El hombre nuevo

As the first third of the year slips through the node of 2010's hourglass, I sit up and think about everything which has happened thus far, and what awaits. The clocks have gone forward an hour, British Summer Time has arrived, along with all the paradoxically ironic implications such a notion could entail. From whence have I come? Whither will I go?

I've been in a bit of a strange mood for the past two weeks. The Spring term of university ended and a week of intensive auditions awaited me in the first week of the supposed break. I found this pretty symbolic: an event to mark of the end of one stage of my life and the beginning of another. From Formal Education to Professional Training in a career. The Rat Race had begun. I both loved and hated it.

Very little is as enjoyable as a day of intensive workshops. From 9am until 6pm, with one hour's lunch break, I had a taste of what life would be like if I were accepted into the Bristol Old Vic Theatre School. I loved the experience, even though by the end of the day I was suffering from a headache and aching limbs due to what purported to be a movement class, but what was in fact a sadistic wish-fulfillment for an aged yet lithe ex-acrobat desperate to make young actors cry. No pain, no gain, I suppose. The day before had been far less rewarding. After arriving at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art over an hour early, sitting around for another two hours, before being granted fifteen minutes to show two industry professionals and a current student that I had the talent and the intuition to walk through their doors on a regular basis, I was not only drained from the physical and pychological stress, but emotionally wrecked. I gave middling performances of my two prepared speeches, and seriously fluffed my third "backup" speech. Walking down Tottenham Court Road, blubbing down the phone to an actress friend of mine was not a high point of my life.

Although Rosie made many salient points during our chat, one struck the most resonant chord. I knew what I was going in to do, and I knew it would be stressful, and the mistakes were not actually that bad, so why did I care so much? Actors want nothing more than to be liked. Not loved, not adored, not told what artistic geniuses they are; they simply want to walk out onto the stage, say a few things, do a few things, walk off, and not feel hatred radiating from the stalls. It may even seem pervesly paradoxical, but we just want to blend in, not stick out as the one who was not believable, or who looked like they didn't want to be there, or who was clearly nervous, or who fluffed his lines. No one wants to be singled out as the bad one. It's a mania which grips all performers, I think, but none more so than the actor. Musicians, artists, even dancers can display their art from behind the sound, visuals or choreography. Actors have no such luxury. Other artists may be able to display their personalities through some (meta)physical transmission, but an actor is right there in front of you, showing his body as well as his art - for the one is the only means by which the other can be expressed. How much more crushing, then, when an actor realises both are out of sync.

The bad audition was tipped completely by the good audition, and the other two recall auditions for the Summer Season of plays produced by the National Youth Theatre of Great Britian were very good downers. Then I came crashing back down to the grim truth of the here and now; the knowledge that I have just under two months to write ten thousand words about English Renaissance theatre, as well as remember crucial arguments regarding literary production during Franco's Spain, and not forget how to interpret an imagined scenario between two acquaintaces discussing the finer points of the Woman's place in Modern Spain. Two months to make the last four years of my life - and, by extension, the previous fifteen years of my education - seem like it was worth it.

Part of me sometimes regrets not at least trying for Drama School when I was 18. I'm pretty certain I wasn't emotionally ready, but I never gave myself the chance. Then, I look at things with my more mature eyes and realise that, despite the crushing self-doubt and worry about worldly matters, what I did was absoluetely the right thing to do. I studied, I came into contact with political, philosophical and critical ideas which have confirmed some of my views and altered many others. I met a vast array of people from all over the world. I travelled, I learned to cook, I learned to love, and I learned the knack of online discounted train booking (a skill which is often overlooked). Now, I can bring that life experience to my performances. I can use all the learning I am supposed to have accumulated and apply it to my everyday experience, as opposed to it just being my everyday experience.

Two more months, and then the world will be my oyster. I will emerge a new man.