Acting runs in the family

The other day I got an excited call from my sisterin- law. It seems her husband has been asked to audition for a top Hollywood movie.

He would have rung me himself, she said breathlessly, but he was too busy on his latest project out in the shed.

That’s exactly him. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s that super, unfazedby-anything attitude that got him the audition in the first place.

The exact circumstances of the audition offer have not yet been imparted — it may very well be he was spotted buying dog roll at the supermarket or something equally as glamorous — but for the purposes of this story we’ll say he was playing rugby and his athleticism, flowing locks and chiselled features caught the attention of some bedazzled agent on the sidelines.

So. He’s off to try out for this hush, hush project.

We are positive he’ll get it. So positive in fact Mrs P has begun flicking through women’s magazines for dress ideas for the world premiere we’ll naturally be going to. I haven’t gone that far but I have pulled my funeral shoes from out the back of the closet and given them a quick shine on my T-shirt.

You may be wondering why we are so sure he’ll get the part — acting runs in our family.

Those of you with the appropriate technical capabilities should check out the name of one of my ancestors, Sylvanus Taylor, from around the turn of the century.

Back in the day when you actually had to go somewhere to see your entertainment he was apparently the bee’s knees. Or so my Nan told me.

I’m sure that’s where we’ve all picked up our theatrical talents.

Take for instance myself. They still talk about my performance in The King in the John Bosco Nursery School production of 1968 in London. Or at least my Mum does.

The line: “Look, there is a camel!” was delivered with such loud and clear Shakespearean authority for a five year old it still moves her to tears (of laughter) today.

And Mrs P is no stranger to the life of the stage.

A dancer of some repute until life robbed her of sufficient flexibility, she rose to fame as The Tree in a South Auckland production again in the late ‘60s.

You may recall the furore (in her house) at the time when the director suggested her young voice was too, er, “unique” for the choir and an acting position — albeit a silent, immobile one — would be better.

Jump ahead a generation and our sprogs have also displayed impressive talents in the arts.

Boomerang Child followed in her mum’s footsteps — as a dancer, not a tree — and danced professionally for a while overseas and Banker Boy was a regular star performer at the annual Rockquest event for many years and still plays a mean guitar. I tend to think he worked out it was a way to attract the fairer sex.

No.1 Daughter was into anything and everything theatrical in her younger years and even won a speech contest. No.1 Son came second that day in a stunning effort for our whanau.

So, as you can see, with that sort of acting experience in the family as far as I’m concerned my brother-inlaw is a shoe in for the role.

Ironically it won’t be the first time a member of our family has attended a movie premiere.

Half a century ago my Nan, a through and through Londoner with accent and worldliness to match, was invited to attend one along with my mum as her Plus One.

In case you’re wondering how she got the plum invite, I believe it was through the lady she cleaned for — the wife of a respected doctor who in turn was the friend of a Lord and Lady Someone.

So, to cut a long story short, my Nan donned her best hat (as she always did) and toddled off to the premiere where she found herself seated right in the middle of all the posh Lords and Ladies at a fancy theatre in London’s West End.

It didn’t really bother my Nan who she was among. This was a rare excursion out and she simply got totally involved in the movie.

So much so that in the middle of a particularly tense you-could-heara pin-drop-scene, she blurted out in her daily London accent: “Look out mate! E’s be’ind yer!”.

My mum reckoned it was the best line of the night. Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to kevin.page@nzme.co.nz .