Who runs your Instagram account?
I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve got absolutely no idea about that, it’s something that just happened. If I find out, I’ll thank them.
You’ve done a lot of Shakespeare in your time; which play is your favourite?
The history plays are pretty good – Richard II and III; Henry IV, V and VI. We don’t present them here [in Australia] that often but I’m rehearsing a production now.
They’re a wonderfully complex analysis of the way human beings – now and in the past – have tried to govern and tried to create the best state possible. And failed.
What’s the best lesson you learned from someone you’ve worked with?
To always keep positive and not to reject anything – because you never know when the things you dismiss are going to be useful. I’ve learned there are no silly questions; they might be a bit silly but silly questions can produce interesting solutions.
What’s the most chaotic thing that’s ever happened during a show?
There was a wonderful moment in Les Mis [in 1991] when I was playing Thenardier: the stage was supposed to revolve, and the cast had to get all the tables and chairs off at the same time that we were leaving the stage singing – through a fairly narrow wing space. But the revolve went the wrong way, then it lurched to a stop and went back the other way, double pace – and so a stage full of tables and chairs and actors went flying. Several of the actors were paralytic with laughter – others were bruised.
What’s the most underrated Australian play?
Ron Blair’s The Christian Brothers [a one-man play about a teacher at a Christian Brothers school] is the most glorious piece of writing. I was in the first production at Nimrod in 1975 [directed by John Bell] and I’ve performed it many times in different seasons. When I last performed it, it was at Sydney Opera House [in 2001] and by that time so much had happened with the Christian Brothers that the play suddenly became much darker, and much more like a play by Beckett. Context is all.
You’ve played hundreds of characters at this point in your career; which has been the hardest to shake off?
I don’t have that problem – the character’s at work; the curtain comes down and it’s gone. Certainly some roles have been physically exhausting. And if you have to touch into darker areas, that can be very exhausting as well. But I’m lucky – I have a home life which is loving and stable, as much as human beings are ever stable. The acting life is this sort of subterranean thing that I’m only allowed to do within the context of film or television or stage.
That sounds quite functional.
Well, I think it has to be. And I think we’ve learned a lot through the last decade, in terms of how to behave towards each other – in the rehearsal room and on stage – and techniques to come down so that you don’t [bring the work home with you]. There used to be an idea that the actor had to live in a garret and starve because that would be wonderful for their soul – what a lot of rubbish!
It’s really different now. There’s been a lot of work to change things like the way intimacy is handled, and to develop support systems. And I think that’s producing really good results. Workplaces are enormously different from when I started out: they were much more hierarchical, they were often male-dominated, there was often a lot of alcohol. And the actor started from the baseline of: you’re nothing but the director will build you up and make you something.
The general atmosphere in a rehearsal room tends to be [better now]. There’s more acceptance. We have HR standing by if there are problems. Acting is always such a leap into the unknown. It’s instinctive. And so you bare yourself – you make a fool of yourself, and you are very vulnerable. And now we’re more aware of that.
Do you believe in theatre ghosts?
No, but I like to think that the spirits of earlier performers are hovering. When I walk into a theatre, I’m immediately aware of the atmosphere. Theatres are places where there has been an enormous amount of human endeavour and all sorts of stories and feelings, and that [leaves a trace]. And every time a theatre is pulled down, it’s quite a difficult thing for actors.
Are you sure you don’t believe in theatre ghosts?
Well, my rational part says: don’t be so silly; it’s nerves. But another part of me says [shrugs, raises eyebrows]. But also, architecture has changed a lot. I don’t know that there are many ghosts who like to inhabit concrete and straight lines and those sorts of places. I think they much prefer wood and plaster and the Victorian [aesthetic].
What’s the oldest thing you own, and why do you still have it?
I hold on to books for a long time. I’m under pressure to cull – space is finite. We’ve lived in the same flat for 16 years now but before that we lived in a house, and when we moved we culled a lot of books because they just couldn’t fit. And I regretted every book that was thrown out. I am a bit of a hoarder in that regard, I must say.
What’s the last great Australian book you read?
There’s been so many but Robbie Arnott’s latest book was fabulous. And Helen Garner’s latest – the football one – was absolutely wonderful. I’ve always said, if I could act the way Helen Garner writes, I’d be happy – because it’s so clear, so direct, so simple yet so loaded.
What animal do you most relate to?
It used to be dogs but I know a particular cat who is very splendid – it doesn’t live with us but I know it – so I’m a cat person now. I had a fur phobia for many years – after I completed Cats [the musical, in 1995, playing Bustopher Jones]. Actually, if we’re talking about what was the most difficult role to let go, it was that – because of the damage that had been done to my spine and several other areas. It’s outrageous. It damaged endless generations of dancers. Not that I was a dancer, I was an actor who moved around – vigorously, and cat-like.
Peter Carroll appears in The Player Kings: Shakespeare & Marlowe’s History Cycle, 26 March to 5 April at Seymour Centre, Sydney
