Stage Beauty Page #7

- But I'm no good.

- Well, that never stopped you before.

My dear, the King comes tonight

to decide whether to patronise my theatre again.

If we put him off, he'll know something's up!

You must play, Mrs Hughes!

What do you intend to do about this?

I can't play Desdemona.

I never could.

I don't know how to act.

Where is he?

If you could just take her in hand.

Teach her some tricks and turns.

Most of the play she'll get by,

it's the end that's bad.

When she dies.

She... she's no good!

I say this as a friend.

Mr Kynaston, have you ever seen

Mrs Hughes on the stage?

I saw her audition, that was enough.

Why? What's she like?

You.

She does you.

Every inflection, every bat of the eye,

bits of business, vocal tricks...

- Then she shouldn't be half-bad.

- But it doesn't work!

Forgive me.

I have spoken loudly.

Did she send you here?

No one knows we've come

What do you offer me...

...pretty, witty Nell?

A friend.

Friends I've had. Give me an audience.

If that's what you want,

you must take it with your own hands.

A man isn't how he walks or how he speaks.

It's what he does.

Well?

What's your answer?

- Gentlemen!

- We have procured a tutor!

Oh!

- Ned.

- Tommy.

Kynaston!

- Some rules of engagement...

- First rule, you're out.

Betterton!

No, no, no, no.

Best work in private, Sir Charles.

We shall exeunt, Kynaston,

but mark our history and my property.

You are assisting my Desdemona.

Don't try anything funny.

If you give her a funny voice

or a funny walk,

a squint,

I'll notice.

And I won't like it.

A critic is born.

And all because I thought you were

a whore and grabbed your cock!

Now, is there anything you want?

Some wine, some cheese?

- A share.

- Oh, ho, ho!

Now, I would say, "What?"

And you will say?

- "A share. "

- How much?

- Five.

- Thief.

- Shall I fetch her, Mr Kynaston?

- Would you be a dear?

Mr Kynaston.

Mrs Hughes.

Let's get to work, shall we?

Er, yes.

Are you wearing that tonight?

Yes

No, youre not

- Sir Charles designed this costume.

- It looks it.

- You'll strip down to your shift.

- Strip?

You can't teach me how to be a woman!

I'm not teaching you how to be a woman,

but how to be Desdemona.

I don't want to be Desdemona.

I don't want to act ever again.

No! You claimed the role. Hold onto it

till they pry your fingers from its neck.

And you hold this theatre in your hands.

So stand still, dry your eyes and strip!

Muss your hair before the scene.

Not like that, that's puffing it

to make it look attractive.

No, no, no, no lip paint. White cheeks.

Pale lips. Blood drains down with sleep,

not up to the face.

Now, the way Betterton does the last scene,

there are 32 lines, cutting 17.

You're the woman, I'm the man.

Start on the bed.

Not like that! That's like me.

Is that how you sleep?

How am I supposed to know how I sleep?

I'm sleeping while I sleep!

Don't act with what isn't there!

The man's been a festering boil

- for three f***ing hours, hasn't he?

- Yes.

He's come to your room, woke you

and told you to pray before you die.

- So, what's the line?

- Talk you of killing?

Ay, I do.

- Then heaven have mercy on me!

- Good girl. Keep going.

They are loves I bear to you.

Peace, and be still!

And I mean that.

But Othello is advancing on her.

Am I?

You see me moving?

You take two steps back on the first line,

then stumble on the last line.

I can't remember the stumble.

Peace, and be still!

By my life and soul,

send for the man and ask him.

"Send for the man and ask him. "

Easy to say, isn't it?

"Send for the man and ask him. "

Cassio's name gives her the willies.

- But she doesn't say the name "Cassio".

- Aha!

I'm lost.

If lago wanted to poison the Moor's mind

with a lover for Desdemona,

he had to pick someone who made sense.

It couldn't be... Jo-Jo the Mute Boy.

lago picked Cassio because, in truth,

Desdemona does fancy him.

So, when Othello mentions him,

she must say, "Yes, call for Cassio. "

But his name doesn't come easily.

But she doesn't say his name!

Yes.

- This next exchange of lines comes fast.

- Why?

We want to get to the murder

faster than they expect.

How can I say things like,

"While I say one prayer," fast?

No, you're not in charge

of this part of the scene, the Moor is.

The Moor says his lines fast. You have

to slap your words in as fast as you can.

- Go.

- Alas, he is betray'd, and I undone!

Out, strumpet!

Weep'st thou for him to my face?

O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!

- Down, strumpet!

- Kill me tomorrow!

- Nay, if you strive...

- But half an hour!

- Being done, there is no pause.

- But while I say one prayer!

It is too late.

See what comes out of rehearsal?

- I had planned to scream anyway.

- Good for you.

Throw me on the bed, kill me.

- No.

- We have to finish this off.

Save something for the moment.

Always do something different than you

planned. Good to throw yourself a bit.

Recall what we've done to this point.

Then when you die...

...surprise me.

But how do I know

Mr Betterton will do as you have done?

You don't. Because he won't.

- Right, ready to go?

- Yes. I'm playing the Moor.

- I beg your pardon?

- Mrs Hughes insists.

- Mrs Hughes?

- I do.

But does he even know the part?

- Yes, he knows it.

- Right, now I'll need bootblack.

- I have bootblack.

- With you?

A scuff, sir, is a dreadful thing.

Now, out, all of you.

Mr Kynaston.

My thanks.

It's not a good part, Desdemona.

Go for Cleopatra.

Cleopatra?

She kills herself with the sting of an asp.

"Those who do die, do never recover. "

"I blame you for my death. "

What's that from?

See you on stage.

It is the cause.

It is the cause, my soul,

Let me not name it to you,

you chaste stars!

It is the cause.

Who's there? Othello?

Ay, Desdemona.

Will you come to bed, my lord?

Have you pray'd tonight, Desdemona?

Ay, my lord.

If you bethink yourself of any crime

Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace,

Solicit for it straight.

Alas, my lord,

what may you mean by that?

Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by:

I would not kill thy unprepared spirit;

No, heaven forfend!

I would not kill thy soul.

Talk you of killing?

Ay, I do.

- Then heaven have mercy on me!

- Think on thy sins.

- They are loves I bear to you.

- Ay, and for that thou diest.

That death's unnatural that kills for loving.

Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?

Some bloody passion

shakes your very frame:

These are portents; but yet I hope,

I... I hope they do not point on...

Peace, and be still!

I will... I will so.

What's the matter?

That handkerchief...

...which I so lov'd and gave thee.

Thou gav'st to Cassio.

No, by my life and soul!

Send for Ca... the man and ask him.

His mouth is stopp'd;

Honest lago hath ta'en order for't.

Alas, he is betray'd,

and I undone!

Out, strumpet!

Weep'st thou for him to my face?

O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!

Down, strumpet!

Kill me tomorrow;

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