For any actress, playing the role of Elizabeth II in Peter Morgan’s The Audience would at once be a measure of great success as well as a rather burdensome undertaking. In the three hours and ten minutes of the play, the audience is taken through the Queen’s sixty-four-year reign in the most epoch-making era in history. At the beginning of the play, the audience is introduced to Winston Churchill by a 27-year-old queen, who, by the show’s conclusion, has reached the age of 90. Naturally, to portray one woman through such a range of years seems almost impossible — every age, after all, comes with its own visage, psychology, and intonation. Inna Churikova has managed to take on this huge task. We are all deeply grateful to her for having agreed to share with us the very personal experience of adjusting to the role of Elizabeth II, of trying on not only the costumes and crown, but also the burden of responsibility and loneliness, a loneliness that often coincides with great power.
Spring, this year, has arrived extraordinarily slowly, even hinting that it might just flit away altogether. But it still seems as though, buried under the earth, something wonderful is awakening. It smells of life, as it did in childhood, underneath that distant apple tree — and life itself seems like a precious thing, as if sketched out by the most beloved coloured pencils of your childhood. As a child, I had almost no toys, but I did have two coloured pencils: pink and blue, a princess and a prince. And I wanted to paint life with only these two colours, my favourites. But life has colours and patterns of its own, and this is its strength and beauty. Because our life is the discovery that you want to keep reading for eternity.
Mum told me that, when she was in labour, she didn’t spend much time in hospital. All of the other mothers began wondering what was happening with Liza. God forbid, they thought, something happened. And then she emerged, having given birth to me, and they all exclaimed, «Liza, you’re alive!» They congratulated her, and she said: «I told you that I would give birth to a queen, and I’ve done just that!» My mother couldn’t have known that her daughter would eventually portray Elizabeth II. Or maybe she did? Pasha Stroganova, in The Beginning, said it right: «I will act a great deal. All the best roles. I want to be Mary, Queen of Scots.» The only mistake was in regards to which queen.
It all started when Ivan [Inna Churikova’s son — Editor’s note] saw The Audience. The production left such an impression on him that he insisted Gleb [director Gleb Panfilov, Inna’s husband] see it, too. Buying tickets wasn’t an option, as the show was hugely successful, and all of the performances were already sold out. So we were only able to see it later on — not the production with Helen Mirren, but with Kristin Scott Thomas. And, though I don’t speak English, I felt I understood everything, and the play fascinated me. I was seized with an incredible feeling of love for the Queen, and the world of this amazing woman was opened up to me. We were just crazy about the play. Vanya [Ivan Panfilov, the producer of The Audience] insisted that I take part in a Russian production of it, and I soon complied. But what remained completely incomprehensible was how it would be adapted to our stage. This beautiful and exhilarating story still seemed, to us, so distant.
And then there were the corgis. It’s impossible not to be enamoured with them. They are amazing, unthinkably beautiful dogs — the girls are now one and a half years old, and the youngest one is about six months. In England, there’s a very touching legend about them, that they were brought to the people by fairies, who arrived riding them as if on horseback.
A little later, I came across a copy of Tatler Magazine, and, in it, there was this black and white photo of Elizabeth at eleven years old, so hap- py, so excited, playing with her dog. I even put the picture in my copy of the play and would glance at it while learning the role. It seemed to me that this girl had lived on in her adult self, that she hasn’t gone anywhere, even though she may already be a grandmother, even a great-grand- mother. That childish, joyful glow hasn’t left.
When I renounced all worldly vanity, the thing of utmost importance for me was not marriage, not motherhood, but the day on which I became the anointed of God
Peter Morgan’s play was trans- lated for us by Yuri Goligorsky, who did it masterfully. He managed to preserve even the subtle nuances, the special intonation emblematic of Queen Elizabeth. It is thanks to this play that I was able to recognise the Queen. It was Morgan who enabled my discovery of her. And, the clearer the depiction of her image, the more imbued I became with love for the play’s author.
Queen Elizabeth II, of course, is an entire epoch unto herself, a symbol of stability and immutability, not subject to the forces of time. But she was, at the start, a girl — playful, mischievous, good-humoured. This girl was blessed with a happy childhood, a happy adolescence. And she also had a rare and spectacular gift: a talent for love. In her youth, she fell in love with a man five years her senior, and, seventy-seven years on, that love continues. They met when she was thirteen and he eighteen. The well-built, blond-haired student of the Britannia Royal Naval College immediately won the princess over. Lili- bet, as she was then called, was quite a catch, and Philip was deeply passionate about her. The two kept in touch as she grew up. When it came time, she defended her marital choice and was wedded to the man with whom she would have a life-long love.
Elizabeth has always dressed with taste. And, with age, she has developed her famous style of brightly-co- loured suits, dresses, coats. This energetic palette is a display of her vitality — she wears what she likes, and in her own way. She has created a style of her own: bright, clean, rich colours, and simple, elegant lines.
The Queen cares about the person with whom she’s engaged. In the interactions between her and her Prime Ministers, we can still detect the presence of Lilibet, relishing in her discovering people, life, the world. «Alas, people have lost the ability to wonder.» These are the bitter words not of the heroine of the play, but of Elizabeth II herself. She is still susceptible to being moved, to being surprised. I have realised that she is not only a highly intelligent individual, but also, even given her status and opportunities, somehow modest — with a healthy sense of irony, yet still firm, determined, authoritative. What an incredibly versatile and spirited character!
But, above all else, the most significant revelation in this process has been discovering the Queen’s responsi- bility, before God — for the nation, for the most simple and ordinary of people — from the very first moment, having heard about her father’s death, while on holiday with her husband in Kenya. I imagined the reception that had welcomed them, still Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip, young, carefree, celebrating life, and how all of that changed after the mournful news. At the air- port back in London, she was met as a queen. And then came the coronation, cementing her duty to England. In accepting the crown, she accepted so much more than that! Because, adopting this order of life, certain distractions are rendered totally impossible. And yet she took on such a burden at once.
And, at the same time, there is the power of con- sciously dedicating oneself to the country, and to its people, and to God. It was as though she had some con- tact with God, with His light. And she accepted His will as her mission. What is interesting is that all of this is conveyed to us by a playwright who wasn’t actually present for any of it, but who is endowed with a talent that allows him to write so perceptively and authentically, with Chekhovian subtlety.
There is one line in the play that is infinitely excit- ing to me, which the Queen delivers as such: «When I renounced all worldly vanity, the thing of utmost im- portance for me was not marriage, not motherhood, but the day on which I became the anointed of God.» It is with such dignity and sincerity that she pronounces the essence of her life, proclaiming: «I am the Queen. But I am also a woman. I am also a wife.»
Still, in this story, there remains yet a final mystery. Loneliness. She is alone. Despite her family, despite being constantly surrounded by other people. And so she stands before the people and God, her eternal audience, with the answers. And, for this, she can’t stand with anyone else. She must stand alone.
This is why the Queen’s momentous declaration is such a striking moment for me in the play. To her, being Queen is answering for the Fatherland before God. And that is always so.
But what remains for those of us who are not kings and queens? We must believe that spring will come around once more. We mustn’t cease marvelling at and rejoicing in this world around us, sometimes strange, sometimes difficult, but always beautiful. We mustn’t tire of discovering life, which we can, at least for a few days at a time, sketch out for ourselves with our favourite coloured pencils. Perhaps even with a princess and a prince…
