The main cast stood at the foot of the stage, doing what the main cast do—chatting, pacing, looking like they belonged there.
I’d got lucky.
Lacking any real acting talent, I’d assumed I’d be buried somewhere off-stage. Instead, thanks to a fairly bearish build, I was cast as the bear.
One direction:
come on, take a swipe, exit stage left.
How hard could it be.
Pretty hard, as it turned out.
The costume was the problem.
This wasn’t some throwaway outfit. It was a construction—heavy, layered, and absolute. A foam dome sat on my shoulders, covered in a full pelt made from whatever fabric had been found lying around. Wool blankets, denim, corduroy—all shredded into long, matted strands that hung to the floor.
The head was worse. Polystyrene, or expanding foam. Inside it was pitch black, hot, and stale with someone else’s sweat. I could see through a ten-centimetre hole if I moved just right.
Otherwise, nothing.
It was quiet in there. Unnaturally quiet. I could hear my own blood moving.
Hockey gloves finished it off—more fabric, longer claws. More theatre.
Dress rehearsal.
I waited for my cue. Alex started his monologue.
My moment.
Helmet on.
I couldn’t hear a thing. Someone had to yank me forward when it was time.
What happened next is mostly a blank.
What I do remember is one of the directors at the front of the stage—head to toe in red—waving at me, her face matching the rest of her.
Eventually the helmet came off and the sound came rushing back.
“…for God’s sake, you’re a BAPA student. Is it too much to ask that an actor actually acts?”
I had been roaring. Properly roaring. Enough to leave my throat raw.
No one had heard a thing.
The costume didn’t just block sound coming in. It blocked it going out too.
I suggested we use a recording. They had one BBC sound effects album—lion, not bear. I pointed out no one would know the difference.
That didn’t help.
We tried again.
Same result.
More claw swinging. Same silence.
In the end, they dubbed it.
A lion.
Not long after, I left.
Part embarrassment, part frustration. I dropped the degree, moved on, never went back. The student loan stayed longer than I did.
A year later, during RAG week, they held a mock Oscars.
I won.
Worst portrayal of an animal on stage.
Inside the envelope was a clipping from the local paper. A review of the show.
The critic had one question.
Why did the bear sound like a lion?