ILT's move to the Incinerator - 40th Anniversary
I first joined the theatre in 1985 as a nervous 18 year old. I'd gone back
to school that year in the hopes of actually being able to finish something
off. I was determined to start doing stuff instead of sitting around
writing about how sick everything was (the 1985 definition of sick as
epitomised by Kylie on Comedy Company as opposed to the current meaning of
sick - I'd forgotten how much I'd said sick meaning bad until I found an old
diary from that time). I was always a show-off at home and around friends,
but shy otherwise. I finally had an English teacher praise my reading out
loud. When I went back to school there was a Theatre elective! I can
remember thinking from a very young age that acting couldn't be that hard
cos you just had to pretend, right? And talk like they would and imagine
who you were and where it was happening.
So anyway, I saw an ad for auditions in the Qld Times and said 'Ah hah!' I'm
going to do this! I was 18 but back at school doing Theatre, I had a poo
brown Torana and I had a licence to drive, I knew nobody at the theatre and
barely knew of the Incinerator's existence (despite the fact that I went to
school at Central and the oval backs on to the Incinerator's carpark) but
like other times in my more recent past (this may have been the seminal one)
I overcame my shyness and turned up to auditions for "No Time for
Fig-Leaves", directed by Janice Paterson. Audtions were held in the Jean
Pratt Building, but of course I was (and remain) a fool who doesn't read
directions closely enough so I wandered down the driveway to the
Incinerator. I lurked around for a little bit until I discovered a door to
inside and knocked on it, and somebody who was (now obviously, in hindsight)
in rehearsals said in much kinder words than mine, 'no, idiot newbie lamer,
auditions are up in the top building.' I think I managed to avoid the
horror of walking in late to an audition that has already started (the
horror of a shy person is very strange and often not that horrible) so I got
to sit in a yellow seat and try to make small talk before doing something
I'd never done before (ie. stand up in front of people and pretend to be
someone else and also pretend you've got even the smallest idea of what
you're doing.) Auditions started, we were asked to stand up and read from a
part of the script. My hands were shaking like they belonged to someone
very nervous, which is true and not a metaphor because I couldn't think of a
good one that didn't involve jelly, but I managed to still be able to read
from my wobbly script and because I've been blessed with a pleasant reading
voice and I don't stumble over words when I read them the first time, I
managed to convince the powers that be that I would be absolutely right for
the part of Monica.
Poor Jan.
She had no idea that I could do nothing but speak well. I couldn't walk to
the end of the stage. I had no idea what to do with my hands. I spoke very
fast indeed (but well!).
I was gobsmacked when we moved from the Jean Pratt building for rehearsals
to the Incinerator because my only previous experience of a stage
performance had been at the (then) SGIO theatre where there was very raked
seating and a stage that seemed far removed from the audience and now yikes
holy gumballs I can trip over their feet and determine the eye colour of
everyone in the front row.
Anyway, we had a great season (Raymond Chandler was one of the stars, I
remembered him as a friend of my brothers from Bremer, and I thought he was
cool as. I still think he's cool!) I remember with a strength that still
brings a blush to my cheeks being introduced by Jan to Clive Lowe and Craig
Taylor and others and then standing in front of them, speechless, for a good
half hour because I was dreadfully shy and had nothing to say but still
couldn't gather up the courage to say 'nice meeting you!' and then wander
away to the food table (my favourite place at all parties, social gatherings
and theatre nights).
Because this play was the final season for the year, it was decided that the
AGM would be the final gathering for the cast and crew. I'd been told that
awards were handed out at the AGM and I was absolutely convinced that I'd
been amazing. Phenomenal. I was taking a trophy home with me. The panel's
review was given out to our cast on the night of the AGM and I was
devastated to read that my stage presence was zero and that I should think
about undertaking some form of speech therapy to help me with my obvious
inability to talk slowly. I was devastated! I had to hide my tears from
people! And then I had a moment of clarity. I could either believe these
people and never come back to the theatre again, or I could demonstrate in
my own passive-aggressive way that I was so much better than they could ever
possibly know by becoming involved in every play (either on-stage or
backstage) for the next five or six or ten or twelve years.
Guess which was my decision?
Since that first experience, I've done a lot of plays with ILT. I wish I
was a more organised person because then I'd be able to list out, in
excruciating detail, just how many plays I've been involved in. I couldn't
get enough of the theatre. It was all that I did. Well, apart from hang
out with friends who didn't do theatre and who I eventually got tired of
organising tickets for. So I had to split my time. 80% theatre, 20% other
stuff. It was excellent. I've never felt such a part of things. I was
even secretary for a while, and a member of the administration committee who
turned up for every! single! meeting! for many years. I'm much slacker now,
you all know that.
The next play I did, after "No Time for Fig-Leaves" was "Everything in the
Garden", directed by Allan Brown. I remember him saying to me one night
after a performance that he was looking forward to seeing what I could do
after I had some life experience under my belt. I don't think I've reached
my prime years yet, Allan, but I think that I might have gleaned a few
little bits from my silly life which may come in handy for some future
performance. I met Sandra Harle and Kim Travers during that play, two of the
many lovely women that I've met during my time with the theatre. Almost
complete opposites, they remain firmly fixed in my mind as excellent to talk
to and tremendous fun. Also, Raymond was in that play as well! I had a bit
of a fling with another cast member and I discovered that theatre curfew
hours were somewhat lax, and dressing rooms could be used for more than
dressing.
It starts to become hazy after that. I worked backstage for "Key For Two"
and had a terrible nightmare before one performance because Jan (the
director) told me that the sound and lighting person wasn't going to be
there for that night and although someone else was going to do the sound and
lighting I, as backstage and props person, had to ring the doorbell at the
correct time. Oh my god, such pressure! I told Jan about my nightmare and
she found someone else who was capable of pressing the bell at the time
prescribed by the script. Thank you, Jan!
I think my next play was "Children's Day", directed by Robyn Flashman. I
met Gilda Davies during this production, she was my co-star and just a huge
personality. We eventually became housemates and shared a place at North
Ipswich which featured many mango trees and my lovely library on the
verandah and a room that could barely contain all my clothes. Another
lovely woman who I learned so much from. My other prime memory from this
play was not having time to wash my costumes for whatever reason (sheer
laziness, perhaps?) and deciding that spraying Impulse Merely Musk all over
them would mask my horrid body odour. Unfortunately it just made my body
odour smell even more cloyingly sickening. Yes, fellow cast members, I'm
aware of what I did. Obviously Impulse, back in the day, needed to have had
something closer to a Febreeze formula happening. Now, of course, when I
spray my clothes with body spray to avoid all sickening odours, I'm sure it
works wonderfully! Oh, also the other thing I remember about this play is
the night that the feral theatre cat (one of many, I'm sure) who had kittens
under the rostra got locked out before the opening act. The mother cat was
outside howling, the kittens were inside, howling. The audience was going
WTF, the cast were OMG. Doc, who was stage manager, managed to lure the
kittens out during interval and then did something unspeakable which
traumatised me horribly but which also made the second act ever so much
nicer for everyone (apart from the cats).
Possibly skipping a few now because I still haven't got off my lazy bum to
do a proper list of all plays I've either performed or been involved with,
I'll talk about 'Veronica's Day', directed by Sharon Wright. I was
backstage and my job was prompt (back when we still did that). Jan and
Clive were playing the lead roles in a rather sick but lovely little play
involving incest and kidnapping and necrophilia and so on. Tara Adams was
also in it along with Steve Beck who was blonde and very cool (he was
heavily involved in improving sound and lighting for a short while and I
think he made a big impact). One night, one forever remembered night right
at the beginning of the season, Jan and Clive were on stage and I was
backstage, clutching the script in my hands and absolutely determined that
no line would be lost. Jan said something. There was a terrible pause. I
supplied the line. The pause continued. I supplied the line (louder).
Even more pause. I emphatically told him what he was supposed to say.
Hooray, the line was eventually said. It was only later that I discovered
that they were indulging in a passionate kiss and that my prompting was
unnecessary but really, stupidly funny.
Skipping ahead again, and possibly missing the opportunity to talk about the
ridiculously large wooden cross that was made for me to swing around my head
but still try to avoid decapitating people with for "Chamber Music", the
first festival one-act play I was ever in and which involved my actually
throwing up into a toilet before leaving for the venue (better before than
during, I say), my next major memory is of "But I'm Still Here". I was 21.
Dianne Adams played my mother (she was brilliant). Yvonne Van De Wiel
played the grandmother (and she was excellent). Kerry oh my god I can't
remember her last name played my sister. Kevin Steele played the next door
neighbour. One of the backstage workers was Tina Turner (yes, really) and
one of my favourite memories was trying to spook her out with a completely
fictional story about the ghost of the theatre who was a derro who had died
after falling asleep in a rubbish thingy and who was tipped into the
Incinerator while it was still an incinerator and being burned to death.
I'd just finished this story, in the backstage area during full dress
rehearsal (may even have been a preview), when Sharon Wright came through
the backstage door with nary a whisper and placed her hand on Tina's
shoulder. Tina screamed a blood-curdling scream and Sharon became very
irritated. Kerry and I laughed and laughed. Tina was shaken though, and
when it came time to replace the sugar in the sugar bowl after the million
cups of tea that were required by the script after the first act, she
managed to spill it all over the floor and we crunched around in it for the
entire second act. Fun!
We toured one act of that play to various Festivals, and I won my first ever
trophy as Best Supporting Actress at Redcliffe. I giggled like a fool from
the time my name was called until I got back to my seat, Mousetrap trophy in
hand.
That was 1988 and that was also the first year that I performed in a Theatre
Restaurant. Australian's Sunset Ostriches. I was bad, but it meant that I
didn't have to volunteer for washing up duty anymore (first time was in 1987
in what is now our backstage area on stage right and what used to be the
area where all catering was done and where all washing up had to be
performed. If you weren't there, you couldn't possibly imagine it was
possible, I know.) I was in 10 consecutive Theatre Restaurants after that.
I both love and hate the Theatre for giving me a taste for beer. I used to
think it was poison until I found out that you were entitled to as many
horses doovers and as much beer as you could handle if you were in a Theatre
Restaurant. My job, for many years, was Procurer of Ice. This was before
the days of our now lovely and shiny bar, when all alcohol was kept chilled
and ready in six large coolers under a table on stage right stacked to the
brim with ice. I supplied the ice. I had a key to the theatre so I could
do this. Every Friday and Saturday for six weeks, for about eight years. I
was pretty good with the drinking thing, I managed to keep it restricted
until after performances when I could go completely nutso and then drive
home drunk (I'm amazed that I'm still alive today and never took anyone with
me). There was one night though, one performance which had to do with a
magic show, Clive was the magician and Lorna was in it, when I forgot to
stop drinking and was up in the dressing room, getting ready to do the play,
when I discovered that I was really, stupidly, pissed. That was scary.
Maybe fun, mostly scary, I don't think I stuffed up too much and it ended up
in a ride home with someone and my tumbling out of the car I think, but the
ice was ready for the next night.
I'm all out of order with plays now, but I remember helping out as assistant
director or something for Leo Wokner, who was a professional director that
the theatre hired to direct "Martello Towers". My horrible job was to tell
all the actors everytime they confused an 'and' for an 'an' and if they'd
missed a single word from a sentence. It was horrible. My brother David
was in that play and he supplied his own port for the scenes he was in.
Oh, speaking of my brother, he was the lead actor in "Whose Life Is It
Anyway?" and he was brilliant. Chris Webb was the director and apparently
he was going through a particularly tumultuous time with the theatre, but I
thought he was great and he cast me as a lawyer who was originally a man but
whom I christened Petra (instead of Peter) and I wore a skirt that
accentuated my very wonderful stomach and he mentioned how loud I clicked my
suitcase open and shut but he loved what I did anyway. This was back in
those days when I was unaware of schisms in the theatre and who was on this
side and who was on that (thankfully I've managed to be able to maintain my
neutrality when it comes to Theatre Politics, at least I hope so.)
David and I were also in a play together called "A Murder is Announced",
directed by Les Chappell. We were supposed to be lovers who were pretending
to be brother and sister. In real life, of course, we were the opposite so
it was kind of odd and uncomfortable when we had to embrace as lovers. I
think there was a good twelve inches between our naughty bits when we
hugged. The other excellent thing that happened during that play was when
everyone kept on trying to open one of the doors in the wrong direction.
This came to a head during the interrogation scene one night, when Keven
Steele, playing the Inspector, was going through all the characters and they
were all required to storm off stage. Someone pulled on the door the wrong
way one too many times and the entire back flat decided to cave inwards.
Thank goodness there was a very large and heavy set of drawers keeping it
all up but nevertheless, the door fell off its hinges. The first actor to
depart kindly placed the door back in its original position, sans hinges,
and then someone else had to leave the stage by picking up the door and
putting it back where it had been previously and I then had to storm off
after being interrogated. I looked at the door. I looked at my
brother/lover. I said 'Would you mind getting the door for me?' and he
kindly obliged by picking the door up and following me out with it.
There's a whole stack of time in the Ninety's that I don't remember, but
surely would if I had a list of the plays that I was in, but I don't so I
can't. I remember when Sharon Wright was directing a play, "Murder by the
Book", the stars of which were Charles Costello and Patti Pratt, and one of
the other cast members was not able to do the play for whatever reason. The
admin meeting was a mere day before opening night. I said that I'd be happy
to do the part and then got a few days off work, went to Sharon's place and
watched a video of a rehearsal, wrote the moves in my book which I'd glued
the script pages into and which I could use as a prop for the part that I
was going to be playing, that of a secretary, so carrying around a book and
reading from it would be fine, right? and then managed to somehow have the
lines learnt by that Saturday night. That was pretty cool. The panel said
that I was just playing myself but I was pretty sure that I'd put some
effort into that.
I wish I had a list of plays that I've done! I'm just going from my
terrible memory. I remember doing a one-act play directed by Sandra Harle
which involved child abuse called "Final Placement". Sharon Ashe was my
co-star. We did the play at the Ipswich one act play festival held at the
IGGS auditorium. I didn't speak loud enough for the five people who were in
the audience (including the adjudicator) in the auditorium which could have
held hundreds which is embarrassing enough (I thought if I just spoke in my
normal voice but with an American accent that everything would be sweet) but
what was worse was that during a section of the play, when it was in
blackout and a voice-over was going on, I had to pour a glass of water for
my visitor but because it was so dark I completely missed the glass and
poured water all over the stage and my feet, and then presented my co-star,
when the lights came back on and she declared that she was parched, with a
centimetre of water at the bottom of a very sad looking glass.
Apologies to everyone who directed me in plays that I'm not mentioning,
because believe me I had fun during every one of them, I just can't recall
them at the time of writing this.
I did a one-act play with Jan which had me appearing as a doll. I went to
the hairdressers to have my hair formed into Shirley Temple curls before
every perfomance. David Austin was one of my co-stars. Darren Madsen was
the other. Jan's son Andrew played a monkey, I think. That was tremendous
fun, but my ego was crushed when I was told that I was not doll like enough.
Dude, the curls were enough!
I played Gwendoline in "The Importance of Being Earnest",directed by Les
Chappell. That was an amazing play to have been involved in. Not only was
I acting for someone who I thought hated me (Les, I don't know what I was
thinking at the time!) but I was in the midst of a terrible crush with a
co-star who happened to be interested in someone else who was in the play.
Plus Kim Travers was in the play, which made everything else kinda silly cos
Kim is the funniest woman that I know. Anyway, blah blah blah, I have a
video copy of this play and I'm not embarrassed to watch it. I think I was
good and that was the play that encouraged me to grow my own hair in order
to avoid ever again wearing the stupidest hairpiece ever seen on a stage
(red octopus tentacles slinking out from under hats that I made myself!). I
had sex on stage during that play (after hours, of course!)
Another play that I remember with almost ridiculuous fondness is "The Glass
Menagerie", directed by professional director Mel Bell. Tara Adams played
my daughter (she's three years younger than me I think) and the guy who
played my son (whose name I can't remember) may have been a year or two
older than me. It was brilliant. Tracey (Edmondson) did sound and lighting
for the first time and had to grapple with hundreds of cues and pulled it
all off superbly and we stunned our audience with our commitment to the
script. I remember, during the second week, Mel hadn't seen a few
performances and sat in for one and he said to me afterwards that it seemed
like I was pre-empting everything (which of course I was) so the next night
I played it as if it were all brand new and for the first time, from the
beginning of rehearsals until he saw me after that performance, he hugged me
and said that I was Amanda. Which made me very happy.
I was in a two-hander with Brad Lambourne a few years later, "Double
Trouble". It came as a terrible shock to me that my character's name was
Phillipa when I found a programme a few years later, because I'd forgotten
my character's name and a Phillipa was responsible for the most revolting
thing I've gone through in my real life, away from the theatre. The play
was excellent, however. Unfortunately, that was the play that also made me
realise that I was becoming more than just pleasantly plump, when I tried on
an evening dress for photos and everyone politely looked away and refused to
take the aforementioned photos.
The next play that comes to mind, and which I remember with the utmost
fondness, is "The Lion in Winter". I played Eleanor of Aquitaine. Oh, god
I love/d that script. I'm still looking forward to doing it again, the next
time without wrinkles painted on. Ros Gerchow directed it, I was in it with
Lee Gerchow, David Austin, Catherine Heffernan, and many other wonderful
people. That was in 1999 and that was when David and Chris got together. I
remember it clearly. 10 years, guys!
I appeared in "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" as the horrible sister in law. I
blame Lee for all the terrible costumes that I've appeared in since, because
that was quite obviously the beginning of the end. A pink, textured smock
with a cotton ball as a distended navel. My favourite thing to say, right
up until this day, is "nest o' lice!'.
I will always be eternally grateful to the theatre for allowing me to be
'Shirley Valentine' for our local audience. I was lucky enough to have been
cast in the play for Nash Theatre and I performed it in front of
approximately 35 people during my run with them. I was told that I was good
but you know... How can you know? It was sad that Lee wasn't able to direct
it, for one reason or another, but I'm happy that Relle and Gav stepped up
and allowed me to be Shirley for the two weeks that I got to be on the
Incinerator stage. And they didn't even ask that I flop out my tits! (I'd
stopped breastfeeding by that time so they weren't that impressive). I got
to see myself with a tan and emulate my favourite actress(es) and although
rock was never as cool as I thought he should have been, I'm happy with what
I did.
Since I started having babies, my time with the theatre has been limited. I
was lucky enough to have been cast in a play directed by Robyn Flashman
which we took to a few one act play festivals. Clive played my husband,
Lorna was in the cast, many others who were excellent but whom my terrible
memory is precluding from mentioning here (along with the name of the play)
were also in it. The best times are when I've got a play to remember them
by, even if I can't remember the name of the play.
"Money and Friends", directed by Lee Gerchow, stands out in my memory as
being the most fun time I've ever had during rehearsals. Callum, Cat,
Majella, Peter and everyone else were so brilliant. Cat Taylor is the queen
of saving people from their brain farts. Callum is hilarious at all times.
Majella has become a very, very dear friend. I got to play an Australian
character, my own age, and didn't stuff up too terribly. Ryan, the tat on
your tit is forever inscribed in my memories.
Suzanne Matulich asked me if I'd be willing to be in her play which
incorporated Crossfyre/YTs and Senior Theatre, "Property of the Clan", and I
really enjoyed being a part of it. Kyle, Lisa, Ryan, Jim and other cast
members whose names I have shamefully forgotten were excellent to work with,
and even though my 40th coincided with final night which I thought would
mean party central but ended up being a complete and utter bummer (poverty +
slackness + any attempt to make things work = blah terrible 40th at home
cleaning my house sober and alone) I still remember that production with
great fondness.
And so finally, we come to the play that I was last involved in, "Enter a
Free Man". I'm glad I'm no longer vain. It gives me more freedom to play
people who are not beautiful (even though I've always been more quirky than
beautiful anyway). It was excellent to work with Suzanne and Lisa and Craig
again. I know there were other people involved in the play but they were on
the other side of the stage when I was farting around backstage, playing
games with my belly and going to the toilet at inopportune moments (yes,
that's you Tony, David, Majella, Max and Kyle). I think I played her well.
She vaccuumed! She was a clean freak! I love playing against type.
So now I'm waiting for a part that is very cool, or simply a time when I can
do theatre again when it doesn't call on my babysitter too much and doesn't
interfere with work. I think of ILT and the Incinerator Theatre every day
and wish I more involved with everything that's going on there. When I read
stories to the boys, I imagine I'm on a stage and I've got an auditorium of
children listening to my amazing audio stylings of 'Where The Wild Things
Are' and various Thomas the Tank Engine stories. I miss you, ILT. You have
been the one thing that I've committed to for over 24 years. If I hadn't
found you, I don't know where (or what) I'd be now.
Happy 40th, I'm glad ILT found you, Incinerator. It's extraordinary to
think that such a place, designed by such a person, could have been
consigned to the scrap heap so easily. Hooray for ILT and its members back
then to have had the foresight to have found you and imagined you could be
the place you are today.
My father was president of the Chamber of Commerce when this whole thing
came up. He supported you. He helped you become the place you are today
and he has supported me during all my time with the theatre. Even though
now he finds it hard to go to places, due to illness, he always comes to the
Incinerator and he feels a part of it. As do I. You are my one enduring
love. Thank you, Incinerator.
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