Ford - Chester Parsons is Not a Gorilla

Who are you? the man asked.

Thats a fairly big question, I thought.

Who are you?

Like, are you your brain? Or are you a thing that lives in your brain? Are you that little person who talks in your thoughts if so, who are they talking to? Or is your entire body you? But then, if you lost a finger, youd still be you, right? If your head was in a jar, would that be you? Hmmm

I stared back at him in silence, squinting.

Whats your name? he asked, noticing that Id disappeared in thought.

Oh, sorry. Chester Parsons, I said.

The man ticked a box next to my name and told me to go and sit at the back with the others. Taking a deep breath, I strolled towards the empty chair at the end of the row. I was auditioning for a TV advert the role I had been given was Potato 1. Yeah, thats right. A potato. I was playing the part of a potato. I think we should repeat that, so were completely clear: I was playing the part of a potato.

The audition was being held at a proper theatre in London too, the real deal. Even though all the characters would be different vegetables, they were taking it very seriously. A few of the others stepped out onstage and read their lines. Carrot went first she was a girl around my age and then Broccoli, who must have been about fifteen, and finally Beetroot, who seemed to be the only adult here.

Then it was my turn.

The stage lights were bright as I stepped out of the shadows, past the thick red curtain. Above me there were ropes and more lights and that sort of backstage theatre stuff, which is all messy and covered in bits of tape. Smells of dust and lofts. And wood. Makes you somehow itchy after a while. Anyway, I walked into the centre of the stage, stood on a small cross on the floor, cleared my throat and began to read my line.

Stop, Mrs Carrot, I said, throwing my voice like an absolute pro. Stop this madness, stop in the name of the

No, no, NO! the director yelled from his seat in the middle of the stalls.

I lowered the script and looked into the darkness.

Youre moving wrong, he said. Youre a potato. Walk like a potato. Go again. He clapped twice.

Frowning, I stepped out of sight, exhaled, then walked on to the stage again this time waddling slightly with straight legs and my arms at my sides. Really, hed given me an impossible task. Potatoes, as Im sure youre aware, cant walk. Never have. Almost certainly never will.

Then it happened. Bang. It arrived. The Fear. Thats the problem with criticism it throws me off balance. Suddenly my heart was pumping, my mouth was dry. I felt like I was at the top on a rollercoaster and Id just spotted a gap in the track.

Why would anyone want to put themselves through this? Well, the answer for me is: ever since I can remember I have wanted to be an actor. If you think about it, its the only real job a kid can do. It doesnt matter how old you are in fact, being young is sometimes an advantage. When they need someone to play a child in a TV show or a film or, in this case, an advert for a sandwich shop, the best person is an actual child. I cant think of another job you can start doing at any age. You want to be a policeman? Well, bad luck, kid, no ones going to hire an eleven-year-old policeman. You want to be a doctor? You obviously need to go to university first. You want to be a dragon tamer? No such job, you idiot. Get out of my office. But you want to be an actor? Well, crack on. Go to an audition. I dare you.

Its also the best job because its something I do anyway its like getting paid for sleeping or eating. I love pretending to be other people and when we were younger it was pretty much all me and my sister did. Dressed up and pretended we were pirates or robots or characters from one of our favourite TV shows. Never been a potato though.

The only downside to acting is that auditions are totally, utterly, completely scary. Like, imagine the scariest thing youve ever done and then times it by fifty. And times that by sixty. And then add ghosts.

Stage fright is actually common even famous actors youve heard of get it. For me it can be pretty serious I freeze up, go all rigid like those goats that faint when you shout at them. (Thats a real thing. Google it.)

So, there I was, standing all potatoey (or apparently not, according to the director) under the spotlight, trembling. All the confidence Id pretended I have was gone. My armpits were damp. My face was hot. My stomach was making weird noises. And, worst of all, my thoughts were wandering, which happens a lot sadly.

Stop being nervous, I said in my head. This isnt scary.

Bears. Now bears are scary. Dying too, thats pretty scary. Crazy to think isnt it that everyone is going to die one day. What other scary things are there? Guns theyll kill ya. Bombs blow you to pieces, terrible things. Spiders are fairly awful. Bees, lets not forget them delicious vomit, sure, but theyll mess you up with that sting. Not as bad as wasps though. Theyre sugary terrorists, buzzing about bins and apple cores like little stripy nightmares. Imagine a wasp the size of a dog.

Dog-wasp.

Um, Chester? the director said.

I refocused and realised I had been standing silently on the stage for quite a while, listing scary things in my head.

Sorry, I said, coughing. Get it together, Chester, you clown. I tried again. Stop, Mr Beetroot

Wrong!

Uh, I mean Mr Carrot. Sorry. Im just nervous. Can I do the line again? OK Stop, uh, stop, Mr

Remove yourself from my field of vision, the director said, waving a slack hand.

I did not get the part

How did it go? Amy was waiting for me outside the theatre. She had given me a lift in her new car which was an interesting experience as she only passed her test last week.

Not good.

Nerves?

I think so.

You should go to that guy. The one Mum was talking about.

What? No. I dont need therapy. I just get stage fright sometimes, its totally normal.

We walked round the back of the building to the car park. It was sunny I still felt hot from The Fear.

Amy slowed down and turned to me. You said that sometimes you get so nervous you feel like youre on fire and that the entire universe is trapped inside your stomach and your blood has been replaced with boiling jam.

So?

Well, Chester, that doesnt sound normal, Amy said. If you get this worried about a rubbish advert for a sandwich shop then how Hang on, who puts potatoes in sandwiches? And broccoli too?

Oh yeah, good point.

Anyway, hypnotherapy might help. Amy unlocked her car door. We both climbed in. It was like an oven. My point is, she said, if you get this nervous about an audition you dont care that much about, how are you going to handle something like Sword of Steel and Stone? A role you really, really want to get?

Ive told you, Ive already got the part, I said, winding down the window. Pretty much.

Believe it or not, playing a potato in a sandwich advert is not the best role a budding young actor can get. The best role a budding young actor can get is a main character in the Sword of Steel and Stone movie.

The truth is, I have had two auditions for the part and there is a third next week. There are only two of us left: me and this other guy who is so obviously bad at acting its actually embarrassing. Like, its mean to let him in front of the camera. So Ive basically got the part.