Imagine the scenario. It’s your birthday and to celebrate you’ve booked the best-available seats for you and your partner to see your favourite star in a West End musical.
Let’s say the seats cost £150 (Dh790) for the pair. In addition, you’ve splashed out on rail tickets, a meal, a couple of programmes and maybe some merchandise. The show is about to begin. The audience stills, the house lights dim, the conductor picks up his baton. And then comes the announcement: “Ladies and gentlemen, due to the indisposition of [insert your favourite star’s name], the lead part will be played tonight by [insert someone you’ve never heard of].” Cue collective groan of dismay, then silence and finally the sound of the tipping-up of seats.
It's the moment all theatregoers dread. Yet it's one that has become quite familiar here in London in recent times. Recently, the American actress Glenn Close missed several performances as Norma Desmond in the musical Sunset Boulevard after what were described as "vocal issues". Last month, Sheridan Smith, a rising star, was forced to take extended leave from her hugely acclaimed portrayal of Fanny Brice in Funny Girl after suffering exhaustion.
Every cloud has a silver lining of course, and for the performer waiting to step into their shoes – in Smith’s case, 26-year-old Natasha Barnes, who first heard she was going to play the role only 50 minutes before curtain up – it’s an exciting time.
Yet who’d be an understudy? It’s an odd, twilight world in which your days and nights are spent waiting for misfortune to strike the incumbent, misfortune that may never come. Six nights a week, twice on Wednesdays and Saturdays, you have to be in the theatre for curtain up, only to sit around for three hours until curtain down, when you can go home again.
You never know when the call will come. If you’re lucky, it may be several hours beforehand, leaving you sufficient time to rehearse with the regular cast members and alert your friends and family to your moment in the spotlight.
But often it’s short notice; as when the said star gets stuck in traffic, has eaten a dodgy sandwich, or even sprained their ankle on their way down the stairs for their first entrance. I’ve witnessed examples of all three.
Whenever the opportunity does arrive, you’ve got to be ready. From being a peripheral figure in the enterprise, you’re suddenly the most important person in the building. You’re relocated to the star’s dressing room, your every need catered for, while in the countdown to curtain up your preparation will be constantly interrupted by a steady steam of well-wishers all hoping you “break a leg” (theatre parlance for wishing you good luck).
Maybe you’ll only do the one performance. Maybe, as in the case of Natasha Barnes, you’ll have an extended run in the role, time enough to relax into the part and make it your own.
But at some point, the star will return and your descent back to anonymity will be as swift as was your ascent to the top. One night you’re receiving a standing ovation, the next you’re again backstage wondering whether it was all just a wonderful dream.
Of course, Broadway legend and Hollywood movies like to peddle the romantic notion of the understudy grabbing their chance and becoming an overnight sensation. But the reality is different. While stars are 10 a penny, talented, reliable understudies are hard to find. Any cover who excels in the spotlight will almost certainly be condemning themselves to more of the same.
Barnes has more than made her mark during her time in the spotlight, enjoying rave reviews and ensuring her name will remain on everyone’s lips for some while yet after she hands back the part.
It was Walter Matthau who famously said: "All you need to succeed in showbiz is 50 lucky breaks." Barnes has already experienced her first. And few theatregoers who've seen her performance in Funny Girl would begrudge her the remaining 49.
Michael Simkins is an actor and writer in London
On Tiwtter: @michael_simkins
