Another view on The Little Dog Laughed

Being an actor, or an actors' agent, is like having a conjoined twin. There's no separation between work and life: your job is the exact replica of you, joined to your hip, and you walk around together. That's what it's like in this play for Diane (Tamsin Greig), an LA agent and her client, the film star Mitchell Green (Rupert Friend). In Britain, you tend to have a handful of agents in an agency representing 50 to 100 people; here, Mitchell is Diane's only client. She's more like a personal manager, and she's living vicariously through him. There can be a lot of neediness ­between an actor and an agent, but it's usually the actor who's needy. The play turns this on its head. Diane is brilliant at playing the ­bullshit game that is showbusiness: lunching with playwrights and casting directors, and telling them what they want to hear. She knows that if the ­producers of the Hollywood film she's brokering find out that Mitchell is gay, they won't consider him for the ­starring role, so she tries to persuade him to stay in the closet. I've never been asked to conceal an actor's sexuality, and I never would. But I'm certain it happens, especially when big money is involved. There's anxiety about it on every level. In New York in the 90s, I had a friend – tall, handsome, gay – who had a chorus part in Sunset Boulevard. I went to kiss him after the show, to say well done, and he recoiled and hissed: "Not here! Not here!" There is a real hypocrisy in this ­industry: if you're a nobody and you announce that you're an actor, it's pretty much assumed you're gay. But if you're famous and an actor, it's pretty much assumed there's no way you could be gay. The play is about trade-offs: what will you trade for fame and millions? Your dignity, even your sexuality? When all you have to trade is yourself, it can be very frightening. Patrick Ross is assistant to Jonathan Arun at Jonathan Arun Ltd. The Little Dog Laughed is at the Garrick, London WC2 (020-7520 5693), until 10 April.