It was my final exam today, Drama and Theatre Studies. After 2 years of pure drudgery as well as half-arsed performances I was finally in the hall.
I’m terrible at essays, because I’m a bad writer. It’s amazing I even manage to complete an article and people can bloody read it, let alone complete an A grade A Level paper. I started this Drama course because I really wanted to be an actress, this seemed like the obvious step, after the first year I had completely lost interest in it to be honest, but I guess these things aren’t for everyone. My other courses, Film and Media, were an absolute dream of an exam. After them, I was only hoping my final exam would go as well as they did. Key word being hoping.
So I brought the play books into the exam and began at the call of the examiner. Question 1 was how I would act as this certain character from the play in two different sections of the play. Easy. Well, I say it was easy, it doesn’t mean I did it well. I threw in as much terminology and as much knowledge of the play and the original writer as I could. Whether it went well, I’ll just have to wait and see won’t I? Structure was never a good strong point for me. Then came the second question, a director question.
I literally adore director questions and the question I got was brilliant, it gave me plenty to write about! It asked for the extract on page 8 to page 9 from the play. So I picked up the book on my desk, flicked to page 8 and began to write. This question went so much better than the first. I remembered everything. Every technical detail and direction I could think of was mentioned in as much detail as I could. I tried to display a strong knowledge of the play to which I think I didn’t do badly! I managed to finish around 5 minutes early, so I had a little read through of what I’d done.
I’d double checked that I’d answered the right questions in the question paper so I checked that too and it seemed okay. I put the booklet down and it fell on pages at the back, reflecting the drama extracts we were meant to write about. Originally I thought it was just blank pages at the back; I was wrong. Then it hit me. I’d written about the complete wrong extract. It wasn’t talking about page 8-9 of my book, it meant the question booklet itself. The extract from the play I’d written about was at the beginning; we were meant to write about a section towards the end of the play.
My heart, stomach and head all sank in unison. I only had 5 minutes left and I couldn’t turn it around. That was it, my final A level and I managed to utterly fuck it up. Question 1 couldn’t carry my entire paper, I said it went well but it sure as hell wasn’t a work of art. So in other words this essay is a mess. Immediately I ran to my drama teacher to see if there was any hope. Nah.
What Do I Do Now?
Now I just gotta pray for results day after my amateur mistake. I can’t save it now. Of course, it isn’t the be all and end all, nobody died did they? But it’s still shit.
The moral of the story from me is to not just properly read the question, but read the whole goddamn backstabbing booklet to be safe. You could save yourself 50 marks. I can’t wait to set fire to my revision material.