ARTS The Woman in Black Fortune Theatre Russell Street thewomaninblack.com
Sophie’s job is to torch the actors on and off stage, help with sound effects and make sure Ben and David have everything they need. She swaps David’s coat, catches a dustcloth and sorts Ben’s waistcoat out— both use those seconds to comment on today’s audience (“They seem quite lively”) before heading back out again. “Actors love reactions—except coughing; they usually complain if there’s a lot of coughing...” Sophie pauses as the audience break into laughter and I suck harder on the Softmint. “It’s going to be a good one; they’re being quite vocal early on which bodes well for when it all kicks off.” Sarah, who sits in a tiny chair cueing the lighting and sound effects surrounded by soft toys and obscene poems tacked to the walls, will file a report detailing any bizarre audience reactions at the end of each show. “We get people laughing or screaming in weird places, yelling ‘don’t go in there’ and, of course, those who swear loudly,” she grins. “Ben and David love that.” The crew love working with the actors. “It’s the nicest place I’ve been,” Sophie tells me, having previously worked only on West End musicals such as Priscilla: Queen of the Desert, Fame, Hair and Billy Elliot (good going for a 26-year-old). “It’s such a small cast—if they were a nightmare it’d be a completely different ballgame. But as it turns out, this doesn’t really feel like work.” Before I can ask my next question, we’re running around the side of the building, leading David into his entrance at the back of the auditorium for the start of the second scene. Five minutes pass and we’re dodging two buckets flung into the wings at full pelt by Ben. I’ve written so many notes on my arm that I’ve run out of space and, now there’s a short break, spend it by the props table furiously scribbling in my notebook by the light of Sophie’s torch, which doubles as a toy panda. David puts a hand on my shoulder and whispers: “You have to wave at this bit.” What bit? “Ben says ‘till tomorrow then’ and, even though he can’t see us, we always wave.” “TILL TOMORROW THEN!” Ben booms. Everyone, including me, waves enthusiastically at the curtain. Then David pretends to have a tantrum at the fact his water bottle isn’t where he thought he’d left it. “I CAN’T WORK LIKE THIS!” he faux-flounces onto the stage, back in character in a matter of seconds. “Yes,” Sophie grins, “it’s definitely the actors that make it.” She leads me down to the dimly lit, cobwebbed passage underneath the stage, looking over her shoulder before opening 57 Covent Garden Journal Issue 16 Summer 2012
the door: “A woman who used to work at the theatre was walking down here during the show and felt something blocking her path,” she quips. “Turns out there was nothing there. It’s apparently haunted.” Great. The lights begin to fade and I’m suddenly within touching distance of the audience, swallowing madly and watching the tops of their heads. A lady on the front row, in response to whatever’s happening (we can’t see), keeps repeating the words “Oh god. Oh god.” Something happens, followed by a collective intake of breath and a flurry of motion as actors run down the walkway by the light of Sophie’s panda torch and to the sound of an unnerved audience first rustling, then squealing and, finally, a collective bout of good old fashioned screaming. “We’ve got ‘em,” David appears in the wings to perform a brief, celebratory tap dance before the interval. “That was great!” Ten minutes later, Sophie and I are puzzling over a word association game she and Ben play during each show. When setting the props, she writes a word on the paper he will use and Ben must, during the performance, scribble the first thing that comes into his head underneath it. She shows me some past papers, one where she’s written “God” and he’s scrawled “Delusion. Oooh this is just wordplay I don’t mean anything squiggle squiggle (as he goes back into character)” and “Madness” to which he’s responded “Ska—ooh that’s leftfield” Today the word was “Scab” and he’s written “Pick”, somewhat repulsively, so she responds with “Strawberry”. Upstairs the audience are preparing themselves for the climactic second act, which is where it gets tricky. For me, mainly. Considering the elements of the show I’m not supposed to mention, it would be impossible to describe act two. Sophie’s also only needed for one particularly infamous—and hair-raising—sequence so it seems a good time to grab a chair and ask her about how The Woman In Black compares with the bigger, more complex shows. “It’s a step sideways instead of backwards,” she replies, over a cup of tea and punctuated by occasional screams from upstairs. “Priscilla was so stressful. I was constantly busy, which was fine, but there was a lot more pressure and a lot more to remember.” With four assistant stage managers looking after separate sections, 100 people running around backstage and a massive automated bus to worry about, there was a lot of scope for mistakes. “Thankfully we had no accidents but lots of things that could go wrong, did. Provided the audience don’t notice mistakes, it’s
okay, but we weren’t always so lucky.” There were nights where the bus had to be reset, and the show stopped. There were also, obviously, nights when she herself made the odd corker, but she impressed the team enough to be asked back after leaving for Hair: The Musical. “Mistakes will always happen,” she says, “and they don’t mean you’re bad at your job but it’s nice to go somewhere where you can build your confidence back up.” Because it’s such a simple show to stage manage, things don’t usually go wrong. Last week she put Ben’s waistcoat on inside out, delaying his entrance by a fraction of a second and leaving the audience none the wiser. Not exactly catastrophic. The biggest mistake she remembers, however, involved an all-important sound effect being played too early. “I was distracting Sarah so she lost her place and, when it happened, her expression was just amazing,” she recalls, giggling. “She had to work out how to do it again at the right point. Ben was so surprised onstage he hadn’t reacted to the first one, which must have looked crazy. Odd things happen when stuff goes wrong!” Now, though, they can pretty much do it in their sleep. And, often, their sleep does actually involve the play itself. “One of the actors had a great recurring dream where they were in the house, terrified by some unknown presence,” Sophie says, “I dream I’ve put the wrong coat on someone, or missed a cue.” Talking of cues, it’s time to deliver what The Woman In Black is famous for. I wait at the side and smugly watch the scenes unfold from a less scary perspective until Sophie creeps onto the stage to sort a prop and beckons me to follow her. For 10 seconds, I am frozen, looking through the gauze dividing me from Ben and David acting out the penultimate scene and, beyond that, 405 theatregoers staring in my direction. I can see them and, though they can’t see me, it’s an exhilarating, petrifying experience. As the final curtain falls and the applause is deafening, there are three things that strike me. Firstly, how much fun it is to hear 405 people screaming, secondly, what a great job Sophie has and, finally, how satisfying it is to have a good, loud cough now and again.