seen us in the theatre, and those who then came to see us in Pack of Lies hoped that they were going to see those two dotty people. We had a group of American college students who came to one of the TV recordings, and one of them asked, ‘Miss Dench, do you ever get a chance to do any classical theatre?’ What could I say but, ‘Oh yes, once or twice.’
One famous modern classical role I regretted accepting was Mother Courage for the RSC at the Barbican. Howard Davies had come to tell me the story, but as I had not read the script what I didn’t know – and Howard had omitted to tell me – was that she is never off the stage. I was so cross when I found this out on the first day of rehearsal that I said, ‘Well, who translated this? I can’t make head nor tail of it.’ Howard said, ‘Hanif Kureishi, this is him here.’ Hanif has never spoken to me since.
I thought that I should really not have said yes to this, that this was a big mistake. But then of course we started to work on it, when the anger or fright is turned into adrenalin, and gradually ideas form. People often ask, ‘Don’t you have difficulty learning the lines?’ Sometimes I do have a lot of difficulty learning the lines, but the real difficulty is working out why the character says the line, and what is going on between the lines, which is often more important than the line itself.
Before you start to rehearse you are looking at the wood, which is composed of many trees. You start rehearsing and you are inside the wood; you know that you are in a wood, but you don’t know what the trees round you are until you start to recognise them. Then the moment the audience comes in, it is as if you have been transported away from the wood, and that is when I think the most important part comes in – when you decide which is the straightest way through the wood. This is part of the economy of presenting a character, because I think what you leave out is more important than what you put in.
I had admired John Napier’s work ever since we had worked together at Stratford, and his set design for Mother Courage looked absolutely beautiful, but the engineering of the machinery was faulty, so my cart that trundled around on rails never worked properly. One night it did just one circle of the stage and suddenly one wheel stuck, so it wouldn’t move at all. I went forward and made a speech to the audience, ‘Look, we are the RSC, not the RAC, so I’m afraid we can’t fix this wheel, and you’ll have to come back another night.’ I thought it was quite funny, but the audience were furious, and they didn’t laugh. Zoë Wanamaker was playing my daughter Kattrin, and she and I raced in the car from the Barbican to Joe Allen’s restaurant in Covent Garden for an early supper. I was meeting Michael later for another supper, but it didn’t matter. Zoë said, ‘So this is what Joe Allen’s looks like on a Tuesday evening at ten past eight.’
But the cart did break down so many times, and at the end as I was going off to war and was supposed to be pushing it on my own, I had to have four or five stagehands helping me push it; a great help for me at the time, but not much help to the story. The whole thing was very hard work. I loved all the singing, but I didn’t like plucking the chicken – that was horrible, and I didn’t know how to do it.
I found in a skip the overcoat that Michael had worn as the Fool in King Lear , which I wore at rehearsal, and it worked so well I kept it for the performance. I had clearly in my mind that the wig should be red, and look as if just anybody had cut it, so that it was always standing on end. I was convinced about that, and said so to Lindy Hemming, our costume designer, on the first day, and she produced one exactly like that. Then I couldn’t bear to part with it.
We did a run-through as rehearsals were almost over when I thought I had got near to the right performance, but Howard bawled me out afterwards,
One famous modern classical role I regretted accepting was Mother Courage for the RSC at the Barbican. Howard Davies had come to tell me the story, but as I had not read the script what I didn’t know – and Howard had omitted to tell me – was that she is never off the stage. I was so cross when I found this out on the first day of rehearsal that I said, ‘Well, who translated this? I can’t make head nor tail of it.’ Howard said, ‘Hanif Kureishi, this is him here.’ Hanif has never spoken to me since.
I thought that I should really not have said yes to this, that this was a big mistake. But then of course we started to work on it, when the anger or fright is turned into adrenalin, and gradually ideas form. People often ask, ‘Don’t you have difficulty learning the lines?’ Sometimes I do have a lot of difficulty learning the lines, but the real difficulty is working out why the character says the line, and what is going on between the lines, which is often more important than the line itself.
Before you start to rehearse you are looking at the wood, which is composed of many trees. You start rehearsing and you are inside the wood; you know that you are in a wood, but you don’t know what the trees round you are until you start to recognise them. Then the moment the audience comes in, it is as if you have been transported away from the wood, and that is when I think the most important part comes in – when you decide which is the straightest way through the wood. This is part of the economy of presenting a character, because I think what you leave out is more important than what you put in.
I had admired John Napier’s work ever since we had worked together at Stratford, and his set design for Mother Courage looked absolutely beautiful, but the engineering of the machinery was faulty, so my cart that trundled around on rails never worked properly. One night it did just one circle of the stage and suddenly one wheel stuck, so it wouldn’t move at all. I went forward and made a speech to the audience, ‘Look, we are the RSC, not the RAC, so I’m afraid we can’t fix this wheel, and you’ll have to come back another night.’ I thought it was quite funny, but the audience were furious, and they didn’t laugh. Zoë Wanamaker was playing my daughter Kattrin, and she and I raced in the car from the Barbican to Joe Allen’s restaurant in Covent Garden for an early supper. I was meeting Michael later for another supper, but it didn’t matter. Zoë said, ‘So this is what Joe Allen’s looks like on a Tuesday evening at ten past eight.’
But the cart did break down so many times, and at the end as I was going off to war and was supposed to be pushing it on my own, I had to have four or five stagehands helping me push it; a great help for me at the time, but not much help to the story. The whole thing was very hard work. I loved all the singing, but I didn’t like plucking the chicken – that was horrible, and I didn’t know how to do it.
I found in a skip the overcoat that Michael had worn as the Fool in King Lear , which I wore at rehearsal, and it worked so well I kept it for the performance. I had clearly in my mind that the wig should be red, and look as if just anybody had cut it, so that it was always standing on end. I was convinced about that, and said so to Lindy Hemming, our costume designer, on the first day, and she produced one exactly like that. Then I couldn’t bear to part with it.
We did a run-through as rehearsals were almost over when I thought I had got near to the right performance, but Howard bawled me out afterwards,
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