Year of the Queen: The Making of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert - The Musical (18 page)

Afterwards, Simon calls the principals together for a quick debrief. I’m worried. Perhaps we’re about to get the “C’mon lads, it’s two weeks until previews, let’s lift our game”, speech. But instead of a towelling, Simon seems very happy and asks
us
if we have any concerns we need to talk about. None of us do, aside from the appropriate state of panic we’re all in.

I pack my bags for Melbourne this morning. I’m going straight to the airport after work to spend the weekend at home. I’m just hanging on. The kids have got bored with having to talk to me on the phone, so I get little communication with them beyond, “Hi Dad… bye Dad…” so I’m aching to spend some time with them.

In the afternoon the boys playing my son, Benji, are back in. We’re going to set the staging for
Say A Little Prayer
. Benji appears in my imagination and I sing the song to him.

I sing it through a few times so Simon can get a grip on when Benji should appear and where he should move on stage. We try it a few ways, with varying success. The best version we find is him walking past me, suddenly catching my attention. I watch him as he runs to Marion, my wife and they walk away together.

We have to play it through with each boy so he can learn it, but after about the third time through, I start to get misty. Watching as my little boy walks away from me just reminds me of my own sons being so far away and I can’t stop feeling achingly home sick. By the fourth run I burst into tears. I’m in the middle of the song and I just begin to sob uncontrollably. The rehearsal stops and everyone turns to me bewildered. After a moment of shock, Simon asks,

“Are you okay?”

This is exactly the wrong question.

“I just miss my boys so much”, I sob, and then completely lose it. I’m simultaneously embarrassed for crying in front of the kids
and
the cast and desperate to pull myself together so I can continue the rehearsal. But I can’t. Tears stream down my face and I leave the room to gather myself. I stand in the windy corridor trying to avoid the passing foot traffic. A cheerful company manager waves at me as she passes. Her face drops when she sees my soaking face.

“Are you okay?” she pleads.

“I’m fine”, I lie, and insist she leave me alone.

After a few sooky minutes I return to the room to continue work. I apologize and assure everyone I’m fine now. Marney approaches me and gives me a hug. As sweet as it is, I have to push her away in case it all starts over again.

We run the scene and that’s exactly what happens. I feel so brittle and tears are so close to the surface that once the song starts, so do the tears. I’m furious with myself. I feel so stupid that I just can’t work the scene. I draw together all my will power and start once more. This time it works. With a sense of relief, Simon finally finishes staging the scene and we can all go home. I make my dash to the airport and I just can’t wait to see my real boys.

Chapter 14

Rehearsals week 5

To avoid the mad dash in the morning I get a plane back from Melbourne on Monday night. The weekend went past in a blur and now the closer I get to Sydney, the more it hits me that the comfortable buffer zone between being in the rehearsal room and the opening night is about to be taken away. It’s Tuesday and our last day at Brent Street.

I begin the day with a photo shoot at the theatre. Never having done a show in the Lyric at Star City before, it feels unfamiliar and somehow imposing. I can’t navigate the corridors yet and like most new theatres it lacks any wholesome, old style atmosphere. The large echoing corridors are built for practicality, not beauty and in an attempt to actually present as a theatre, a host of framed posters boasting the slate of shows performed here self-consciously line the corridors.

Once I sign in at stage door I take the lift up to the green room to meet Tim who will be in the photo with me.

“Hi sexy”, he purrs, and he slips me into my emerald
I’ve Never Been To Me
outfit. This is my first publicity call in drag and I have more than a few butterflies wondering how this shot is going to turn out. It’ll be printed in colour in The Australian Weekend Magazine and plenty of people are going to catch an eyeful of it.

The photographer is disorganized and indecisive. On top of that, she doesn’t know or particularly care who Tim is. She orders him around like he’s my dresser. I introduce him to her again, pointedly reminding her that he’s one of the designers of the show but she seems to care little. Tim isn’t worried and seems more nervous about being in the photo than offended by her manner.

She suggests we go outside for the shot and ushers me to the courtyard outside the green room. It’s raining out there. It’s also grimy on the tiles and my emerald mermaid-like outfit has a tulle train which drapes along the ground. I point out to her that going out there would ruin the dress. She screws up her face like a spoilt valley girl and tries to assure me that it’ll be okay. I refuse to go outside in the rain and she reluctantly moves the shot inside. She decides she needs more light and rushes out to her car to get some equipment. This takes her fifteen minutes and when she finally returns she begins to assemble an impressive rig of lights. She apologizes profusely but Tim and I are getting less and less patient with her.

Finally she’s ready and we snap some shots. She turns the camera around and shows me what she’s taken. It was certainly worth the wait. The shots look fabulous and the lighting is terrific. The dress comes up beautifully in all its emerald splendour. I feel enormously relieved that I’m going to pull off my drag debut in style.

Now late, I race back to Brent Street for our final day of rehearsal. The cast has been finishing off the “mega-mix” choreography. Tony, Dan and I only enter at the end of the routine dressed as the Sydney Opera House, so we wait outside the room until they’ve finished. Finally we’re called in to watch a run of it. Ross is brimming with pride as we take our seats. The music starts and the routine begins. It’s amazing. To imagine all the colours and the costumes parading around in this dazzling routine is really exciting. I look across to Tony and tears of pride are running down his face. This is the man who argued against having a “mega-mix” in the first place. Watching him in tears now I feel absolved for
my
sookiness on Saturday now.

In the afternoon we do a final run of the show. This is such an important run, being the last we’ll do until dress rehearsal. All the producers and designers will be in for it, eager to see how far we’ve come.

The run goes incredibly well. Everyone steps up a gear, particularly Tony. He’s unstoppable - scarily brilliant. I feel like each time he steps up a gear he puts Dan and me on notice to follow suit, keep working hard or get lost in his dust.

I feel very proud of Ross. It’s been a nightmare for him and as much as he’s put a lot of people through hell to get there, he’s definitely come up with the goods. The choreography looks fabulous and when everything calms down and we’ve all put the drama behind us, we’ll be left with his wonderful work.

I wind my way through the labyrinth to the outside world for the last time. I’m so glad to be out of that filthy, cold, windy, pigeon infested hole. Tomorrow we move into the theatre and the real magic begins.

I begin Wednesday with a costume fitting. Anthony is really showing the strain today. He works quickly and tugs at my corset just that little bit roughly, as if his mind is on a million other things. I try to draw him on how things are going but he remains tight lipped and professional, only offering that things are a little stretched. The lead up to previews will be gargantuan. My outfits are all nearly finished and look truly amazing.

When I get to the theatre there’s a siren blaring. The cast, crew and staff of the Lyric theatre are pouring out the stage door for a fire drill. This is modern theatre. Everyone has to be ‘inducted’ - shown the safety procedures and hear the alarms. Don’t worry about the hundreds of people up and down the promenade by the casino who think it’s burning down. Once upon a time when you went to a theatre, there’d be a stage door man to greet you politely as you signed on and wished you well for the show. In the new theatres it’s become like Fort Knox with security guards and passes and swipe cards.

I head to the stage which has already been painted a deep rusty red. It’s a cavernous space and the red seems to enhance its size. I pause for a moment and look out to the auditorium - a mass of empty seats. I try to imagine them all filled and me on stage performing this show to them. It gives me a flutter. Kath arrives and shows me to my dressing room which is stark. It has a couch, dressing table mirror surrounded by lights and a separate shower and toilet, like a compressed hotel room. Each performer in a long run quickly decorates their room with their own particular flair. I can already see where my children’s pictures will hang.

This morning is my favourite part of any production period: the Zitsprobe. The band and the cast are assembled and we’ll play through the songs together for the first time. After rehearsing to either piano or backing tracks, we finally get to hear how the arrangements sound in all their glory.

We’re called onto the huge stage where a long line of chairs have been assembled, facing out to the auditorium. Four mics have been set up on stands for the singers to gather round when it’s their turn to sing. As we take our seats I see Spud prowling the auditorium, geeing up the band. He plays it cool but I can tell he’s really excited. Once we’re seated, he introduces the band, saying that these guys are the best of the best. To give us the proof, he chooses the most impressive number to begin with,
MacArthur Park
. He says he wants us to hear the arrangement first before we sing it and he strikes up the band. They play the number through and as promised, it’s enormous. It sweeps us all away. By the end, everyone’s cheering. Then we play through it again but this time we sing along to it. It sounds doubly amazing with all the vocals.

Then we begin at the top of the show and work our way through. Each number has its own little surprise and is a thrill to hear. We get to
Always On My Mind
and I get a rush of nerves as I approach the mic to sing it. The arrangement sounds beautiful and I do my best to sing it as well as I can. When I finish I turn to go back to my seat and notice all the girls, (male
and
female) are in tears.

We sing through
Pop Muzik
. When we finish, Spud comes up on stage to ask why the ensemble is singing a certain vocal part which wasn’t in the arrangement. One of the ensemble says Ross wanted it sung to go with a certain piece of choreography. Spud curls his lip and quips, “I’ve got some choreography I’d like to try out later too”.

At lunchtime, Dan, Tony and I get into drag make-up and costume for an interview with Deborah Hutton. There’s been a ridiculously short time allocated to getting ready though. For the three of us there are only two make-up artists and we only have an hour. Add to that, we’re being filmed by a T.V. crew who insist on turning off the dressing table lights because they interfere with the camera. Cassie and her assistant Ben work like fury. At 2pm we’re due on stage but we’re not nearly ready and my shoes and corset have gone missing. Carl rushes in insisting that we’re due on stage
right now
. Cassie rolls her eyes as if to say, “We’ll be there when we’re there!”

It’s the first time since the auditions that I’ve been in drag make-up. This time the make-up is much better though and with the flowing blonde wig I look incredibly glamorous - and strangely like Jessica Rabbit. My last appearance in drag had an agenda of ambition attached to it so this time, without having to prove anything and with the confidence of feeling far more attractive, something inside me feels ready to be unleashed.

I head to the stage and find the ensemble sitting in the auditorium having some down time. Unable to believe their eyes, they absolutely scream when they see my transformation. The outfit completely takes me over and I strut down to the front of stage and start spitting bitchy comments out to them.

“If things don’t get moving on this call I’ll be going back to my fucking trailer!!” I snap. The cast fall about laughing and it only adds fuel to the fire. “Like my tits?” I purr, “At least they’re real, unlike
some
people’s.” I turn and gesture to Deborah who eyes me uneasily. “I cannot
beeeleeeeve
I’ve come looking more glamorous than Deborah Hutton, poor little thing.” The cast are in stitches and I have to be physically dragged off to do the interview with Deborah.

8. Jessica Rabbit.

Freeda warned me that being in drag gives you the license to do or say whatever you want - be whoever you want to be. Well here’s the proof. I’ve become a bitchy, prima donna, spouting spite like some faded movie Goddess. I feel liberated, like I can be forgiven for saying whatever the hell I want. Everyone knows it’s an act, everyone knows it’s just little old me under this garb but that just makes it all the funnier. It’s the classic actor’s tool. Provide a funny hat, or a mask, or a walking cane and suddenly you’re someone completely different. The costume takes you over. It’s definitely not a gay thing. I don’t feel like my sexuality has changed at all. And it’s not like I’m trying to be a woman either. The place this outfit has taken me to is squarely into being a drag Queen. A singularly unique persona. I’m not, as Amanda Munroe would have me believe, giving the straight guys a secret erection. I’m not pushing any boundaries of my own sexuality, I’m simply being a drag Queen. The natural response to dressing up as a glamorous woman and playing her to the hilt. As an actor, I’m doing what I do, which is playing a role.