How a Midsummer nightmare cameo turned out just dreamy

Alistair Foster  took part in an anarchic version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, despite no rehearsals and no background in acting. Here's what happened... 

It is such stuff as nightmares are made on — finding yourself performing a Shakespeare play, on stage, with no rehearsals or background in acting.

But it became reality when the Standard was invited to take part in an anarchic version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream in west London.

The Filter theatre company has been confounding audiences and delighting critics with its production at the Lyric Hammersmith, now in its second run.

It features a play-within-a-play, ad libbing and audience participation, and now, to add to the mix, a journalist with stage fright. Clearly unable to say no to things, I agreed to join the professionals, undertaking a small speaking role to get a feel for the performance.

Lift-off: the Standard’s Alistair Foster takes to the stage as an elevator engineer in Filter theatre company’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream Lucy Young
Lucy Young

My part was that of a lift engineer who is supposed to come on stage after a backstage cock-up. The audience must believe I am genuine for the joke to work.

The premise is that Sir Ian McKellen is about to be introduced to the stage to play Bottom, but is unable to appear as he gets stuck in a lift. The audience gapes and laughs — some realise it’s a prank, although others have taken it so seriously that one took out their phone to loudly announce to a friend that the play had been ruined by the technical mishap.

I arrive barely two hours before showtime to find I have my own dressing room, albeit shared with piles of boxes and equipment. First it’s the costume — regulation engineer overalls go on, as do some oversized boots. Next I need to get grubby, with smudged make-up applied to my face and hands.

Buzzing: despite his nerves, Alistair found the experience thrilling Lucy Young
Lucy Young

Actor Ed Gaughan then takes me through my role, sounding like Obi-Wan Kenobi as he tells me: “Trust your instincts. Just go with it. This is what this company is all about. Your role is really to support a joke that’s already in place. The more real you are, the better it will be. The best way to act is to not act.”

That begs the question: what if I am actually secretly an okay-ish actor and mess things up by over-egging it? There are now two ways I can balls this up — by being too rubbish or by being too good.

We go through my short scene a few times with moderate success, although I am told my mumbling voice is not projecting enough.

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I settle on my lines — I have to tell the audience there are two power supplies, that we’ve shut off the one powering the lift backstage but it will take three and a half hours to reset. Then I confine myself to my cupboard/dressing room, fearing that seeing too much of the pros in action will prove too intimidating. I text my wife to check on the kids and chat nonsense to anyone who’ll listen. Anything to push to the back of my mind the fact that I will soon speak on stage in a 550-capacity theatre.

And it’s my call. I’m pulled into place to the side of the stage and introduced to the audience by Ed. He adopts a northern Irish accent for his part and to my horror I start mimicking it as I utter my first line…

I correct myself, trying to stand as convincingly like a lift engineer as I know possible, and deliver the punchline: “Three and a half hours.” A chuckle comes from the audience (who I haven’t dared to look at). A chuckle — yet the adrenaline rush is quite amazing. Suddenly it is clear why these actors put themselves through this.

I slouch off stage to a series of high-fives from the wonderfully supportive cast and my 20 seconds of stardom is over. While I won’t be troubling the Bafta committee, I have a new-found respect for the brilliant artists who do this every night.

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