Wolf in true-blue clothing gets fangs into theatre role
Encouraged by the Labour Party’s success as showbiz impresarios with their pop-up production of Jacinderella last year, National is expanding its promotional efforts into the theatre.
Sources tell us they’ve chosen a similar fairytale theme. Little Blue Riding Hood premieres in November, with publicity already gearing up.
I was attracted to the casting call for major roles, eyeing The Woodcutter (he leaves a helluva mess behind but is redeemed by those feelgood ads on the telly). The wait for my audition proved fascinating. Director: Next.
Wolf: Hello. I’m here to read for the...
Director: Sorry Love, we’ve already cast the animals.
Wolf: I want to play Riding Hood.
Director: Oh. I don’t wish to be pedantic, but you’re a wolf.
Wolf: I have played Canis lupus in the past, yes, but that’s not who I am. It doesn’t define my career. People see the fangs and the fur flying and I’m becoming typecast. I’d like to expand my repertoire. I’m ready for a lead.
Director: That’s very commendable, except in this case the lead is pretty much sorted, sort of, and anyway, she’s a little ingenue – you chew up grandmothers for kicks.
Wolf: I ate one grandmother, and it was a long time ago. I’ve done a lot of experimental off-off-Broadway theatre since then – the Pahiatua Repertory Society, to be precise. A couple of Shakespeares – Julius Caesar, Hamlet – and I’ve had walk-ons in some nature docos. David Attenborough loves my work.
Director: Yes but, stuck record: this is a sweet girl.
Wolf: I was a little girl myself once – although saccharine is not my thing. I’m more respected than liked.
Director: All right, you’ve got a shot. We’ll take it from the top. Setting: your house, which represents your humble origins. Yadda, yadda. And cue.
Wolf: ‘Mummy, can I go to visit Grandma? It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, and I’m such a caring person – for people who adhere to the norms of society. As for the other layabouts . . .’
Director: Good, good. I’ll read the mother’s part: ‘A visit – Grandma will love that.’
Wolf: ‘Yes, I’ll take her a nice basket of goodies, though not too nice that it encourages welfare dependency. Grandma can buy her own treats thanks to a non-meanstested pension in her well-deserved retirement. A pension she will best protect by investing her vote wisely, rather than throwing it away on a showboater in a shiny suit.’
Director: They pack a basket, you put on your blue cloak and kiss Mother goodbye: ‘Remember, Little Blue Riding Hood, go straight to Grandma’s house. Don’t dawdle along the way and please don’t talk to strangers. The woods are dangerous.’
Wolf: ‘Don’t worry, Mummy, I’ll be careful. And if any horrid youths in souped-up imports give me lip I’ll tear them limb from limb . . . in a caring way.’
Director: Um, phew, okay. Nice twitching. Rein in the ad libbing a touch, but yes, good emotional range. Let’s skip to Grandma’s. Page 12. You knock on the door. The wolf/Grandma – this trans-species stuff is doing my head in, but Weta say they’ll come up with something amazing for us – so, the wolf jumps into bed and pulls the covers over his nose: ‘Who is it?’
Wolf/Hood: ‘It’s me, Little Blue Riding Hood.’
Director: ‘Oh how lovely. Come in, dear.’ You enter.
Wolf/Hood: ‘Grandmother, your voice sounds strange. Have you been fretting again about creeping socialism and poor productivity.’
Director: ‘A touch of a cold, my dear. Don’t worry.’
Wolf/Hood: ‘But I do worry. It’s part of my caring nature. And Grandmother, what big ears you have.’
Director: ‘The better to hear the concerns of ordinary New Zealanders when travelling the country in a chauffeured limo.’
Hood: That’s so old-school. Frequent appearances on breakfast television are all the engagement we need with the electorate, frankly, and at little cost to the taxpayers. As I was saying to Duncan yesterday . . .
Director: Thanks, yes. Stick to the script. Meanwhile … ‘but Grandma’
Wolf/Hood: Oh yes. ‘But Grandmother, what big eyes you have.’
Grandma: ‘All the better to see you with, my dear.’
Hood; ‘And for seeing our GDP being stifled by lefties, unions and other traitors. Unfinished business there. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be caring.
Director: I like it.
Hood: ‘But Grandmother, what big teeth you have. Oh, they’re not very big, now that I look properly. It speaks of a soft nature; a failure to make the hard decisions. No one respects you for that.’
Director/Grandma/Wolf: ‘They’re still big enough to devour you.’’ Yadda, yadda, The wolf roars, leaps out of bed and lunges at the little girl. Enter the Woodcutter.
Hood: No need for him. I can take care of this . . . So, do I get the part?
Director: Possibly. We’ll let you know.
Wolf/Hood: Okay, sure. Best wishes to . . . whoever. And if it doesn’t pan out, I’m over there in the wings.
I’d like to expand my repertoire. I’m ready for a lead.
Footnote
Here’s a thought: Followed up the racing industry reform by bringing in a European prefab homes manufacturer (the Germans are goldstandard) to review our antiquated building industry.
Meanwhile, take all those redundant racecourses and turn them into well-run villages for tiny homes or whatever, giving young couples and families relief from criminal house prices and rents.
Oh cripes – alert the airport. I just saw a flock of pigs fly by.