Year of the Queen: The Making of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert - The Musical (7 page)

Dazed, I call Annie. I call my Mum, who cries. I send out text messages. When I finish spreading the good news, I take a short moment for myself. I feel strangely upset. It’s a profound sense of achievement and joy. I’ve been fortunate in my life, but
this
is like winning the lottery. I’ve been scooped up into the warm arms of musical theatre once more.

As my heart pounds and I get my head around the new direction my life is about to take, I make a resolution to repay this good fortune.

Chapter 4

Can you hear the drums?

So I’ve made it into the citadel. This doesn’t, however get me any closer to the secrets of the inner sanctum. Information is being kept on a leash and no one’s talking about who else has been cast in the show. Dates for rehearsal and performances are not yet clear either. One piece of magnificent news is that Tony Sheldon has been cast as Bernadette. I’m almost as happy to hear this as I was to hear that I’d been cast myself.

I’m called to Sydney for a photo shoot. The trip is run like a covert CIA operation. Nothing but threads of information are forthcoming. Beyond my flight time, instructions to bring three pairs of shoes and an address, I know nothing. If I’m captured, there’s no way I could squeal.

I’m gripped by a creeping fear that I’ll have to get into drag for the photos and I don’t feel ready. It’s a song I haven’t learnt the tune to yet and I don’t want to sing it if I can’t even hum it.

The cab locates a modest doorway down an impossibly thin Surry Hills laneway. I get my first whiff of the humid Sydney air as I stumble over uneven paving stones to the hidden studio entrance, hulking my bag of shoes. The door is ajar and I push politely through it. Inside, every surface is white and the place smacks of the big time. There’s a small gathering of people with an inner urban, professional cool. They nod to me their version of friendly and gesture for me to climb the white stairs beside me.

I pass framed headshots of former clients such as Elton John and Brett Whiteley and arrive at a state of the art photographic studio, also white. Through to the rear I can see movement inside a giant dressing room. Still operating under my own steam, I creep through the doorway and arrive at my first official engagement since getting this job. I find a man already half made up as a woman. My heart beats faster.

Another man rushes to greet me. It’s Carl, the executive producer. He carries himself neatly and has a refined British manner. Dressed in a suit he could be a businessman in the real world if he wasn’t betrayed by the slight whiff of wicked campness. He’s my first official contact with the show and it’s quite exciting to shake his hand and have him welcome me into the fold.

He guides me over to meet Nick Hardcastle, the man who is half made up as a woman. Nick is already camping it up as he is worked over by the traffic-stopping Cassie, the make-up designer for our show and for the original film. Nick’s clearly loving the experience and it’s impossible to believe this Queen is actually straight.

Carl announces that the actor who’s been cast to play Felicia is Daniel Scott. He’s still performing in
The Dusty Springfield Story
in Perth and wasn’t available for the photo shoot today. Nick is his understudy and has generously offered to take his place. Nick beams mutely at us in the mirror, clearly at the ready to cause untold carnage when he’s unleashed.

The question I really want answered is whether I’m going to be next in that make-up chair and, as if he’s read my mind, Carl reassures me that I won’t have to frock up today. I instantly relax. He says a stylist is coming in with some outfits and we’ll be doing some ‘civvies’ shots with Tony Sheldon, Nick and me. Fernando, the stylist (Of course his name is Fernando. Can you hear the drums?) will be in soon with a variety of outfits for me to try on and be photographed in.

Lizzy Gardener and Tim Chappel rush in with the outfit Nick will be wearing. These are the academy award-winning costume designers of the film, who will be designing the show too. I’m ridiculously shy with them and since we haven’t been officially introduced, I hang back and just grin mutely at them. They fuss over the last minute details of the outfit, which is a work of genius. A pink dress adorned with a highway (complete with road kill), which runs from bottom to top, capped off with a plastic wig which sports a large head piece in the shape of Uluru. Priscilla is spelt out with gold letters which are spiked into the rock like fence posts. It’s fashion’s version of a really clever stand-up routine.

Then Tony Sheldon sweeps in. He makes a beeline for me throwing his arms around me and beaming. For a moment we just laugh and hug warmly. “I’m so glad it’s you,” he coos, and I say it straight back at him.

Conscious he’s left a trail of eager greetings in his wake, he turns and doles out generous hellos to everyone. But I’m the main game now and we’re both desperate to catch up on any gossip, so he quickly gives his attention back to me. We haven’t spoken since the night at
Eurobeat
and there is much to say.

Tony is a theatrical switchboard. All gathered theatre intelligence flows through him. There’s nothing he doesn’t know. He says how happy he is that I got the role and then adds gravely that there’s a lot of people out there who wanted it. He tells me there was a list of theatre luminaries who all called him one by one, as they learned that it wasn’t going to be them playing Tick.

Tony has only been offered the role in the last few days and is still awash with relief, delight and exhilaration. He was convinced he’d lost the role to a big overseas star and had been despairing about it. He’d heard talk that a list of ‘names’ had been approached, but were either too expensive or had declined.

He tells me that Daniel Scott had only been offered his role yesterday. We draw closer and conspiratorially speculate about who in the production team was
for us
and who was
against us
. When did they throw out their agendas and cast from their hearts?

Carl observes our hushed gossip session and comments on its intensity. We chuckle and turn away. Suddenly I realize that Carl is actually in possession of all the facts to which we’ve been speculating, and I now know beyond anything, that in the not too distant future, I will be getting him very drunk and unlocking these secrets.

Once our meeting runs out of puff, I decide to get some news from the horse’s mouth and ask Carl who else is in this little concert of ours. Billy Brown is playing Bob, Genevieve Lemon is playing Shirl, and Marney McQueen is playing Marion, my wife. I’m surprised. I thought they’d have cast someone from television for this role. I comment that I don’t know her and with a defeated shrug, Carl says, “Simon. He likes to work with actors not stars.” Then he quickly corrects himself, saying, “Of course that’s not the case with you, Jeremy. You’re a star.” I smile at his polite British sense of loyalty.

A shortish man staggers in concealed under a stack of suit bags and shirts. The only hint there’s a person under there is the legs sticking out. This is Fernando, a sweet looking man who could dress you by reading your horoscope. Tony and I sift through his offerings to find something which most represents our characters in the show. I find a nice shirt and try it on. Tony says, “Hey that’s mine!” And I say, “Sorry, have you already chosen that?” and he says, “No, it’s my
actual
shirt.”

Nick is in the studio getting snapped already. He’s an absolute natural in drag. I draw courage from him, a straight guy who is just letting the outfit take him over. He pouts and snarls and teases his way through his session.

Then it’s my turn. I step into the blazing lights. For the next few minutes I’m ‘on’. I can’t hide behind the drag like Nick’s just done, but I need to be effervescent for the lens or we’ll be here all day trying to get the shot. As the camera snaps I pose my guts out and think of England. I give the confident look, the delighted look, the outrageous look, the sexy burn, and everyone’s favourite, the wacky look.

Then Tony steps up to the plate. He mocks a coronary as the first blinding flash hits him. Everyone laughs, and it’s his way to break his own ice. His session is superb. He seems just so at home and unselfconscious.

New technology means you can look back at the shots immediately on a large computer screen. It’s fantastic. No guess work. If it’s worked you can shut the gate and go home.

We get the shots we need in around twenty five minutes and the day is over. Everyone vanishes so fast I’m not sure I haven’t missed some whispered instruction to meet somewhere else. But our work here is done and I soon find myself fleeing from all the white, back out into the balmy Sydney day.

I meet a friend for lunch around the corner. She’s up from Melbourne for the day and is brimming with gossip about the show too. Not only does she know a few others who missed out on my role but she knows who the casting agent’s favourite was, and it wasn’t me. It’s all chat and maybe some of it might be true, but it gives me the strangest feeling of being in the middle of something. I’m on the ride but I don’t quite feel the wind in my hair yet.

My meal arrives and the aloof waiter places it before me. I’d asked him directly if ‘the bulb artichokes with flat pasta and French goat’s cheese’ was hearty. He’d said it was. What he is placing before me is a bird-sized insult of a meal. I should have ordered the steak. But I look around the bistro and realize the menu has done its job of luring a clientele of well-dressed professional women in their forties. I see an attractive slim woman picking at a tiny salad and I think to myself, I’d better stick with the artichokes if I want to fit into
her
frock.

Chapter 5

Blast Off

Press Launch. 20
June

Everything goes right for my trip to Sydney for the launch of the show. My first call tomorrow morning is at 7am on Channel Seven’s
Sunrise
, so for the sake of an earlier night I try to weasel my way onto the 7pm flight, rather than the 8pm which had been booked. Judging by the sour demeanour of the check-in girl it’s never going to happen, but she stuns me and without a word, or looking up from her computer keys, she hands me a fresh boarding pass. A human being
is
lurking in there somewhere. Then I arrive at Star City Hotel and am upgraded because they don’t have any non-smoking rooms in my class. Nice. I’m liking the trip so far.

This is the first publicity junket I’ve done for over ten years. I used to be a pro. When I
did
musical theatre I used to think nothing of flying across the country, staying at swish hotels and spending the day talking to journalists about the faaaabulous show I was in. Usually it was followed by a ripe old booze-up with the producers. Now, all these years later, I’m eyeing the free body scrub in the bathroom and pinching the soaps for the kids.

I relish the peaceful solitude of watching TV in bed and eventually, almost reluctantly, flick off the light when the lids get heavy.

I wake at six with more than a few butterflies about what’s in store for me today. How gracefully will I get back on the horse? I have a running sheet of how the day will unfold and it’s massive. Loads of interviews and lashings of ‘meet and greets’. I’m totally up to the challenge and am quite chuffed to be back in the limelight again. While fun, these junkets can be demanding and unexpected. You have to be on your toes or else you can become flippant and end up coming across as a right prat to the journo you’re talking to and they love to punish you if you pull that one. A lot of actors cherry-pick what they will and won’t do from these lists. It’s prudent, but I’ve always been a slut and done everything I’ve been asked to do. It backfired once though when I was in
Buddy
. On a massive publicity day in New Zealand, I didn’t bother checking out what kind of show I was on for my first television appearance of the day. It turned out to be a kid’s show and I ended up singing a duet of
That’ll Be The Day
, in full Buddy Holly tux with a glove puppet. The publicist stood away to the back of the studio trying to hide from me, but even as we went live to air nationally she couldn’t escape me glaring furiously across the studio at her throughout the whole song.

I chow down on some fruit salad which is all my queasy stomach can handle after the dog food I ate on the flight last night. I shower, groom, check nasal hair, put on suit and tie, swish hair and reach TV guest perfection precisely at the desired departure time. I sneak one last look in the mirror before I head out to the studio and squeeze out a tiny fart. Unfortunately I follow through and have to start the whole process over again.

Sunrise
is terribly casual. You can see right into the studio from the street. As I wander around Pit Street searching for the entrance, I suddenly become aware that maybe I’m actually on air, wandering around aimlessly in the back of the shot somewhere. Trying not to look lost (for the camera) I bump into Carl who points out the Pricilla bus. It’s a huge silver bus lavished with feather boas, and sporting a giant stiletto with a long piece of silver fabric cascading behind it reflecting the famous scene from the film. They’re just about to do a drive by as a teaser for our spot, and the cameras are set up ready to go. Carl’s assistant, Clare, escorts me around the other side of the building to the entrance and steers me to the coffee machine. Tony arrives with Judith Johnson, our publicist. She’s alight with energy and enthusiasm. All smiles, she introduces herself to me, which is her professional duty in case I haven’t recognized her but it’s ridiculous really, as she’s far more famous than I am. We all head to make-up together.

After a flick of powder we’re ushered outside to wait for our spot. It’s cold in the mid-winter early morning breeze. It doesn’t even feel like the sun’s properly up. Crowds gather. Something is clearly going to happen. We’re joined by three drag Queens and I pity them their outfits just because it’s so cold out here. They’ve definitely drawn the short straw. Aside from having to endure the cold, they’ve been here since five a.m. getting into full drag make-up. One of them is Nick Hardcastle and the other two are Damien and Trevor, the ‘real’ drag Queens who have been cast in the show. They look amazing as they unleash themselves on an unsuspecting rush hour public. The only other time these girls would have seen this hour would be coming out of a dubious club somewhere. They are however, lighting up the overcast morning and pulling an enormous crowd of bewildered office workers. They seem to be able to squawk flirtatiously in every direction simultaneously, in voices that can be heard from space.