Child star takes on West End

10 April 2012

West End theatre's youngest rising star is being given a sneak preview of the theatre where she will appear for the next two months.

Her silver padded jacket matching her silver scooter, 10-year-old Annabelle Seymour-Julen rides into a rather cold dressing-room at the Albery theatre and stares around in evident dismay.

"No television," Annabelle pouts. "No Marilyn Monroe lights all round the mirror. The Royal Court had TV with all the channels and you could see the play happening on stage. The Royal Court is much better."

The Albery, however, has the distinct advantage over the Royal Court's tiny Theatre Upstairs in that it can seat more than 10 times more people for London's most unorthodox West End transfer. The combination of Stephen Daldry, fresh from his triumphant film debut, Billy Elliot, directing a new play by Caryl Churchill made Far Away a sellout long before it even opened.

Like Billy Elliot, this shows Daldry's adeptness at working with child actors, but Caryl Churchill's short, chilling play, which depicts a nightmarish future of political trials on TV and execution parades, is about as far away from Billy Elliot as it is possible to get.

Annabelle plays Joan, a child who witnesses a series of violent horrors while visiting her aunt. What illuminates her performance is her stillness, a rare quality in adult, let alone child, actors.

Meeting her with her mum in the draughty Albery dressing room, Annabelle seems like any normal, fidgety 10-year-old.

"I did think the play was a bit weird," says Annabelle, "It wasn't my idea of the future; I'd expect there to be more funny technical gadgets. I think Far Away is a murder mystery with cliff-hangers. But I don't find it scary because I'm in it. I can tell that people in the audience find it scary because they often get quieter and quieter."

How does she manage to be so calm and still on stage? "I have to listen very hard," she says. "I think that makes me still. If you don't listen carefully you might forget your lines."

Before every performance, Daldry pops by Annabelle's dressing room to wish her well. The first night he couldn't be there she forgot her lines. "I really like Stephen," she says, adding as if by way of explanation, "He used to do the flying trapeze. Or he was a clown in the circus." Daldry, I discover, trained with an Italian circus before becoming a director.

Stephen and Annabelle's admiration is unforced and mutual. For some rehearsals they exchanged their positions in the theatre's hierarchy: Daldry borrowed Annabelle's scooter and zoomed around the rehearsal room; Annabelle took over the director's chair. "Then I could tell people what to do and where to move on stage," says Annabelle. "Stephen would think about whether what I'd suggested worked. He thinks a lot. You can always tell when he's thinking because he goes very quiet. Once I timed him thinking, and he didn't say anything for 58 seconds. After that, whenever he started thinking, I'd start to eat the snack that my mum had given me for rehearsal; crisps, or a sandwich or a bar of chocolate."

Annabelle was only four years old when her mum put her name down for weekly classes at Anna Scher's stage school in Islington, the training ground for many famous actors. Before Annabelle joined, just over a year ago, she was a gymnast. Taking her daughter to competitions, Anne Seymour noticed that Annabelle got very nervous on the way there but would be poised and confident for the actual competition. Once a gym coach commented that her mother's nerves might be putting Annabelle off. He was wrong.

"I hid behind a pillar for one competition," says Anne, "But it was the only time Annabelle fell. She was worried because she couldn't see me."

Within weeks of starting at Anna Scher's classes, Annabelle was put on a special casting list. She auditioned for Stephen Daldry. "I thought I'd got it," she says simply.

She found her first meeting with the cast much more nerve-racking than the play's first night. "I didn't know anyone and I didn't like being the only child," she explains. "But then they were really nice to me. I quite enjoyed rehearsals but it got a bit boring towards the end when we had to keep repeating the same thing. Acting in a play is not as nerve-racking as gym competitions. The world behind the foot-lights is a strange world. It's dark, but light shines on your face, and it's really hard not to stare out at the audience."

Is she nervous at the thought of playing on a West-End stage? Annabelle ponders deeply before answering. "With 10 times the number of people in the theatre I think I'll have to speak louder."

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