The following year, when we began filming the second series, the message was received and Torchwood had its own group of regulars in the crew; plus new trailers from a Welsh company that were roomier and more immaculate inside than the hand-me-downs we’d been using for the first series. We also had a new catering company for our meals on set. In general, we were well looked after, and I felt we had weaned ourselves nicely from the mother ship.
Series two saw Torchwood move to BBC2, and at that point as an ensemble of actors and as a drama, I believed we had found our feet. We were no longer the infant sibling. We were all grown up and walking well on our own. Then the first inkling that things were changing hit us like a falling spotlight.
Naoko, Eve, Burn and I were filming a sequence in the Hub (Gareth wasn’t on set at that particular time). The Hub was a richly detailed and brilliantly imagined set, but filming there was always a bit of a pain in the arse because of how elaborately constructed it was.
The main parts of the Hub were built on three distinct levels. The lower level, where characters entered through the round steel door, or came up from the tunnels (which were constructed on a separate set, directly behind the Hub); the second platform level, where the computers and screens, the various Torchwood gizmos and gadgets, and the worn comfy couch were situated; and then, behind this main platform, were the steep steps down to the autopsy room. Jack’s office, of course, was at the far side of the main level. When the entire team was on set for a scene, plus the crew, the lights, the sound, and the camera equipment, there was barely any room to think, never mind move.
The four of us finished our scene and we were walking together out of the Hub. We stepped through the thick, black safety curtains that separate the Torchwood set from that of Doctor Who and passed in front of the TARDIS, but when we got to the warehouse door, Burn cut out in front and stopped us.
‘We wanted you to hear it first from us,’ he said. ‘Naoko and I are dying at the end of the series. Our characters are dying and they’re not coming back.’
Eve and I were stunned and really upset. We had not seen this coming at all. We all hugged each other and by the time we had separated, we were all crying. It helped a little that Binny and Coco12 added that they were okay with their characters’ deaths. Since the whole Owen-of-the-living-dead arc had happened with Burn, he didn’t think his character could go any further, while Naoko agreed that she too was ready to move on and try some other avenues.
When Burn, Naoko, Eve, Gareth and I had all finished our work for the day, we gathered in my trailer to talk about this turn of events. We cracked open a bottle of champagne and we drank and laughed and cried and cracked open another bottle of champagne. The impromptu gathering wasn’t so much a party as it was a wake for Owen and Tosh.
Not long after these developments, word came down from the Producers on the Mount that Torchwood was moving to BBC1 for series three. Hurrah! How cool was that? Eve, Gareth and I were ecstatic. Who wouldn’t be? We each felt as if all our hard work was finally being recognized and rewarded. Then came the caveat, the ‘but’ – the ‘we loved your audition, but you’re just not right for the part’ moment. The producers informed us that the third series would be running on BBC1, but it would only be five episodes instead of thirteen.
Before I go any further, let me make it really clear that this cut from thirteen episodes to five was a decision made at the production level. The fact that it was one more thing changing at Torchwood, and that this worried me as I’ve already suggested, doesn’t diminish the truth that the decrease in the number of episodes was necessary for sound creative and programming reasons. The reduction had nothing to do with my schedule, or Russell’s, or Eve’s, or Gareth’s – or anyone else’s, for that matter.
When a television show moves to BBC1, it’s important to make a dramatic impact: after all, this is the flagship of the BBC and Torchwood needed to perform there with a big bang. In order to achieve this, the producers, including Russell, decided to create a television event over five consecutive nights that would be so exciting and so suspenseful that it would be a not-to-be-missed viewing event around the country. The BBC wanted the kind of mini-series dramatic event that would give people something to talk about at the water cooler in their offices the next morning.
When I asked Russell about the episode cut, he revealed that there was also a powerful artistic motivation behind the move. Russell admitted to me that from the moment Captain Jack had first emerged on the page, he had had his secrets. Russell had been keeping a few pivotal details from Jack’s back story under wraps ever since the character’s inception, including the stunning family revelations in ‘Children of Earth’, which I think make Jack’s character more layered and more complicated, his psyche darker, and his anguish for and about humanity more transparent. Russell felt that these disclosures needed to be framed in an epic narrative like ‘Children of Earth’ – one that, even in its thrilling aspects and its brutal, heart-wrenching moments, was really a story about what one person is willing to sacrifice for their own or their family’s survival.
I got all of that, but – still – I have to admit I had mixed feelings about the decision. That, coupled with the loss of Burn and Naoko from the Torchwood team, sent me home to Scott on many a night during filming to ask him if he thought I was being paranoid and silly by reading something into this series of events. His response was always supportive and comforting, and then he’d make me some toasted cheese and a vodka tonic and rub my feet and I’d forget about what was bothering me for a while.
The problem with ‘[b]eing slightly paranoid is like being slightly pregnant – it tends to get worse’.13 The second area that contributed to my fretfulness had to do with some scheduling issues on Torchwood.
Scheduling has always been a source of a little conflict between the Torchwood producers and me. When I’m filming Torchwood, it’s my main gig. No ifs, ands or buts with that statement. However, unlike a lot of other actors, I want to keep my work diversified, my jobs balanced, and my plate full. It’s how I roll – a little music, some theatre, a children’s show, a concert tour, judging. I’m very good at multi-tasking in my professional life14 and I like to plan my schedule in such a way that I get maximum entertainment value out of my time.
Life is short and it’s not a rehearsal. I want to make the most of my talents and the opportunities they are now affording me. That’s one of the reasons why my manager, business partner and friend, Gavin Barker, and I formed Barrowman Barker Productions (BBP) in 2008. This production company will give me the chance to broaden my entertainment interests even more.
Even while I was filming Torchwood series one, I could never get a hard-and-fast weekly schedule from the producers on a regular basis. Sometimes the schedule would get delivered the night before a shoot. I remember during series two, an AD dashed to my Cardiff flat close to midnight with a schedule for the following day that stated I was not needed until later in the afternoon. What annoyed me about this short notice was that I had cancelled a guest appearance on another show in London in order to return to Cardiff that night because I’d thought I had an early pick-up the next morning.
I want to work because I love to work. This means I need a precise schedule to follow every week. Gav maps it out down to the second, and I check it every night to see what I have to do and where I have to be the next day. I also have a terrific PA, Rhys Livesy, who helps with the day-to-day demands of my life. Because my schedule is so tightly managed, I don’t always know where or what I’m doing until I look at Gav’s schedule.15 I’m utterly dependent on it. My motto is definitely ‘day by day’. Family members know this and if they need to ask me something about my schedule or where I will be on a certain date, they go directly to Rhys or they check their own copies of my schedule that Gav forwards to close family. I’m the last person they ask.
When it came to scheduling the shoots for season three of Torchwood, because of some other work I’d agreed to do before the p
roducers had issued their itinerary, when filming began, I didn’t start with everyone else. This meant that I wasn’t there when the tone was set, and this added some alienation to the discomfort I was already feeling about the series.
When I first read the scripts for the five episodes, I truly thought they were of feature-film calibre. I thought they’d thoroughly engage new fans and fully satisfy the hard-core ones, but – I know, here comes another one – given everything I’ve been mentioning, I still felt as if Torchwood was being asked to prove its worth all over again. My paranoia was like a splinter in my brain, persistent and annoying. Now I was wondering if this sibling was being kicked out of its parents’ house. So Scott made me more toasted cheese and another vodka tonic.
It didn’t help that as soon as I stepped on set, I got into a battle of wits and styles with the director of the five-episode arc, Euros Lyn. Euros had directed a couple of Doctor Who episodes previously, including ‘The Girl in the Fireplace’ and David Tennant’s final regeneration episode. I respect and like Euros immensely, and we ended up with a strong working relationship, but initially we were like two rams locking horns. Euros’s style was more passive-aggressive in his approach to a scene, and – as you know – I’m not very passive at all. Tell me what you want to change in my performance, help me understand why you want that aspect to change, and I’ll likely change it.
One of the first scenes I was in with Euros directing, we were in the warehouse set that becomes the makeshift Hub during Day Three of ‘Children of Earth’. Cameras rolled, the scene played out, Euros would call ‘cut’ and then he’d come up to me and the conversation would go something like this.
‘Good, John, I liked it, but I’d like to go again. This time, bring it back a bit.’
Deep breath.
There I was, standing in that desolate warehouse, the Hub destroyed, the cast soon to be decimated again, down to five episodes from thirteen, the need to prove ourselves once more – aargh!
‘If I bring it back any further, I’ll be back in my fucking trailer!’
I know Jack well and I thought I was being asked to play him differently, less in your face and more under the radar, less ironic and more laconic. Euros’s direction, as far as I was concerned at that particular moment, was turning me into a mumbling, introspective actor. The whole point of acting is to live the emotion, to say your lines and to be that person. I know it’s not necessary to project as much on television as I do when I’m on a stage – I’m not stupid – but I wondered: when was the decision made that Jack was supposed to sound like Christian Bale playing Batman on Torchwood? Because if Jack did start to sound like Christian Bale playing Batman on Torchwood, then John Barrowman would have to spend four or five days in a dubbing suite because the dialogue would be so bloody understated not even a Weevil could understand it.
Exhale.
The set was deathly quiet. I finished the scene. Then I went to my trailer to calm down. After a few more takes, I got on with my job and Euros got on with his, and, according to Julie Gardner, Russell, and lots of viewers here and across the Atlantic, each of us did amazing work on ‘Children of Earth’.
*
In the final scene of Day Five of ‘Children of Earth’, Jack stands at an emotional precipice. At a terrible cost to himself and those he loves, he has saved the children of Earth. He looks up to the heavens. For forgiveness? For release? For escape? He touches his wrist, activates his upgraded Vortex Manipulator, and in a beam of light … Jack’s gone.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘I CAN DO THAT’
★
‘Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.’
Dr Seuss
Five things I’ve learned from being a talent-show judge
1 Be honest (preferably in a sound bite).
2 The public always chooses the right performer.
3 Don’t contradict yourself (why not?).
4 The audience knows when you’re talking shite (or shit).
5 Don’t date a contestant (until he wins).
When Connie Fisher completed her first audition for the part of Maria in How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?, I leaned over to David Ian and Zoë Tyler, my fellow judges in the BBC’s search to find the lead in the West End’s revival production of The Sound of Music, and I whispered, ‘That’s Maria.’
David shushed me immediately. ‘You can’t say that at this point in the competition!’
Yes, I can. I wasn’t suggesting to my fellow judges that Connie was going to win – because that decision would be out of my hands. I knew the public in the end would decide. I also knew, from my own years of theatre experience, that performers grow and change and adapt and rise to heights not always seen in an audition, but at that moment, given what I’d seen in the panel auditions, with very little additional work Connie could have stepped in to play Maria right then and there.
What did I see in her performance so early in the show’s process? Connie had poise and confidence and she had talent. She could sing. She had a quality to her voice that impressed me from the beginning. To observe all of this from her first audition didn’t mean I was biased and that no one else would have a chance to make a similar impression. Far from it. Many of the other performers for the successful talent-search programmes I’ve judged to date1 have also made strong first impressions on me. A few of them faded as the performance challenges increased in difficulty and the show’s pressure built, but a couple of them did go on to win their respective competitions. At a fairly early point in the audition process for Any Dream Will Do and I’d Do Anything, I made a similar comment to the other judges about Lee Mead as a potential Joseph and Jodie Prenger as a possible Nancy.
In these initial auditions, I noted my impressions and then I’d file them away in my head and in my notebook.2 I can and I do step away from those primary observations, and here’s why: Connie, Lee or Jodie, or any one of the other performers we auditioned in the early days of those shows, might have been terrific in that particular audition or during a specific performance on a given night, but when a performer is doing a show eight times a week for a year or more, there has to be consistency, energy, style and personality in his or her work at all times. Those qualities don’t always emerge until well into the run of the competition.
This is also why it’s not a good idea to have favourites too early. This applies to all of us – viewers and judges alike. I might have a notion of who may be emerging as the strongest in the programme, and I might begin to see the attributes blossom that will make, say, Connie or Lee or Jodie the best performer to carry the production, but, in the end, it’s the audience that ultimately decides – and viewers can quickly turn against a performer if it appears that a judge is putting forward a favourite.
How do I know this? Because if I wasn’t a judge on shows like this, I’d be sitting at home like everyone else, with my bowl of nibbles and my drink, and I’d be yelling through the TV at Barry Humphries or the Lord3 that they ‘must be mad’ or ‘tone deaf’ or ‘too bitchy’ or ‘so right!’ or ‘so wrong!’ and then, when the phone lines opened, I’d say to myself ‘those judges are being jerks to so-and-so’, and I’d vote for him or her in spite of what the judges said.4
Even I had to audition to get a place on these talent shows. For my audition to be a judge on How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?, I was on a practice panel with Elaine Paige. The producers were also looking at Elaine for one of the judging spots. During this initial audition process, I was under the impression that I was the only male lead from theatre and television being auditioned for the job. This did not turn out to be true, and the realization was a bit of a surprise.
Elaine and I have a long history together in the theatre and we’re friends. We were both comfortable with each other in this audition and we had a good rapport. We were asked to sit at a table in a room at the BBC studios in London with a television in front of us, and the pr
oducers showed us a series of audition tapes they had from other shows. As Elaine and I assessed and debated the performances’ strengths and weaknesses, the producers recorded our comments. They listened to everything I said and then they assessed my performance as a potential judge.
During a break from my audition, I headed up to the bar at the top of the BBC studio building, where guests gather after a show’s taping to have a relaxing drink.5 It’s a comfortable and spacious area with lots of tables and a terrific outside balcony, which is used in the summer months for end-of-series parties.
For example, after the final episode of Any Dream Will Do, the producers threw an American-style BBQ6 up there for cast, crew and guests. I filled my plate with sausages, chips and some other ‘healthy’ morsels, and then commandeered a table with Jonathan Ross and his family, who had been guests for the final episode.
We were a large group. Along with the Ross family were Scott, Carole, Gav and his husband, Stu. Jonathan and I were in fine form, so trying to get us all settled round an outside table on a crowded balcony was like herding cats. Just as we all finally managed to find places, David Tennant and his girlfriend at the time, Sophia Myles, joined us – and the musical chairs began all over again. We did, though, find a moment to squeeze in a toast to Lee and his future success.
So, after I’d finished my first session for my Maria audition, I took the elevator up to the bar. I thought I’d see if anyone I knew was there, and have a chat before my next set of tapes. I scanned the room and didn’t see anyone at first, but just as I turned to leave, I spotted Michael Ball sitting on one of the couches. When I saw Michael across the room, I wondered if he was also auditioning for the same judging position as me (I found out later that he had been considered for the job). Michael and I have a similar level of experience and history in the theatre world: the BBC was serious about wanting to cast a judge who could bring significant theatrical expertise to the panel.
I Am What I Am Page 4