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On a cold evening in London, two German tourists survey the Theatre Royal Drury Lane. Lina, 19, outlines their master plan to meet Tom Hiddleston, starring in Much Ado About Nothing. Tonight: scrutinise the procedure at stage door, where only ticket holders are allowed to wait for a chance to meet the cast. Tomorrow: watch Much Ado then race to join the stage-door queue. As a backup, they’ve bought tickets for the next night, too.
“Be prepared!” Lina declares. Are they hoping for autographs, selfies … acting tips? “Just to see him. That would be enough. We especially travelled here for this. It’s all worth it. I just worry a little that he hasn’t much time.” She considers the arriving fans. “Wow – that’s a very big line.”
Near the front is Lilly, 22, who saw the first half of the play then opted to join the queue rather than watch the rest. (“I’ll read up on the story afterwards!”) A dozen others in the queue have also not watched the full show tonight. Lilly is rehearsing what to say to Hiddleston and co-star Hayley Atwell, who are both returning to theatre after Marvel blockbusters. They’re quite the draw: the theatre fits about 2,000 and most performances have practically sold out. Five minutes after it ends, there are 125 people waiting at stage door.
When Atwell emerges, her beaming smile is visible from the other side of the street where those without tickets are asked to stand. Passersby stop to stare; crowds swell. Still no sign of Hiddleston. “He’s probably having a poo,” says someone behind me.
You might think the curtain call signals the end of the night for actors but there remains the final act at the stage door, where fans have always lingered. Opposite the Theatre Royal is the tiny Fortune theatre, where cheers are greeting cast members for musical comedy Operation Mincemeat. I meet Liz, 29, who has seen the show several times and has brought flowers for Madeleine Jackson-Smith, debuting in a new role. She’s waiting “to tell the cast that they did a phenomenal job … that just feels polite!”
Meanwhile, here comes Hiddleston, albeit to milder whoops than the Mincemeat cast. Like Atwell, he chats, signs, poses for pics. He must have done at least 100 autographs by the time he leaves to cries of despair from a queue now snaking around the corner. But there are no complaints from Lilly, who is buzzing from her encounter.
That’s the magic of stage door, where gratitude goes both ways. Layton Williams, currently in Titanique at the Criterion, tells me he’ll go out almost every night, “no matter how tired I am”. He thanks fans, some of whom he has known for years, and enjoys hearing what the show means to them. Lucie Jones says she encounters people “whose lives have been changed” by a show and has been “humbled” by terminally ill fans saying thank you on a final trip to the theatre. When Renée Lamb meets fans at stage doors in Liverpool, where she grew up, it is especially evident that “I’m essentially doing their dream – that was me at one point”. When she was younger, Lamb waited for Cynthia Erivo at stage door: “She had so much time – she was so gracious.”
Zoe Birkett, currently in the Tina Turner bio-musical at the Aldwych, says she appreciates how fans “make the effort to find the stage door – which can sometimes be right the way around the building, down an alley” and that they wait for her. “After I play Tina, I have a cool down, a shower, take off my wig and makeup, get my food ready. I can take about 20 minutes to come out. Just to see them waiting, come rain or shine, with positive feedback, is wonderful.”
But some fans aren’t here to flatter. “People can say rude things,” Williams tells me. “One person would say, ‘Oh we’re loving this but just so you know, we thought that TV show was shit.’ I’m like, how about kiss my arse?” Jones has fielded detailed critiques and requests to “sing this note that way” or “do that line like this”. Lamb says a lot of her friends don’t do stage door any more because it makes them too anxious.
Sometimes Jones will come out “and there’ll be nobody there,” she says. “The next night, there’ll be 100 people wanting you to sign their programme and make videos for their nan’s cat.” The security provision is equally unpredictable. When she starred in Waitress: The Musical in the West End, Jones was assisted by “a wonderful man” who accompanied her to her car or train home. At Les Mis, “there’s always a security guard and they stay until you’re done”. But stars can go from receiving a standing ovation in the spotlight to single-handedly controlling crowds themselves outside. Bear in mind they will be physically and emotionally drained – sometimes having done two shows that day.
Stage doors may open out on to busy streets. Birkett enjoys playing Wolverhampton Grand – “love the people, love the theatre” – but it is right in the town centre. “If you’re there on a Saturday, you’ve just got to be a bit more cautious.” Williams says that at some of the more exposed stage doors: “You get drunk people walking by. People push in. I’m like, ‘Can you see this queue? Come on!’ It should never come down to the actor to say these things.” Ultimately, says Birkett, actors “walk out of stage door on to a dark street and hope that people are going to be nice”.
Personal boundaries are not always respected. “Everybody has a horror story, I’ve been pulled and shoved,” notes Lamb. Williams says: “One person hugged me from behind and pulled in. I’m like, ‘Oh, my Adam’s apple – you’re literally strangling me.’ When I’ve seen that person again, I’m like, ‘Please, stand back.’” The positives outweigh the negatives, he says, “but if you think you’re taking the piss you probably are”. For those who come to see him perform eight times a week? “Don’t think we need to be doing stage door eight times a week … How much time do you need to be around one person? If I’m seeing you more than my mum or my boyfriend, we have issues!”
All these actors deeply appreciate their fanbase. Birkett finds that “people want to cuddle me and feel the embrace … I do love that but I will always wear a mask to make sure I don’t catch a cold.” She says it’s often younger fans who seek “some sort of physical connection – they want to go: are you real? … Because you’re so different to being on stage when you walk out of stage door.” On the odd occasion, someone has wanted to touch her hair. “I kind of have to go, ‘No, I don’t want to do that.’”
In the US, the term “stage-door Johnny” dates back to at least 1890, referring to men who hang around playhouses, targeting female performers. All actors face the danger of inappropriate behaviour. In 2023, Paul Mescal told a fan to “take your hand off my ass” after she groped him at the Almeida when he was in A Streetcar Named Desire. (Mescal recently took his own film of the celebratory atmosphere at stage door after Streetcar’s last night in the West End.)
The “fear factor” remains for actors, says Jones. Like “when you get followed to your car or someone will tag you in something on social media and they’re really near your house. That may be a coincidence but you have to live slightly on edge because we are accessible and we do take the same routes home. Where does the duty of care from the theatre stop?” Lamb was in the West End cast of long-running hit Six, “which is essentially an accessible girl band – people are going to want to be close to that”. On a big show, she says, “people do expect to be able to meet you”.
When Williams discovered fake social media accounts made in his name, he asked himself: “Have I seen this person at stage door? It’s scary.” One time, an autograph hunter followed him back to his digs and “put a programme literally under the door. It was like 1am or 2am. I was on tour in Newcastle, all by myself.” He still looks over his shoulder after a show, thinking: “I hope someone’s not followed me.” Unfamiliarity with your surroundings means it can be frightening on tour, says Lamb. Birkett has heard of “young dancers who are walking for bloody miles to their digs” after leaving stage door.
“Sometimes this can be reduced to a sort of ‘stars’ issue,” says Paul W Fleming, general secretary of Equity, the performing arts and entertainment trade union. It not only affects celebrities, he says, but also “people who are on the minimum wage” appearing in a musical with a huge following. Some fans, he says, are “treating them as props or characters that aren’t real human beings with lives. They’re working people who are members of a trade union, who have every right to dignity at work.” It is indicative, he suggests, of how society generally views the performing arts as not serious.
Many performers choose not to make stage-door appearances. On the opening night of The Fear of 13 at the Donmar Warehouse, there were signs saying Adrien Brody would not do so. Hannah Essex, co-CEO of the Society of London Theatre and UK Theatre, points out: “Actors, like everyone, need to prioritise their health and wellbeing and may not always be able to stop at the stage door. Understanding this helps create a supportive environment for all.” Essex adds: “Theatres are committed to ensuring a positive experience for both staff and the public by working closely with relevant authorities to manage stage-door interactions effectively.”
What practical measures may help? Barriers are common on Broadway but Birkett says that with the influx of A-list stars in the West End they may be seen more here – and they make it “less likely that you’re going to get grabbed” says Lamb. But barriers are “not appropriate in every situation,” says Fleming. “We’re talking about Victorian, Georgian buildings in some cases [with] quite weird back alleys.”
Fleming says the situation at stage doors around the country has been exacerbated by “an asset stripping of the industry, with massive multinational corporations purchasing venues, not having an interest in the industry itself but having an interest in profit and so driving down terms and conditions”.
He highlights the problem of performers handling crowds themselves after shows. “You’re not paid an hourly rate for that. But equally: is the security guard on the minimum wage? There’s a great temptation to sort of pit worker against worker. Very often [the security guards] are people who have never watched a theatre production themselves. They are not permanently employed by the theatre. They’re going off and being a nightclub bouncer somewhere else. They’re on a zero-hours contract. Whereas in the past, our members would have been on much more stable contracts and the theatre would have employed a stage-door team – a stage-door keeper [who oversees staff coming in and out, handles deliveries and has other duties] plus someone to do security.”
A permanent stage-door team, says Fleming, is more likely to “understand the fans and have a bit of a rapport”. That nuanced understanding might alleviate the dismissive responses when members of the ensemble come out as opposed to the lead actor. “People who work their tails off, but maybe don’t necessarily have a following, will come out of stage door, says Jones, “and they are greeted with: ‘Oh, do you know if so-and-so is coming out?’”
Jones has also found herself handed photos she is proud of but now deems inappropriate to sign. “I did a Wonderbra campaign when I was about 18. You get the occasional guy come and say: ‘Can you please sign these eight photos of teenage you in underwear?’” Lamb says she has been mistaken for other actors of colour at stage door – another reason some performers might think twice about going out, “especially if you’re doing a job that requires being vulnerable”.
Birkett says that you can’t fully switch off until you’ve done stage door. “As soon as you walk out, there’s going to be cameras, you might be live on someone’s TikTok.” As a teenage contestant on Pop Idol, she became used to the paparazzi: “But I think if you’re a new actor, it’s probably traumatic. You don’t sign up for that. You’re signing up to play a role because you love acting.”
The stage door is where fandom, fuelled by the razzle-dazzle of theatre and 24/7 social media activity, butts against real people’s prosaic lives. “Ninety-eight per cent of the time fans aren’t trying to overstep or be malicious,” recognises Lamb. But Fleming gives a pertinent account about an actor experiencing bereavement on tour, returning to the show after time off. “They leave the stage door with their headphones in. They don’t want to talk to anybody. This is an actor playing a secondary character, chased down the street by fans concerned to know where they have been for the past three shows.”
Better understanding of the fan culture, he said, could have predicted and defused the incident. “Because this particular group of fans are going to be interested, they think they’re your friends. And that’s part of the magic of theatre – creating a world that is so special, that people believe it to be true.” But at the end of the day – or the end of the night, on a fast-emptying street in an unfamiliar town – “our members have a right to feel safe in the real world”.
