Dominic Cooper: ‘I eat vast quantities of cheese to wind down’

Brought up in Greenwich, London, Dominic Cooper trained at the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art. In 2001 he made his stage debut in Mother Clap’s Molly House and in 2003 starred in His Dark Materials, both at the National Theatre. In 2004 he was cast as Dakin in Alan Bennett’s play The History Boys; he played the role around the world and starred in the film adaptation in 2006. The same year, he was nominated for a Drama Desk award for the play’s Broadway production. He is starring in The Libertine at the Theatre Royal Haymarket until 3 December.

What’s your pre-stage ritual?

It always starts with such good intentions, but ends up getting more and more chaotic. When I begin, I head to the stage when the auditorium is still closed; I like to lie down on the stage and breathe. Before the first night, I go among the stalls with another cast member, feeding each other lines to get a sense of the acoustics. But when you become more comfortable, you push it to the brink. I remember, from The History Boys in New York, a bunch of boys hurtling through the stage door with a red-faced stage manager in a sweaty panic, while we had pizza falling out of our mouths.

Have you ever missed an entrance?

Yes. I’ll never forget sitting with one of the History Boys, Andrew Knott, on the fire escape, chatting some sort of garbage about how one would rob a bank, and hearing these screams: our cue had been made and people were just improvising on stage because they didn’t know what else to do, and we’d missed almost the entire scene. That was lack of professionalism – it was after doing the play for years, but you can’t ever allow that to happen.

What do you normally have in your dressing room?

Embarrassingly, at the moment I have the most extraordinarily vast dressing room at the Haymarket theatre. It’s bigger than my apartment in London, and done in a rather womb-like red. I always try and make a space as cosy as possible, light it nicely. But in this job the truth is I’m never in it – I rush in beforehand, hitch myself into a pair of tights, put on a periwig, and dash out again. It’s lovely having your own space, but then you go into the other guys’ dressing rooms and they’re together and there’s much more of an atmosphere.

How do you take care of yourself during a production run?

You start well, but a lot of it is quite hard to maintain, like any routine. I’ve never done a part like this – I’m on stage and talking most of the time, so I’m lucky I haven’t had any problems with my voice yet. It takes a vast amount out of you, especially when the stage is raked and you’re wearing the kind of shoes we are wearing. I suddenly realised it’s been seven years since I did Phèdre on stage [at the National], and being seven years older, you notice how much more exhausted you are. I remember actors constantly working out their nap time, and it is actually really important.

What do you love about being on stage?

It’s the reason I fell in love with acting. It’s mostly down to the interaction with the audience, and trying to understand the complexities of how different audiences react to the same piece of work. It still baffles me beyond belief how an audience evolve together in a group throughout an evening, and how you really have to be quite sensitive to them. It’s a never-ending challenge, which makes it terribly exciting. You’re constantly reworking yourself to make it better.

And anything you dislike about it?

It can frustrate you at times – especially if you’re doing something that has a lot of comedic moments in it and you get used to certain reactions, and then they don’t come again, you get annoyed with yourself for expecting that reaction, or getting complacent. But sometimes an audience can be completely silent and you think they’re not having a good time, but they’ve been loving it.

How do you wind down after a performance?

At the moment I go and eat vast quantities of cheese next door. Cheese and red wine – I’ve turned into the character. It’s nice to go and chat with people, and you need to calm down after the high energy that you’ve just been using to perform. You can’t just go home, really.

Do you like to receive guests in your dressing room?

It’s lovely when people come up. I don’t expect them to ever have to talk about the show, because I think it’s difficult for people to take in what they’ve just seen in such a short space of time. An age-old joke amongst actors and directors is that the only thing you can really say when you go round to a dressing room is, “Well done, how fantastic.” But it’s great when people pop up, except it’s terribly embarrassing because I never have anything nice to offer. Some rather unwashed, cracked champagne flutes with a bit of a sparkling Tesco prosecco are never received with much excitement. I must sort that out.

What’s the best first-night gift you’ve received?

When I did the National Theatre’s 50 Years on Stage, I got a framed poster of Kraftwerk’s album Radioactivity. That was a really thoughtful and gorgeous gift – it’s a cool poster, I love the band, and it reminds me of the production, which was a very special evening to be part of.

Mark Rylance at the Jerwood Space, London, preparing for his role in Nice Fish at the Harold Pinter theatre. Photograph: Suki Dhanda/The Observer

Mark Rylance: ‘I have some sort of fantasy that I’m in a touring circus’

Rada-trained actor and theatre director Mark Rylance has appeared in a number of acclaimed productions on both sides of the Atlantic, winning the Olivier award for best actor twice and the Tony for best actor in a play three times. He was born in Ashford, Kent, to English-teacher parents, and from 1995 to 2005 was the first artistic director of Shakespeare’s Globe in London. He is currently starring in Nice Fish, a play he co-wrote with Louis Jenkins; directed by his wife Claire Van Kampen, it’s at the Harold Pinter theatre in London’s West End until 11 February.

What’s your pre-stage ritual?

I like to play some kind of game with the rest of the cast and stage management, such as ping pong or volleyball – a game that brings everyone out of their heads, out of their anxieties, into the present moment. And if it’s a game with a gentle competitive edge, it introduces that feeling of having an objective; those things get me in the right frame of mind. I read once that people asked Tina Turner: “How do you come out on stage with such a sense of love for the audience?” She revealed that she imagined the audience… that they had come from a distance, what their lives might be like. I’ve taken some of that on.

At the Globe, we used to do a ceremony at the beginning of each season. There was always an atmosphere of “We should count our lucky stars and remember the ancestors who have given us this thing.” Also, I was aware that the Globe is made of a thousand oak trees, all of them alive and all of them with their particular energy, and so there was a sense of it being a living building.

What do you normally have in your dressing room?

I like to have pictures or cards that relate to particular aspects of the character I’m playing; pictures of people who are like them. I have gifts from my wife, from old friends. I wear a necklace that my daughter Juliet gave me: I feel it’s an expression of her love and her love for me is a protective, healthy thing. I like to put coloured lightbulbs in, too – bright green, yellow. I feel like I have some sort of fantasy that I’m in a carnevale or touring around with the circus. I like to share dressing rooms with other actors; ideally, I’d like the whole company to be together at the beginning and at the end of the play and share whatever joys or fears or things that are going on.

How do you take care of yourself during a production run?

There’s a physical aspect to performing eight times a week and exercise is important. I like to ride my bicycle to work and home afterwards, to have a sense of the city that I’m playing in. Mentally and spiritually, the biggest struggle in my career has been getting critical voices. It’s good to have a critical voice, like having a great editor who can improve your writing. I think of that voice like a coach, and at a certain stage in my career I realised I needed to have the coach stay in that little box that they have on the sideline in football matches. I didn’t want José Mourinho running around on the pitch shouting at me during the game. I was happy to have his advice after the game and before and maybe in the interval. But I was letting him run around on stage and shout at me all the time and that wasn’t so good. The best solution, for me at least, was not to kill the coach, but rather to define the relationship: that there is a time for critical thinking, and another time when you’re in the middle of the play and you just have to do the best you can and be forgiving of yourself.

What do you love most about being on stage?

I love the things that happen that aren’t prepared, that seem like mistakes but actually are a doorway into something new. And I love the kind of collective consciousness that takes place in a theatre when a play is working and the audience has been drawn into it and they’re hypersensitive and engaged.

And anything you dislike about it?

I don’t know that I dislike anything about it. Sometimes, if you’re doing a long run there are times you can feel you’ve got stuck in a rut, much like anyone can feel that about any job they do. But actually, even those days are usually just before something new happens.

How do you wind down after a performance?

I love going for a drink or a meal with the cast or friends or people who’ve come. I also like very much to have a game of poker on stage after a two-show day, with the crew and cast in the empty theatre. Those are great evenings. I take particular care now – I didn’t use to – to not only take off my costume but to also make sure I take off the obsessions or the needs of the character. Make sure I’m just me, Mark, and I’m just a person, not doing the thing that happens on stage.

Anne-Marie Duff on the set of Oil at the Almeida theatre, London. Photograph: Suki Dhanda/The Observer

Anne-Marie Duff: ‘I have a perfume for each character’

Born in Southall, west London, Duff trained at the Drama Centre in London. She was nominated for an Olivier award for best actress in a supporting role for Collected Stories at the Royal Haymarket in 2000, and for best actress for her role in Saint Joan at the National in 2007. She is also known for her TV roles in Shameless and The Virgin Queen, and for films including, most recently, Suffragette (2015). She is currently starring in Oil at the Almeida until 26 November.

What’s your pre-stage ritual?

I love to play games with the other actors, but they’re always character-dependent. I’m a really superstitious actor, so I have lots of silly little things that I do, and they change with every play. I don’t tell people, because I am a bit embarrassed about them. But I always, always have a shower at the half-hour call: it’s this feeling like I have to wash the day away, so that I’m all clean and fresh for the world of the play. I know it seems daft and a bit pretentious, but it’s like being a blank canvas. There’s something about water that just washes away everything that you bring into the theatre with you.

What do you normally have in your dressing room?

In this particular theatre, all the girls are in the dressing room together, so it’s very giddy and giggly, and we have a blast. I love dressing rooms: they’re gorgeous rooms, full of cards and flowers, and they smell heavenly because of the makeup and perfume. Quite often you’ll use music to key into a character, so I always have that on standby with headphones. I also have a perfume for each character. I think there’s a little sense-memory about it, so if ever I smell that perfume on somebody else it will always remind me of a story I’ve told.

How do you take care of yourself during a production run?

I’ve got a six-year-old, so anything spiritual or physical left the building about six years ago. I’d love to say I do some marvellous laughing yoga or something an hour before a show, but I don’t. Generally speaking, I just get from the school run to the stage door. But I try to sleep as much as I can, and take care of my voice.

What do you love most about being on stage?

I think the most exciting thing is the space between you and the audience. There’s a real heat in that sort of invisible string you get between people – like somebody is holding your hand.

And anything you dislike about it?

I love it completely, but sometimes I get a bit cross about ticket prices. I wish that theatre was available to all kinds of people.

How do you wind down after a performance?

I like to sit with the other actors and have a bit of a giggle and a glass of wine. Or I like to get home and sneak in and watch my little boy sleeping. That’s a quite nice little wind-down. It puts me back in the real world.

Do you like to receive guests in your dressing room?

No. It’s a bit weird having outsiders come into your dressing room. It becomes this little zone that you become quite a purist about, and you only want people who are involved in there. We’re very territorial about our dressing rooms.

What’s the best first-night gift you’ve received?

I remember working at the Donmar Warehouse a few years ago and somebody gave me a life-size Elvis Presley cut-out, which I loved – I’m a huge fan. I stood him in the corner of my dressing room for the entire run – sometimes I might talk to him as well. I don’t have him any more – it was a long time ago, and I don’t know where I’d put him at home.

Michael C Hall photographed at King’s Cross theatre, London, where he’s starring in Lazarus. Photograph: Suki Dhanda/The Observer

Michael C Hall: ‘My best first-night gift? A note from David Bowie’

Best known for starring roles in US TV shows Dexter and Six Feet Under, Michael C Hall, 45, began his acting career on stage. Born in Raleigh, North Carolina, he first appeared on Broadway in 1999 as The Emcee in Sam Mendes’s production of Cabaret and then took the title role in Hedwig and the Angry Inch in 2014. He is currently starring in the musical Lazarus, by David Bowie and Enda Walsh, at King’s Cross theatre, London, until 22 January.

What’s your pre-stage ritual?

I think rituals develop from production to production; I don’t have any hard-and-fast ones. With this show I’m on stage about 20 minutes before the show officially begins, so I allow that time to be a daily meditation. But that’s lying on stage in front of a 900-plus-seat theatre, people who have come to watch the show, so it’s not exactly private time.

What do you have in your dressing room?

In the past, with dressing rooms and other rooms that are in any way temporary, I’ve been inclined to treat them like a prison cell: “This isn’t my home; I’m not going to stay here for ever.” But lately I’ve done more to personalise them. With Lazarus it’s a pretty small space, but I’ve surrounded myself with some images that for one reason or another evoke the spirit of the show. Most of them are abstract: there’s a David Bomberg print called Ju-Jitsu and an old, psychedelic Mark Rothko image that looks like some sort of memory of a home planet.

But music is important in my dressing room, too – music that helps. At the Mercury prize ceremony I heard this band the Comet Is Coming, an electronic jazz group, and I was blown away by their performance. I got that album and I’ve been listening to it every night before the show.

What do you love most about being on stage?

The immediacy. The fact that no one is waiting to take their turn; everyone is there occupying the space together, audience and actors.

And anything you dislike about it?

Cold season! Cold theatres. People coughing. It’s been pretty much perpetual with Lazarus in London. But a lot of the cast are coughing too.

How do you wind down after a performance?

With this show, the first thing I do is shower. I take off my soaked costume, soaked with… well, some of us call it milk, some of us call it angel blood; whatever it is, I don’t want to spoil the ending for anyone, but I’m pretty much doused in it by the end of the show. So I take a shower and wash that and the evening off. Then I head home. I don’t really go out after the show very often any more. I am somewhat adrenalised at the end, and it usually takes at least a couple of hours before I feel like I can get into bed and hope to fall asleep.

What’s the best first-night gift you’ve received?

It would have to be a handwritten note and gift that I received from David Bowie on the opening night of the production in New York. It was a letter I’ll always cherish, and a gift that was a personal artefact from his life – one that I will keep for ever as a talisman. I opened the card and started reading it before I knew who it was from, and about halfway through the first page I realised it was from David and I was floored.

Lucian Msamati in his dressing room at London’s National Theatre, where he’s starring in Amadeus. Photograph: Suki Dhanda/The Observer

Lucian Msamati: ‘There’s no crystals, no glow-sticks, no blowup dolls’

Born in London, Msamati was brought up by Tanzanian parents in Zimbabwe, where in 1994 he co-founded Over the Edge theatre company. In 2003 he relocated, relocating to the UK, and between 2010 and 2014 was artistic director of British-African theatre company Tiata Fahodzi. In 2006, he played the title role in the Royal Shakespeare Company’s Pericles, and in 2015 became the first black actor to play Iago in an RSC production of Othello. He has a recurring role in the TV series Game of Thrones, and earlier this year, he appeared in the National Theatre’s Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom . Until 18 March 2017 he stars as Salieri in the National’s Amadeus.

What’s your pre-stage ritual?

I like to get a feel of the auditorium. And all the usual warmup things: voice work, stretching. I quite like skipping. I like to delay having my costume on until the very last moment: I try to time it so that at the beginners’ call the last shoe is going on. I don’t like sitting around in costume; I feel the character is here now; it’s time for them to go and do what they need to do.

What do you normally have in your dressing room?

It’s quite spartan: toiletries, my script, a couple of books. I don’t like clutter; I like to have a clear and focused space. There are no crystals, no glow-sticks, no blow-up dolls. I don’t have a lucky charm, but I feel incomplete if I don’t have the right hoodie around.

How do you take care of yourself during a production run?

I’m a bit of a gym enthusiast; I enjoy the discipline, the focus of it. The benefits for me are obvious: you are healthier; your lungs in particular are in good shape. The whole point of the training is not that you exhaust yourself before you actually get to the important bit – it’s to make yourself ready. I make sure I lay off the booze; if the next day you’ve got an eight-hour rehearsal, you don’t want to be groggy. At the end of the day I like to watch some mindless television at home, hang out with the family or play on the PlayStation. Anything to get your head out of it.

Is there anything you dislike about being on stage?

It is my passion and I absolutely love it. Every job comes with its downsides, but as far as I can see that’s the gig. I suppose the thing that can get me is when you see a member of the audience on their phones… save your money, stay at home.

How do you wind down after a performance?

There’s the practical stuff: you shower, it shakes the character off, as it were. I like to have at least five minutes alone, just quiet, on my own. That’s more of a personal wind-down, going: “We’re done, breathe. Now you can be you again.” If I have visitors I’ll hang out with them, have a drink, that’s always nice. The other thing I find very important is I walk – whether it’s just to public transport, or home of an evening, to unwind.

Do you like to receive guests in your dressing room?

I don’t. As far as I’m concerned that’s my office. It’s not a lounge, it’s not a greeting room… It’s the one space where you can go and gather your thoughts. In some instances, when there are VIPs who can’t necessarily sit with you in the bar, then yes, of course, you can allow someone to come in for five minutes. But generally, if I’m in the dressing room I’m in the zone. I’ll come and hang out at the bar and we can have a drink there.

What’s the best first-night gift you’ve received?

Recently I got a lovely T-shirt from a fellow cast member, who said: “This is to replace all the T-shirts that you sacrificed in the rehearsal.” We were rehearsing Othello and I went through a fair few sweaty T-shirts and a couple got ripped in the enthusiasm of it… Nothing violent or untoward, just, you know, it happens. To get a replacement made me laugh.

Niamh Cusack at Home in Manchester. Photograph: Gary Calton/The Observer

Niamh Cusack: ‘I sit with my knitting and listen to the audience’

Part of a theatrical dynasty, Dublin-born Niamh Cusack, 57, is the daughter of actors Cyril Cusack and Maureen Kiely and the sister of actors Sinéad, Sorcha and Catherine. In a career spanning more than 30 years, she has worked extensively at the RSC and the National, including playing Desdemona in Othello opposite Ben Kingsley and in the National’s award-winning production of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. She is married to fellow actor Finbar Lynch and stars in Ghosts at Home, Manchester, until 3 December.

What’s your pre-stage ritual?

I always cycle in to work. It’s a wonderful transition from my real life to my life in the theatre. I really treasure it. Then I do a voice warm-up. For the past 10 years I’ve also knitted in the wings because it calms me down. I like to get down there in plenty of time, sit with my knitting, listen to the audience and have a little think about the play. My knitting is crap by the way, all I do is squares. If my teacher from school could see me now, she’d be laughing.

What do you normally have in your dressing room?

My dressing table starts off pristine and very quickly looks like a bomb site. For me the dressing room is a bit like a monk’s cell – I’m not trying to make it beautiful, it’s a very simple place. I always have a tiny little photograph taken in a photo booth of my husband and my son which is about 15 years old now so they look different, but I love it. And I always have a book of poetry because I find poetry very inspirational and somehow you always find something that pertains to the play. My husband gave me Carol Ann Duffy’s complete works, which I’ve brought up with me for Ghosts.

What do you love most about being on stage?

I love the fact that it’s live and changes every night.

And anything you dislike about it?

Mobile phones going off. And people in the front row who don’t want to be there, people who are wriggling and squiggling, fidgety and not engaged.

How do you wind down after a performance?

I really love my cycle home in the dark. That’s really precious. And then a glass of wine with my man. It’s very simple.

What’s the best first-night gift you’ve received?

About 24 years ago I worked with a director called Karel Reisz who, sadly, is now dead. He directed me in a production of A Doll’s House and, for the press night, he gave me a lucky charm, which was a silver doll’s house. On the back was engraved: “To Nora (the character I was playing), from the Bruiser”. Karel was probably one of the kindest, most astute and humane people I’ve known but when he gave notes he shot from the hip. So we nicknamed him the Bruiser. The charm was really precious to me and I wore it inside my costume on every show I did. Then sadly I wore it in a play at the Royal Court and it must have fallen off. We looked high and low and couldn’t find it because it was a tiny little thing.

Simon Russell Beale at the Royal Shakespeare theatre in Stratford-upon-Avon, where he is starring in The Tempest. Photograph: Suki Dhanda/The Observer

Simon Russell Beale: ‘Curtain calls make me feel a bit squirmy’

A Cambridge graduate with a first in English, Simon Russell Beale, 55, has described acting as “three-dimensional literary criticism”. Born in Penang, Malaysia, the son of an army medic, in the 1980s he made his name as a comic actor at the Royal Shakespeare Company. In 1990, an RSC production of Troilus and Cressida began Beale’s long creative partnership with director Sam Mendes, who he has called his “professional soulmate”. His many accolades include the 2003 Olivier theatre award for best actor, for his role in Uncle Vanya at the Donmar Warehouse. He is currently starring as Prospero in The Tempest at the RSC in collaboration with Intel and in association with The Imaginarium Studios until 21 January.

What’s your pre-stage ritual?

I go through the whole part very, very quickly on stage. Hamlet takes an hour, Lear took 45 minutes. It gets the whole brain and mouth going. A lot of actors have developed their own sort of system, and very often it’s from drama school. But I left drama school early, so I never developed one.

What do you normally have in your dressing room?

I have the emptiest dressing room in the world but I do often use it as an office. If the dressing room is big enough I always have a piano if I can get one. I’ll come in early to play for a couple of hours. The piano is for my soul really, it just calms me and I love it. And one day I will play those fucking Chopin etudes. I am determined!

What do you love most about being on stage?

There’s a type of silence when people are listening which is amazing. When I did The Seagull, Chekhov bizarrely asks for an enormously long period, I think it’s about two minutes or something, of silence on stage while my character prepares to shoot himself – typical Chekhov. We decided to observe Chekhov’s request, so I was basically standing entirely still for over a minute. It was extraordinary. The silence becomes somehow thick.

And anything you dislike about it?

Like a lot of British actors I’m not very good at curtain calls. I find them both pleasurable and embarrassing, a little bit squirmy.

Do you like to receive guests in your dressing room after a show?

No, because I want a beer! It’s got to be a draught beer in a pub so when people come and see me they always say, “Shall we meet in the local pub?” I used to drink bitter but when I was doing Hamlet I started wanting something cold. That first beer after a performance is one of the best drinks ever.

What’s the best first-night gift you’ve received?

Most of the things I remember about first nights are cards rather than gifts. If you get a lovely note from Nick Hytner or Sam Mendes, that makes you feel great. Nick didn’t even direct me in King Lear [at the National in 2014], but his card to me when it opened was beautiful and I’ve kept it. I don’t like champagne, never really been interested in it, so people have learned that there’s absolutely no point in sending me a bottle. But I do like flowers.

The best present I ever got, though, was from my mother years ago. What’s clever about her, and Dad continues this as well, they try and find something thematic from the show in the gift. I was doing Katie Mitchell’s brilliant production of Ghosts by Ibsen and the last line is: “Mother, give me the sun”, before the character sinks into death. Mum sent me – and I’ve still got it on the wall in my flat – a gold sun with a face on it. I can’t quite describe it, it’s not a picture, it’s 3D, you can stick it on the wall. It’s like those ducks people used to put on walls! I remember thinking, “Oh you are clever”. It was just so witty, my mother sending me a sun.

Jade Anouka photographed in the foyer at King’s Cross theatre, London. Photograph: Suki Dhanda/The Observer

Jade Anouka: ‘If you work hard, you deserve to throw a few shapes of an evening’

Born in south-east London, Jade Anouka trained at Guildford School of Acting and made her professional debut at the Greenwich theatre in 2003. She has since worked extensively at the RSC and the Globe, including playing Ophelia in Dominic Dromgoole’s 2011 production of Hamlet. In 2014, she won a Stage award for acting excellence for her performance in the one-woman show Chef at the Edinburgh festival and she made her West End debut earlier this year in Jamie Lloyd’s production of Doctor Faustus. She is currently appearing in Phyllida Lloyd’s all-female Shakespeare trilogy at Donmar King’s Cross until 17 December.

What’s your pre-stage ritual?

They change from show to show. And once they’re set, I have to do them for every performance, otherwise it feels weird. With the Donmar all-female Shakespeares, we’ve had group rituals that we do together. One is – I’m not sure I should say this – called “testicles, spectacles, wallet and watch”. It started when we did Julius Caesar in 2012. Right before every show, we’d say out loud: “Testicles, spectacles, wallet and watch” and do actions for each word. Then off we’d go on stage.

My other thing – I guess it’s a comfort thing – is I have to make sure I’ve got a bottle of water at each exit. These Shakespeare productions are played in the round, so we’ve got four entrances and exits and I have to make sure there’s a bottle in each one. Sometimes, I don’t even drink it; I just know it’s there.

What do you normally have in your dressing room?

A cafetiere is paramount. I’ve got a cafetiere that makes one cup of coffee. I also always need a bed. I’ve never had a dressing room with an actual bed, so I have a makeshift one in the corner or under the dressing table. This time round, it’s a prop they weren’t going to use in the show – a sleeping bag – so I nabbed it. There are 16 of us crammed into one dressing room so it’s quite busy but I do always have music on my headphones and I can curl up in my sleeping bag and have a little peace and quiet. It’s important to have an area of calm, especially when you’ve got two, even three shows in a day. So I have my music, my bed and my coffee.

How do you take care of yourself during a production run?

I’m not usually a health freak, but I always find being fit and healthy puts you in good stead for the run of a show. Exercise keeps me sane. I did do some actual training for the trilogy too. I play Hotspur in Henry IV and we’ve imagined him as a boxer, so I went down to Miguel’s gym in Brixton and built up my boxing technique.

What do you love most about being on stage?

The buzz. It’s probably a mixture of fear and excitement and I find that really addictive. When you’re on stage, it’s like everything takes off, it’s almost like you’re flying. Plus you get to step into the shoes of people who live extraordinary lives – for example, with this show, I get to imagine being a boxer or leading an army.

How do you wind down afterwards?

A small glass of red. Or a bourbon. Even if I go straight home after a show I can’t sleep, I feel wired, so I’ll always stick on Netflix or iPlayer. If I’m feeling the need for something a bit light, The Secret Life of Four Year Olds always gets me crying with laughter.

Do you like to receive guests in your dressing room?

Totally. For the last show I did, Doctor Faustus, me and Jenna Russell shared a dressing room and we had our friends round a lot, popping in to say ‘Hi’. We had a little kitchenette, so we could offer people a nice cold glass of bubbly or something. I find it all part of the experience. When friends come to the theatre they’re having a bit of a night out, it’s a special occasion, and so I’ll get a drink in and some nibbles. I like welcoming them. One of my rules is work hard, play hard. I don’t let it affect the work, but I do think if you work hard, you deserve to throw a few shapes of an evening.

What’s the best first-night gift you’ve received?

One of my best mates gave me a cute little hip flask for my first job out of drama school, which was at the RSC. It’s got roses on it and it’s lived on my dressing room table ever since. It’s been really great, partly because it’s such a reminder of how far I’ve come.