The understudy When the lead actor for whom I was an understudy fell terribly ill with pneumonia the night before the opening of our play, I should have felt awful for her. I did, in a way. Not so much because she was ill - I was sure she’d pull through - but because it must have been gut-wrenching to have rehearsed for so many moons, as we all had, only to be struck with such disappointment.
I know how this already appears to you: I was happy that she had fallen ill. After all, this was my golden opportunity to shine as the star of the production, and the way to fulfil my dreams of becoming an acting legend. I was going to seize the day and steal her thunder, never mind that we were friends and that I owed so much to her, what with her helping me get the role of her understudy in the first place. (It was very generous of her to put my name forward; she knew that I might one day take her place. Her attitude was always 'If someone can do it as well as me, let them do it.' I admired her for that.)
Naturally, I had always hoped for a big break in theatre, to get to actually perform at the centre of the production, rather than just remain on the sidelines. Most people don’t quite realise the kind of effort an understudy puts into a production. I’m not only learning the roles of the master, I’ve also got my own minor part to excel at. I must learn more lines than anyone else, well, except for the understudy for the male lead, who was my kindred spirit, the one I could console and be consoled by.
But if I felt any happiness about Annette’s misfortune, it was unbeknown to me. In truth, when I heard the news about her ill health, less than a day before the opening night, nothing could have kept my heart from sinking into my stomach. Naturally, I had poured every effort into perfecting the role in case such a thing might ever happen, but I had somehow felt a bit of comfort in knowing that I wouldn’t be the star just yet. I felt I still needed some time to develop my craft, and what better way to do that than to practise in my minor role. That comfort all disappeared in an instant. I felt a bit weak at the knees, actually, and I had to struggle to put on a brave face when the director told me it was I who would be playing Lady Macbeth.
I basically had less than twenty-four hours to prepare myself to be the star of the show. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t thought about it before, but possibility versus reality is a different story altogether. I was really and truly going to be in the lead. And furthermore, how many people were coming to see the performance because they adored Annette? What would be going through their minds when the director announced that Julie Hardy would be playing her role? Would I have to endure a round of faint sighs? I would be grateful not to see their faces, and I’d probably have my ears covered when the announcement was made.
Luckily, I was surrounded by a supportive cast, who cheered me on. They must have assumed I’d be nervous, despite my attempts to hide it. Of course, if I couldn’t pretend that I was in control and ready to shine, how good an actor would I really be? |