If this sounds dodgy, remember that when I was 21 years old, a posh bloke asked me to come to a random church in the East End of London and talk saucy in front of him and a couple of other posh blokes. This turned out to be my audition for GamesMaster. So, I go to Greg’s garage.
He has a giant yet well groomed beard, eyes that flash with intensity underneath one of those Peaky Blinders caps and talks faster than other humans. He’s basically a hipster Rasputin. He is also a character artist who has worked for Rockstar, Naughty Dog and Guillermo del Toro.
He ticks all the genius boxes for me. And then I see the actual game. It is gorgeously dark and twisted: a survival horror game set on a decaying 1900s steamship after a heist gone wrong.
The titular Draga is a big, tough-as-hell sailor with a dark past, infected by an ancient god that grows within him. It sounds exciting, it sounds original, it sounds terrifying. And he wants me to be in it.
But it sounds nothing like me. I am not big and tough as hell, and the only ancient god I have ever been infected with is gout. (Trust me, the pain is biblical.) I did study drama at university, but this was the University of Bristol in the early 90s, so it was less about high kicking on stage to Oklahoma or learning Shakespearean monologues and more about poring over some obscure Russian play where potatoes are a metaphor for gender politics, written by a bloke who once gave Gorky a lift. I never told Greg this at the time, but when I see my first attempts at voice acting play out in the game, I don’t like it.
I see this amazing badass character smashing disgustingly huge monsters with my tinny tones coming out of him. So I lower my voice ever so slightly and stop trying to act so much. Helpfully, Greg’s direction always makes me feel comfortable and encouraged.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
