Year of the Queen: The Making of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert - The Musical Read Online Free Page B

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?”
    I Got Rhythm , she said. I knew it! That’s the number, I should have guessed! My plan was secured. I spent the rest of the fifteen seconds I had with her telling her what a fabulous time I was having performing a lead role in such an acclaimed show as Hello Dolly! . Then she shook my hand firmly and swept out of the room.
    When I returned to Australia, Frosty wanted to know what I thought of the show, and how I’d go with the dance. Lying through my teeth, I told him that it was a stretch, but nothing was impossible. The language was vague but the mood was upbeat, and he seemed to be happy with that.
    Through terrible subterfuge I borrowed the video tape of the dance numbers for the show from the Hello Dolly! company office. I was under strict instructions that they were for my eyes only and I was to return it the moment I’d finished watching it. Of course, I went straight off and had it professionally copied, gave it to my dancing teacher, and started learning I’ve Got Rhythm .
    By the time the auditions came around, I knew the number and had been working on it relentlessly.
    On the morning of the auditions, I prepared at length. I warmed up my voice, ran through the number several times and invoked the support of my dead ancestors. I went to the theatre and waited on stage for the audition. Three of us from the show were auditioning for Bobby which we did as a group. Susan swept in cheerfully, without a whiff of the status she demanded in London and greeted me without the slightest glimmer of recognition, or of ever having met me before. This may have been a blessing in disguise. We lined up behind her ready to start.
    “Okay,” she commanded. “We’ll be learning Things Are Looking Up .’ And proceeded to launch, very quickly, into a mass of incomprehensible tap steps. This was not the song she’d promised! “No, no, no!” I thought. At first I was in too much shock to take in the first couple of bars, so I was already behind the eight ball. The others had got the gist early, so she continued on into the next few bars. They were both keeping up, and then there was me, loping