months through outback with large experienced crew. Interviews Nino’s Café, Macleay Street, Kings Cross, nine am, Wednesday. Screen test to follow
.
Colin hoped he’d covered the essentials and wondered just who might respond to the ad. It seemed rather unprofessional. Didn’t actors have agents? He decided to make up a few flyers, maybe he could mimeograph them at the bank and stick them up around the halls and meeting rooms at the docks where some out-of-work actors congregated. He imagined it might take some time for word to get around, but anyone could leave their details at Nino’s and it would reach Topov, who treated the café as his office.
After dinner, as he was leaving his flat, he clattered down the stairs and passed Johnny the cockney, who lived below him.
‘What’s up, Col? You going out?’
‘Hello, Johnny. Yes, I’m sticking up a few flyers. Where do you think actors and actresses might hang out? Real ones I mean, not girls from around here.’
‘What d’you want with actresses? Not your cup of tea I would’ve thought, eh Colin, me lad,’ grinned Johnny.
Colin showed Johnny the flyer and briefly explained the search for a leading lady.
‘Well, I’ll be blowed. A man could make a lot of use out of this if I had the time. Tell you what, come with me, I’ll take you down to the theatre district. Go round the stage doors and get them to put ’em on the noticeboard backstage.’
Johnny led the way, chatting nonstop as they jumped on a tram to the city. He was a short, energetic man, about Colin’s age, with a mischievous smile and cheeky personality, the sort of chap Colin’s mother would describe as being able to ‘charm the birds from the trees’. All Colin knew about him was that he’d come out to Australia as a ten-pound Pom and loved the place, which he confidently told Colin was ‘ripe for the pickings’. He was always dressed in a shiny suit, a narrow tie and a snappy narrow-brimmed fedora hat. He seemed to turn up everywhere and he told Colin that he had a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. Johnny always had a deal he was doing or was about to do.
‘So, tell me more about this film thing. Where is the Northern Territory exactly? Where are you going and for how long?’
‘Well, in the north. It’s the outback, way out bush. Past the black stump, Johnny,’ said Colin. ‘Actually I have no idea exactly where we’re going.’
‘You mean you’re going on this caper? How’s a fellow get to go, then?’ asked Johnny with sudden, serious interest.
Colin rubbed his fingers together indicating money, as he’d seen Johnny do. ‘You will probably have to invest in the film.’
‘How much?’ asked Johnny.
‘Johnny, what’s it matter? It’s not your sort of thing.’ Colin almost laughed at the idea of Johnny in his spiffy suit and hat in the bush. ‘It’s going to be a bit rough. Youknow, dirt roads, no roads, bush tracks, rivers, desert. Who knows what.’
‘Listen, I want to talk to the bloke in charge. You fellows are going to need vehicles, trucks, just to get you there. Not that easy finding the right sort of transport to go to those sorts of places, but you know I’ve got contacts. Do you know if anything’s been organised?’
‘It’s not up to me. You need to talk to Topov, it’s his film, or Helen, the business manager. Come to the café when the auditions are on,’ suggested Colin.
‘I’ll certainly do that. Be there with bells on. C’mon, this is our stop. Let’s hit the Capitol Theatre and the Tiv and put up some of these flyers.’
Colin had laboured over his little audition scene and was feeling quite pleased with the short two hander. There was a nice speech for the actress and while he fed her lines, she could give scope to various emotions. He’d set it on the bank of a river, a scene he’d recreated from a picture on his calendar of somewhere in rural Australia where a river meandered over stones between sandy banks lined with
.
Colin hoped he’d covered the essentials and wondered just who might respond to the ad. It seemed rather unprofessional. Didn’t actors have agents? He decided to make up a few flyers, maybe he could mimeograph them at the bank and stick them up around the halls and meeting rooms at the docks where some out-of-work actors congregated. He imagined it might take some time for word to get around, but anyone could leave their details at Nino’s and it would reach Topov, who treated the café as his office.
After dinner, as he was leaving his flat, he clattered down the stairs and passed Johnny the cockney, who lived below him.
‘What’s up, Col? You going out?’
‘Hello, Johnny. Yes, I’m sticking up a few flyers. Where do you think actors and actresses might hang out? Real ones I mean, not girls from around here.’
‘What d’you want with actresses? Not your cup of tea I would’ve thought, eh Colin, me lad,’ grinned Johnny.
Colin showed Johnny the flyer and briefly explained the search for a leading lady.
‘Well, I’ll be blowed. A man could make a lot of use out of this if I had the time. Tell you what, come with me, I’ll take you down to the theatre district. Go round the stage doors and get them to put ’em on the noticeboard backstage.’
Johnny led the way, chatting nonstop as they jumped on a tram to the city. He was a short, energetic man, about Colin’s age, with a mischievous smile and cheeky personality, the sort of chap Colin’s mother would describe as being able to ‘charm the birds from the trees’. All Colin knew about him was that he’d come out to Australia as a ten-pound Pom and loved the place, which he confidently told Colin was ‘ripe for the pickings’. He was always dressed in a shiny suit, a narrow tie and a snappy narrow-brimmed fedora hat. He seemed to turn up everywhere and he told Colin that he had a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. Johnny always had a deal he was doing or was about to do.
‘So, tell me more about this film thing. Where is the Northern Territory exactly? Where are you going and for how long?’
‘Well, in the north. It’s the outback, way out bush. Past the black stump, Johnny,’ said Colin. ‘Actually I have no idea exactly where we’re going.’
‘You mean you’re going on this caper? How’s a fellow get to go, then?’ asked Johnny with sudden, serious interest.
Colin rubbed his fingers together indicating money, as he’d seen Johnny do. ‘You will probably have to invest in the film.’
‘How much?’ asked Johnny.
‘Johnny, what’s it matter? It’s not your sort of thing.’ Colin almost laughed at the idea of Johnny in his spiffy suit and hat in the bush. ‘It’s going to be a bit rough. Youknow, dirt roads, no roads, bush tracks, rivers, desert. Who knows what.’
‘Listen, I want to talk to the bloke in charge. You fellows are going to need vehicles, trucks, just to get you there. Not that easy finding the right sort of transport to go to those sorts of places, but you know I’ve got contacts. Do you know if anything’s been organised?’
‘It’s not up to me. You need to talk to Topov, it’s his film, or Helen, the business manager. Come to the café when the auditions are on,’ suggested Colin.
‘I’ll certainly do that. Be there with bells on. C’mon, this is our stop. Let’s hit the Capitol Theatre and the Tiv and put up some of these flyers.’
Colin had laboured over his little audition scene and was feeling quite pleased with the short two hander. There was a nice speech for the actress and while he fed her lines, she could give scope to various emotions. He’d set it on the bank of a river, a scene he’d recreated from a picture on his calendar of somewhere in rural Australia where a river meandered over stones between sandy banks lined with
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