So...
D rang me up and said "What are you doing Tuesday? I have to go to the opening night of "Bent" starring Alan Cumming, so you want to come?" Um… hello… free theatre, free booze and the prospect of a B grade celeb sighting… count me in! (Not that I class Alan as B grade… but the opening night hanger's on…)
So… after hours of hair curling, make up dabbing and suctioning my ass into those torturous "sucky-inny ballet tights" (stolen from wardrobe at Disney Cruise Line) I met D at the traffic lights by the Trafalgar Studios to see some play about gay men in a Nazi concentration camp…
So… he took my hand, looked at me and said "Are you ready? Welcome to your first opening night…" I kind of looked at him and thought to myself… "What? What does he mean? This is nothing new for me… I am fabulous and glamorous… this will not daunt me in the slightest"
Once again I find myself saying the magic words…. WRONG WRONG WRONG.
Down we went to the doors of the theatre and I could see a crowd standing around by the doors. This seemed odd; it was pissing down rain... why would anyone stand outside. But then... when a big black car pulled up… the unmistakable popping of camera flashes started… I realised this crowd was the unmistakable hoard of the LONDON PAPARAZI. Yes those crazed men George Clooney blamed for Diana's death were popping their bulbs for… the one and only GERI HALLIWELL!!!! Yes… my years as a closeted Spice Girl Fanatic were unleashed the minute I saw that skinny skinny new mother walking up the RED CARPET.
But I literally had three seconds to regain my cool and get ready to make that very same coveted and prestigious walk up the carpet de rouge. Hair looking good? Check. Make Up okay? Check. Bum defying gravity with painful tights? Check. And of course… in true Amy Maiden style, making my grand debut, following a spice girl, the minute my red carpet virgin shoe hit the rug… the flashing stopped and those dirty, five o'clock shadowed men could not have looked more bored.
Chuckling away to myself we headed into the theatre where all of a sudden I felt the burn of a thousand eyes boring into me. I looked around, D started immediately nodding, waving and winking at everyone in the room. (For the record… not in a cheesy Hasslehoff way, but in a… I actually know all these people way.) Apparently my date all of a sudden seemed to be the "man to know" in the west end and me being his "arm candy" for the night now made me the "who the hell is that girl." I again glanced round the surrounding room. All of a sudden… things began to click… this was the mother load of all foyers. Every single producer, director, casting director, promoter and reviewer in London were all standing around, clambering to speak to my date. And there I was… clambering to stop myself from screaming I DON'T BELONG HERE!!! WHAT IS GOING ON???? WHEN DID THIS LITTLE FISH SWIM INTO THE BIG POND?
And then it began… the never ending stream of introductions.
Amy this is Alan
Amy this is Sonia
Any this is Maria
Amy this is Carrow
Amy this is Will
Amy this is Monica… Lewinski.
Yes folks… I, a country girl from Ballarat, met the one and only mistress of the Oval Office, Monica Lewinski. I wanted to laugh, cry and send her to the dry cleaners all at once! This was most definitely a momentous occasion in my life. Having a laugh and a drink with good old ML. (That's what I call her now… in my imagination)
This was all before the damn show started…
At this point, something started to happen. The little voice of doubt started screaming in my head. You know the one I am talking about… the one that says
"You can't do that, you don't deserve this these people think you're an obsessive compulsive freak stop staring at her she will think you are a lesbian not that there's anything wrong with that you just want to blend in like you never did at band camp dear god why cant I just play the trumpet"
Some people call this their inner critic, others the voice of their mother…whatever it is, I know you have all heard it before. So… my little voice starts screaming in my head… "YOU DON'T BELONG HERE, YOU DON'T BELONG HERE, SOCIAL CLIMBER, SOCIAL CLIMBER"
I had to take a moment out and head to the ladies room.
I stared at myself in the mirror… you can do this… you can do this… you are fine… you can do this. I took a deep breath… scrunched my hair, glossed my lips and headed out the door and into the auditorium.
We got into the theatre, sitting down near the front between the reviewer for The Times and The Evening Standard. As I looked around the bustling auditorium I spotted a plethora of TV. and west end starlets, and this being London, the obligatory famous people's kids and reality TV. wannabe's. It was a veritable who's who of the London social pages. And I was there with them.
I didn't know any of them and had no idea what to say… but there I was.
So… the show came and went in a semi naked saga of forbidden love in 1940's Berlin and it was off to the party. Just around the corner in the Haymarket, the paparazzi were once again decidedly under whelmed to see us arrive and in we went. First stop – the producer, "S" to pay respects and say how "fabulous and moving" the whole thing was to which she replied something about needing "five goddamned stars in the review or this thing ain't' never going to make any money." Okay… it's not a direct quote, but the moment let me feeling a little… "But what about the art?" which is odd because I never feel that.
I worked for Disney for Christ's sake.
And then it was out to the back room where apparently there was more space. Um No…
This place was rammed, I was rubbing shoulders with the who's who of London and I was soon to discover an entire new vocabulary in the dictionary of Amy (available on amazon.com soon) that is now reserved for opening night functions.
"Hello, it's an absolute pleasure to meet you" – I didn't catch your name and wouldn't remember it anyway
"Yes I did enjoy the piece" - I can't say I didn't like it in case you are sleeping with the director
"Yes I would love a glass of champagne" – Dear god get me a drink so I feel like I belong here
"The canapé's are that way" – I would eat but I don't want to look fat in this dress.
"I think that's a fabulous idea" – I didn't her what you said
"Yes yes, I completely agree" – please find me someone more interesting to speak to
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" - I didn't get that joke.
"Pleasure to meet you, I will see you next opening" - Please dear god remember me next time so I don't have to ask you your name.
Okay… so I did meet some amazing people, and some jokes, I was actually laughing at but in all honesty, I felt like a teeny tiny single celled organism in a pond the size of the Indian Ocean. I was dog paddling in the Olympic Pool with out my kick board and floaties (although I hear they are all the rage now.)
As a wise little Disney character once said "Be careful what you wish for 'cause you might just get it."
So… we left the party… again with nothing more than a glance from the paparazzi and got in the cab home.
"Did I do alright?" I asked D… dreading the answer as I was sure that everyone thought I was a complete twat.
"You were fabulous honey… they loved you."
Whether it was true or not… I don't care. On some level … I passed my first opening night.
Little did I know this was nothing in comparison to what was about to come up. Let me tell you folks, the pressure cooker was absolutely turned up as we headed to the opening night of… SPAMALOT.
Oh… before we move on… no I did not get to meet Alan Cumming… but he did look at my boobs. (That's always worth something in my book.)
Righto… by the time the Spamalot opening rolled around, I was well prepared for the Gala opening night. Had a new dress (thanks Mum) hair and make up done and was all ready and set to go. Oh no… apparently my opening night trade test at "Bent" was the shallow end of the "fabulous" pool… I was now in the deep end with no thorpeedo to tell me to say "phat as in P-H-A-T." (Little joke for the Aussies there….)
This was a whole other suburb of crazy town. And I was the new girl who had lost her map. And apparently her mind.
This time, D and I had time for a drink with his friend L and her boyfriend. As we stood in the overcrowded pub next to the theatre I looked outside and realised… firstly there was a live broadcast going out from this opening, but the crowd behind the red ropes was not only the paparazzi but a crowd of weird celebrity stalkers clambering to see the residents of the carpet de rouge. The celebrity stalkers over here are a strange breed… screaming and desperate for any kind of autograph, touch, glance in their general direction… they hang outside stage doors, in foyers and at openings…and frankly… they freak me out. Normal people push their celebrity stalking way down deep until they can vent it on their webpage.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, D and L are pointing a seemingly every person in the Universe saying "Oh there's Sally… I love her… Oh there's Bob… remember when he was drunk in Edinburgh…" The thing was… and this is in their well earned defense… they are not being pretentious in any way… this is simply their lives. And I had found myself with some kind of backstage pass into it.
So then it was time… our walk again up the red. This walk was much slower and longer…. More people were rammed on it, others stopping to sign autographs… and as I expected, a dark silence fell over the crowd as we headed for the doors. Yup. I am officially completely unknown. But then… as we walked up, cameras started flashing and people started cheering. Could this be it??? Could someone remember me and my stellar performance in the recent Ballarat University Commercials??? But alas and alack no… people started shouting "BILL, BILL, AN AUTOGRAPH BILL!?!" I thought… could Bill Murray be standing behind me? Could I be in the presence of an actual Ghost Buster? I may schvitz myself right here if I am…. But again no. It was not Bill Murray… but Bill Oddie. I was in the presence of no Ghost Buster but a Goodie. Apparently all three of them were there that night…. But I didn't see the others. And in my book, one third of a Goodie is no Goodie at all. Especially now that he hosts bird watching shows. I did however sit in our front row seats and see all of the Pythons (sans Michael Cane sadly…) Richard E Grant, Eddie Izzard and… HANK AZARIA. Yes… I am an old school fan of Hank… from the Bird Cage, to Mad About You, to The Simpsons… to America's Sweethearts… to Tuesdays with Morrie I have always loved him an his work. (And even stood by him when he married that unsavory Helen Hunt.) This was my chance… I was going to meet him… but that comes later.
Anyway… the show finished and it was on to the party. Away we went (escorted by men with "clip clopping" coconut shells in place of a horse) to the amazing freemason's hall in Covent Garden. How they got permission to use that amazing building I will never know, but the place was lit up like a Christmas tree with yet another red carpet, more paparazzi and more screaming fans… Upon entering we were given maps to the party. Yes… maps. This party was so huge you needed a map to find your way around. There were rooms titled "dance-a-lot, drink-a-lot, shot-a-lot, nosh-a-lot" and they went on and on from there. There were rooms full or medieval buffets you could eat out of wooden bowels, dim lighting everywhere, so everyone looked good and one particular hall that had been decked out with pine trees and park benches, all leading towards a gigantic castle of spam cans.
It was here among the pine trees and the spam cans I met Hank Azaria. Unfortunately he did not live up to the expectations I had for him. He seemed rather over it all and bored of meeting so many people. Understandable I guess… there were people everywhere trying to meet every other person in the room. Once again and I was subject to another never ending stream of introductions… I was getting sick of it; I can't imagine what it would be like for a movie star.
This world of the entertainment industry is so exceedingly odd. Stephen Sondheim was right when he wrote the lyrics
"…And they meet at parties through the friends of friends who they never know…. Do I pick you up or should I meet you there or shall we let it go… did you get my message 'cause I looked in vain, should we see each other Tuesday if it doesn't rain, look I call you in the morning and my service will explain."
These days… my life is most definitely the personification of "Another hundred people just got off of the train…." If you don't know the song… go and look it up… you'll get it.
