When I was in BAFTA, I attended their
bashes, and was very confident of walking away with 'Best Voiceover
for a Documentary on Dietary Difficulties encountered by North
American Vegan Inuits'. But alas, Jarvis got it. In fact, the whole
evening was just people opening envelopes and saying 'Martin Jarvis'.
Later, I approached Jarvis as he loaded another pallet of trophies
into his hired transit van, and in a civil but firm voice, I asked
him if it wasn't a little bit selfish. I have to say, as a golden
voice, his reply was not as civilised as one would expect. Could this
really be the same voice whose dulcet tones voiced Winnie the Pooh,
Agatha Christie and the Observer Book Of Collectable Jars? The potty
mouthed outburst was a tour de force of swearing, encompassing my
parentage, toilet habits and unsavoury activities with a mule. I left
him to it, his endorsements of my resemblance in his opinion to the
expulsion of urine, ringing in my ears.
Jarvis aside, it is notoriously
difficult to know what to do when you get nominated for an award. I
myself am pleased my peers know me well enough to realise that gongs
and plaudits mean little to me, and thus usually don't bother adding
my name to the lists. It was in 1976 I got nominated for my portrayal
of Glyn, the lonely washing machine in the Bold advertisment. This
was a task, even for an actor of my abilities, and I studied white
goods for a good while to understand them, to get into how it felt to
be a washing machine with combined tumble dryer function. One day I
even went so far as stuffing dirty clothes into my mouth.
In those days, there was a store called
Rumbelows. This hallowed premises boasted electrical items of all
hues and designs. Ovens, fridges, freezers, toasters, pedal bins and,
of course of most interest to me, washing machines. Having been
ejected from the launderette for... reasons, I decided the best thing
to do was consult someone who knew about these machines. I spent a
whole morning talking to a salesman about the display models. Their
benefits and drawbacks. After three hours or so he had started to get
a little short with me. I think the crux came when I asked 'do they
ever feel depressed? Trapped in a relationship of master and slave,
getting older, ambitions unfulfilled and dreams crumbling like oats
in the wind'. 'Do you want to buy one or not, Sir?' he (in my opinion
rudely) asked. Trapped by my own plan, and realising he stood between
myself and the exit, I said 'Certainly I do. Sign me up, my good
man'. When he went to the desk to get the papers I vaulted for the
door, moving cat like past the waffle grills and weaving my way –
with I have to say a degree of skill – past the open grills. But
this salesman was fast. He got me via a complex vault over a toaster
display and blocked my exodus. The deal was evidently on, or as he
put it 'you're having the bloody thing, mate. I don't care'. We
filled out the paperwork but my piste da resistance was a cash on
delivery arrangement to a false name and address. I was allowed to
leave the store.
It was sometime later that lovely Jon
Pertwee cornered me in a BBC bar and demanded to know why he had
received two washing machines, a tumble dryer and a device for
heating crumpets. Apparently, having confided my deeds to Mollie
Sugden, she had no sooner gleaned my information than she had rung
the illustrious scarecrow and spilled the beans. Sugden was expert in
extracting information. She could have been in the CIA or similar,
such was her prowess. She broke you down, although she did later
regret her gift when she got John Inman to explain exactly why he
had quite so many hamsters.
Pertwee was aggrieved that day. Let me
tell you there is nothing like an angry Pertwee. Once his wrath was
invoked, there was no power on Earth which could quell his rage.
Words were exchanged. Temperatures were escalated. And finally....
I seem have have strayed from my
subject matter somewhat, and will return to my diatribe about awards.
I just think in closing this little diversion I should thank the good
people of the NHS for their prompt and professional work, and the
reassurances that the hair should grow back.
Anyway, my main intention was to give
you an idea of what it is like to be nominated for an award.
Obviously, you will need to have a speech. The speech can be as long
as you wish it to be, but be advised the record was set by Kenneth
Brannagh, who managed four months. I do know several performers who
were there all the way through, and I visit them as often as their
Doctors will feel it beneficial.
Below is a table of things to mention
and areas to stay away from
|
Mention
|
Don't Mention
|
|
Gratitude to cast and crew |
The cast and crew sex orgy |
|
Special praise for director and producer |
That thing each told you about the other |
|
Praise for the genre |
You had no interest in this. Still none. |
|
How it sheds new light on the issue |
The issue is boring |
|
Wonderful place it was made |
Don't mention the diarrhea |
|
Your longevity and ambition to get this award |
About bloody time |
|
Your fellow members' good taste |
At last |
|
The defeated other candidates are graceful |
Take it. Suck it up. Suck it up good. |
|
Thank all your friends and tutors and family |
Never mention how they wanted you to be a minicab driver
instead. |
One of the main things about accepting
an award is the procedure upon announcement. Firstly, there is the
surprised look. It is vital to have a genuinely surprised look.
Remember, this is a pleasant surprise, and therefore horrified,
terrified and receiving bad news expressions are not suitable. Think
about something pleasant. Perhaps a joyful moment as a child. A first
triumph in your academic life. Jarvis being swallowed by a dinosaur.
Then comes the table greet. This is
something that should be handled with care. You should turn to your
fellow attendees and laugh and smile and hug. Again, this should be
as genuine as possible, and any acrimony or scores to settle should
be briefly put to one side. This is the moment for a team victory,
even though you are the person who gets the award and they pale into
insignificance. Ignore for these few moments that at this moment, you
could crush each and everyone of them under your boot as you would a
loathsome worm. You are all equal. Even the one who thought it would
be funny that day to put hot sauce in place of your tomato soup. Oh,
he will pay. Do you hear me, Cocker? You will pay. But not now. No.
Languish in your achievement with your brethren and hug and applaud
each other. After all, revenge is a dish served cold.
Then comes the chair move and walk to
the stage. This is a tricky one. The pushing out of the chair is a
art form in itself. In my book, 'Chairs and how to pull them out'
(Penguin 1997) I detail the procedure for this in detail, with
comprehensive illustrations and formulae for all manner of seating
furniture. Normally one will be sat on a straight backed chair with a
small nod to lumbar support. It is best to use the hand furthest from
the stage and push it back in time with the straightening of the
knees. It may sound simple but it does require practice and I have
seen many occasions where the chair is knocked clumsily by the
awardee and flies into the face of some elderly doyen, somewhat
overshadowing the reception of an award. Giving a speech while your
fellow actors are trying to save the sight of a legend of theatre is
not something I would wish on anyone else, drowned out as you are by
shouting, screaming and the oncoming sirens of the Ambulance.
Navigating your way to the stage is
another skill. One must have a firm sense of where to go, and pace is
important. I like to pretend I am back in the Punjab, wending my way
through traders and market sellers, ever wary of those who would pick
my pockets as I journey past, or the rogues who would lure you into a
darkened lane with ill-intent, promising much but in reality just
undertaking not to cut your head off in exchange for money. This
rarely happens during awards ceremonies but all the same I would
avoid the 'Casualty' table if I were you.
One thing I do is go into the main hall
before the awards ceremony. This can be tricky, as you could be
mistaken for one of the set up staff, and be asked to move tables,
chairs and cutlery. This sounds mundane but actually it's an
excellent way of altering place mats so you get a little kick of of
awkward seating. I never forget my first go at this, where I sat
chuckling all evening, glancing over to the Last Of The Summer Wine
table, with Sallis, Wilde, Owen and Pol Pott.
