Doll's House , Orange Tree Theatre, Richmond, 2008
Mitch blinked. This was all way off the usual Hollywood acting resumé. Most of the women he handled didn't mention their education or early experience, and not without good reason.
"She's gonna be the next Keira Knightley," Arlington asserted.
Mitch felt his excitement peak. Keira Knightley. So Darcy looked like her? Wow. Keira Knightley was one hot babe. Thin, and maybe a bit flat-chested. But definitely hot.
"I want her to play Princess Anatoo," Arlington was saying in his cold voice. "She's the young Grand Duchess of the Galaxy who must enlist the help of her dead father's supporters, the Kinkos, to overcome the evil that threatens her and her realm, the Kingdom of Anoo."
"Darcy's your woman," Mitch said confidently. "If ever anyone had Grand Duchess potential, it's her."
"Yeah, well, it's not cut and dried yet," Arlington snapped. "I think she'll be great, but she needs to meet with the director."
"Oh, sure," said Mitch, warmly. This, of course, would be a technicality. If Arlington wanted the film to go ahead with Darcy in it, then go ahead with Darcy in it the film duly would. The director was hardly likely to make a difference. "Who is the director?" he asked, as if mattered.
"Jack Saint," said Arlington.
"I thought he'd retired," Mitch said, his spirits slumping slightly. It had been a loss to the studios, no doubt, when the celebrated Saint had bowed out last year with an unparallelled string of successes behind him. The agenting industry, however, had breathed a sigh of relief. Saint had been an extremely difficult person for their clients to work for. He had wanted them to act, for a start. He had begun each day's shoot with an improvisation session that had proved almost more than the average Associated client could bear.
"He had," Arlington returned. "But I persuaded him out of it with enough money and the chance to out-Lucas George Lucas. He's always been pretty competitive with him. Can you get her over here by Friday?"
"Sure I can." Mitch's confidence shot back. What choice did he have? He absolutely could, even if he had to go over there, to—he glanced at the resume—43 Montagu Mansions, Wilton Street, London SW1, and drag Darcy back by the scruff of the neck. Which, of course, he would not have to. No one in their right mind was going to turn down a chance like this.
Chapter Nine
It was, as always, gone midnight before Darcy Prince, her pale face scrubbed of make-up, her black hair drawn back into a roughly brushed ponytail, emerged from the stage door of the theatre. She felt, again as always, drained after yet another performance of King Lear , in which she played the troubled monarch's fatally honest and tragic youngest daughter Cordelia.
The part was exhausting enough, but equally harrowing was the proximity, for more than three hours, of the naked, swinging, and shriveled testicles of the septuagenarian actor playing Lear and giving it his all in every sense.
Fortunately, his playing Lear semi-naked was interpreted by both critics and audience as a metaphor for the exposed and vulnerable predicament of Shakespeare's tragic king, rather than the blatant exhibitionism Darcy suspected it really was. And, of course, this publicity was helpful; the production was by one of London's least famous, most experimental directors and in one of the city's smallest and least well-known theatres. Basically, it needed all the help it could get. Still, everyone in the play was passionate about their work, passionate about Shakespeare and the theatre, and this was all that mattered to Darcy.
Leaning against the bus stop, watching taxi after taxi go by, all enticingly lit up in front with that glowing yellow rectangle, Darcy wondered whether she was being slightly hard on herself. With the allowance from her grandmother, she could easily have
Mitch blinked. This was all way off the usual Hollywood acting resumé. Most of the women he handled didn't mention their education or early experience, and not without good reason.
"She's gonna be the next Keira Knightley," Arlington asserted.
Mitch felt his excitement peak. Keira Knightley. So Darcy looked like her? Wow. Keira Knightley was one hot babe. Thin, and maybe a bit flat-chested. But definitely hot.
"I want her to play Princess Anatoo," Arlington was saying in his cold voice. "She's the young Grand Duchess of the Galaxy who must enlist the help of her dead father's supporters, the Kinkos, to overcome the evil that threatens her and her realm, the Kingdom of Anoo."
"Darcy's your woman," Mitch said confidently. "If ever anyone had Grand Duchess potential, it's her."
"Yeah, well, it's not cut and dried yet," Arlington snapped. "I think she'll be great, but she needs to meet with the director."
"Oh, sure," said Mitch, warmly. This, of course, would be a technicality. If Arlington wanted the film to go ahead with Darcy in it, then go ahead with Darcy in it the film duly would. The director was hardly likely to make a difference. "Who is the director?" he asked, as if mattered.
"Jack Saint," said Arlington.
"I thought he'd retired," Mitch said, his spirits slumping slightly. It had been a loss to the studios, no doubt, when the celebrated Saint had bowed out last year with an unparallelled string of successes behind him. The agenting industry, however, had breathed a sigh of relief. Saint had been an extremely difficult person for their clients to work for. He had wanted them to act, for a start. He had begun each day's shoot with an improvisation session that had proved almost more than the average Associated client could bear.
"He had," Arlington returned. "But I persuaded him out of it with enough money and the chance to out-Lucas George Lucas. He's always been pretty competitive with him. Can you get her over here by Friday?"
"Sure I can." Mitch's confidence shot back. What choice did he have? He absolutely could, even if he had to go over there, to—he glanced at the resume—43 Montagu Mansions, Wilton Street, London SW1, and drag Darcy back by the scruff of the neck. Which, of course, he would not have to. No one in their right mind was going to turn down a chance like this.
Chapter Nine
It was, as always, gone midnight before Darcy Prince, her pale face scrubbed of make-up, her black hair drawn back into a roughly brushed ponytail, emerged from the stage door of the theatre. She felt, again as always, drained after yet another performance of King Lear , in which she played the troubled monarch's fatally honest and tragic youngest daughter Cordelia.
The part was exhausting enough, but equally harrowing was the proximity, for more than three hours, of the naked, swinging, and shriveled testicles of the septuagenarian actor playing Lear and giving it his all in every sense.
Fortunately, his playing Lear semi-naked was interpreted by both critics and audience as a metaphor for the exposed and vulnerable predicament of Shakespeare's tragic king, rather than the blatant exhibitionism Darcy suspected it really was. And, of course, this publicity was helpful; the production was by one of London's least famous, most experimental directors and in one of the city's smallest and least well-known theatres. Basically, it needed all the help it could get. Still, everyone in the play was passionate about their work, passionate about Shakespeare and the theatre, and this was all that mattered to Darcy.
Leaning against the bus stop, watching taxi after taxi go by, all enticingly lit up in front with that glowing yellow rectangle, Darcy wondered whether she was being slightly hard on herself. With the allowance from her grandmother, she could easily have
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