BLACK-BALLED

My first professional acting job was at the Mermaid Theatre in London, in George Bernard Shaw’s ANDROCLES AND THE LION. The year was 1961. I, along with five other supernumeraries, played a variety of soldiers, slaves and Christians (and whatever else the play called for). Although our director had a penchant for male nudity, our first appearance was as the heavily armored Praetorian Guard. We clanked into position below "Caesar" and looked sternly out into the audience. The tallest guard was Donald Sutherland, then me, and I have somehow managed to forget the others' names.

The evening was a double bill, which opened with another Shavian one-acter, called THE SHEWING UP OF BLANCO POSNET. Ronald Frazer played “Blanco,” and later "Caesar" in ANDROCLES. The six of us were given roles as jurors. "Ronny" happened to be close friends with "Larry" Olivier whom he had invited to see the show. As luck would have it Ronny developed acute laryngitis that very night and his two understudies had to go on.

The first to take over was Don himself who did a masterful job as "Blanco Posnet". Backstage after the first show, we all rushed over to congratulate Don, and then over to deliver well wishes to Caesar's understudy in ANDROCLES. Then someone asked, "Who’s understudying him?" Who indeed? Like a flock of demented geese we flapped down to the callboard to find out. To my horror, I discovered it was I! I was to play the part of "The Retiarius” that night. "Who the hell is 'The Retiarius'?" I asked. "One of the two main gladiators: the one with the trident and net," came the reply. "The trident and net?" Why wasn’t I told I was understudying him? Why hadn't I been paying more attention to that scene? What the hell did the guy do anyway? Did he have lines?

Well apparently he did. But only one speech. He had to say, "He bet me ten sisterces that he would vanquish me. If I had killed him I wouldn't have got the money." Simple! Simple! The fact that it made no sense and that I had to do it in a cockney accent was not a problem. What was a problem was that I had to say it to Caesar (the guy who usually played the part), and over the heads of the Praetorian Guard (my mischievous cohorts).

I sat in despair at my make-up table. Soon the others were dressed and heading out to the stage for their first entrance. Alone now, I panicked! I actually considered walking out of the theatre and fleeing the country before Actor's Equity could find me. But I continued to apply my body paint, and then went to pick up The Retiarius' costume. There was no point in talking to the actor who played the part because he was a madman pouring over his lines for the role of "Caesar". So I grabbed his gear and headed back to my empty dressing room.

Like a man condemned, I began to dress. This particular gladiator

wore very little it seemed: a long leather arm protector, a helmet, yards and yards of net, a trident, and the world's tiniest black jockstrap. The actor who normally wore this was 5’9” tall and weighed about thirty pounds less than me. There was no way that this little piece of cloth was going to cover me. No matter how I adjusted it, something was always hanging out. I finally hit upon the idea of painting one of my balls black and letting it hang out. I reasoned that if I kept shaking the net in front of me, no one would notice.

Caparisoned thus, I left the dressing room. All thoughts of my exposed gonad fled however, as I approached the pandemonium of the stage. All at once I was pushed on by the stage manager, and ended up center-stage. Suddenly, “Caesar” turned to me and said," And what is your reply gladiator?" I wanted to say, “Those about to die salute thee.” Instead I stuck to the script: " 'Ee bet may tin sistuhsees 'ee would vanquish may." I blurted out. "If oid a killed 'im oi wouldna got the muney," I continued, in the worst cockney accent ever heard on the British Stage. There was a long silence.

Then almost as one, the entire court of Rome turned upstage, shoulders heaving with laughter, leaving me facing my “Praetorian Guard”. I began to shake all over. Then perspiration must have removed the black eyebrow pencil from my left nut. It was then that Don hissed to another guard "His left ball is hanging out. Pass it on." Then the guards, clad in metal armor, began to shake so violently from suppressed laughter, that it sounded like garbage collection day. They too turned upstage. In a panic, I turned away from the cast and out to the audience (and Sir Laurence). I desperately shook my net in front of my exposed testicle and gestured angrily with my trident. The play ground to a halt.

There I was center stage at the Mermaid Theatre in London in 1961, in front of a packed house of celebrities. The audience was witness to a single gladiator with nothing to say, vigorously shaking his net, while the entire cast for reason they couldn’t comprehend faced upstage. After what seemed an eternity, the stage manger, dressed in vaguely Roman attire, put an end to the whole sordid affair. He came out and took my trident and led me off. I followed tripping and falling over my net. And the play resumed.

Was there ever a more ignominious exit? Black-balled indeed!

© Bruce Gray 2005