Year of the Queen: The Making of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert - The Musical (8 page)

As well as the drag Queens, a gaggle of producers and creatives have gathered all wearing feather boas. It’s very gala. TV people arrive and wrangle us all in front of the bus. Tim and Lizzy are here for the interview and with the shadow of their Oscar ever present, give it immediate credibility. The producers cast a watchful eye over us as cameras arrive. Mel and Kochie stride towards us. After an hour of waiting around, time speeds up. As the lens of morning TV turns to us, we become critical. Mel and Kochie shake our hands as the camera guy places us. The drags aren’t speaking, so they don’t have mics on. Thank God. Amidst the clamber to get the shot, the cheerful but impersonal chit-chat from Mel and Kochie, and the Queens jostling for front position, a tech calls out loudly: “In…” and everyone goes quiet, like the air has been sucked out of them. He goes on: “Five, four, three, two…” and then he points to Mel. The only sound now is the traffic and Mel’s seamless introduction.

I’m standing next to her, out of shot, and I wink at Tony, trying to appear calm. I feel a bit like a deer in the headlights and hope it doesn’t show. Bizarrely, I think back to shitting my pants this morning, and I almost crack up laughing. Some strange part of me desperately wants to bring it up in the interview.

Mel throws a question to Tony, and he picks up the ball like a pro. He sells the show in easy sound bites, giving dates of the opening night and talking up how wonderful it will be. Then Mel asks me how I am in heels. I quip that that’s the only reason they gave me the job then quickly divert to talking about the show. It feels a little clunky but it’s all a part of getting back on the horse. This stuff only looks convincing when you’re accustomed to it. Kochie asks Lizzy about the costumes. She’s terrific at this, as you just know she would be. The drags standing behind her try to up-stage her shamelessly. She catches onto this and checks she doesn’t have a knife in her back. “Never turn your back on a drag Queen”, she says.

Then it’s over. The lens turns away from us once more and people scatter. Mel and Kochie are marshalled back inside. Producers evaporate. The boa-clad crowd has disappeared into the Sydney rush hour. I feel like the only one who hasn’t been told there’s a fire. I’m not sure who to follow. Suddenly alone, I take out my schedule and see I have an hour or so off. My disorientation is broken as a cab charge is thrust into my hands and I find myself speeding back to Star City in a cab. Did that all just happen? My phone begins to beep as text messages come through from all those who’ve just seen my musical theatre career officially re-launched live on national television.

11.30 rolls around quickly and I head to the Lyric Theatre stage door where the confirmed members of the cast so far, will be gathering. We’ll all be presented en masse to an awaiting throng of media for the official press launch. I feel like a curiosity amongst this young cast. As I arrive I can tell they weren’t even at drama school yet when I was doing musical theatre. They must question why
this guy
has been given the dream role of Tick. I’m relieved to see Danielle Barnes who, although still looking like a teenager, is a fellow veteran and someone I’ve worked with many times before. She gives me a wry grin as we privately celebrate still being around. I plant one on her beautiful cheek.

Lena Cruz is swinging off the handrail leading to stage door. As if I’m an old friend she barrels up to me grinning cheekily and shakes my hand. She’s Filipino and she laughs hard as she says I don’t need to guess who she’s playing. She’s of course playing Bob’s ping-pong ball popping wife.

Smoking, and standing away from the group is Daniel Scott, the boy plucked from the ensemble of
Dusty
to play the ‘Guy Pearce’ roll of Adam/Felicia. I can instantly see why he’s here. He’s got star written all over him. He looks like a young Marcus Graham and has an easy charm about him. I approach and introduce myself. He is confident and direct but betrays a sensitive shyness. He laughs easily as if the nerves have got the better of him today. I can see him slipping effortlessly into being the rock star of the show. The one they’ll squeal for. I’m relieved to find him instantly likable, since we have such a long journey to travel together.

We head up in the lift to dump our bags and I bump into Simon. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since the auditions and I clamp him in a long, grateful embrace. The euphoria of the day seems even to have caught him off guard and he looks nervous and edgy with the mountain we all have to climb before October.

Outside is the huge silver bus I saw at Channel Seven. Carl wrangles us aboard, with strict instructions as to which order we’ll be getting off in. Our short trip will take us around to the other side of the casino where the press has assembled. We’re garnished with pink feather boas, which wilt and stain our clothes. The heat is sweltering inside the bus and we all misbehave like school kids on an excursion.

The bus cranks its way up the hill towards the press call. They certainly didn’t blow the budget on this old girl and I’m slightly worried we won’t actually make the distance. As we arrive, Frosty is in mid pitch. The size of the crowd takes my breath away. There’s got to be a hundred people here. There’s a collective gasp and applause as the bus lumbers towards them. We stop and remain on board waiting to be introduced.

Simon’s first out and he leaps off the bus like a game show host to make an uncharacteristically tense speech. He then he introduces the academy award winners, and Tim and Lizzy who step out to generous applause. Then it’s Tony’s turn. Again a roar. I start to sweat as my name is about to be announced. God, I hope there’s not a deathly silence. I step down from the bus, making sure I don’t trip over.

Once the cast have all been introduced, Tony, Daniel and I are given bottles of champagne to christen the bus with. This clearly hasn’t been thought through properly. The press surge forward to within inches of us and suddenly I realize that I’m going first. I hold the bottle like a baseball bat and make a couple of comical practice swings. Then I make contact. There’s a hideous metallic ‘Dong’ as I connect with the bumper bar, but no breakage. Like a Buddhist call to prayer, the ‘Dong’ has awoken me to the reality that without a shadow of a doubt, when this bottle breaks, it’s going to shower all those around it with speeding fragments of broken glass. It’s going to be ugly. I take a deep gulp. Will this be the story of the press call? ‘Photographers blinded by shattered glass!’

Not having any options with the eager press poised for a photo opportunity, I squeeze my eyes shut and swing the bottle really, really hard. This time the bottle explodes exactly as prophesied. Glass sprays outwards. There’s a gasp from the crowd, my pristine suit pants cop a spray of champagne and God knows where the rest of the deluge has ended up. I look up sheepishly to the crowd, shrugging off the embarrassment of just having doused myself with booze. I turn to Tony and grimace to him. At least he now knows what he’s in for. He has his swing. It takes him three goes to break it, with similar consequences. Then Daniel has his turn. This is a boy who watches and learns. Avoiding the humiliation Tony and I endured, he makes his swing hard and it breaks first time.

Then we gather in front of the bus and with the drags behind us, we pose camply for the cameras. It’s then I notice my hand is covered in blood. There’s so much that I can’t tell where the cut is. I show Tony, who looks down in horror to his own hand to see that he’s dripping blood too. We show Daniel. To his surprise, he opens his hand to reveal he’s also bleeding. We all laugh, completely bewildered. How could this happen? It suddenly becomes
the
story amongst the press. Cameras click madly. Photographers want shots of the three of us nursing our bleeding hands.

Clare rushes up with tissues to wipe off the blood. I look over to Daniel and see him posing for a photo, looking down at his bleeding hand in mock horror.

Tony, Daniel and I are grabbed for a quick TV interview, and I make a special effort to be better than I was this morning. By the time we finish the interview, the press has thinned. The producers invite us to lunch. I deviously drill them for information about the auditions, the cast, but they remain infuriatingly professional and tight lipped. The only gossip I get is that we’ve already sold 300 tickets, unheard of before the official release.

After lunch I’m to be measured for costumes, shoes, and wigs. An army of tailors, seamstresses and wig people are at the ready and every inch of my anatomy is measured. Even the corn on my foot is factored into the calculations for my high heels.

When I’m measured for my wig, someone covers my head in glad wrap and then wraps it tightly with packaging tape until my whole head is a strange glossy ball. I look like Pine Gap. They draw hieroglyphics onto it and then ease the tape helmet off. I’m finally dismissed.

Next up is a Party Bookers shmooze. This is crucial for kicking off ticket sales. All the influential group bookers are invited, and are plied with booze and finger food as we pitch the show to them. Some of these bookers launches can be enormous, up to 500 people, but our producers have gone small and influential with this lot.

The first group is a bunch from the travel industry. Garry has drawn the short straw and does the introduction speech, something he’s clearly not comfortable with. The content is on the money, but he speaks softly and nervously. Then he introduces Simon. I sense the producers haven’t seen a Simon Phillips speech before. They need to strap themselves in. His speeches are infamous and something to behold. He hits the stage with almost drunken enthusiasm, thanking Garry, saying that he’s sure it was a fabulous speech but nobody could hear a fucking word of it. The crowd laughs and the producers shuffle nervously. Then he turns his attention to Lizzy and Tim.

“Oh look over here,” he quips. “We’ve got Tim Chappel and Lizzy Gardiner, both looking incredibly self-consciously ‘dressed down’ for the occasion. Ladies and gentlemen, these two have won an Oscar for their incredible costume designs for this show, but they’ve come dressed as street people.
We’ve
all bothered dressing up, why couldn’t they?”

Tim and Lizzy’s embarrassment becomes the crowd’s delight. They all cack themselves laughing.

“And here’s John Frost, another of our producers, with an amazing track record, including a Tony Award for
The King and I
. Ladies and gentlemen, he’s kindly agreed to play a koala in the show.” (Frosty has a large, cuddly physique).

The banter climaxes with him saying: “The cast and crew have committed to giving their all to the show, now it’s
your
turn to go away and sell some fucking tickets!!”

The producer’s anxiety peaks, but with little cause. Simon has the audience eating out of his hand. When the speeches are finished we all mingle with the crowd, selling them a show which doesn’t exist yet. We tell them how fabulous it will be, and what a spectacular it is. They all buy into the white lie and seem convinced the show will be a hit as well.

After telling our quota of fibs we’re ushered off to ‘the Party Bookers launch. This is less corporate and much more homey. There’s a sea of grey hair at this one and to their utter delight, Simon is at his bawdy best. He tells them that if they miss seeing Tony and me in dresses they’ll be missing out on the sexual thrill of a lifetime. They fall about laughing.

He introduces Tony and they cheer like the Beatles have just hit the stage. Tony makes a slick, witty speech and they gaze adoringly up at him. Then it’s my turn. After two quickly slurped glasses of red wine my blood’s up, and I fire off a few gags, which hit their mark. Daniel joins us. He’s a natural, charming them instantly.

Simon finishes the speeches off by saying, “If you like the young men standing in front of you, then you’d better get booking, as they’ll be straight back to the dole queue if you don’t.”

I remind them I have two young sons to support and without missing a beat, Daniel says he has two cats. The room is now a mass of old people on fire. We begin to mingle. Everyone I meet remembers me from
Buddy
and tells me how much they loved it. Tony is besieged by elderly women desperately in love with him. One snuggles up and says, “Oh Tony, if things were different…”

The schmoozing is spirited and genuine. It’s not hard to sell a show which people already want to see, and this is a crowd who seem to have followed my entire career. Carl leans into my ear and privately gives me the word. Time to go. There’s a cab downstairs waiting to take us to the airport. As we navigate our way through the adoring crowd, Tony is bailed up by an elderly man.

“Is Bluey Lamont your Uncle?” The man says.

Not wanting to hurt the old bloke’s feelings as he makes a dash past him, Tony lies and says,

“Yes.”

Tony has of course, never heard of Bluey Lamont. The bloke grabs a hold of Tony’s arm, suddenly emotional. Tony can’t go anywhere now.

“Oh, we were in the army together,” he says. “He was a wonderful man”.

Tony nods sympathetically.

“How
is
old Bluey?” says the man. “Is he still alive?”

Only half thinking it through, Tony says,

“No.”

The old bloke gasps, horrified.

“Oh no!” he says, “That’s just
terrible
. He was younger than
me!
”

Chapter 6

Work Begins

Second Workshop. 21
– 24
June

I’m still processing yesterday’s launch as I arrive at the MTC studios to workshop the new script. A bunch of the cast will assemble to put the new script through its paces. Now that I’m part of the project for real, I’m dying to see where it’s at. Obviously there’s been endless script meetings and re-drafts, arguments, tantrums and budget restrictions, hasn’t there? Over four months have passed since we made the offering of the last script. Plenty of time, one would think, to confirm what was good in the last one and what was needed to improve it. Drawings of costumes and sets will have been made, ideas for the staging of dance numbers and set pieces surely must be on the table by now. But as usual, intelligence is scant. The executive of the citadel are tight lipped.