I have to say I was surprised I didn't receive an invitation to the nuptuals. I remember meeting Prince Charles in 1978 and we seemed to get on. He shook my hand and asked me about how I settled on being an actor. I said I had always been 'of the theatre' and he looked at me in a charming way and said 'Yes, there is something theatrical about you' and moved on. It's something that has always stuck in my mind, his kind words. I remember him spending sometime with Suzannah York, and both of them looked at me at the same time, looking away when I raised my hand.
The decision was made during a holiday I took with my then parents in Yarmouth. Persuaded during a show the male lead was not as convincing as he should be, I demanded that I should be given a shot in the starring role. And so it was I portrayed Mr Punch, sat on the haunched shoulders of Mr Beckley, the puppet operator. What pathos I brought to that role. What angst I dredged up from my young, fertile mind, as I walloped his other hand with a truncheon. The play was abandoned half way through when the wretched chap committed that crime that all theatre audiences hate, a complete coronary collapse mid performance, which caused the tent to fall to one side. I tried to rescue the production but it was no good. Still, I learned a lot from the oratory I have at his funeral.
I still can't believe though that I didn't make the cut. I can only assume having moved several times since that meeting, he was unable to confirm my address details. I've checked the phone works. No worries there. I have even hung around outside the palace recently, but I got moved on. He could have rung my agent.
I did ring the office and someone called Eugene answered. They have a lot of interns there now, and I enquired with him if in fact he had answered the phone to Prince Charles, Prince William or any of the Royal Household, and if he had, had they asked for yours truely. He said that they had had no such call, and frankly, one that offers me anything would be on the calendar. This shows how much they value my talents, and how little the Royal Family rate me. Personally, I think he was faking.
Thinking about it now, I did meet him again in 1981, in the Shaftsbury were I was playing Algie in 'The Importance of Trousers'. Again he shook my hand, and he remembered me. "Still at it are you? Good God." I was very much 'still at it' I replied. 'The theatre is in my blood' I told him. 'I was born to act' I added on the end. 'In what?' he asked. The conversation went on something like this for a few minutes until a stage manager stepped in an broke us apart. Of course, the papers were all over it and this made a lot of reviewers mark my performance down, given my propensity for giving fat lips to Royalty. 'McPhereson is both terrible and moribund' said one. After scuttling to my dictionary, I was enraged 'McPhereson should never be allowed in front of an audience again' screamed The Stage. 'McPhereson causes Monarchy Meltdown in Matinee Mashup' was the headling in the Telegraph. I'll leave it to you what the Tabloids said, and the Mail mentioned something about bringing back hanging.
Not that I'm bothered about it; I have other things to do. There's my autobiography 'McPheresons Big Parts' which I am waiting to hear back on, my fitness video for the over 65s, which I am discussing with the Health and Safety people and my forthcoming launch of Chutney.com, where I share with the world my in depth knowledge of Chutney, Pickles and Preserves. Actually I probably would have turned them down; I'm no Royalist, I mean I wouldn't cut off their heads or start a revolution or anything like that, but I do think some people go to these things simply to be seen. I don't need to be seen. I've been seen. I've been seen in all the right places. I don't need to be poncing about Westminster on a Friday in a suit in front of two billion people just to be seen. Besides, I am waiting for a call from Timmy Mallett about that caravan he has for sale.
20110430
20110417
The process
As an actor I am often asked, what do you start with to get into a role? With different actors it is different things. I cannot divulge other professionals techniques, but I can say there are certain actors of note who start with the socks. Socks say so much about a person. Colour, pattern, length. Which goes to show why his appearing as Gandalf was such a disaster. another performer I know tends to go by underwear, and on more than one occasion has been caught rummaging through the underwear drawer of strangers for character research.
I have tried both these techniques and many more; it is a question of what works for the individual. My own method - which I give at great personal and professional risk is how a character picks their nose. Of course all the great roles have mysteriously abdicated on this trait, so it's obviously something that the writers of reknown have shied away from. So I have to improvise. For Sherlock Holmes, a jab of the finger, pin point accuracy, gone. King Lear, a majestic sweep of the arm, cloak billowing until entry achieved, then a royal flicking. And Satre, which requires a deck chair.
I have tried both these techniques and many more; it is a question of what works for the individual. My own method - which I give at great personal and professional risk is how a character picks their nose. Of course all the great roles have mysteriously abdicated on this trait, so it's obviously something that the writers of reknown have shied away from. So I have to improvise. For Sherlock Holmes, a jab of the finger, pin point accuracy, gone. King Lear, a majestic sweep of the arm, cloak billowing until entry achieved, then a royal flicking. And Satre, which requires a deck chair.
20110411
The Audtion
There are three main things to remember about auditions. Firstly, be sure you are in the right place.
Many moons ago I was invited to audition for the role of a certain mariner who seemed to labour under the misapprehension that fish were naturally in finger form. Dressed as the Cap'n, I made my entrance, talked of voyages to the seven seas, of my search for fine cod, all the while yo-ho-hoing it in all the right places to discover I had misread the address and was in a meeting to determine my suitability for Polish citizenship.
always have standby text. Once again it is best to have certain classic pieces of text memorised in case you should find your material unsuitable. I once attended an audition, and my piece was a routine from the Black and White Minstrel show. Of course, how was I to know my audience would themselves be black. My Faux Pas was avoided by my remembering of another text, and with deft professionalism, I switched roles to the much more suitable montage of black role models. My name is Mr Tibbs, Orthello, Mr T, Darth Vader, that sort of thing. They were bowled over by the performance, I could tell
Thirdly and by no means last, make it quite plain you are sexually available to each and everyone on the panel. This can be done by eye contact, body language or crotchless panties.
I remember when starting off in the industry having an audition with the now notorious Bigsby Weathershaw, who bedded each and every member of any cast he was working with. It was a time of hedonistic pleasure, of carnal lust and elastoplast. Bigsby of course passed into obscurity as the years wore on, but I did hear he was working on Farming Today - The Movie.
So, I have my script, my costume, my obvious talent and my remarkable availability. How can they refuse?
Many moons ago I was invited to audition for the role of a certain mariner who seemed to labour under the misapprehension that fish were naturally in finger form. Dressed as the Cap'n, I made my entrance, talked of voyages to the seven seas, of my search for fine cod, all the while yo-ho-hoing it in all the right places to discover I had misread the address and was in a meeting to determine my suitability for Polish citizenship.
always have standby text. Once again it is best to have certain classic pieces of text memorised in case you should find your material unsuitable. I once attended an audition, and my piece was a routine from the Black and White Minstrel show. Of course, how was I to know my audience would themselves be black. My Faux Pas was avoided by my remembering of another text, and with deft professionalism, I switched roles to the much more suitable montage of black role models. My name is Mr Tibbs, Orthello, Mr T, Darth Vader, that sort of thing. They were bowled over by the performance, I could tell
Thirdly and by no means last, make it quite plain you are sexually available to each and everyone on the panel. This can be done by eye contact, body language or crotchless panties.
I remember when starting off in the industry having an audition with the now notorious Bigsby Weathershaw, who bedded each and every member of any cast he was working with. It was a time of hedonistic pleasure, of carnal lust and elastoplast. Bigsby of course passed into obscurity as the years wore on, but I did hear he was working on Farming Today - The Movie.
So, I have my script, my costume, my obvious talent and my remarkable availability. How can they refuse?
20110410
Much excitement
It's 3am and I just had a call from my agents' assistant. Apparently I am Up got a commercial as the face of British Radishes. I know! Who can I ask for advice? Who?
20110404
Adam Wu
I have been asked by management here to apologise to Mr Wu for the previous but one posting which questions his personal hygiene. Even though I was not the culprit, I am held to be guilty of this. I don't even know who Adam Wu is, but that holds no truck with the management, my agent, the Police or Mr Wus' solicitor.
I am unaware of any overly fragrant extra. To me they all smell. Of desperation and ambition, all chomping at the bit for one of us 'stars' to fall prey to some horrible end, meaning they can all leap in there. Well, no one is chomping on my bit, I can tell you that.
I myself remember being an extra, waiting for my big chance. Five years I paced up and down as expectant father, mowed as garden hand, painted as a contemporary (unspeaking) of Van Gogh and was a Roman gladiator. Something many people still comment on, partly because it exposed the sinuey muscle of my legs but also because it was The Great Gatsby.
I remember thinking "I would like someone to fall off that gantry". I am ashamed of that now, of course, but at the time blind ambition and naked greed fuelled my furnace. I could stop at nothing, my drive was strong, my ambition huge, my tool sleak. Week after week of being treated like a proll didn't help. Ordered around, poked, prodded, pointed at, shouted at, dismissed and escorted from the premises. All these things tempered my desire. Soon, I thought, soon. I would sit at home with my cat, and perform oratories the depth of which no one could ever conceive, let alone my cat, who seemed more interested in the Porkyfish treat I had sellotaped to my nose to catch his attention. That, and a ten minute cassette of applause I had recorded from the Proms made me feel like a proper actor. Other people said I was mad, especially the neighbours, but I was dedicated to my craft.
It was shortly before Easter 1969 when working on Pablocs' 'The leotard of Leighton Buzzard' Tom Legend, the film and stage icon fell of a gantry in mysterious circumstances. Many took it that his final words - which I am flattered to say were my name - were an indication of who should take his role now that he was clearly going to die. I had told the stagehands, I remember distinctly, putting those steel tipped plate spinning rods on the stage was asking for trouble. and trouble it did indeed provide.
After a lengthy inquest, which many were kind enough to say was 'one of McPheresons' finest acting jobs', we recomenced the play. I could not hope to fill Tom Legends' shoes, obviously, him being such a 'draw' for the public with his high profile persona. So I simply tippexed over his face and put a passport picture of yours truely in its' place. And the rest is history. the CRB proves that.
Anyway, I apologise to Mr Wu if I have upset you. but you will face many more upsets than being told you are a maloderous little runt if you want to be an actor, boy.
I am unaware of any overly fragrant extra. To me they all smell. Of desperation and ambition, all chomping at the bit for one of us 'stars' to fall prey to some horrible end, meaning they can all leap in there. Well, no one is chomping on my bit, I can tell you that.
I myself remember being an extra, waiting for my big chance. Five years I paced up and down as expectant father, mowed as garden hand, painted as a contemporary (unspeaking) of Van Gogh and was a Roman gladiator. Something many people still comment on, partly because it exposed the sinuey muscle of my legs but also because it was The Great Gatsby.
I remember thinking "I would like someone to fall off that gantry". I am ashamed of that now, of course, but at the time blind ambition and naked greed fuelled my furnace. I could stop at nothing, my drive was strong, my ambition huge, my tool sleak. Week after week of being treated like a proll didn't help. Ordered around, poked, prodded, pointed at, shouted at, dismissed and escorted from the premises. All these things tempered my desire. Soon, I thought, soon. I would sit at home with my cat, and perform oratories the depth of which no one could ever conceive, let alone my cat, who seemed more interested in the Porkyfish treat I had sellotaped to my nose to catch his attention. That, and a ten minute cassette of applause I had recorded from the Proms made me feel like a proper actor. Other people said I was mad, especially the neighbours, but I was dedicated to my craft.
It was shortly before Easter 1969 when working on Pablocs' 'The leotard of Leighton Buzzard' Tom Legend, the film and stage icon fell of a gantry in mysterious circumstances. Many took it that his final words - which I am flattered to say were my name - were an indication of who should take his role now that he was clearly going to die. I had told the stagehands, I remember distinctly, putting those steel tipped plate spinning rods on the stage was asking for trouble. and trouble it did indeed provide.
After a lengthy inquest, which many were kind enough to say was 'one of McPheresons' finest acting jobs', we recomenced the play. I could not hope to fill Tom Legends' shoes, obviously, him being such a 'draw' for the public with his high profile persona. So I simply tippexed over his face and put a passport picture of yours truely in its' place. And the rest is history. the CRB proves that.
Anyway, I apologise to Mr Wu if I have upset you. but you will face many more upsets than being told you are a maloderous little runt if you want to be an actor, boy.
Terribly sorry
I left my laptop open whilst I was in makeup, and one of the young scamps thought it would be funny to infiltrate my blog. Well, I have changed my password so we'll have no more of that.
I am on the set of Wizard School, a furtive supernatural romp, where I play Old Chi'z, a mighty wizard who, due to a miscalculation with mustard during a fertility rite is forced to teach junior Wizards and Wizardesses the arts of the Wizard.
I am working with the delightful Ben Tucket and Lisa Strombo, and below is a picture of us at the Casiopia Restaurant in Cheadles' bright West End celebrating our assigned roles.
As you can see, we are in costume and looking closely you can see Trevor Eve in the background, enjoying Chablis. Of course, the waiter, who looks surprised here, was actually a real Mexican, something which we found hilarious, when you consider the connection between Mexican waiting staff and Fantasy Fiction.
The bottom of the pic you can see Bens' favourite momento, something he wears on almost every production he is on, although oftwhile he is instructed to keep it hidden.
A wonderful night.
I am on the set of Wizard School, a furtive supernatural romp, where I play Old Chi'z, a mighty wizard who, due to a miscalculation with mustard during a fertility rite is forced to teach junior Wizards and Wizardesses the arts of the Wizard.
I am working with the delightful Ben Tucket and Lisa Strombo, and below is a picture of us at the Casiopia Restaurant in Cheadles' bright West End celebrating our assigned roles.
As you can see, we are in costume and looking closely you can see Trevor Eve in the background, enjoying Chablis. Of course, the waiter, who looks surprised here, was actually a real Mexican, something which we found hilarious, when you consider the connection between Mexican waiting staff and Fantasy Fiction.
The bottom of the pic you can see Bens' favourite momento, something he wears on almost every production he is on, although oftwhile he is instructed to keep it hidden.
A wonderful night.
Adam Wu Smells.
Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.Adam Wu Smells.
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