Year of the Queen: The Making of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert - The Musical (4 page)

I Got Rhythm
, she said. I knew it! That’s the number, I should have
guessed!
My plan was secured. I spent the rest of the fifteen seconds I had with her telling her what a
fabulous
time I was having performing a
lead role
in such an
acclaimed show
as
Hello Dolly!
. Then she shook my hand firmly and swept out of the room.

When I returned to Australia, Frosty wanted to know what I thought of the show, and how I’d go with the dance. Lying through my teeth, I told him that it was a stretch, but nothing was impossible. The language was vague but the mood was upbeat, and he seemed to be happy with that.

Through terrible subterfuge I borrowed the video tape of the dance numbers for the show from the
Hello Dolly!
company office. I was under strict instructions that they were for my eyes only and I was to return it the moment I’d finished watching it. Of course, I went straight off and had it professionally copied, gave it to my dancing teacher, and started learning
I’ve Got Rhythm
.

By the time the auditions came around, I knew the number and had been working on it relentlessly.

On the morning of the auditions, I prepared at length. I warmed up my voice, ran through the number several times and invoked the support of my dead ancestors. I went to the theatre and waited on stage for the audition. Three of us from the show were auditioning for Bobby which we did as a group. Susan swept in cheerfully, without a whiff of the status she demanded in London and greeted me without the slightest glimmer of recognition, or of ever having met me before. This may have been a blessing in disguise. We lined up behind her ready to start.

“Okay,” she commanded. “We’ll be learning
Things Are Looking Up
.’ And proceeded to launch, very quickly, into a mass of incomprehensible tap steps. This was not the song she’d promised! “No, no, no!” I thought. At first I was in too much shock to take in the first couple of bars, so I was already behind the eight ball. The others had got the gist early, so she continued on into the next few bars. They were both keeping up, and then there was me, loping around at the back of the group like a sad, unco Frankenstein monster. It soon became so excruciatingly embarrassing that I just eased my way off the stage and out into the lonely Western Australian sunshine. I cringed all the way back to my hotel, imagining the story Frosty would be told of my ghastly humiliation. I shook my fist at my ancestors at the ease by which they’d let me down.

I’ve never worked for Frosty since, and I can’t be sure if it’s because of this particular unfortunate incident or not. Regardless, I was determined not to look bad in front of him today, just in case.

Right up to the assembling of the audience, the cast is drilling routines, songs and dialogue. Actors’ faces, set in panic, seek you out and speak rapidly at you, reminding you about some moment we rehearsed days ago which you’ve apparently forgotten.

The audience files in. It’s large - around thirty. I know many of them and I receive warm waves from a range of people, some of whom I can’t place. I stay away from them, choosing to hover at the back of the rehearsal room in order to keep my focus and not be distracted by who’s there. But there’s a carnival atmosphere and some of the cast choose to ‘work the room’. The nerves are palpable, both from the cast and from the audience. There seems to be a lot riding on today.

Simon calls the room to order and, true to form, makes a witty speech about how shambolic this is going to be, how far we’ve come in the few days we’ve had, and how terrified we all are. He explains that some of the songs and routines don’t exist, in which case he may step in and explain what’s going on. Some songs will be sung and some will be mimed to c.d. I’ve placed my script to one side of the room, opened at the first place where I know I’m going to need help.

Simon takes his seat and the show begins. It’s like leaping into the breach. There is an overwhelming sense of anticipation from the audience, who seem to already be behind us. They laugh at jokes right from the beginning, excited and supportive. I feel my concentration as sharp as a pin. I look around the room and everyone shares this steely focus. Amongst the nerves, there’s a determination to ride this baby home. I’m guessing the reason we’ve been selected for this process is the depth of our experience and skills, and I can already see everyone unpacking their box of tricks. Everyone’s performance has gone up several notches from the rehearsals, and parts of the show, which were tentative and uncertain even yesterday, are being played with a brave confidence today. Tony Sheldon is a study in all that is wonderful about performers. To watch him you’d think he’d been doing this show all his life. He inhabits the drama and finds every laugh in the gags. He is, in every respect, ‘on’. As I’m working, part of me watches him in wonder at his brilliance. “Watch and learn,” I tell myself.

I know my job today is to tell Tick’s story. As the showing continues, I focus all my attention on that. I try to use every scene to play how this man feels about the imminent meeting with his young son.

The time flies. Before we know it, we’ve done most of the first act and I haven’t forgotten a single line. If something is not on the tip of my tongue, I make it up. If I become confused about where I am exiting or what I have to do next, it’s easy to signal my confusion to the audience and get a sympathetic laugh. The mood in the room is buoyant. The audience is right with us, laughing heartily along the way. They clearly like the characters and want to follow their journey.

At last we near the end. It feels like we’ve run a marathon, and the beer afterwards can’t come soon enough. As we finish, the audience erupts in thunderous applause. We’re all thrilled. We’ve truly pulled something out of the bag.

We all mill around after with the audience and drink wine. The feedback is astonishing. There’s an overwhelming consensus that the show has real potential. I head outside for some air and bump into Stephan. He’s effusive with me. He tells me how he now feels like this can work as a show. I can’t believe my ears. My first impressions of him as being remote and grumpy are blasted away as I realize that his bad mood was fuelled by the fact that he just didn’t believe that this idea could work. Now he’s a convert he comes across as witty and relaxed.

As much as Spud and Ross have been instrumental in getting this together, Simon has been the absolute saviour of the project. Of anyone, Simon has doggedly put in the hard yards, hammering away at the script till the early hours and then bringing in the pages the next day. He’s conjured the piece from the ashes of the first day, to become a piece which seems strong enough for the producers to put their faith into.

I head home, full of stories for Annie and feeling genuinely thrilled with how it all went. Part of me is secretly dreaming that the show will get up, and somehow the producers will use me in the eventual production. However it plays out, I’m fascinated by what will happen next with this show which seems to be taking on its own life now. I feel that I’ve had real input into turning it into a reality. Tick, tick, tick. Now it’s just a waiting game.

Chapter 3

Knock On Wood

The Auditions

Four months have evaporated since the workshop, and so has the promise of this year being a fabulous year for work. My diary is gradually becoming an optimistic but ultimately pointless waste of my January expenditure. We subsist on a steady diet of voice overs and corporate gigs. Those heady days of early January, where work was piling in seem far away indeed.

My film script was well received and even earned a live reading with some fine actors.

When work’s light on, rumours abound about
any
potential job. Actors leap on the whisper of a gig like a hungry pack of dogs. Nothing is bubbling up about
Priscilla
though. I’ve only had one phone call from Lisa which gave any hint of their intentions. The producers have asked for my availability from August onwards, stressing that this is in no way an offer. Lisa and I decide they’re a bunch of teasers.

I’ve also heard a rumour that Simon is in London, having discussions about whether the show should actually go ahead or not, but this is unreliable and there’s no word of any decision having been made.

Another time, I’m chatting in the bar with the theatre manager of Her Majesty’s after a show one night, when he sympathetically confides that the finances haven’t come together for
Priscilla
and it’s dead in the water. If it goes on at all, it won’t be until 2007. My year immediately takes a further nose dive.

But finally, in early May, a buzz begins. Someone I know tells me they’re auditioning for
Priscilla, Queen of the Desert
. It’s like an alarm clock ringing. Wake up sleepy head, the day has just begun. I immediately call Lisa. She addresses me in that tender tone she gets in her voice when the news is bad, “It’s not looking good, Jezza”, she says. The word from Amanda Pelman (the casting director) is that they are after ‘names’ for the show and that they’re not really interested in seeing me. I scrape my guts off the polished floorboards, paid for by musical theatre, and curse all reality television shows as the root of all evil for giving the entertainment industry its seething appetite for ‘celebrity’.

Deep down I’d anticipated this but it comes as a terrible combination punch to the guts. Wounded, I ask Lisa through teeth trying desperately not to sound gritted, to remind Amanda that although it’s been a few years since I’ve been in music theatre, I’m not without a track record. Gently, she reassures me she will, but we both know that Amanda’s only looking after the best interests of the show.

I try to be philosophical, magnanimous, brave, but the reality is that knocks like these seem to come in clusters - as if you’ve offended the God of drama with some dreadful piece of acting, and vengeance is His. Only weeks before, I’d auditioned for a job in a Production Company show which constituted only about two big weeks of work - but feeling the need to get out and actually do something, I thought I’d have a bash. It had been nearly two years since I’d worked a full time job, and I was getting toey. I knew the creative team for the show well and had worked with them on a number of occasions before. I thought they’d be thrilled to work with me again. My hope was that my track record with them would count for something, and they’d either just give me the job or say, “Jeremy, this one’s not for you”, sparing me the need to audition. But no, I had to endure a number of awkward auditions, waiting way too long in freezing corridors with humiliatingly talented kids straight out of drama school, until I was finally ushered in to strut my stuff, brimming with embarrassment and choked with hurt.

When Lisa rang to say I didn’t get the job I totally crumbled - over two lousy weeks of work. I told her if the Production Company asked for me to audition for any other show ever in the future again, I wanted her to tell them to go fuck themselves from me. The anger was of course just disguised humiliation.

This all sounds very dramatic I know, and to be honest, the life I share with Annie is a quiet, blessed existence. I bring home enough money to support our lifestyle, which consists of looking after our two little boys, eating well, paying the mortgage and writing when I can. It can be scary as hell. At the beginning of most weeks we don’t know how we’re going to make what we need to survive, but as the week rolls on, jobs come in and most times we make it. Some weeks we do really well, and other weeks we miss the mark. It can wear you down, but ultimately I’m a stay-at-home Dad who has watched his sons grow up. It’s a life of Kinder fundraisers, football in the park, and space adventures in the playground. It’s not a champagne lifestyle, but it’s full of love. It’s the reason why for the last six years I’ve resisted going for any work that would take me away on tour. For the ten years prior to that, Annie and I were constantly on the road with some show.

After a week, Lisa rings back to tell me that
Priscilla
do want me to audition after all. This is a happy conversation but it’s also excruciating to think that I’ll be auditioning in front of the same creative team who has seen me perform the entire show already. Just to make sure I wasn’t tricking them, they want to see me do a three minute scene from the show, as well as a couple of songs. It’s a conflicting feeling, but at least I have a foot in the door. Days after this news, Annie and I see a friend’s play at the MTC. As we drive out of the Arts Centre car park and pull up at the lights, Simon Phillips is sitting in the car next to us. It’s an unbelievable coincidence. Simon physically jumps in the air as he notices us rudely gesticulating at him from the car next to him. He launches into bad ‘car mime’, imploring us to pull over. He leaps across the bonnet saying he’s been trying to get my number, to explain why I had to audition. Apologizing profusely, he tells me that the producers want to compare me to the other people auditioning for the role.

God bless you, Simon. A flicker of warmth returns to my icy heart. I pick Simon’s brain about what the producers have in mind. Do they intend to ‘cast up’ (Populate the show with ‘names’) or are they going to let the show be the star? This is something he clearly can’t predict. One of the producers is dead-set on getting big names, but others want to make the show the star. A mass of inappropriate questions log-jam in my throat. I have so many that the conversation soon grinds to a halt, not for want of material, but for my inability to sift quickly enough through which question to fire off without leaving me red faced later. We’ve danced around the issues enough though to leave me in no doubt that he’s keen to have me in the show.

I’m so relieved. Perhaps I’ve worked my way through my nasty cluster of disappointments and the God of drama has something up His poncy sleeve for me.

My audition time is set for 11.50 on the 18
^th
of May at the Princess Theatre in Melbourne. They’ve asked that I learn a scene, which of course I still know from the workshop, a song,
Always On My Mind -
and they also want me to prepare a disco song.