In 2003, Michael Boyd was appointed as the Artistic Director of the Royal Shakespeare Company. His ambition and desire was to re-establish it as a leading theatrical company. In his first summer season, Mr Boyd directed "Hamlet". He chose to cast some of the stage's leading Shakespearian actors: Toby Stephens in the title role, Sian Thomas as Queen Gertrude, Clive Wood as King Claudius and Greg Hicks as the Ghost of Hamlet’s murdered father. He also chose to include a group of extras in the company. The extras were not actors; they were eight Stratford residents who responded to an advert placed in the local paper.
"The Switzer's Guide To Hamlet" tells the story of eight ordinary people in what was to become an extraordinary production. It gives a scene-by-scene insight into the thrill of standing on the Royal Shakespeare Theatre stage in Stratford and watching close-up as the performance develops.
The Switzer's Guide to Hamlet
A drum beats, the Court comes in, we all stand to attention.
The King speaks, we stand at ease so lowering the tension.
The King is somewhat puzzled, he says “Hamlet why so glum?
Alright, I know your Dad's died, and O.K., I've married Mum.
Don't be a party-pooper and towards us don't be cool.
Why not stay in Elsinore? Forget about that School.”
The King is keeping busy as people start to call.
We stand watching over him, backstage beside the wall.
Ros.& Guil. report to the King, as we stand by the door.
We go off in separate ways, as the Players take the floor.
Hamlet taunts Ophelia, he says he wants to shag her.
The play stops, it all “kicks-off”, the Prince whips out his dagger.
The temperature is rising, the King talks of fear and rage.
We walk left, right and centre swiftly across the stage.
The Prince is under pressure, though not quite “on-the-lam” yet.
A search-party enters and goes chasing after Hamlet.
The King asks “Where's the body?” Hamlet is loath to tell him.
We're told “Go search the lobby, quickly before you smell him.”
Fortinbras makes his entrance, back-lit none can see your face.
Though make sure in the tea-break, your helmet is in place.
“Who's for King Laertes?” the blooded, unruly mob roar.
As we walk shouting to the stage, then hang around by the door.
The funeral party enter, walking slowly in a column.
Her brother gets a bit upset, wants it to be more solemn.
The Queen lays down her flowers, Ophelia is interred.
Hamlet fights Laertes whilst Horatio is deterred.
The Prince has gone and torn it, he's really made a scene.
The King now wants him followed. So go off before the Queen.
Hamlet (dying) kills the King, who tried so hard to “top him.”
We walk on stage, pick up the Prince, for God's sake do not drop him!
The final scene, a costume change, now a Norwegian soldier;
stand smartly in the door-way, a cross-bow on your shoulder.
The play is done and dusted, and we made it with some luck.
So go enjoy the curtain-call, then go down the “Dirty Duck”.
“Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?”
"A drum beats, the Court comes in, we all stand to attention.
The King speaks, we stand at-ease so lowering the tension."
The King is somewhat puzzled, he says “Hamlet, why so glum?
Alright, I know your Dad’s died, and O.K., I’ve married Mum.”
"Don’t be a party-pooper and towards us don’t be cool.
Why not stay in Elsinore? Forget about that School”
“Ros. & Guil. report to the King, as we stand by the door.
We go off in separate ways, as the Players take the floor.
We are walking back-stage towards our places for the next act. Above our heads, two black & white T.V. monitors show the action on each stage. One is for the main theatre and the other for the adjacent Swan auditorium. I stand next to Queen Gertrude as we watch the action next-door. The RSC are showing a season of Spanish plays – imaginatively called the “Spanish Season”. The plays all have lavish costumes and frequent, energetic scene changes. "Oh, their play does look a lot of fun" comments Gertrude almost enviously. I agree with the Queen. When compared to three hours of heavy-weight political intrigue, "Pedro, The Great Pretender" is welcome light relief. I notice a pair of boots at one of the change stations. They are made of engraved leather, with pompoms and spurs. I offer to wear them in the next scene to "liven things up". On reflection, we agree that this wouldn't be a good idea. There are three Switzers in this scene. Two stand guarding the back of the stage and one is to escort Rosencrantz and Guildenstern down the parados from the back of the auditorium. The actors playing the pair are young and fit – a critic comments that one has “spectacularly funny long legs“. The duo sprint down
the parados effortlessly. They are followed by an outof- breath Switzer struggling to keep-up. On stage, the escorting Switzer is to show the pair offstage when they are dismissed by the King. My understanding is that the Switzer signals with his arms and shepherds the duo off, following behind them. Not for the last time, my understanding is wrong. Neil Madden, a member of the cast and the Switzer leader, nods his head to me and I point off-stage with my left arm. No-one moves. Neil looks at me, points with his arm off-stage. No-one moves. I look at Neil, and sweep my right arm towards the exit. No-one moves. Neil looks at me imploringly and sweeps his other arm towards the exit. No-one moves. We seem to be communicating in semaphore and any navy personnel in the audience will probably think the message is coming through to “sink the Bismarck”. Suddenly, the penny-drops and I then walk off-stage and people thankfully follow. The direction for the other two Switzers guarding the door at the rear of the stage is to walk off separately: only one is to escort the King and Queen down the parados. This evening, I am supposed to exit through the back of the stage though my wife is in the audience. Without telling anyone, I decide to join the Royal group as they walk down the parados. It will give me a chance to wave to my wife as I go by.
I march down the walk-way and manage to catch Regan’s eye. As we reach the back of the seats though the theatre door is slammed in my face. I am trapped inside. Feeling like a low-budget Black-Rod I tap on the door. It is opened by Ophelia. “Sorry” she says letting me through “I thought that was everyone”. It is a just comeuppance for me daring to offend the Gods of Theatre! As I make my way back to the Green Room, I bump into Mr Boyd who is watching the action from the wings – I ask him how he thinks it is going. “It’s thickening nicely” he says making the whole enterprise sound like a bit of Shakespearian sauce.
Hamlet taunts Ophelia, he says he wants to shag her.
The play stops - it all “kicks-off”- the Prince whips out his dagger
The Prince is under pressure, though not quite “on the lam” yet.
A search-party enters and goes chasing after Hamlet.
Fortinbras makes his entrance, back-lit none can see your face.
Though make sure in the tea-break your helmet’s in its place
This scene runs straight-on from the Interrogation. Hamlet is despatched to England and the Switzers are to instantly change into Fortinbras’ Norwegian army. The theatrical “sleight-of-hand” is achieved by judicious use of back-lighting and wide helmets. During the interval we place our helmets to hand by the side of each of the four doors. The only problem is that with the wide-open doors from the Arrest, three of us can’t get into position without been seen by the audience. In the end, only the Switzer on stage left is in position to support Fortinbras. Hamlet may talk of “the imminent death of twenty thousand men” but for that preview night only one of the b*****s turned-up. When we do eventually get it right, a strange thing happens. Because we are back-lit when standing in the doorway, I can actually see the audience. It is an intimidating sight. I’m assured by the Stage Manager that none of the audience can see us – and one night I even test this by sticking my tongue out at the crowd – but even so it is a disquieting sight to have 1400 people looking directly at you.
One evening, we are told that Kate Winslet and Sam Mendes are in the audience. The front-left of the balcony is mentioned as the likely spot to see them. As the lights behind us illuminate the audience, I try to pick them out but with no success. “Who’s for King Laertes?” the blooded unruly mob roar. As we walk shouting to the stage, then hang around by the door. There is rebellion in the ranks. The play needs a crowd to storm the Castle. Laertes is thirsting to revenge his father’s death. The problem is that a few Switzers does not a riotous mob make. The solution is to heavily disguise some of the leading actors who have been dead and/or hanging around the Green Room to boost our numbers. "Bah, five years at Drama College and all I get to play is the crowd scene". The “cream of the Company” wraps scarves around their faces and place helmets low on their heads. We Switzers thoroughly enjoy this as we make free with the fake blood and charcoal-grime. “Do you do nosebleeds?” I ask the make-up assistant. “it can be arranged” is the obvious reply. We form our “mob” right at the back of the Theatre. We are to scream and shout to represent the riotous crowd.
Laertes, returned from distant France (or in reality his near-by digs), is bouncing up and down. He psyches himself into the part. We search for any spare weapons that the prop department may have left lying around. I select a likely looking cudgel from the “Macbeth” production and we are ready to go as our cue is given- “off-stage noise … go”. We march towards the stage shouting "Laertes for King …. Who's for King Laertes? …. For King Laertes". We enjoy the serendipity of being able to scream “For King” at the top of our voices to 1400 people. As we reach the stage, we burst through the centre doors. Several times, the crowd at the back are too over-enthusiastic and one of our group tumbles forward onto the stage. After that, the pressing “mob” disperses leaving a hard-core of disguised Switzers to act as the rabble at the door. We are chaperoned by Ian Drysdale, one of the actors, who puts up with our nervous chatter with good grace. Ophelia and her ladies join this depleted group behind the centre-stage doors. They are about to take the stage. Everyone is upbeat and enjoying themselves, silly jokes are quietly made. I look at Ophelia when suddenly her face dissolves into abject misery.
God, what is this? stage fright? is she still going to be able to go-on? I’m still wondering what is happening when the door opens and Ophelia goes on stage to perform her “mad scene”. A lesson is learnt about actors, their ability to turn on emotion at will. The funeral party enter, walking slowly in a column. Her brother gets a bit upset – wants it to be more solemn. The finishing-line is in sight. It’s a long play (over three hours) but the actors play the text with verve and urgency. In the preview, this scene used all four of the Switzers. Two are to enter from the back of the theatre escorting the funeral party along the parados. The other two are placed at the back of stage. They are to appear on the parapet of the set. Two silent guards watching as the Royal party takes its place. To reach up to this part of the scenery, we climb a narrow ladder and then balance precariously on a “telephone-directory” sized platform. Ten feet in the air, no visible means of support except a handle at groin level. We emerge from the backstage gloom, and face directly into the blinding stage lights.
The direction is simple: “slowly, casually remove the crossbow from your right-shoulder when Hamlet reveals himself. No panic, but a gentle ratchet of the tension.” The action is impossible: I’m sorry Mr Boyd but no-way am I letting go of this handle and groping around for my cross-bow. There is the distinct probability of me unbalancing and then plunging to the ground. Not only would that involve me breaking a leg (at best!) but it would also look pretty lousy from out front. The audience would be treated to the view of one Switzer disappearing like a coconut knocked from a fairground shy. Half of them would then spend the rest of the scene wondering if they win a teddy-bear when the second Switzer falls away! All in all, it's a difficult position to play and I’m glad when it is eventually dropped Meanwhile the rest of the Funeral party forms in the corridor alongside the auditorium before entering at the back of the theatre. It is hot and people are flaked out. The funeral bier is at the front. Occasionally a member of the audience is caught sneaking out of the auditorium early like a truant. They realise in shock that we are all assembled in the corridor. As a theatrical joke, Ophelia and the murdered King play the gravediggers in the preceding scene. Christine, the Assistant Stage Manager, lies down on the empty funeral litter for a rest. Ophelia, fresh from sexton-duty, joins us and lies down on top of Christine: “hmmm, girlon- girl” is the kinky comment. “hmmm, “dead-girl”-ongirl” is the kinkier riposte. “When do the points lapse for speeding?” A stockyfigure with a broadsword strapped across his back, and fierce dagger strapped to his side is looking at me expectantly. This is surreal, A Switzer is a man of the world but does his knowledge stretch to the penalty system for motoring offences. I mutter that I’m not really sure. “But they do lapse, don’t they?” He then picks up on my confusion “You are a policeman aren’t you?” I realise that he’s confused me with another Switzer and I confess my lack of knowledge. We rehearse the funeral scene. I am standing at the back of the stage with the brief to keep a constant distance between myself and the King. The only problem is that he keeps moving about. First walking forward, then retreating and finally walking forward again. As I am trying to keep pace with him I'm reminded of the "Hokey Cokey". The Director manages to restore order to the situation, "You at the back, try not to move about so much … in fact … try not to move at all". It's okay Mr Boyd, I can take a direction and I resolve to stand still for the rest of the rehearsal.
The Queen lays down her flowers, Ophelia is interred.
Hamlet fights Laertes whilst Horatio is deterred.
The Prince has gone and torn it, he’s really made a scene.
The King now wants him followed, so go off before the Queen.
Tricky. The Queen is appalled that Hamlet has desecrated Ophelia’s funeral and further shocked that the King now wants her to follow her son. She needs time to register her concern but as the King’s man, I am meant to move instantly upon his order. My brief is to wait for the Queen to obey the King, and then follow Hamlet. Unfortunately, wires are crossed and her brief is to follow me out. We stand on stage looking at each other. I’m confused. I made a half-step on the cue line but no-one else “went”. Had I misheard (probably) or was I just at completely the wrong part of the play (equally likely). It would be lese majesty of the grandest order to walk off by myself. I’m wondering where this scene is going (no doubt along with the cast and the 1400 people in the audience) when the Queen takes the scene in hand and marches down the parados.
Hamlet (dying) kills the King who tried so hard to “top him.”
We walk on stage, pick-up the Prince. For God’s sake do not drop him!
Lifting Toby Stephens is proving to be a major task. My wife is a Physiotherapist and is adamant that the scene should go. I point out that Mr Boyd is unlikely to change the ending based on the views of the Switzers and ask “How would you lift him in a hospital” “We wouldn’t, we would use a hoist”. A true answer but not particularly helpful or practical for a play set in mediaeval Denmark. Hamlet and Laertes take part in a spectacular duel. Hamlet has been on stage for coming up to three hours; He has met ghosts, organised plays and generally run around. Laertes is fresh from his cup of tea. Yet both actors manage an intense five-minute fight. The cast shies nervously away from their frantic sword-play. They look like figures from an Egyptian frieze as they press themselves back against the wall of the set. It is the night of the first preview. The cast has performed magnificently and the audience has responded well to the production. All that remains is for the Switzers to march on-stage and then lift Hamlet’s body onto their shoulders. I am the lead Switzer and I march confidently on stage towards the Prince’s corpse.
Unfortunately, as I do so Fortinbras launches himself downstage towards the audience. There is an imminent train-smash until the Norwegian manages a deft sidestep to go round me. Afterwards, the actor (understandably) berates me for getting in his way. I don’t mind this as it was my fault but I notice as he calms down his accent is becoming more and more Welsh until he asks plaintively; “Oh, am I being a bit arsey about this?” What is worse though, on stage that night, Mr Stephen’s arm catches the front of my helmet and knocks it over my face – s**t ! Unfortunately some in the audience titter. This scene needs to go. The final scene, a costume change, now a Norwegian soldier; stand smartly in the door-way, a crossbow on your shoulder. “We’ve changed the ending …” says Gavin. It’s the third preview night and still we meet on the stage an hour before the “half” is called. We are getting better but still need to get the entrances and exits clear in our minds. “… We feel we need to focus on the relationship between Hamlet and Horatio.” concludes Gavin. Now, I’m all for re-interpreting Shakespeare but changing the ending does seem a touch radical. What happens now; does Hamlet live? Does he marry Horatio and live happily ever after?
In effect, the only change is to drop the Switzers carrying Hamlet off-stage (hurrah!). Now, Horatio cradles the dead Prince as the stage-lights slowly fade to black. We are to stand in the doorway acting as Norwegian soldiers in support of the newly arrived Fortinbras. As the cast stand silently, there is the sound effect of a sword drawn across a stone floor. I think it is meant to evoke the memory of the Ghost of Hamlet’s father but in truth it reminds me only of a mediaeval “Ernie” rattling his milk bottles in his crate. A final peal of ordnance makes the front row jump. And that is it, the play is over once again and “the rest is silence”.
The play is done and dusted, and we made it with some luck.
So go enjoy the curtain call, then go down the “Dirty Duck”.
The Stratford Run is over, all say “it was a hit, Sirs!
The cast were all on top form and what about those Switzers!”
In November 2004, the RSC announce that they have eliminated their deficit and are back on an even financial keel. This is a turnaround of £8m and an extraordinarily disciplined feat. The same day I receive a letter bearing the RSC logo. It is from Mr Boyd saying thank-you for our work over the summer. I look closely at the envelope and realise that the stamp has been reused. A small saving but then if you "look after the pennies …." Switzers-reunited: The eight Switzers all meet-up again in the "Dirty Duck" for a drink just before Christmas. The team that went to Newcastle share the gossip and adventures of the wild North. It's a quiet night in the pub and we sit around the table in a window alcove. It's dark and cosy with the fire lit. At around nine o'clock a noisy group of actors burst into the bar; it's the cast of "Beauty & the Beast". This is the RSC’s Christmas show and it has a welcome early finish. We watch them jealous of their excitement; the buzz of coming offstage and then relaxing in the bar. We remember the hanging-around, the illusion of glamour, the use of "sleight of hand" and suspension of belief to create the magic of theatre. "Hey, it's snowing", we look out of the window to see flakes tumbling to the ground. It is a picture-postcard ending to our evening. Just as suddenly the snow stops. It is actually coming from a snow-machine on the first-floor of the pub. It is blowing fake snowflakes onto the front beer-garden. We all laugh: the illusion of glamour, the creation of magic...
Exeunt Switzers
Epilogue – “Cast thy nighted colour off.”
"Are you sure this is a good idea? Do you know what this play is about?" asked my wife. Of course I knew what Hamlet was about; written by Shakespeare, set in Denmark, involves a skull and an indecisive Prince. The fact that my mother had died a few weeks previously seemed irrelevant when I answered the advert in the local paper to be an extra in the Royal Shakespeare Company's production. Her death had upset me greatly and I wanted to do something different to mark that summer. I had never been on stage before and I felt that it would be a great experience and something to tell our new-born daughter when she grew-up. However what I was about to learn was that my wife was right and this was in fact a play all about Death; its impact, its ritual and its consequences. Ghosts appear and trouble the living, murders are committed, dead bodies are hidden, suicides are denied proper burial, men fight in uncovered graves and in the final scene the body-count rises to "a sight more accustomed to the field." This is not the ideal play for someone struggling to cope with grief. In one funeral scene, I had felt my eyes fill with tears as Ophelia’s corpse was brought on stage.
This gained admiring glances from the actor next to me – “he’s really getting into it” – but it didn’t make me feel any better. Some Shakespearian scholars believe that Hamlet is the playwright’s response to the pain caused by a change in Christian funeral rites. The loss of Purgatory – “I am forbid to tell the secrets of my prison house” – causes Shakespeare to contemplate Death and the customs we use to cope with it. I had spoken to my mother on the telephone about my being part of the play. Her last words to me were “tell me all about it when I see you at the weekend”. She died the next day. I was alone, about to go on stage and challenge Hamlet in my favourite “Players” scene. In the corner of my eye, I could see a chair (perhaps a throne) from the Macbeth production propped up against the wall. I became aware of a thought. Not a ghostly presence or a visitation from the “undiscovered country” but instead a shared image. Of the two of us; laughing and joking at the absurdity of my doing this. Merely a simple sense of a person loved. The memories of time shared and the realisation that these are the substantial forms that can be held onto. They are not lost to Death. Through the wall, I could hear Hamlet taunting Ophelia. The cue light turned from red to green, I opened the door and stepped onto the brightly-lit stage.
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Many Thanks, Darran
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