And may I be the last to wish you a happy Yule. Ah yes, Yule. That time when an actors' thoughts turn to Pantomime, and in my case, David Withlows' arse. I don't mean that in a derogatory way, because I have been playing Helmut the Heffalump in Withenshaw since late November. Sadly, I played the tail end of the said beast, and what a sterling performance it was. Here are some of the reviews (I have edited them for brevity)
McPhereson shines through the rear end of the Heffalump - Daily Margoles.
Rarely have I been so moved by a pantomime, especially that thing in brown (Me) - Atrich Outlook
Mcphereson gives his finest and delivers convincing Heffalump arse - Dorrick Advertiser
The thing was it wasn't all that challenging; as an actor you learn these little tricks and routines. I remember in college, the lecturer said 'we are all going to pretend to be animals this year'. We all had to decide which animal portrayed our personalities best. Young Dan Barker was a Conga eel, which involved a lot of splashing about I remember. Freda Newton was a lythe and cunning baboon. Her conviction in the part was unquestioned, although it did go a little far flinging dung at me in the canteen. And Dexter Lowe, dear Dexter, whose promise in acting and indeed life was cut short by loneliness and a tangerine, took on the mantel of a yeti. We didn't see him much after that.
I, of course, was in a quandary. I mean, a personality as complex and intertwined as mine would be difficult to equate or replicate with an animal. What beast would one second be a bursting volcano of activity, the next a plumb the cavernous depths of depression and solitude whilst maintaining the outward illusion of showmanship? What in all of Gods' creation could duplicate my drives, my intellect, my full and frank range of emotion and expression that made acting not only my vocation, but my birth right? It was with some thought therefore that I settled on being a herring. This noble fish evoked all the right emotions, although I must admit breakfast became something of a cross between a guilt trip and cannibalism.
Oh, the phone. I shall return.
Well, that was indeed interesting. A call from Derek Abuharb, informing me the heffalump has be rescripted to attract a disability interest, and will no longer require back legs (ie me). I argued the point with Derek, but I have to say this is an intriguing idea. The thought of the disabled heffalump, not my imminent unemployment. I mentioned that I was under contract and under the terms of said contract, subsection three, paragraph nine, clause s
The performer will be required to appear until the performance terminates its' run, save for any scandal, besmirchment or publication of any materials which could be construed as being detrimental to the production as described in article 3. The management shall not terminate the performers' contract without due and impartial reviewing of material facts prior to the decision being reached.
His reply was 'like your kneecaps, do you?'. I do indeed value my kneecaps, and although the novelty value of making them work - as he described it - in interesting new ways would be something I could put in spotlight, I was keener to maintain the current traditional arrangement.
As luck would have it, no sooner had my conversation ended with Derek than the phone rang again. It was the National Theatre of Omsk, who had read the Dorrick Advertiser while looking for a replacement hob, and seen my review. They were mad keen to employ me in "Vladmir - The Tale Of The Wolf Bear" which is apparently a work by the dissident Russian playwrite Uri Tshitsaq. What tempting morsels could I prize from this literary oyster? Then, having put the phone down again it rang once more. Rene Bellski, who is one director I have always wanted to work with was on the other end.
"Hey McFearsom <sic> How'd you like to be the next big thing?" I have no idea what the history of big things is. But apparently I am placed penultimately in the queue. "We got a project which is so far up your alley, it's up your alley" went on Bellski. On my enquiry as to what his reply was "You are a tough, west Los Angeles Dentist who investigates murders. Crime and Cavities". The rest of the conversation is a blur as I think - and I am putting this politely for my younger readers - I may have had an orgasm. I do however remember certain key words 'murder, money, expenses, hotel and Paris Hilton'. Trembling I said I would check with my agent and get back to him. No sooner had the handset returned to the cradle than the phone gave it's oh-so-familiar sound and it was Avaton Lazor on the phone. Would I do a voice over for Preedle Nappies?
Choices choices.
