This column was originally published in the Central Western Daily on Tuesday 15th May 2012.
I discovered two things last week. Firstly, my brother likes to search through the funeral notices online in his spare time. Secondly, my agent had passed away.
In the mid-eighties, one of my classmates at Castle Hill Primary School landed himself a role in a movie. I still remember Bradley on the cover of the local paper relaxing in a chair with his feet up. The headline was a dodgy pun about him “sitting pretty” (obviously a Fairfax publication).
The film was an adaption of the then popular school text, Fortress, in which a teacher and students at a remote school are kidnapped by three thugs wearing rubber masks. Eventually the teacher and kids fight back, which is bad news for Father Christmas, Dabby Duck and Pussy Cat who are all dispatched in various gruesome ways.
I’m not entirely sure how this tweener fiction book by Gabrielle Lord was appropriate for children. I guess it was the predecessor of the Tomorrow, When the War Began series or even The Hunger Games books.
I was really keen to find out about moviemaking and straight away befriended Bradley. I quizzed him on every aspect of the filming process on the steps of a demountable classroom one lunchtime and within weeks, I was attending drama classes with him on Saturday mornings.
These classes were run by a Maltese gentleman by the name of Alan Gauci. By sheer coincidence, he had been the principal of the Johnny Young Talent School back in 1980 when my parents sent me to singing, dancing and acting lessons for a term or two.
Alan remembered me, perhaps for my stunning renditions of various versions of Twinkle Twinkle on the violin, Suzuki Method style, at the end of year concert. By stunning, I mean fingernails running down a chalkboard.
The drama lessons were run out of Alan’s house in a converted garage. I remember being really impressed because he owned a video camera, a very expensive high tech item at the time, which was used to film student scenes. Every class would end with a review of our work on TV. Alan, cigarette ever present, would saunter out of his office to comment on our (over)acting.
Alan represented most of his drama students as a talent agent and before long, was my agent too. He’d phone every few weeks with audition details and I’d look forward to hearing his raspy, heavily accented voice because it potentially meant a new adventure and possible some time off school.
My parents were happy to drive me around to auditions and eventually I landed a few small TV roles and then graduated to commercials, lead roles in TV shows and some theatre work. As a kid, the money was fantastic. Alan took ten percent commission, of course. I purchased my first car, a brand new Barina, when I was eighteen, with my child acting career savings.
I’m not entirely sure how Alan influenced my life but I know that he left an impression. I still love the performing arts but not necessarily as a way to make a living. I still hate to watch myself on video. Selling the Barina helped pay for my move to the UK ten years ago. And I wisely gave up the violin in high school.
Thanks for everything Alan. I will always remember your advice and tell everyone that I can ride a horse, even if I can’t, so I have a better chance of landing an acting gig.
Peter Young Writes For You 