Natalie Portman was just 11 years old when she was cast in 1994’s Léon: The Professional as an assassin’s protegée. Filled with violence and controversial sexual references, Portman’s character Mathilda was not a conventional role for a child. But her parents made an agreement with the director to ensure a more appropriate experience for their 11-year-old daughter. They insisted on deleting a scene where Léon (Jean Reno) walks in on her while she is in the shower, they imposed edits to scale down sexual overtones, and they negotiated a maximum of five cigarettes for her to use throughout the entire film, without ever inhaling smoke.
For parents, supporting a child actor is a “massive commitment,” says Kandaze Joseph, mother of eight-year-old Janai Bartlett, whose acting experience already includes Channel 4/HBO series Get Millie Back and the stage of Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre. “It’s not a one-person job, it’s a commitment for everyone in the family,” Kandaze says. She splits her time between her job as a social worker, seeking acting opportunities for her daughter, chauffeuring her from school to rehearsals, reading her scripts, giving her feedback – and caring for her other child.
Kandaze’s dedication to her daughter’s passion has changed not only her everyday schedule but also their mother-daughter relationship. “I’m always rushing her to her dance or drama classes and reminding her of discipline,” Kandaze says. “She appreciates the many things I do for her, but I’m not the fun parent anymore.”
Sacrifices are inherent to child actors’ lives – and their families. Kandaze had to cancel a family holiday to Jamaica last minute when Janai got an opportunity in a West End production. “That was tough,” she says. Kandaze also knows how much her daughter misses out on, from parties to travels and regular school recitals. But she also knows that theatre for young people usually lasts for a short period of time before children age out of younger roles. “I see it as a short sacrifice, so I put my head down, and I get through it,” Kandaze says. And she makes sure her daughter is conscious of her boundaries: “I always tell her, ‘The moment you say you don’t want to do it, you can stop.’ So far, she understands the sacrifice.”
“It’s my job as well, but I don’t get paid for it”
Kandaze Joseph
Being a stage mum involves handling the mental load that comes with it. Kandaze has to plan her own week to take Janai everywhere she needs to be – school, dance classes, drama classes and rehearsals. If Janai is the one with a job, Kandaze is the one who signs contracts. “It’s my job as well, but I don’t get paid for it,” she says. Child actor’s parents also deal with their child’s revenue, usually splitting it among savings, reinvestments into their careers and everyday spending. But “if you do it for the money, you won’t survive,” Kandaze says. “It has to be about passion, joy and believing in your child.”
Being unable to control what happens after dropping off your child at the door of a theatre or film studio “adds to the mental load,” says Kandaze. “You have to trust strangers, stage managers, directors and chaperones with your child. At school, you’ve seen the classroom or the people. At the theatre, you don’t know what goes on.” Although all these adults are partly responsible for child actors’ safety and well-being, parents remain their ultimate supervisors – for personal and professional protection. “My daughter is a young black child. This means I have to be careful that she is not wrongfully represented, adultified, or sexualised,” Kandaze says. Last year, she turned down an audition for Janai for a film set during slavery: “I didn’t want her first acting experience to be as a slave, having to deal with and understand the character,” says Kandaze. “She now has a role in a play that deals with colourism and racism, but in a gentler way. When she comes home from rehearsals, we have conversations about those topics, so we don’t lose our narrative.”
But it’s not all worrying and running around. There is something – a moment – that makes it worth it: “Seeing Janai on stage, how happy she is and how beautifully she expresses herself doing what she loves is memorable,” says Kandaze. “When she comes on stage with the adrenaline, with her eyes lit up, it makes it all worth it.”
In the audience, someone else feels a similar pride, Janai’s agent, Rhiannon. Agents for child actors not only find auditions and negotiate contracts. They also support and accompany children and their parents – who are often the ones dealing with call sheets and logistics: “It’s my job to make sure they understand the codes and the jargon of the acting world.”
A big part of Rhiannon’s job is communicating with families – she has dozens of Whatsapp group chats with parents. From supporting families when children are on tour to keeping them informed of audition results, child actors’ agents don’t merely work for one talent; they work for their entire support systems. She makes sure parents know what responsibilities their children can commit to. “Not every child has the stamina for a big production. My role is to have that honest conversation with parents,” says Rhiannon.
Agents are also responsible for teaching children the tricks of the trade since they are often the only adults they know with insider knowledge of the industry. But it’s not all self-tape tutorials and audition tips; resilience is at the top of the list for Rhiannon: “The first time they get rejected for a role is when I want to teach them to look forward to what’s next for them,” she says.
Professionalism is also a key teaching point for child actors’ agents. For a lot of children, acting is a hobby – a very demanding one – not a job. That makes it more difficult for them to strike a balance between work and play, making it the agent’s job to ensure they are punctual, rigorous and committed. But this light-heartedness is also what Rhiannon loves about working with young talents. “They don’t know the wider context. Some have had back-to-back important roles, and they still get butterflies in their tummy when they perform,” she says.
Melisa Minton, 27, still feels the butterflies. As a former child actor and experienced nanny, Melisa merged her two passions and became a chaperone for young talents on West End productions. She sent an application for a chaperone licence to her local council, did a two-hour NSPCC course on chaperoning children in entertainment, and got her official licence.
Chaperones are mandatory for children up to 16 years old in theatre and film productions in the UK. “They can’t even be in the building or on set without us except for bathroom breaks – and even then, we wait outside the door,” Melisa says. She has to ensure all legal requirements for children in entertainment are followed. They can’t be on stage every night, can’t work more than 5 hours a day – including rehearsals and performances – and more specific guidelines are mentioned in the Children (Performances and Activities) Regulations 2014. To make sure children are not illegally overworked, chaperones often have to call directors and producers to order, regarding schedules and delays. “Whether they’ve finished shooting or not, once the children have been on set or stage for five hours, the time is up,” Melisa says.
Chaperones are present for legal purposes, but are also responsible for children’s personal experiences. “We check they’ve had food and water, that they’re comfortable and entertained,” Melisa says. From organising Monopoly games in dressing rooms to playing ball games in theatre corridors, Melisa’s secret for being a recognised chaperone is “to know how to have fun, all while keeping the kids fully operational at all times.”
Once they turn 16, actors don’t need chaperones anymore. For Rhiannon, that’s another important task of an agent for young performers: “It’s an abrupt change. Suddenly, one day, they’re alone with all the adult actors, expected to behave like experienced professionals,” she says. She makes sure adults on set support them and adapts her relationship to her clients as they grow, gradually less involving their parents. “One of my actors started when he was seven, and now he’s working on a Netflix show at 18. I’ve been in his life for most of it,” Rhiannon says. “That’s why families and young actors embrace us as one of them.”