good to go now!" I said, putting on my serious face.
"Really? There's no shame in waiting — you can go trot around the place while I audition someone else; you'll just be at the back the queue," Janey offered.
"That won't be necessary," I said, my voice even and stable.
I wouldn't lose my chance or give off an impression that I couldn't act when cameras were on. No one liked an actor who couldn't act when they were needed to.
"You sure?" Nain asked from my side.
I locked eyes with her and nodded gravely. She took the chair by the side of the room, out of sight and attention. Closing my eyes again, I took deep breaths and put on the face. It was like seeing the massive crowd back during the previews for Dolittle. Three thousand people couldn't break my composure, and neither would seeing Daniel Radcliffe in the flesh. Trying to summon a particular mood wasn't always easy, but it was particularly difficult in Janey's office.
First attempt broke down quickly, second I felt good for a second before the worry crept up, third, fourth — I lost count. Usually, I just needed to count in my head and I would roll back to a specific version of me. Version that could do the part, deliver the performance. Yet I just couldn't do it.
"Umm?" Janey seemed to say.
Opening my eyes, I nodded at her to signal I was ready. If I couldn't stop thinking about it, I would force myself not to think about it. The best solution for stage fright was to start performing.
"Ready?" she said, and I nodded.
"Let the fate of the miserable wretch you see before you be a warning. Annual income — 20 pounds…" Janey started to read.
My face shifted. I tried to display that I was listening, but somehow I felt that my face must look stupid. Was I doing too much or too little?
"Result — misery!" Janey finished with a clenched jaw.
God! My brain wasn't computing; I had been looking at Janey and didn't even hear her lines.
"The blossom is blighted, the leaf is withered! You are, in short, flattened!" Janey finished.
Each word I had wracked my brain to listen, to single out the words. Process of working my ears made me forget what I was doing with my face.
Janey turned her sheet over for the next scene. I realised that I wasn't holding a prop to hand out to her, the fruit for her character! Also, even if I had something, I was at least a dozen feet too far away. It was all going wrong. So terribly wrong.
"I—I thought you might be hungry!" I said, a slight stutter and sudden exclamation not present on the morning's attempt.
"You have no close family of your own, Copperfield? Beyond Mr. Murdstone," Janey read.
My mouth opened but no words came out. I missed the beat! I had frozen; my brain worked overtime to remember the line.
"Mr. Murdstone hates me!" I said, quick and hurrying to get back on time. "I have no one else. There's an aunt that lives in Dover. Hasn't seen me since I was a baby. Don't think she would want to meet me now," I said, slowing down as I caught up.
It felt like every line out of my mouth was falling straight to the ground. My jaw felt swollen, my face wooden, and my words heavy as lead.
"My advice is, seek her out. She may be overjoyed to reacquaint herself with you," Janey read.
My face shifted to show reluctance and faux agreement. I'd sooner believe that I made a face more fitting to a person who had shat their pants.
"Wilkins! Our debts are settled! You are a free man again!" Nain said suddenly.
It wasn't my turn to make a stupid face — it was Janey Fothergill and her assistant who looked shocked this time. But Janey faced me back again, ready to judge my performance.
Nain had inserted herself to try and save my audition, as only family would. Emotions from earlier today came a bit easier, allowing me to fall back into the groove. Janey and Nain exchanged lines as I tried to show happiness on my face that I just didn't feel.
Nain then spoke louder; her volume's sudden shift worked to clue me that my turn had come.
"They think Micawber should quit London and exert his talents in our home town of Plymouth," Nain delivered her line, almost theatrical in terms of voice projection.
My face went through shades of emotion. My grandmother acted rudely to make sure I wasn't so out of it. She recognised that I was bricking it and tried to lend me a helping hand — to bring me out of the water I had been drowning in. Messing up the audition wasn't what I had in mind, but my sadness at having screwed up finally came to the surface of my mind. I used the emotion.
I felt like my soul had finally been inserted back into my body. It felt like my movements finally synced with my brain's commands. When the next scene started, I cried and laughed; my lips twisted and curled, then I let out a breath to laugh and smile at the goodbyes. It was more real than the last time I had done it — the rogue tear didn't come; my tears were bigger and had pooled in my eyes, blinding me.
"That was great!" Janey said to signal the end of the audition, her voice as neutral as other casting directors.
"Do you have your sheet?" Janey asked.
I fumbled for it and handed it over to her — a sheet for some additional details in case I was selected: dates I was free and such for callbacks. Maybe once I would have taken it as a good signal when CD's asked, but the only time they asked for it was when I didn't hand it over or it slipped their mind.
"Cariad, here!" Nain said, opening her purse for the tape.
"Oh yeah!" I took it from her and presented it to Janey.
My name was written in bold black marker. With the date and time.
"Sorry, this is my self-tape! I did it because I practised with a camcorder. I thought I could give you the tape to watch — is that okay?" I asked nervously.
"Oh! That's a great idea; that'd make my job easier." Janey chuckled, but I noticed her eyes didn't laugh along with her face.
Would it really make her job easier, or just keep her stuck at the office longer? The answer was written all over her face. We said our goodbyes, and Nain and I vacated the audition room. The moment we crossed the threshold, I walked quickly—it felt like hiding from the contract letter all over again. Only this time, I didn't want to see Daniel Radcliffe's face. Would he have mocked me for my held up tears, or smiled at me kindly?
I didn't want to know the answer. Nain said something to Granddad to hurry him along, but my steps didn't stop—my stride stayed true. I went down the stairs and out of the building, walking until I found a bench near some trees. That's where I broke down, letting all my tears fall; my throat made this awful keening sound as I bawled my eyes out.
"What's wrong?" Nain kept asking, while Granddad just patted my shoulder gently.
The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't let them out. I couldn't even remember if Daniel did this TV series, but if I'd had any chance, it was gone the moment I saw his face. Wilfred Price had left my body after that moment, leaving behind a husk to act in his stead. I buried myself in Granddad's warm jacket and let the emotions run their course.
Three chances I'd had to book an important role—two hadn't even called me back; the third I'd completely messed up on my own. A laugh escaped my throat—it was all so stupid. But once the laughter left me, the tears came again, harder than before.
Messing up so close to the finish line hurt so much.