‘You are a very naughty man!’ My heart pumps in my chest and a feeling of panic surges through my veins. I spin round to find a small, impeccably dressed Asian gentleman shaking a finger at me and twinkling with glee. This is an interesting situation. I do not wish to be rude. This man clearly enjoys the psychological torture my character, Michael Moon in EastEnders, inflicts on people. However, he has accosted me at the checkout at M&S. What to do? But wait, something else is happening: two elderly ladies have witnessed this exchange and are motoring over. One is clutching a soap magazine. These biddies mean business. I can feel a good telling-off coming. I swiftly enter my PIN, pump my new friend’s hand, grab my bags and speed off into the sweets aisle. In my trail I can hear a voice: ‘He’s better-looking on screen. And way more charming.’
Being an evil TV bastard can be fun. It’s rather satisfying to destroy people in soapland, as you can purge yourself of your meanest instincts. You get to access all the dark recesses of your mind and nobody punches you in the face. Well they do, but it’s only pretend. The shiners wash off in the bath.
Walking down Fairbanks, the perfectly straight corridor at Elstree Studios that bisects the stages of EastEnders and Holby City, one is assailed by ghosts. This over-lit time tunnel is filled with old camera stills from the scores of movies shot here over the years. Running my hand along the brickwork, I feel ancient notches and gashes. All small, but potentially important. What caused them? Moby-Dick’s harpoon? Robert Mitchum’s Scotch bottle? Cliff Richard’s quiff? Or perhaps Orson Welles barrelling back to his dressing room for luncheon. He would have been famished from a morning stuck on set. If the Beeb canteen was anything like it is today, he may have started on the walls.
How’s this for discombobulating? I am sitting on a bench in Albert Square reading an article in the TLS about my character Michael Moon reading the TLS in Albert Square. During gaps between filming, I rather enjoy reading. Sometimes I read fiction, sometimes a biography, sometimes a poem or two. I brought the TLS into the Square one day and it found its way on to the show. Being unconscionable doesn’t preclude Michael from possessing literary sophistication. Often one quality informs the other. Still, I feel like I am in that Mandelbrot set thingy. It’s going to get even weirder now, because — unlikely though it may seem — the Albert Square newsagents has recently started to stock the Spectator. Another sign of gentrification.
The average person spends a third of their life sleeping. I wonder how much of the average actor’s life is spent on sets awaiting action. The time between the end of a ‘block’ (the rehearsing/staging of the scene) and the shout of ‘Action!’ can be quite frustrating. Lots of things need to be finalised before you can ‘Take’. Suddenly, the set becomes a flurry of activity as the departments perform their duties. Cameras, Lighting, Make-Up, Wardrobe, Design, Property, Background Supporting Artists. All vital to the final product. As an actor, you have to be careful. If you don’t hold on to the feeling then you can peak too soon. You can feel the dramatic juices just seeping away. Staying power is essential. I imagine it’s the same for porn actors.
When I first started appearing in Eastenders, the reaction I received on the street was friendly: a smile, a nudge, a shouted joke. Back then Michael Moon came across as a likeable rogue. But as my character has grown in diabolical stature and his nefarious deeds accrue, I find that — the odd encounter in M&S aside — people seem more wary. Even the most burly men, who could quite easily remove my head from my body if they so desired, are polite and sweet. The other day three enormous builders queued patiently by a skip for a photograph. Not one of them asked if I had ‘given Janine one lately’ — a question which, up until my transformation into the devil’s son, had been put to me almost daily. As I say, being a bastard has its benefits.
We’re about to enter turkey season as the Albert Square timezone is three months ahead. Soap acting means one’s calendar is out of whack. Crackers in September, Valentine’s cards at New Year, Easter eggs in February. So I’d like to take this opportunity to wish Spectator readers a very happy Christmas.
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