Year of the Queen: The Making of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert - The Musical (17 page)

6. Kath, Simon and Dean in rehearsals.

This afternoon we do an entire run of the show. A posse of creatives has assembled to see how the show has taken shape and what their respective departments are in for. It’s incredibly valuable for them but I’m filled with dread. I don’t feel ready to present this to anyone yet, even though these are ‘friendlies’.

With my heart in my mouth we begin the run and to my delight it goes surprisingly smoothly. The genuine rapturous applause at the end makes me think that we’re actually making a hit show. Some of the audience approach me afterwards, totally blown away at what good shape the show is in and how much they loved it. This is so encouraging and I leave for the weekend feeling truly buoyed.

Trevor has organized a trip to the Imperial Hotel for me tonight to see the Priscilla drag show. It’s been an institution at the pub for twelve years and is still going strong. He’s very excited that I’m coming, and he meets me protectively at the door and escorts me over to a bunch of reserved tables in the corner. There seems to be no need for the reservation as the place is empty when I arrive at nine thirty.

“Don’t worry daaaaarrrrrling, it’ll be packed by ten”, he sings.

Unlike the Newtown Hotel and its slick renovation, this pub has the atmosphere of an underground fringe theatre. The walls are painted black, they’re draped in black and cigarette smoke hangs in the air. It reminds me of hidden clubs I used to uncover to see bands in, back in the eighties. There’s a large stage at the far end, which looks like the focus of the club rather than the excuse for a stage back at the Newtown. My wrist is stamped as I pay my cover charge, with ink so indelible that it will go to my grave with me.

The high priestess of this place is Mitzi Macintosh, perhaps the most high profile drag in Sydney. I find myself getting nervous flutters about meeting her. Trevor has promised an audience with her and a trip backstage to see the costumes and the set up.

Priscilla
cast members have begun to straggle in, all delighted and highly amused to see me here. They’re also very protective of me. I’m guessing they may think I might freak out with all these ‘
homosexuals’
around. The atmosphere pumps and as Trevor predicted the room has filled up. He talks non-stop about the history of the place and about drag. Finally it’s time to go and meet Mitzi. I follow him through the magic doorway backstage, where a group of drags are flapping around applying monstrous amounts of make-up and cackling like banshees. Mitzi is already in drag and greets me regally, with the earned status of a celebrity. I’m slightly in awe in her presence and she generously offers to show me around the catacomb which is backstage. She tour-guides me up a staircase designed for elves, past racks and racks of dresses, all of them made or commissioned by her. One lit match would turn this place into the inferno from hell. We climb to the next floor of the building and wander down the old style pub hallway poking our noses into room after room filled with costumes. Once, these rooms housed nightly tenants on their way to somewhere else, or maybe those just too sozzled to get home. Now they drip with colourful outfits boasting years of work. I’m awed into silence. Mitzi must think me a shy little specimen.

We return to the gang, my mind still spinning at how devoted these people are to their work. The crowd crushes forward as the show begins and I watch, now understanding that what I’m witnessing is not just a lifestyle but a life.

Chapter 13

Rehearsals week 4

I can’t believe we’re into our fourth week of rehearsals already. I can palpably feel the opening night approaching now but there still feels like a mountain to climb yet.

We assemble to finish
Don’t Leave Me This Way
, which has been neglected in favour of so many other numbers. Ross grandly enters the rehearsal room and everyone freezes, expectantly awaiting some kind of address from him, an apology, an explanation but his absence isn’t even touched on. It’s like it never happened. I recognize his grandness is simply Ross being sheepish, too proud to expose himself before the gathered ensemble.

We begin the rehearsals and to my horror, Ross sinks into a ferocious mood. If anyone disappoints him or isn’t quick to embody his choreography, he insults them. As the least adept dancer in the room I become terrified I’ll be an easy target. This is not the Ross I know. I concentrate as best I can to avoid a swift verbal back hand from him. Amelia seems to cop more than her fair share and I seek her out at the end of the session to make sure she hasn’t taken it personally. Straight out of drama school, it would be easy for her to think she’s disappointing her choreographer because she’s just not up to it. This of course, is not the case, she’s an unbelievable talent and I remind her of this and then explain that the Ross we’re all experiencing at the moment is not his usual self and needs compassion despite his bad mood.

7. Dean Vince and I take a note from Ross.

Thankfully, at the end of the session I’m no longer needed, so I go to the other studio to drill lines on my own. The ensemble has no choice but endure a whole day of dodging Ross’s volatile disposition. When they’re finally released, I overhear one very experienced dancer describing today as the single worst day of his career.

Tuesday, and we return to
Shake Your Groove Thing
, the routine which inspired Ross’ walk out last week. There’s an unspoken unease in the room as we begin. I go out of my way to shut up. I exude compliance as I wait eagerly for my steps. But they don’t come. Ross fidgets nervously as he waits for some kind of inspiration.

“I don’t
do
steps.” He says, misting up. “I just don’t know what to do.”

We play the music over and over, and Ross finally begins setting the dance one laborious step at a time. It takes forever. Two hours pass, and we haven’t even reached the half-way point of a two minute routine. He apologizes profusely as he tries to push through his terrible creative block. Simon is summoned to help but ends up just annoying him. Finally he admits defeat and hands the routine over to Andrew. With Ross out of the room, Andrew finishes choreographing the routine in ten minutes flat.

The cast has bonded terrifically. Four groups have emerged for lunchtime activities. There’s the park group, the café group, the stay at the rehearsal rooms group, and the pub group. I tend to float without loyalty. I love to observe the dynamics among a cast, because rehearsing a show is an incredibly intimate thing and people become close very quickly. You tend to learn a lot about people very fast. Today I get chatting to Damien about drag. He’s one of the two drags in the show and takes the whole life and lifestyle very seriously. He sees it as performance art as well as a giant sized hoot. He tells me being in drag liberates him and he regularly goes out to clubs dressed as his drag character, Freeda Corsett.

“Oh I’m a shocking bitch as Freeda,” he smirks. “I can get anyone to do
anything
I want.” I look across to Trevor who confirms this with a wry smile. “All I have to do is snap my fingers”, he winks. And this includes sexual favours. He tells me hair-raising stories of sexual conquests, mostly with so called ‘straight’ men in bars late at night.

“After they’ve struck out with the girls in the straight bars, they come to find
me
”, he pouts dryly.

His tales open the floodgates and suddenly I’m swamped by other stories of conquests of straight guys from other members of the cast. It triggers a memory I have of a dresser I had once, telling me that the sexiest thing in the world was conquering a straight guy. I guess a lot goes on out there in the deep of the night.

David Page has left the show. I thought it was too good to be true that we had him in the first place. He’d decided about two weeks ago that ensemble work wasn’t really his thing and he departed. This left a huge hole in the show, because in the
I Will Survive
number the three Queens happen upon a bunch of indigenous people in the desert and end up dancing with them. It’s crucial to have an aboriginal performer for the scene. Replacing him has been an ongoing nightmare as they’ve found it hard to find an indigenous performer with the requisite musical theatre skills who wants to be in the show. After a nervous two weeks they finally cast David’s cousin, Kirk. He’s a fine dancer, physical theatre performer and he can sing beautifully. They’ve struck gold with him. It’s Tuesday and we can finally work on
I Will Survive
, now Kirk’s on board.

We’ve choreographed the routine up until the aboriginal people come into the song. That’s when we’ve ground to a halt. With Kirk on board, Ross can now continue but the big problem is that it’s supposed to be a whole bunch of aborigines and we’ve only got one - and a few white chorus dancers. It’s highly insulting to the indigenous community to have white people doing aboriginal movement and Kirk is quick to point this out. Generally if white people want to use their movement, it must come with the indigenous community’s permission. Kirk is now in the unenviable position of being asked to provide some movements which our white cast can use with his blessing. But more than that, because Ross can’t choreograph Kirk’s movements either, it’s going to be up to Kirk to choreograph himself. There’s suddenly a tense standoff. Kirk states that he’s not a choreographer and that they should be getting in an indigenous choreographer to do the number, not relying on him. He’s also worried about being appointed cultural ambassador and feels very awkward about it. Simon points out that they haven’t the time or budget to bring anyone in so the problem needs to be solved somehow.

This is all Ross needs. Already fragile, I can see him trying so hard to respect Kirk’s cultural sensitivities but his frustration is at melting point. He makes a start, trying to give Kirk some movements, but everything he tries either offends Kirk or Ross himself hates. The ensemble sit around waiting to be plugged into the session, alive to the terrible tension in the room. With nothing to do, Simon takes Tony, Dan and me away to run scenes. Part of me wants to stay to see how the process unfolds but I’m mostly relieved to be leaving the pressure-cooker behind.

After an hour or so, we’re ready to return to the choreography room. We’re all desperate to know how they’ve gone in there. As we troupe back in, a gaggle of producers arrive for a six o’clock meeting, opting to come early so they can see some rehearsals in action. Simon’s face falls.

“Why, why, why?” he mumbles. “Of all sessions to come and see, why did they choose this one?” We all know this could be a monumental failure.

As we haven’t been put into the dance yet, Tony, Dan and I sit with the producers to watch the routine with Andrew and Dean filling in for our parts. Simon is twitchy. He likes to be across everything and right now he’s in the dark like everyone else. We wait nervously as the dancers take their place. The producers sit eagerly, completely unaware of the preceding drama. Are we all about to witness a car crash?

The music rolls and the dance starts. Kirk leaps around the stage doing an amazing series of cart wheels and indigenous style dance moves. It has an instant dramatic impact and is thrilling to watch. It’s like nothing we’ve seen so far in the show. The ‘white’ indigenous people have been buried up the back, and their movement is simple and non-specific. When it finishes there’s a shriek from the onlookers. I look across at the producers and their faces are lit up with smiles. Simon breathes a sigh of relief. This is a huge victory for Ross both creatively and personally.

Thursday, and after a morning of re-capping and an interview at lunchtime, I’m introduced to the boys who are playing my son. There are four of them and they’ll play the role on a rotational basis. They’re nine years old and seem like a bunch of bright sparks. I burn their names into my memory so I don’t embarrass myself by calling them by the wrong name. They all know their lines and seem to have been drilled in great detail. We play the scenes through, giving each one a shot at it and they all do exceptionally well.

On Friday we have a run of the show. It sends jitters through everyone. I overhear members of the ensemble muttering how they can’t remember anything. This is just outrageous as every time I see them doing anything they seem incredibly well drilled.

Tony informs me that the
Seven Thirty Report
will be filming it as part of a story they’re doing on the show. I can’t believe we haven’t been told about this. Communication isn’t a strong point from out of the citadel.

I make a pact with myself that I’m going to throw everything at this run to see how far along I’ve come. So far, in all the runs I’ve done, I’ve kept something back, testing how things play, choosing not to commit to some moments until I’ve truly worked them out. This is the opposite of how Tony works. He goes in boots and all, bravely playing everything to the hilt with no fear of failure. I’m in awe of his courage and have decided to adopt the Sheldon approach for today.

The run goes incredibly well, particularly for the ensemble. It’s really starting to look like a show. We’re really getting the feel of how it will work dynamically and it seems to have a fabulous flow.