The anniversary of those musical fellows and their ‘Live Aid’ reminds me of the action I was involved in to raise money, the legendary ‘Act Aid’. Paul Nicholas was our own Bob Geldof, and I was just adjusting a bookend when he called. ‘Is Helen there?’ he asked.
This is a trick I have employed for years. When someone rings who may have an acting job, pretend they have the right number. This does two things; alerts you to new acting opportunities and secondly, it means your competition is cut down. Obviously in this case, I cannot pretend to be ‘Helen’, and so I employed a brilliant yet devious alter ego. ‘No’ I said ‘this is her live in lover’*’Hi David, listen, there’s a thing happening I think she may be interested in’ ‘Oh yes?’ I replied ‘Yes, a bunch of us are putting together a show, a really big show, like Geldof’s done’. There was a pause. ‘David?’ said the voice down the line. ‘Geldof who?’ I asked ‘Bob, Bob Geldof’ he replied. Not being a rock and roller I’d never heard of the man at the time. My knowledge of the wild men of rock was began with Elvis and ended with Dame Shirley. ‘Are you there, David?’ came the voice again. I had to make something up quickly before he suspected anything. This is the beauty of being an actor, we can think fast on the spot. ‘sorry, let me turn this chainsaw off’ I said ‘What chainsaw?’ he asked. I made some noises out of the corner of my mouth which I though was a pretty good approximation of what a chainsaw would sound like. ‘David are you okay?’ ‘Yes, do go on, this is most fascinating’ ‘why are you talking funny? You don’t even sound like you’ ‘I am me!’ I protested. It’s one of the few things I am absolutely certain of, although at that precise moment I wasn’t me. The tension grew, the Paul dropped his ace, his mallet, the question which shattered any and all pretence. ‘What’s your surname, David?’. I made an effort. ‘I’ve forgotten’ I said, to be greeted with a dial tone.
But it was too late! I already knew about the Act Aid. I knew it was happening somewhere and I knew there’d be actors involved. All I needed now was a date and a place.
We all know about the success of Act Aid. Playing to packed rooms (when the landlords removed the chairs) up and down the land. I stand proud that the seven of us made a difference, and raised over £47!
The purpose of all this waffle is to talk about what happens when a group of actors gather together for a common purpose. You may say ‘But Tarquin, surely being in a theatre/television/radio/community centre project is where actors gather together?’ and you would be right. But when actors flock to one place to do even more good, without a script, coffee, biscuits and a nice light buffet something special happens. A kind of melding occurs, we are no longer individual entities, but blend into each other to become more than the sum of our parts; a thriving mass of complexities and complimentary personalities interwoven eternally to each other, yet the distinct individuality remains. Like trifle.
I first encountered this in the 1963 production of ‘Don’t Interfere With That!’, a witty little farce at the Cottesloe. Myself, Nana Mouskouri, Windsor Davies, Helen Mirren, Sid James and Dame Peggy were all in attendance for this thespianic feast. As we came together in that rehearsal space, it happened. Slowly, we blended into one magnificent beast, an unstoppable acting machine of unprecedented size. We had become that which is known as Act Kong. Peggy was the brain, Sid was the humour, Helen was the skin, Windsor the heart, Nana the talent and I… I was in there somewhere, mixed in like cream in a soup. The play was our Empire State building, the critics the small planes we swatted away.
It was literally an experience I won’t forget. I know many of the other cast said they won’t forget it, either. It’s a shame that none of them ever managed to get to a reunion, but actors’ lead busy lives and expecting visitors that day or reorganising their cupboards obviously take precedent.
And so it was with Act Aid. Actors do good in the world ever minute we are here, with our ceaseless desire to entertain, to rip off the bandages of social complexity and reveal the stark truth of existence, but with Act Aid we were doing even more good than usual. And we had catering.
I’ll never forget Geldof’s face when we presented him with the cheque (minus expenses).
