Jude nodded agreement. ‘And how do you think the current one’s going?’
‘Play? The Devil’s Disciple?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I think it gets better in Act Three.’ When the character of General Burgoyne comes in, was Jude’s thought – i.e. when you’re on stage. ‘And I think Ritchie’s losing a lot of the nuance in Dick Dudgeon’s character – particularly in Act One.’
‘I thought he was coming across quite strongly.’
‘Oh, yes, it’s a competent performance, one can’t deny that. Ritchie has a few acting tricks and tics to wheel out. But every part he plays is exactly the same. He never gets below the surface of a character.’
‘But I thought that was the right way to play Shaw. His characters don’t have great emotional depth.’
Neville Prideaux shook his head in sage disagreement. ‘That’s a very arguable statement, Jude. I mean, yes, GBS is more in the Ben Jonson tradition than the Shakespearean, and he looks forward to Brecht in some ways. His characters are “types” if you like, rather than psychologically complex individuals, but he doesn’t go for the full Brechtian verfremdungseffekt. I would agree with you, there is emotional distance in Shaw’s plays, but there’s a high level of psychological engagement too.’
Jude felt she knew what it must have been like to be a sixth former in one of Neville Prideaux’s classes.
‘And the trouble is,’ he continued, ‘that Ritchie doesn’t get near that psychological engagement. His Dick Dudgeon is nothing more than an assemblage of character tics. But he’s not going to change. He doesn’t listen to criticism. The only thing someone like Ritchie Good listens to is his own enormous ego.’
Well, it takes one to know one, thought Jude.
A little later on in the pub she was approached by Mimi Lassiter, her hair an even less likely shade of red. ‘Now, Jude,’ she said, ‘now that you’re playing Mrs Dudgeon, you can’t deny that you’re an Acting Member of SADOS.’
‘I wouldn’t attempt to.’
‘So I’m afraid you have to join the society and pay a subscription.’
‘I’m very happy to.’
‘Everyone who acts in a SADOS production has to be a member.’
‘Except Ritchie Good.’
‘Hm.’ An expression of displeasure crossed the little woman’s face. ‘Yes, I’m still arguing with Davina about that. Now, as an Acting Member, your subscription will be …’
Jude paid up.
TEN
‘Though I say it myself,’ announced Gordon Blaine, ‘I’m not unpleased with the result. Obviously it did present various engineering challenges, but none I am glad to say that proved beyond my capabilities.’
A month had passed. It was a Sunday at the end of March. They’d reached the stage where Davina would have liked all of the cast to be ‘off the book’ – in other words, knowing their lines. Some of them had achieved that milestone, others were still fumbling. Hester Winstone was kept busy in her role as prompter.
Jude was a member of the virtuous group; she was ‘off the book’. She had been surprised how easy she had found committing Mrs Dudgeon’s lines to memory. And of course, given the old lady’s early departure from the action, there weren’t too many to learn.
Though they usually worked on the stage of St Mary’s Hall, on this particular Sunday the rehearsal was taking place in the auditorium. The curtains were firmly closed, but from behind them various thumps, hammerings and muttered curses had been heard in the course of the afternoon. Gordon Blaine was building his gallows.
He’d been hard at work since the Saturday morning. Though all the components of the device had been made in his workshop at home, he was actually assembling them in situ. And, assuming he got it finished in time, the structure was due to be dramatically revealed to the Devil’s Disciple company at the end of the afternoon’s rehearsal.
With this coup de théâtre in prospect, there was around St Mary’s Hall an air of excitement mingled with a bit of giggling. Gordon Blaine, the SADOS Mr Fixit, was clearly something of a joke amongst the members, and Jude could understand why. Though it was Carole rather than she who had received the full blast of Gordon’s monologue the first evening they had gone to the Cricketers, that did not represent a permanent escape from him. Gordon Blaine was around quite a few rehearsals and he was very even-handed in the distribution of his conversation; he made sure that no one evaded their ration of it. And Jude, being new to the society, had certainly got her share.
The SADOS Sunday rehearsals started at three (so that those who needed to could enjoy their family lunch) and finished on the dot of six. Then everyone rushed to the Cricketers. Maybe this schedule had been established in the time of fixed licensing hours, but it had continued into the era of all-day opening.
That Sunday afternoon, as six o’clock drew nearer, the level of giggliness increased. Davina Vere Smith was facing an uphill battle, trying to get some concentration out of the actors involved in the opening scene. Jude was rock solid on her lines, but Janie Trotman as Essie, along with the actors playing Anderson and Christie, kept breaking down and cracking up with laughter. At about five to six, Davina gave up the unequal struggle and declared the rehearsal over.
As if on cue, Gordon Blaine had then appeared through the curtains to make his announcement. Having duly patted himself on the back for completing his task in the face of insuperable difficulties, he continued for a while talking up his prowess as an engineer.
Jude looked around the assembled company. There was still a level of excitement there, but as Gordon began to speak, the giggles were threatening to take over. Nearly everyone seemed to have stayed for the forthcoming revelation. Glancing round the room, the only significant absentees Jude was aware of were Ritchie Good and Hester Winstone.
The former’s disappearance was explained as soon as Gordon Blaine, with an inept attempt at flamboyance, went into the wings to draw back the curtains. Onstage stood a very convincing-looking gallows, beneath which was a small wooden cart. On the cart, with the noose around his neck, stood Ritchie Good. The Devil’s Disciple company let out a communal half-mocking gasp of appreciation and started a small round of applause.
Stepping back onstage, Gordon Blaine beamed at this appreciation of his talents. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Yes, not a bad bit of work, though I say it myself.’
From behind his back he produced a noose identical to the one hanging from the arm of his gallows. One end was neatly tied in a loop; at the other was a metal ring, clearly designed to hook on to something. Gordon stretched the noose with his hands, demonstrating its strength and solidity. ‘Simple piece of equipment, really, isn’t it? But very effective for ridding the world of undesirables.’ He chuckled a little, indicating that what he’d just said was a Gordon Blaine joke.
‘Still, we don’t want to have any accidents in our Devil’s Disciple, do we? Particularly to a fine actor like Ritchie Good. So just in case we have any Health and Safety inspectors in the building, let me give you a demonstration of the means by which, in the use of this apparatus, unpleasant accidents may be avoided.’
He moved ponderously across the stage and took up the T-shaped pulling handle of the wooden cart. ‘A few words, did we agree, Ritchie?’
‘Yup. Ready when you are.’ And the man with the noose around his neck went into Dick Dudgeon mode, though preferring his own words to the ones George Bernard Shaw had written for this dramatic moment. ‘“It is a far, far better thing that I do now …” Oops, sorry, wrong play. That’s A Tale of Two Cities. No, what I want to say to you all is that I’ve been through everything in my mind over and over again and I’ve decided –’ he gestured to the noose around his neck – ‘that this is the best way out.’