Gary Cassidy and Simone Knox

As Robert Lindsay notes in his autobiography *Letting Go*, by the late
1980s, things weren't looking so well for his career: following an
difficult stint in the USA, where he had worked on the film *Bert Rigby,
You're a Fool* (1989), the actor who was known for roles such as Wolfie
Smith in *Citizen Smith* (BBC1, 1977-1980) and had enjoyed success both
in the West End and on Broadway, returned to Britain with little of that
most crucial commodity a performer needs for their craft:
self-confidence. As he put it: 'I was shattered; my self-esteem had
completely gone. \[...\] I was completely lost from a career point of
view; I was thinking of giving the whole thing up.' (Lindsay 2009,
205-6) Then came the opportunity to play a character named Michael
Murray in *G.B.H.* (Channel 4, 1991), a part written by Alan Bleasdale
with Lindsay in mind. With Murray a corrupt, haunted, twitching,
loathsome and tragic city council leader, located within a script with
surreal overtones, this was certainly a challenging part for any actor
to take on, never mind one who had lost faith in his ability to act --
and Lindsay went on to produce a memorable small screen performance that
deserved the BAFTA he won for best actor, and still deserves, if not
demands, some detailed critical attention that looks at how he engaged
with this acting challenge.

Given the richness of Lindsay's performance, we will focus our attention
on one short moment towards the end of episode 4 ('Message sent'), which
readers located in the UK can enjoy [in full
here](http://www.channel4.com/programmes/gbh/on-demand/8551-004){target="_blank"}.
Under increasing professional and personal pressure, stressed Michael
Murray leaves the hotel lobby where a *Doctor Who* convention is taking
place. This is perhaps the most commonly remembered scene from *G.B.H*,
because of Alan Bleasdale's in-joke for Verity Lambert, and can also be
watched here:

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Having secured condoms and ordered champagne, Murray makes his way
upstairs to spend the night with love interest Barbara Douglas (Lindsay
Duncan). At just over an hour into the episode (to be precise, 1.00.25
on 4OD, 1.01.25 on the DVD), the moment that fascinates us takes place
when he walks through the hotel corridor and arrives at Barbara's room.
Here, in the space of one extraordinary minute and one uninterrupted
take, Murray's physical twitch, which originated as a wink and was
already getting in his way during the Dalek scene, interrupts his
attempt to knock on the door. To steady his nerves, he backtracks to
take a run-up to the door, trying to talk himself back into the (albeit
faux) confident swagger with which he first arrived. There are many,
many performance choices by Lindsay worth paying attention to here, as
he verbalises and involuntarily physicalises his interior monologue and
turmoil, calling up subtle intertextual references to John Travolta in
*Saturday Night Fever* (1977) and Fonzie from *Happy Days* (ABC,
1974-1984), interweaving performative elements of football, dance and
musical theatre, and working both with and beyond the script in what
Alan Bleasdale in the 'Interview' DVD extra calls a 'moment of lunatic
improvisation'.

[![Image
1a](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image1a.png "Image 1a"){.aligncenter
loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="330"
height="248"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image1a.png)

[![Image
1b](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image1b.png "Image 1b"){.aligncenter
loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="340"
height="245"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image1b.png)  
*One of the subtle intertextual references called up by Robert Lindsay's
acting*

For the purposes of space, we will for now focus on the perhaps most
widely remembered aspect of Robert Lindsay's performance as Michael
Murray, the twitch. The following screen shots give a flavour of this:

[![Image
2a](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2a.png "Image 2a"){.aligncenter
loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="250"
height="188"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2a.png)  
[![2b](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2b.png "2b"){.aligncenter
loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="250"
height="188"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2b.png)  
[![2c](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2c.png "2c"){.aligncenter
loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="250"
height="188"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2c.png)  
[![2d](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2d.png "2d"){.aligncenter
loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="250"
height="188"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2d.png)

[![2f](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2f.png "2f"){.aligncenter
loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="250"
height="188"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2f.png)

[![2g](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2g.png "2g"){.aligncenter
loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="250"
height="188"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2g.png)

[![2h](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2h.png "2h"){.aligncenter
loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="250"
height="188"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2h.png)

[![2i](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2i.png "2i"){.aligncenter
loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="250"
height="188"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2i.png)

[![2k](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2k.png "2k"){.aligncenter
loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="250"
height="188"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image2k.png)

In *Letting Go*, Lindsay notes that while the twitch had been written
into the script by Bleasdale, the production team was concerned that
this tic was not rooted in any reality, and that he, Lindsay, had 'to
make it as real as possible' (2009, 207).[\[i\]](#_edn1){#_ednref1} So,
how does he approach this task here in this scene? Firstly, Lindsay
begins the scene evidently having prepared himself *physically* for it,
perhaps bearing in mind Stanislavski's advice that, '\[i\]f \[the\]
preparatory work is right, the results will take care of themselves'
(1989, 212). Following the Stanislavskian emphasis on getting into
character, he both taps into the nervous energy that can naturally occur
in performers before shooting and has, through some physical exercise
before the take, built up a slight sweat and near-hyperventilation. Out
of breath and perspiring, this preparation allows him to enter the scene
at the right -- in this case, edgy -- energy and performance level,
where the would-be confidence of his initial approach readily gives way
to the anxiety the character was feeling in the previous scene.

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[![Image
3](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image3.png "Image 3"){loading="lazy"
decoding="async" width="250"
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Lindsay's Michael Murray and his 'demon hand'
:::

When Murray's attempts to knock on the door are prevented by his left
arm spasming upwards, Lindsay manages to convey Murray's loss of control
over his own body through careful acting that brings together this
twitch with a whole host of other small actions, or outer
characteristics -- such as deep breaths out, talking to himself,
whistling, stretching the arm downwards as though trying to ease a cramp
-- into an organic sequence where these different actions trigger one
another as he attempts to calm himself down whilst still at the door.
Lindsay further makes the twitch and these other actions look integrated
into the character because he (mostly) looks like he is genuinely in the
moment, surprised and appalled by and apparently unable to predict what
this 'demon hand' of his is doing.

Because of this organic quality of the performance, it may seem tempting
to think of Robert Lindsay's acting here as further drawing on the
Stanislavskian approach where 'in each physical act there is an inner
psychological motive which impels physical action' (Stanislavski 1968,
11), and one's character is found through psychological and emotional
engagement. However, we wish to propose that this is actually a very
technical performance here, where the portrayal of the loss of control
requires such careful control, such precision (of timing, of movement,
of physical distance to the door) and involves such business (with
repeated near-knocks and attempts at calming down, there are many outer
characteristics for Lindsay to manage in a very short time), that the
Stanislavskian mode would not be entirely appropriate. A Stanislasvkian
approach to acting proposes that 'it is a necessary condition of the
unfettered operation of the subconscious that conscious awareness be
actively supressed during the creative act' (Mitter 1999, 16). Or put
another way, as long as you are in the moment, the details of the
acting, the outer characteristics, will take care of themselves, and the
performance will just happen. However, the demands of the role here are
such that Robert Lindsay is employing a technically precise imaginative
performance, whereby he makes his actions look real, organic and
happening against his will and appears to be genuinely in the moment,
through external means, thinking and planning. His autobiography
confirms this careful planning through his reference to working closely
with the continuity girl. (See Lindsay 2009, 207.) This resonates with
Chekov's approach to acting, where '\[t\]he task of the actor is to
become an active participant in the process of imagination, \[bringing\]
the world of the imagination on to the stage' (Chamberlain 2010, 69).

That Lindsay is indeed thinking about what he is doing, has carefully
planned it and is not improvising spontaneously is confirmed firstly by
his account of how 'there's always this 'stuff' that I put in' (2009,
177) for his roles. It is further shown by a slip in his performance
with the final near-knock as well as the eventual actual knock at the
end of the scene, when his twitch has him bang the door open: in these
two instants, his response to the twitch pre-empts the movement of his
arm by a fraction. With his actions for the scene evidently planned out
and choreographed, he is visibly not genuinely in the moment (and in the
first instant very likely to be thinking about the imminent demands of
the rest of the scene). Of course, what these tiny slips vividly
demonstrate is the overall acting skill of Lindsay and how much he
manages to make himself look like he is in the moment, when actually he
is not.

[![4a](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image4a.png "4a"){.aligncenter
loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="250"
height="188"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image4a.png)

[![4b](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image4b.png "4b"){.aligncenter
loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="250"
height="188"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image4b.png)  
[![4c](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image4c.png "4c"){.aligncenter
loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="250"
height="188"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image4c.png)  
*A brief moment where the loss of control is visibly controlled*

In order to be able to tackle a role and performance so technical,
intricate and demanding, RADA-trained Robert Lindsay uses a rich
approach to acting that draws on Stanislasvkian and Chekovian
approaches, employing physicality and imagination, a high degree of
ability, control and thinking through, underpinned by careful rehearsal.
Tise Vahimagi in
[*Screenonline*](http://www.screenonline.org.uk/people/id/470186/index.html){target="_blank"}
rightly praises Lindsay's work in *G.B.H.*, noting that: 'He played with
all the stops out, creating an extraordinary, unrealistic, chimerical
figure as Michael Murray; prancing, twitching, anarchic and
unrepressed.' Interestingly, there is a divergence in point of view
between the practitioner's explicit intention to 'make it as real as
possible' and the scholar's reading of the performance as 'unrealistic'.
We share
[Vahimagi](http://www.screenonline.org.uk/people/id/470186/index.html){target="_blank"}'s
view that *G.B.H.* 'may well have been Lindsay at his television
finest', but find some of his terminology ill-chosen, for Linday's
Michael Murray strikes us as far from 'unrepressed' or indeed
'unrealistic': while Lindsay is unrepressed in the sense that he fully
commits to the role (which could not have been successfully realized
with anything less than that), his acting invests into creating a
character who represses both his memory and physicality. More
importantly, he does manage to root the outer characteristics in a
believable sense of character, taking realism and naturalism up to the
line where they border on something else, but without going beyond that
point. (Even with the character on the edge of a nervous breakdown, such
as Murray, if the actor took it much further than Lindsay does, it would
go too far.) The term 'heightened naturalism' to us would capture the
tone and texture of Lindsay's performance better.

::: {#attachment_4693 .wp-caption .aligncenter style="width: 460px"}
[![](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image5-450x338.png){.wp-image-4693
.size-large loading="lazy" decoding="async"
aria-describedby="caption-attachment-4693" width="450" height="338"
srcset="https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image5-450x338.png.webp 450w, https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image5-300x225.png.webp 300w, https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image5-140x105.png.webp 140w, https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image5.png 768w"
sizes="(max-width: 450px) 100vw, 450px"}](https://cstonline.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/image5.png)

'Lunatic improvisation' by an actor at the top of his game
:::

The courage that a role such as Michael Murray demands of an actor is
considerable. That it was taken on by an actor who had lost confidence
is remarkable: consider the bravery that it takes to do a scene such as
this -- alone in front of camera and crew, in a small space and in one
take, to attempt something so complicated and judge how far to take it
-- this scene is about acting. The loss of control, performance anxiety
and self-consciousness of the character are performed with aplomb by an
actor in control of the material, and as committed as he is
un-self-conscious; producing fine acting by a performer who knows he is
delivering strong work, which only adds to our enjoyment of the scene.
Robert Lindsay puts the cathartic importance of Michael Murray to his
career as follows: 'But *GBH* gave me that self-esteem back -- it proved
to me that I could still act.' (2009, 205) Indeed, he could.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Gary Cassidy** is currently undertaking AHRC-funded doctoral research
at the University of Reading. His thesis explores the rehearsal process
of playwright Anthony Neilson, using filmed footage of rehearsals and
interviews. He trained as an actor at the Royal Scottish Academy of
Music and Drama and has thirteen years of acting experience -- Equity
name Cas Harkins -- covering film, theatre, television and radio. Plans
for future research focus on using his research methodology to explore
the working processes of other contemporary theatre practitioners.

**Simone Knox** is Lecturer in Film and Television at the University of
Reading. Her research interests include the transnationalisation of film
and television (including audio-visual translation), aesthetics and
medium specificity (including convergence culture), and representations
of the body. She sits on the board of editors for *Critical Studies in
Television* and her publications include essays in *Film Criticism*,
*Journal of Popular Film and Television* and *New Review of Film and
Television Studies*.

 

[\[i\]](#_ednref1){#_edn1} This was an especially interesting challenge
for an actor who, because of his ''big face' and 'big eyes'' (Lindsay
2009, 139), has had to 'work hard at being less expressive in front of
the camera.' (ibid.).

 


As Robert Lindsay notes in his autobiography

 Letting Go

, by the late 1980s, things weren’t looking so well for his career: following an difficult stint in the USA, where he had worked on the film

 Bert Rigby, You’re a Fool

(1989), the actor who was known for roles such as Wolfie Smith in

 Citizen Smith

(BBC1, 1977-1980) and had enjoyed success both in the West End and on Broadway, returned to Britain with little of that

Postagens de Rogue Scholar

WHAT ACTORS DO: ROBERT LINDSAY IN G.B.H.