I had no idea when I was accepted that my actor training would be so good. I just wanted to go to a drama school. I auditioned for a few, was accepted by most, probably because I was a little older.
My bridges at RADA had been burnt because I first went there secretly aged 16 and told them I’d be willing to leave Harrow. “What would your parents think of that?” “Fuck my parents.” But … that’s the problem with RADA. Royal. They can’t run interference. “How will you pay for it if you defy your parents?” So I went to Guildhall years later. And I paid for it more or less exactly with what I got from dad.
Chattie Salaman was our teacher in the first year, using “the magic space.” She challenged us. She had absolutely no interest in our bollocks. She was 80. She helped us understand how all the things we do send messages. She was stoic and brilliant and honest. Her son Joseph Blatchley directed me a few times through my training and was very much a chip off the old block. Chattie was involved with people who cared deeply about actor training. She was a practitioner, but she absolutely knew how to transfer energy. She did it until she died.
My three years at Guildhall marked a number of endings. My first year was the last Chattie year. She fired energy to us and then others tried to carry the baton. Later we had Vasilli Skorik. Again we were the last. Was he shot by Russian mafia? Who knows, but he taught me about rigour. Peter Clough was a huge influence, but he suddenly vanished too. I was finished, so didn’t mind that his place was taken by predatory Christian, even if perhaps I could have fucking stopped the rot but how? A real shame, to have someone so venal and cock-driven coming into the mix.
Nothing stays the same. I have not been following the old place. But I know it is all different now. Priapic Christian catalysed some necessary changes around identity.
I’m home. On my left a major theatre producer. On my right a major theatre director. None of us are running any sort of racket with each other, unlike filthy Christian. Our attention is only worth what our attention is worth.
I’m thinking about all this because I made a pepper sauce this evening. Joseph Blatchley, the son of Chattie, encouraged me to learn how to cook sauces because my third year character was a saucier. I went deep. As you know I do. Thanks to him, we had a fine meal. I texted him to thank him. He’s one of those who has affected thousands but doesn’t want to accept his own power. I love him to bits, and I’m sure it’s partly cos I knew his mother. There are so few of my friends left who knew either of my parents.
AlBarclay 