Stage fright: my 4 worst moments on stage

You know that dream you get where you find yourself on stage, naked, and not knowing the words to whatever play you’ve suddenly been cast in? The cold sweat-inducing terror that comes over you?

I did a lot of performing in high school in competitions, concerts, plays, and musicals. And while I’ve never had the pleasure of being naked on stage, I have forgotten or stuffed up my lines more times than I’d care to count.

And have felt that terror.

So, for your cringe-viewing, here are four of the worst…

What’s your name again?

In year 11 I was cast as the priest in a high school production of Muriel’s Wedding. This wasn’t the musical that came out a few years back, but the straight movie-to-stage version. I had a total of about seven lines across two scenes. 

I don’t know if you’ve seen Muriel’s Wedding but I have. About a billion times. Even as a closeted 16-year-old. (Especially as a closeted 16-year-old.) I knew EVERYONE’S LINES. EVERYONE’S. 

Except mine apparently.

You know the scene where Muriel is getting married to David the South African Olympic swimmer? And you know how the priest says: “Do you Muriel—” And she interrupts with: “Marial”, and the priest blinks and continues with: “Mariel, take David to be your lawful wedding husband?”

That line. Well, here’s how I did it: “Do you Marial take David to be your lawful wedding husband?” 

Yep, I screwed it up, rolled straight over it. 

The girl who played Muriel was ready for it to be done right, flinched, eyes widened, and luckily had more acting prowess than I did and continued as if nothing had happened.

And of course most people in the audience who’d seen the movie would also have known something had gone wrong.

Meanwhile I’d died. And to make matters worse I didn’t do it just the once, but twice. Out of four performances. 

FML.

Always say yes

There’s a thing in improvisation where you say yes to things. You open up the possibilities rather than shut them down, because otherwise you’re left with very few places to go.

During my final year drama exam, we had to perform our own short one-person play/monologue in front of external examiners. Nerve-wracking at the best of the time.

I had written a piece based on Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven, kind of like the back-story behind it all and what had led to him being tormented. I could recite the poem off-by-heart then but a lot of it has since faded.

I performed by piece and then the examiners ask you to do an improvisation based on your idea. They asked me to act out an imagined scene as Lenore’s father who didn’t much like the guy she was going to marry (i.e. the protagonist from The Raven).

Nerves start to hit, after all, this isn’t just for fun, this is going to be GRADED and could affect my future (though in the end it didn’t much as I still did an Arts degree at university).

I can’t remember what I said but what I do remember is I died, or rather, Lenore’s father died. The Raven dude strangled me and I died on the ground. 

It was awful and so deflating and just…just not good at all. I finished, because after that there’s not really anywhere else to go, and left.

When I spoke to my drama teacher the next day and told her what I’d done, she despaired because I’d forgotten to keep things open and say yes to possibilities. 

I can’t remember what mark I got. I don’t think it was great, but enough for me to pass. I guess I’d died plenty of other times on stage that what would another one hurt?

Have you ever heard a mouse sing?

Acting was fun but singing has always been a real joy for me; I’m eternally disappointed in myself that I haven’t done more of it and worked harder on it.

But can’t do everything.

During high school I performed in a lot of music eisteddfods against a lot of other teenagers. I’d enter into different sections, including folk, spiritual, ensemble, and musical theatre.

Any guesses as to which was my favourite?

One year I sang Gus the Theatre Cat from CATS. I loved this song, still do, but if you’ve ever seen CATS, you know they’re dressed up, well, as cats.

My mum was a seamstress and liked making costumes so she agreed to make me one. It was all a bit last minute I think so we didn’t have a lot of time to workshop how it would look exactly.

It ended up being this rather tight, grey short-hair leotard type thing, with a tail, and I’m pretty sure it had ears. I seem to remember having to be sewn into it. We then painted my face and I looked like…a giant mouse.

Kind of the polar opposite from what you want a cat to look like. Anyway, I swallowed it down and waited back stage.

Then someone stood on my tail and it came off the costume. I was about two songs away from performing so I ran to the side door to the auditorium, got my mum’s attention and she came and sewed it back on with enough time for me to get on stage.

Despite feeling incredibly uncomfortable and extremely exposed (it was a TIGHT costume) and more than a little silly, I sang the song all the way through and ended up coming first. 

Huzzah! I could do a song in a silly costume…

Or could I?

And what are you meant to be?

I returned the following year, in my final year of high school, the same eisteddfod and again entered into the musical theatre section with a song from Beauty and the Beast (the stage musical, not the Disney animated version) called If I Can’t Love Her.

Again my mum did the best with the costume but again we didn’t quite think through all the implications. Ideally, it would have been best to wear a suit, have some hairy hands and maybe a shaggy wig and some lines on my face, but that was not thought of then.

Instead I was covered in brown fake fur fabric, head-to-toe, and I kid you not I looked like an ewok. A goddamn ewok.

Feeling even worse than the previous year’s embarrassment I went out there and nervously waved at the very small audience and started to sing.

I think I got about five lines in before the words just vanished. I was standing there looking like an ewok, not a beast, and I was meant to be singing about this tormented soul who doesn’t believe he’ll ever be loved.

So I stopped. And I apologised to the audience and the judges and said: “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten my lines, which considering I’m dressed like this is probably not a surprise.”

There were some laughs, which broke the tension and terror gripping my chest, and I started again.

And when it was over Daniel the ewok won second place. 

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So those are four of my worst moments on stage. There are others. Despite the hard time I’ve given myself for them over the years the end result is that they don’t really matter. 

I’ll admit I HATE making a fool of myself in front of others, particularly doing it unintentionally, but the bottom line is it’s usually all a bit of fun and I definitely miss that chance to express myself on stage. 

Of course it’s not over until the fat lady sings, but in the meantime I have my writing…

Which makes this month’s release of my new book, Set the Stage, so wonderful. 

He’s the Banksy of the international theatre scene – daring, anonymous, renowned. So when playwright ‘Draven’ bequeaths his latest play to the rural Rivervue Theatre, the stage is set for drama.