One of my favourite moments from Doon Mackichan’s memoir is the day she auditions for a part in a hit sitcom. Waiting for her turn in a church hall in central London, she was already annoyed at the way the role was written – a “cougar”, an older woman trying to ensnare a younger man, who was, says Mackichan, portrayed as “desperate and ridiculous”. The director – someone she knew and had thought of as a friend – was standoffish, “playing the director power game”. She had to read the part several times, trying – and failing – to subvert it, the people in charge looking bored. Mackichan announced she was leaving, but flustered by her rage, she couldn’t find the exit. She slammed open the fire doors instead, setting off the alarms. I can picture her, angry but elated, standing on Tottenham Court Road with her two middle fingers up. It was the day she vowed never to audition for comedy again.
Mackichan has a history of being gloriously uncompromising. As a young actor: no nudity. As a working mother of three: demanding time on set to breastfeed and money for childcare. As a jobbing actor: turning down parts, such as the offer to play a murder victim, when she remains appalled at how many dead women there are on screen. And now, as a 62-year-old: refusing to do anything to her face, despite it being suggested that she have a little “freshen” up.
