Year of the Queen: The Making of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert - The Musical (3 page)

We all go out to the café for morning tea. There’s an overwhelming feeling that we’ll all be going home very, very shortly. Whatever Stephan whispered to Simon, it probably spelt doom for the workshop and probably the entire project. This flirtation with staging a musical of
Priscilla
may well be torpedoed by the time we get back from morning tea. They’ll cut their losses, pay us a cancellation fee and get back on the plane for London.

Putting this together is after all, risky and ballsy: taking an iconic movie, which our country and the rest of the world took to its heart, and then adapting it to the stage, complete with musical numbers. How do you pull off a road movie set on a bus on stage? How do you recreate performances by huge Hollywood stars like Hugo Weaving, Guy Pearce and Terence Stamp? The enormity of it hits me as we all sit waiting for the verdict from inside the rehearsal room.

When we’re called back in, Simon is looking grave. We wait with a sense of the inevitable for our marching orders. Stephan is still nowhere to be seen but the rest of the creative team and the producers are still here.

Simon very diplomatically announces that what we’ve just read was an idea the writers wanted to try, which clearly didn’t work. A grimacing agreement ripples around the table. Then he confides that what Stephan whispered to him was that we should abandon the script he’d written, and just go back to the film.

Simon offers us a projected plan for how to attack the rest of the workshop. We’ll start at the beginning of the film, notating the scenes one by one, and we’ll put them on their feet. As we go we’ll be throwing in ideas for songs. There are plenty in the film already, but the plan is to source more, which the characters can sing to further the narrative. Once we’ve learned the songs, Ross will choreograph them. Next Wednesday, the rest of the producers and other potential creatives will come to see what we’ve come up with.

I’m relieved that we’re not going home. I like the plan, but I seriously doubt that we’ll get through the entire show in the limited time we’ve got.

First we’re asked to decide whether the best formula for the show is a “Juke Box Musical” (making all the songs ‘covers’), or whether we should be commissioning a composer to write the songs. The overwhelming consensus is the former. Since so much of the feel of the film is about the seventies/eighties music, it would be a crime to replace these disco classics with new original songs.

We start with music while the first of the scenes is notated and printed off. We sit in front of a white board and begin to brainstorm songs which we could use in the show. They need to be appropriately seventies/eighties disco type songs. The first place we need to put one is in the funeral scene, where Bernadette is burying her partner, Trumpet. We begin throwing in suggestions, and it immediately becomes competitive. Everyone wants to make their mark and get a song in the show. After an hilarious brainstorming session, the winning song is chosen,
Don’t Leave Me This Way
, by Donna Summer. It’s Ross Coleman’s idea. It was the song played at Richard Wherrett’s funeral. When it gets the nod, a roar goes up like he’s won the lottery. The next song is one which introduces Felicia. Something rocky for him to perform as a macho ‘now’ drag Queen. Suggestions fly, but John Wood scores with
Simply Irresistible
.

And so it goes on. Once we’ve chosen a few songs, we gather around the piano and begin with
Don’t Leave Me This Way
. Spud creates harmonies out of thin air, and we learn them. Then we hit the floor, and Ross begins to choreograph it. Before we know it, the whole number is choreographed and we can show Simon what we’ve done. It’s exhilarating.

Pages of dialogue arrive, and Simon begins staging the start of the show. Scripts in hand, we plot a simple blocking for the opening, where Tick takes a phone call from his wife in Alice Springs demanding he come up and see his son. He then rings Bernadette to invite her to join him, but finds her in tears over the death of her boyfriend. We add these scenes to the dance routine and, in seemingly no time, we’ve got the first five minutes of the show done. Steps are wobbly, harmonies are uncertain and scripts are flapping everywhere, but it cracks along nicely and everyone is thrilled. We break for the day feeling elated.

Tuesday, and Simon brings in new pages. He’s clearly been up all night transcribing scenes from the film. As they’re printing, we sing through more songs. Today we’ll look at the scene directly after the funeral where Tick asks Bernadette to come with him to Alice Springs. While we do this, Spencer and some dancers choreograph
Simply Irresistible
with Ross. The workshop feels like it’s stepped up a gear. People are scattered throughout the building working on scenes or songs, scripts are being edited and printed off. Scenes are nipped and tucked and then thrown out - or not. Songs are being sourced on line and sheet music chased down.

We put
Simply Irresistible
into Felicia’s introduction scene. Then we block the scene into
Go West
, which brings the bus on. We use a taped version of the song by the Pet Shop Boys to choreograph to. Ross provides some basic choreography, and in what seems like no time at all we’ve got another five to ten minutes of the show. We’re now up to the scene where the drags leave Sydney. It’s dizzying how fast this process is moving. To finish the day we mock up the start of the show, where I mime
I’ve Never Been To Me
and continue through the rest of what we’ve put together. It’s shambolic and uncertain, but everyone has a real crack at it. There’s a feeling in the group that what we’re creating could really work.

As the performance approaches, I begin to realize how many big wigs will be watching on the day. The thought crosses my mind tha should this show get up I would like to be in it. Would they use me or go with someone with a bigger profile? Regardless, I’m keen to do the best job I can and not drop my pants in front of a bunch of theatrical luminaries. I’m working hard at nailing this.

I’ve started prioritizing what is important for putting together a decent performance for the showing. First thing is to get my nose out of the script. I can learn lines quite quickly, so I make sure I get the book down on each scene as we do it. The problem is that things change so quickly in a process like this. No sooner have you learnt a scene than it’s cut or changed somehow and you have to learn the new version, and then the new, new version.

I decide to create a little choreography for myself for
I’ve Never Been To Me
, as when I first did it the first time I felt incredibly exposed and uncomfortable miming it. Why wouldn’t I? I’m standing in a huge rehearsal room with no wig, make-up or dress, miming a song as a woman. Ross is too busy to do it so I resolve to do it myself at home.

Spud and Simon take me away to try out a song for the moment when Tick mourns never having been there for his son. The song we’ve come up with is
Lullaby
by Billy Joel. It’s a hauntingly beautiful song. I’d never heard it before, so I read the sheet music over Spud’s shoulder as he plays. My voice is rusty. I haven’t sung for two years, and I recognize this as something I really have to get together for the performance. I know if I sing this song well it could be a beautiful moment in the show.

At home that night, I start going over lines, song lyrics, and choreographing
I’ve Never Been To Me
. The weekend is fast approaching and the show isn’t nearly finished. Each time we go back to the top of the show, it’s like we’ve never done it before. Parts of it are decent, but then we get to places where we’re all just running around like a bunch of headless chooks. Sometimes the run stops completely because we’re just laughing too much at how crap we are.

Saturday, and we do a run of what we’ve done so far. We get as far as me singing
Lullaby
. I’ve worked on the song, but it’s still not there yet. I’m not even certain of the tune and I totally mangle it. As much as this is just a workshop, when something goes badly like that, you feel like the worst actor to ever walk the earth. I leave for the day hanging my head.

It’s Monday, and the cast drag themselves in from the weekend. Simon clearly hasn’t rested and there’s a pile of new scripts being handed out. Half of the Tasmanian old growth forest is scattered around the room, and people scramble through piles of pages trying to sort out which is the latest version of the script. The race is now on to get to Wednesday.

People are being completely proactive now. Tony, Spencer and I take ourselves away and self-choreograph
Shake Your Groove Thing
. We just make it to the end of the song when Simon calls us back into the main room, to put it together with Nicki Wendt’s hilarious version of Bob’s Asian wife’s ‘ping pong’ scene.

We’ve made it to Alice Springs, the scene where Tick finally meets his son. We rehearse it with Scott Irwin playing my son, but he’s around six foot two and it’s beyond ridiculous. Simon’s decided to get a real boy in for the performance. We’re all aghast. The show is peppered with highly adult material, so we resolve to have the child ushered in and out of the performance at appropriate times, so he’s not subjected to our filth.

On Tuesday afternoon, the child arrives and everyone fusses over him. He’s a pro, having been in plenty of other shows. He already knows his lines, like he’s been drilled by his mother for weeks. We block him into the scenes, and he turns out to be a real show stealer.

Tomorrow is the performance. To my utter disbelief we’ve got nearly the entire show blocked. It’s utter chaos, but we’ve actually got there. Nerves begin to hit me. It may just be ninety minutes of something we’ve banged together, but to me it really matters that it comes off well. The anticipation is growing in all of us.

As I look around the group, actors are carrying around pieces of script, gazing vaguely to the horizon as they try to cram another scene in. People hover around the piano trying to squeeze their head around a harmony or melody line. In every spare moment I sing through
Lullaby
like it’s a mantra.

At the eleventh hour I’m given another song to sing,
Always On My Mind
. I don’t know this song well either, and I try desperately to cram the words into my head.

Wednesday arrives. There are still a couple of scenes to straighten out, and some songs which haven’t been choreographed at all. Everyone’s on edge. It’s a bit like an opening night. The guest list is slowly feeding into the group’s consciousness. We know the English producers, Garry McQuinn and Liz Koops, will be here, as well as publicists, designers, marketing people, Stephan Elliot and John Frost. For some reason, of all the personnel coming, Frosty is the one I’m most keen to impress. I can’t be sure why. Maybe it’s because I feel I owe him.

We’ve worked together before when I played Cornelius Hackle in his production of
Hello Dolly!
Back then, he was getting ready to stage
Crazy For You
. I had my eye on Bobby, the lead role in it. I’d been told by everyone who’d seen it that it was a fabulous show and a great role for me, but it required that the actor could tap dance. I was touring with
Hello Dolly
for months, so I decided to throw myself into tap lessons and see if I could crack the role. I don’t know if Frosty heard about this or not, but he called me into his office and asked if I’d like to do the role. I said I’d love to but I didn’t know if I could dance it. To my utter dismay he offered to fly me to London to see the show and find out.

We had a break from
Dolly
for a week between Brisbane and Perth so I jumped on a plane to see the show and meet the choreographer, Susan Stroman. Half dead with jet lag, I went straight from the plane to the theatre. I plonked myself down to watch the show, and can vividly remember my palms sweating in anticipation as the lights went down and the overture began. The curtain rose and Bobby entered for his first number. Exactly twenty seconds in, I realized that the only way I could possibly do this show was if I’d been dancing since I was a foetus. I felt sick. No amount of tap classes would get me up to scratch for this. Frosty had totally done his dough on me. Shit, shit, shit!

The next day I had to meet Susan Stroman. Overnight I had concocted a devious little plan to save myself. My mission was to extract from her which ‘number’ from the show she was going to use in the auditions. This strategy was not designed to actually get me the role, only to stop me being completely humiliated at the auditions. At the level I was at in tap, it still took me hours to learn a few steps. If she tried to teach me
anything
from this show, I would look like a complete idiot. I knew I could get my hands on a tape of the routines from the show, so knowing which number would be used in the audition would allow me to get my teacher to learn the routine, and then teach it to me before hand. I wouldn’t get the job, but at least I wouldn’t make an arse of myself, or Frosty, for having the insane confidence that I could do it.

I went to the theatre for the appointment with Susan. Her assistant greeted me with a distant handshake and instructed me to wait for Susan in an ornate, walnut panelled ante-room, adjacent to the theatre foyer. I felt like I was about to meet the Queen. I waited for a good five minutes in there. Then the assistant came back and announced to me that Susan was about to enter. It made me want to crack off a terrible fart just before she came in, just to make things that bit more interesting.

Finally Susan arrived. She thrust out a hand and I greeted her warmly. I could tell by her manner that she only intended to spend a matter of seconds with me, so I had to drive the conversation towards the audition as quickly as possible. I needed the name of that routine. I cleverly asked when she expected to be coming out for the auditions, and what they would entail. She ignored the question and asked me how long I’d been dancing. My plastered smile faded momentarily. “Oh, years,” I answered. Then I popped the question: “Which number will you audition with? I mean they’re all so
wonderful
. Which do you intend using?”