I was in a play set in a small village in Ireland. What was amazing was how so many people from all over Ireland had gathered together in this one tiny pub, because all the performers simply did whatever Irish accent they could do (if any). Me, my accent was a little Barry Fitzgerald with a lot of the Lucky Charms guy. I knew it wasn’t close to authentic, but it got laughs at the first read through, and the play wasn’t the sort of thing that I felt demanded any striving for authenticity.
Two curious things about it, though. First, during rehearsals I was often the designated reader for actors who couldn’t be there, because, even though I can’t readily do impressions, I’m quite a good mimic of lines that I’ve heard over and over. Funny thing is, whenever I read for the people with better accents, I could replicate their great accents quite well, but when it came to my own part, I was back in cartoonland.
The other thing is that from first rehearsal to final performance was close to three months, and after all that time, I developed a distinct lilt in the back of my voice. The accent for the show was just silly, but this lilt was apparently incredibly convincing. I kept meeting seemingly sensible people who would say “I can tell you’re Irish. I’ve lived there. You’ve mostly lost your accent but I can still hear it a little.” Never ran into any native Irish to find out what they thought of it, though.
######Wow, such a long anecdote really needs a punchline. Sorry.
