“Sir, Madam, do you have backstage passes? No? Then, I’ll have to escort you out, I’m afraid. This area is off bounds to the public. Oh, and you were just looking for the toilet, were you? Right. That explains the autograph book. Out we go.”

Backstage at the theatre is a world famously and frustratingly off limits. Until the day chances when you’re invited up, or you get hired by one of the specialist industries that roots here: costume, acting, make up, lighting.

“Sign the book, please. Date, time and purpose of visit.” That’s the visitor’s greeting to backstage at the National Theatre. After years of visiting London’s most-attended theatre, I find myself legitimately, gloriously, backstage. I’m visiting Lizzie Honeybone, head of the dye room. It’s part of the very large costume department, but Lizzie and her colleagues’ work doesn’t so much involve making costumes, rather breaking them down. Dying, staining, printing, ageing: the dye room is the place where costumes get into character.

Shall we sit down for a cup of tea and talk?

Lizzie: Yes. Becky, do you want to chat too? That’s our intern: she’s lovely, you need to talk to her. Who wants sugar in their tea? There we go, girls. Now, what do you want to know?

To start, how long have you been working at the National Theatre?

Lizzie: Off and on for twenty-five years. I took break for babies, filming and TV.

And did you train as a dyer?

Lizzie: No, I trained as a tailor because I’d always made my own clothes. Then, when I was fourteen and babysitting, the little boy I was looking after said, “My dad’s a costume designer. Do you want to see his Oscar? He won it for Star Wars!” His father came home and I told him, “Look, I really want to make theatre costumes.” He said, “Go to Wimbledon School of Art, learn all your craft and you’ll be happy as Larry.” Wimbledon was really good. I learnt everything there, from how to tie a toga to making 1950s fashion; how to make a corset, a hat, a wig; how to dye and print. It’s all changed since your day, Becky, hasn’t it? She did the same course as me.

Becky: They do a lot, just not as much as you did. And not many people wanted to go into the dye room.

Lizzie: That’s strange. Perhaps they didn’t want to damage the costumes they’d made.

Becky: Most wanted to make costume; there was no breaking down.

Lizzie: It’s nice to finally get the dye room to yourself, isn’t it?

 

How has the style of costume at the National Theatre changed during your time here?

Lizzie: We’ve seen trends come and go, big time. When I started here there were lots of black, dark colours. You see the change happening in the high street. There’s has always been a deeply talented bank of people. I’ve seen amazing hand-beaded costumes made for Judi Dench and tailoring to make your mouth water.

The National Theatre has started live-broadcasting plays in cinemas. Is there an added pressure for realism in your costumes when the work is being filmed?

Lizzie: No, I love it. I don’t want people to be able to look at anything and know how it was done. I want super-realism. And having worked in film, I know what passes on screen.

What films have you worked on?

Lizzie: I did Children of Men in 2006 where I was dressing lots of asylum seekers. The clothes had to be rotten and because there were so many extras, there were rails and rails. It was really hard work: it’s a fast turnover. Whereas here I can consider things and give more time to the day. But it’s still only a six-week rehearsal period. And if a designer is late with their designs, then you’ve really got to go with it. 

So you might have three or four weeks to work on them?

Lizzie: Well, Children of Sun we may only have...

Becky: Shhh.

Lizzie: It’ll be fine.

How about the clearing up process; is that the boring part? There is a stereotype of dyers having stained hands.

Lizzie: Yes, the creative who works in mess or dyers who have messy hands. But you don’t need to have blue hands all the time. I don’t want the dye absorbed through my skin because I’m working with wildly noxious chemicals.

What are the risks of working with dyes?

Lizzie: They used to be really harmful. There was something called ‘dyer’s nose’ where dyers would destroy their nasal membrane with the chemicals that they used. When I started, the blue dye still smelt of bitter almond. We all know what that is: cyanide. Today there’s no chance of breathing anything revolting—if you’re sensible—because we’ve got really good extraction. You have to wear the right clothes, wear masks and appropriate things.

Do you notice quality dye in clothes you buy on the high street?

Lizzie: Yes, the acid dyes. Fluorescents were in vogue recently and the dyes were bloody good. Incredible neons. Eye-burning. But we just can’t replicate these things here. When I first started, I phoned up the Imperial Chemical Industries and got through to a boffin. I explained that I couldn’t dye polyester and I felt inadequate. They were so lovely, said, “You never will,” and explained the commercial dying process. They use these amazing temperatures and equipment: dye is baked into the fabric.

Could you talk about the relationship you see developing between the actor and their costume?

Lizzie: Oh, it can be intense. Some actors don’t want their costumes washed because that gives them a real sense of being in the part.

What, even if they stink?

Lizzie: That’s their character and so maybe the reaction of someone wriggling their nose from the smell is real. There’s quite a lot that you have to deal with. And a lot of actors, big names, will not wear certain colours. They have it in their head that they don’t look good in it. Or it has some terrible association. It happens more in film. I can’t give you names but I’ve known people cut up their costumes.

Do you feel that you’re dealing more with people in your day-to-day work than costumes?

Lizzie: No, I’m all about the character. That’s what I’ve got to get across through their clothes. I’m very keen to make actors feel they are wearing the right sort of thing. Even if they are a shabby boffin looking crumpled. I’ve just done the costume for Alan Bennett, and I had to pill his jumper and put gravy stains on it.

What are the values that you’ve taken out of the dye shop into your everyday life?

Lizzie: I adore colour. I don’t want to live in a white house and I don’t want to sit on a white sofa. The cardigan I’m wearing was the most disgusting pale blue. I threw it in with some green dye and now look!

The National Theatre / www.nationaltheatre.org.uk