VCA Grad Kristina Ross’s Novel Set in ‘Vicious’ Drama School for Young Actors

In the middle of the first decade of the 21st century, Kristina Ross, then 17 years old, achieved the remarkable feat of becoming “one of the youngest actors ever selected” to enroll in the Drama School of the Victorian College of the Arts. Her experiences during this formative time profoundly influenced her, inspiring her to reimagine and retell these experiences as fiction many years later.

The resulting novel, “First Year,” has been awarded the prestigious Australian/Vogel Literary Award for Young Writers, a recognition focused on authors aged 35 and under. This award, founded in 1980, has reached its conclusion, though there are indications from the Australian’s book editor that it may find new life under different sponsorship in the future.

The book opens with a quotation from Hamlet: “The purpose of playing […] is to hold as ‘twere the mirror up to nature”. This line initially seems like an appropriate, benign choice for a novel centered around acting. However, its true intent is clarified in the author’s prologue. In it, the narrator criticizes the “cult-like” and “vicious, cutthroat” environment of the drama school, a place where students were required to “offer ourselves up to be dissected in the pursuit of becoming artists.”

In a newspaper interview, Ross revealed one motivation for writing “First Year” was to support others who are starting their acting journey. “I searched for a story like this when I was a young actor in training and just never found it,” she said.

Interestingly, had the young Ross encountered a story like “First Year” before moving to Melbourne, she probably would have chosen to defer her studies. The protagonist, Maeve, a character seemingly based on Ross herself, navigates through a series of stumbles rooted in her ignorance and immaturity. Maeve’s peers are generally older, some being university graduates or hailing from theatrical families. Even those not originally from Melbourne are familiar with the city’s cultural landscape.

Maeve, fresh from a private school on the Gold Coast, doesn’t recognize key theatrical institutions such as the Australian Performing Group (APG), the Pram Factory, or La Mama. Although she passionately recites Juliet’s soliloquy from “Romeo and Juliet” for her audition, she had never seen a full play by Shakespeare until she ushered for a performance during her second term.

Her cultural exposure is so limited that she hasn’t read classics like “1984,” “Wuthering Heights,” or “Anna Karenina.” The protective nature of her parents, who finance her comfortable student accommodation, only furthers her isolation from her peers. Although she may view the living allowance from her parents as “small,” she experiences none of the financial pressures that plague her fellow students.

Drama training is intense and demands that students become “malleable to the method.” Yet Maeve is so inexperienced that even a class exercise requiring her to embrace a fellow student overwhelms her, as she is unaccustomed to such close contact with men. This fellow student, Saxon, who playfully calls her “Juliet,” evolves into a complicated romantic interest—an illustration of the classic narrative arc where the girl gets the boy, confuses acting with reality, loses him, and ultimately matures.

Within the drama school, students are pushed to physically, emotionally, and intellectually embody their characters. The reader is introduced to an array of teachers who guide this transformative journey. Some characterizations may be amalgamations, but the portrayal of Quinn Medina, the Head of School, is so meticulously detailed that insiders could likely identify her real-life counterpart.

Such environments are fertile grounds for predators. Yates, a prominent actor and director, exemplifies this, as his sexual harassment of female students is tacitly condoned by the staff. This raises a critical question: is it more damaging to exploit someone’s body or mind?

Quinn manipulates students using her deep knowledge of their personal lives, pushing them to exceptional performances with little regard for their mental wellness.

Maeve learns of a student who committed suicide after becoming overwhelmed by the intense training, yet she also hears about Sylvie, a seemingly gifted second-year student who secures a role in a film adaptation of Chekhov’s “The Seagull.” Obsessed with matching Sylvie’s success, Maeve starts mimicking her, even to the extent of developing a cocaine addiction—a habit she justifies as a means of immersing herself in her art, as per Quinn’s philosophy that “the most direct entry point to the work was through living.” This lifestyle ultimately leads to Maeve’s downfall.

Maeve eventually realizes that Quinn’s manipulative tactics often result in students being stereotyped and pigeonholed into limited roles. Initially told by a peer that she “fits the mould,” Maeve comes to see she is being shaped to play only the ingenue and, at times, the scapegoat.

After witnessing a peer’s public mental breakdown, during which the only words she can utter are Nina’s soliloquy from “The Seagull,” a senior teacher reminds the students to “Trust your instincts. After all, that is what drew us to you in the first place.”

Ross has hinted that “First Year” might be part of a series. While the novel feels like a cathartic exercise, it has the potential for a compelling sequel. However, it remains to be seen if her future work will transcend the autobiographical realm.

Source: Allen & Unwin