Sometimes, there are things worse than Hell. Now, I know Hell still has a great deal of cultural purchase. A lot of people still fear those eternal fires with as much vigour as preachers of old. Still, some things on this Earth can make you wish you were in the fire rather than the frying pan, and this—for me—is a conversation with serious actors about acting.

Before you rail at me, this certainly is not the case with all actors—it isn’t even the case with many. But there are a select few who make me grind my teeth at least half an inch shorter, as I desperately remember my fundamental opposition to violence.

These are the actors who love to talk about nothing but acting: who witter on at length about the challenge of the craft, the discipline of the craft, the craftsmanship of the craft. These are people who cannot fathom a person that might not like theatre; who stare blankly at the individual who doesn’t know Artaud or Beckett; and who gawp and splutter when someone merely wants to talk about the weather.

They are people who love words such as “challenge”. To them, “challenge” is everything in the plays they pick, be it the physical and emotional demands of their performances, or the research they need to do to pull it off. Funnily enough, “challenging”, “demanding”, and “difficult” are also words which apply to having a conversation with these walking husks of egotism and insecurity.

One particularly horrific instance comes to mind. I was at a formal and was sat opposite a peculiarly awful strain of actor, who asked me what I thought my most “challenging” role had been—the most important role for my “development”? After giving my answer, this person then proceeded to talk about how “humbling” Cambridge theatre was, before having the gall to go on at length about how one play they were “attached to” was so very “important”. This talk of humility in extremely “important” work was fooling no one except themselves. As they wagged their tongue in this humble display of ego, their main grew cold and my heart even colder.

But, of course, I am not being fair; I am also being hypocritical. Perhaps the reason I shudder so much at these “walking husks of egotism and insecurity”, trembling in their desperation to do something “important” with their lives, is because there is so much of myself in them; because I too need the applause of an audience; and because, perhaps, I too want to do something in the world.

But these are too many questions. Satire should not be doubtful or reflective; it should attack first and ask questions later! So, when I attack this certain type of actor for their insufferable qualities, I shall forget that I might share some of them, or that I may be just as awful—and, for me, that is the most “challenging” performance of all.