Bear with it
There can't be many actors who didn't have to suffer the process of animal studies at drama school. Mine came in my first year. I remember thinking "what has this got to do with acting?". To which end I chose to be a snake who was asleep. It was soon pointed out to me by the rather excellent, if barking, movement teacher we had that snakes had no eyelids and slept with their eyes open, so my initial plan of slithering into a corner of the movement studio and catching 40 minutes kip was halted.
The number of animals I have played in my career is exactly one, if we discount a short scene as the front end of the cow in "Dick Whittington" in York in the late 70s where the calibre of animal performers was rather higher than one might have thought. The cat was played by one Gary Oldman. I remember being rather jealous of the fact that he didn't have any lines to learn. He also got away without being involved in a rather energetic "milking" routine with the Dame.
Some 11 years later I find myself preparing to play the dual roles of Kipling (sadly not the one who makes the exceedingly good cakes) and Baloo the bear in a reimagining of "The Jungle Book" at the Arts Theatre in London. As a production it didn't have the rights to the Disney music, so any initial thoughts I had about being able to burst into "The Bare Necessities" twice a day is taken from me. Instead, the music is provided by Indo Jazz Fusion, a music combo I have never heard of, and whose song for Baloo is hardly likely to set feet tapping.
As part of the rehearsal process, a zookeeper from London Zoo visits us. I seem to remember we thought he was rather "hot" and as a result, he was paid a lot of attention. He further enamoured himself to me by announcing that all bears did was "eat, sleep, and shit."
Every morning on arrival in rehearsal we were told to become our animal and inhabit the space for half-an-hour. There were several excitable performers who were playing the roles of monkeys. They would spend the allotted 30 minutes jumping onto windowsills, picking what I can only assume they were pretending to be nits from each other, and generally making a nuisance of themselves.
As well as the bodily functions suggested by Doug, the hot zookeeper, I had decided that my bear did the Daily Telegraph crossword. Every morning on arrival, I found a cosy corner of the room, sat on some crash mats, and, pen in hand, started to deal with the thorny problem of 14 across.
Woe betide any monkey who came near. A little bit of cheeky interaction from any of them produced the quick and sharp response of "Fuck off" (spoken in perfect bear of course) and a return to my puzzle.
If only all this movement research had been reflected in the costumes we were given. As is often the case we were all to be victims of a concept. Kipling had a nice Victorian two-piece suit for the prologue, but after that we were all at the mercy of lycra and netting. No matter what animal we were playing, we were to wear a net poncho covered with little ribbons - silver for the monkeys, and a mixture of golden browns for the bear.
At the wardrobe fitting I stood in my lycra bodysuit, a sight that should really never be seen outside a closed nuclear bunker, draped in netting and ribbons. The wardrobe mistress detected that I wasn't happy and suggested to the designer that they asked what the actor thought. The designer had no conception that in any way anyone might be unhappy with what he had created. My response of "it doesn't exactly scream bear" came as a shock to him. Such a shock to him in fact that he ended up letting the wardrobe mistress and I designed my costume. When eventually I did take to the stage, I was wearing adapted baseball gloves, a large dark brown fur poncho, fur leg warmers, and a Davy Crockett headband. There are those who said it looked not unlike something an ursine Olivia Newton John might have been spotted in it in an aerobics video. I did my very best to make them believe it was Bear.
It's at this time of year that my inner bear makes an appearance. Whenever I get home after a job, or a necessary trip into town, I have an overwhelming feeling that I want to close the door, and reemerge sometime in February. It's not practical I know, but the principle of hibernation suddenly starts to make sense.
It will be great this year to give my inner bear holiday as we head to Australia for three weeks over Christmas where some, sea, sand, Sydney and inner warmth can flow through my veins.
Something to really make a hullabaloo about.
The number of animals I have played in my career is exactly one, if we discount a short scene as the front end of the cow in "Dick Whittington" in York in the late 70s where the calibre of animal performers was rather higher than one might have thought. The cat was played by one Gary Oldman. I remember being rather jealous of the fact that he didn't have any lines to learn. He also got away without being involved in a rather energetic "milking" routine with the Dame.
Some 11 years later I find myself preparing to play the dual roles of Kipling (sadly not the one who makes the exceedingly good cakes) and Baloo the bear in a reimagining of "The Jungle Book" at the Arts Theatre in London. As a production it didn't have the rights to the Disney music, so any initial thoughts I had about being able to burst into "The Bare Necessities" twice a day is taken from me. Instead, the music is provided by Indo Jazz Fusion, a music combo I have never heard of, and whose song for Baloo is hardly likely to set feet tapping.
As part of the rehearsal process, a zookeeper from London Zoo visits us. I seem to remember we thought he was rather "hot" and as a result, he was paid a lot of attention. He further enamoured himself to me by announcing that all bears did was "eat, sleep, and shit."
Every morning on arrival in rehearsal we were told to become our animal and inhabit the space for half-an-hour. There were several excitable performers who were playing the roles of monkeys. They would spend the allotted 30 minutes jumping onto windowsills, picking what I can only assume they were pretending to be nits from each other, and generally making a nuisance of themselves.
As well as the bodily functions suggested by Doug, the hot zookeeper, I had decided that my bear did the Daily Telegraph crossword. Every morning on arrival, I found a cosy corner of the room, sat on some crash mats, and, pen in hand, started to deal with the thorny problem of 14 across.
Woe betide any monkey who came near. A little bit of cheeky interaction from any of them produced the quick and sharp response of "Fuck off" (spoken in perfect bear of course) and a return to my puzzle.
If only all this movement research had been reflected in the costumes we were given. As is often the case we were all to be victims of a concept. Kipling had a nice Victorian two-piece suit for the prologue, but after that we were all at the mercy of lycra and netting. No matter what animal we were playing, we were to wear a net poncho covered with little ribbons - silver for the monkeys, and a mixture of golden browns for the bear.
At the wardrobe fitting I stood in my lycra bodysuit, a sight that should really never be seen outside a closed nuclear bunker, draped in netting and ribbons. The wardrobe mistress detected that I wasn't happy and suggested to the designer that they asked what the actor thought. The designer had no conception that in any way anyone might be unhappy with what he had created. My response of "it doesn't exactly scream bear" came as a shock to him. Such a shock to him in fact that he ended up letting the wardrobe mistress and I designed my costume. When eventually I did take to the stage, I was wearing adapted baseball gloves, a large dark brown fur poncho, fur leg warmers, and a Davy Crockett headband. There are those who said it looked not unlike something an ursine Olivia Newton John might have been spotted in it in an aerobics video. I did my very best to make them believe it was Bear.
It's at this time of year that my inner bear makes an appearance. Whenever I get home after a job, or a necessary trip into town, I have an overwhelming feeling that I want to close the door, and reemerge sometime in February. It's not practical I know, but the principle of hibernation suddenly starts to make sense.
It will be great this year to give my inner bear holiday as we head to Australia for three weeks over Christmas where some, sea, sand, Sydney and inner warmth can flow through my veins.
Something to really make a hullabaloo about.
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