by Tina Arena
Then there was a chance meeting on the set of one of the many French TV shows on which I appeared that year. This time it was a popular variety show called Tapis Rouge (Red Carpet). The show was hosted by the French equivalent of Michael Parkinson, a TV legend called Michel Drucker. That particular episode of Tapis Rouge also featured an interview with the writers and main cast of a musical called Notre-Dame de Paris, as well as songs from the show.
Based on Victor Hugo’s novel of the same name (the English translation is called The Hunchback of Notre-Dame), the music for the show was written by a famous Italian singer-songwriter Richard (or Riccardo) Cocciante. Mum, being a fan of Italian music, knew Richard’s work well. The French lyricist was French–Canadian Luc Plamondon, who had previously written the lyrics for Starmania, a musical that is probably as famous in France and Canada as Jesus Christ Superstar is in Australia or the UK.
Notre-Dame de Paris is a tragic love story set in harsh and unjust times. Quasimodo, a hunchback who lives in the belltower of Notre-Dame, falls in love with Esmeralda, a gypsy girl. Also lusting after Esmeralda is Frollo, the priest. Esmeralda, however, is in love with the highborn and handsome Phoebus, who is engaged to Fleur-de-Lys but fancies a night with Esmeralda. Unfortunately, things do not turn out well for the beautiful gypsy girl.
The Paris production of the show, which had been running since September 1998, had been enormously popular and had made it into the Guinness Book of Records for having the most successful first year of any musical production, ever, anywhere. The album was the highest selling French record that year and had just won an award at the World Music Awards in Monte Carlo.
I sang two songs on Tapis Rouge that day: ‘I Want to Know What Love Is’ and ‘Memories’, in a duet with Patrick Fiori, who was playing Phoebus in Notre-Dame de Paris. I always sing live when I perform on TV shows or at showcases, but not everyone does – some people opt to mime.
When my performances were over, I joined the other guests on the couch to have a chat with Michel. The other people sitting there were, of course, the writers and lead cast of Notre-Dame de Paris. I was beginning to understand French, more or less, so Michel would question me in French and I would answer, mostly in English, which he would then translate for the live audience. It wasn’t too nerve-racking but I was glad when it was all over and I could kick back with a glass of wine in my dressing-room. Those were the days when divas had an entourage, so there with me were Ann-Marie, various Sony people, my makeup artist, a stylist and my chauffeur. We were having a laugh together – I’ve never been one of those nightmare artists who cause trouble for everyone. I want to have fun myself, which I do ninety-eight per cent of the time.
Then Sabine from Columbia popped her head around the door. Sabine Feutrel was Heckle to Valérie Michelin’s Jeckle. ‘Luc Plamondon wants to meet you,’ she said.
‘Sure,’ I said. I didn’t know much about Luc or Richard. All I knew was that they were big writers and Notre-Dame de Paris the musical was their creation.
A minute later there was a knock.
‘Entrez,’ I called.
The door opened and there were Luc and Richard. After much kissing and hugging, European style, they sat down.
I began chatting with Richard in Italian. ‘Where did you learn the language?’ he asked after a minute or two.
I told him about my heritage.
‘Ah!’ We kept chatting. Meanwhile, I could see that Luc was itching to say something.
Finally he butted in. ‘We’ll keep it brief,’ he said in English. ‘We’d like to arrange a meeting with you as soon as possible to discuss an idea.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Talk to Ann-Marie here and tee something up with her.’
Annie gave them her number and a meeting was arranged.
When I met Luc and Richard a couple of weeks later, Luc was again straight to the point. (I found out later that Luc was always to the point, something I absolutely adore about him.) ‘We’d like you to sing a song for the Notre-Dame soundtrack,’ he said.
I liked the idea and said so – I love the music.
Luc blurted out his next request. ‘And we’d like you to play Esmeralda in the London production. Will Jennings is doing the translation. The show opens over there in May next year.’ Esmeralda was the leading female role. Will Jennings had, among other things, written the lyrics for the Titanic theme song, ‘My Heart Will Go On’.
Luc’s offer took me by surprise. Singing a track on the studio album was one thing. Committing to a musical production in London’s West End was another thing altogether. ‘Can I get back to you?’ I said.
‘But you’ll give it some thought?’ I suspect they were hoping I’d say yes on the spot. ‘Please, please, give it serious consideration,’ Luc said. ‘We just know you’re the next Esmeralda.’ It turned out that when they’d heard me sing on Tapis Rouge they decided there and then that they wanted me to do it. I guess they could see that I was able to sing live, and when I sang with Patrick they saw there was a bit of chemistry.
In the end I flew to Montreal to see the Canadian production, which opened in June. That was when I made up my mind. The music was beautiful and the production inventive. Esmeralda, the young gypsy dancer, was such a strong character – it was clear that Victor Hugo felt a lot of compassion for her.
Accepting the part of Esmeralda was perhaps the first career decision I made completely on my own. I just followed my heart and said yes. I had never lost my love for musical theatre and so often, when I needed a taste, an opportunity seemed to pop up. This time, I loved the music, and I loved the character. And to be a leading lady in London’s West End was one of those dreams I’d had as a kid, one I never thought would come true. I just had to do it. How could I possibly say no?
There was something else that helped me decide. Taking the part would mean I’d be forced to more or less stay in one place for a while. With eight performances a week, there was no way I could be away from London for any length of time. I could still pop across to France for a day or two if Sony needed me to, but otherwise I’d have to stay put. London had been my base off and on for a couple of years by then, and I liked it there, mostly because I was rarely recognised. I could live a low-key, independent life in London, without attracting too much attention. It made things just that little bit easier and more relaxing.
The only down side was that Jeremy and I would be apart. But we so often were, anyway. He knew what my job entailed and we were both used to my comings and goings.
Once the deal was done, Michel Drucker invited me and the French cast of Notre-Dame back on Tapis Rouge for a kind of handover. Many of the cast and crew who were there that night would later be heading to London to be part of the UK production, including Garou, the French–Canadian singer who played Quasimodo. But some, like Hélène Ségara, who had played Esmeralda in the French production, wouldn’t be crossing the channel.
It was a big thing – the show had been huge in France and the cast were much loved. On Tapis Rouge that night I performed the theme song from the show: ‘Live (for the One I Love)’. When I finished, the audience and the guests on the couch gave me a standing ovation. I then did something I have rarely done on camera. I cried. It’s such a powerful, sad song, and it was an emotional moment.
Of course, I immediately felt like a complete drongo. I still don’t know what came over me. It had been a long day, perhaps. In fact, it had been a long few years. Perhaps it was the unconditional acceptance and love I felt in that room. The French revere their singers and I was lucky enough to be accorded a little of that reverence. Particularly sweet was the fact that they’d neither seen nor heard of Tiny Tina. I’d started virtually from scratch in France and the French had accepted me as I was and on my own terms. It was incredibly liberating – in France I could just be me. My French was still pretty dreadful, but the French people didn’t seem to mind. France had taken me under its wing.
Connecting with the French and their music that year
had opened my eyes and my heart to a whole new world. It seemed to have happened by accident – although I’m sure Virginie Auclair and Valérie Michelin at Columbia would have told you there was nothing accidental about it. I’d simply followed my heart in France, with no expectations, and yet 1999 turned out to be hugely rewarding. I found an audience who took me as I was, even when I mangled their precious language. I also found comfort and friendship with Jeremy and his lovely family, and was able to begin healing my heart. Jeremy, David and Leslie, Dylan, Virginie, Valérie, Sabine, Michel Drucker, and, most importantly, the French people – I owed them all big-time!
CHAPTER 19
Vivre
In the final months of the millennium I returned to Australia. Ralph and I did not cross paths. Our divorce settlement was dragging out – unfortunately, it wouldn’t be resolved for more than two years.
I appeared at the opening of Fox Studios in Sydney in November, with Kylie Minogue, Marcia Hines, Shirley Jones (from The Partridge Family) and Hugh Jackman (that guy is so multi-talented!) then headed back to Melbourne. On New Year’s Eve, I performed at Crown Casino in Melbourne at a VIP ball, along with John Farnham, Kate Ceberano and Rod Stewart.
But my sojourn in Australia was short. Soon after Christmas I was on a plane bound for Montreal to record the vocals and shoot the video clip for my version of ‘Live (for the One I Love)’, the song from Notre-Dame de Paris that Esmeralda sings as she awaits her fate. The single was due to be released around the same time the show opened in the West End.
When I arrived it was minus 35 degrees, which came as a bit of a shock after Melbourne’s 35-degree heat. We shot the clip in a warehouse outside Montreal. All the crew were Québécois. My hopeless French combined with their accent meant I couldn’t understand a single word they said.
When I returned to Paris, my sister Silvana was there to meet me. She’d taken three weeks’ holiday from her job at Mushroom Records and flown over to celebrate her twenty-seventh birthday in the city of love. A visit from one of my sisters was always a pick-me-up and reminded me just how much I missed my family when I was away. Silvana stayed with me at the quaintly French Hôtel Victor Hugo in the sixteenth arrondissement, where Sony often put me up.
On the night of her birthday, we went out to the Buddha-Bar, an opulent up-market restaurant bedecked with enormous gold buddhas, latticework, candles and chandeliers. It was back in its early days when it was one of the places to eat in Paris. Jeremy and his cousin Dylan came, too, along with Jeremy’s partner in music, Rémi Lacroix, and Sabine from Columbia. We ate and drank like kings that evening. Afterwards we went to a little jazz bar and ended up drinking tequila and dancing on the tables. The plan was to make Silvana’s birthday a memorable one, but our recollections the next morning were foggy.
Three days later, Silvana, Jeremy, Ann-Marie and I were in Cannes for the inaugural NRJ Music Awards, sponsored by NRJ, a radio station in Paris, and French TV network TF1. The awards were handed out the night before the first day of Midem, the Cannes music trade fair where the world music industry gathers once a year to swap gossip and ideas, showcase artists and products and buy and sell rights. Oh, and party – mustn’t forget that! I’d been nominated for an award for ‘International Breakthrough of the Year’.
The stars were out in full force: Tina Turner, Mariah Carey, Bono, Jean-Jacques Goldman and Hélène Ségara (Esmeralda in the French production), who ended up winning ‘Francophone Breakthrough of the Year’. It was a night of nights. I won the award, which was incredibly gratifying and humbling. Then we partied on, dancing till the wee hours.
I arrived in London to start rehearsals for Notre-Dame de Paris with a diamond ring on my finger. It had been a gift, from myself to me. I’d bought it at Boucheron in the Place Vendôme in Paris. The manager, Thierry, had asked me in to give me a gift. I had accepted the invitation, although I was hesitant. Thierry presented me with the most beautiful watch – Art Deco in design, with diamonds.
‘I can’t accept it,’ I said.
But Thierry insisted. I was shocked that someone would give me such a beautiful present. Then something came over me, and when I spotted a stunning platinum ring encircled with diamonds, I decided to buy it. It was a Pretty Woman moment, minus Richard Gere. I had to tell myself to stop being a peasant and thinking I wasn’t worth it. When I got my credit card statement later I choked on my Coco Pops but I never regretted it. It gave me the little boost of confidence I needed.
I set up camp in a house just off Walton Street in Knightsbridge, which belonged to Wendy’s family. For the next six months or so I would be working in one place, which, after years of traipsing around, would be quite a novelty. I already knew I liked living in London. I could recharge my batteries when I was in England. It made things easier – I could just go about my business without having to worry about whether I was having a bad-hair day.
Jeremy was back in Paris. We’d decided to call it quits, but we remained friends. The truth was, our age difference worked against us – at twenty-four he was eight years younger than I and at a different stage in his life. I was thirty-two, and while I wasn’t ready to settle down, I knew I wanted to some time soon. It was the last thing Jeremy was thinking of. He still had too much to do – while he worked as an engineer, he was also a musician and songwriter. He’d helped me get over my marriage break-up, but when I talked of babies he made it clear that wasn’t on his immediate agenda and I agreed. He still had a bit of growing to do.
I would be making the odd lightning visit across the channel, though – ‘Les Trois Cloches’ had been released and was climbing the charts in France and Belgium. It was a good feeling. I hadn’t been sure how the French would take to a foreigner singing a classic by one of their greatest artists in an Aussie accent, but they embraced it just as they’d embraced me.
I had a wake-up call once rehearsals for Notre-Dame started. It had been eight years since I’d worked in musical theatre and it took a while to get up to speed. It’s always an incredibly physically and mentally demanding job, and you’ve got to be super fit to last the distance every night. But Notre-Dame was more than that: it was emotionally draining. The show ran for two and a half hours, and during that time I sang in around twenty songs, each one of which packed a punch. The songs are powerful and moving, and you can’t fake the emotion when you’re singing them.
Another challenge was the cultural differences. The French approach a stage production differently, and it took a while to get my head around that. One thing that got up the Brits’ noses was the producers’ decision to use backing tracks rather than an orchestra. I can understand why they made that choice – musical theatre is such a financial risk at the best of times – but it didn’t go down well with the musicians’ union and things got complicated.
It sometimes seemed like a classic example of the French– English divide. The French like to do things their way and they didn’t like the English telling them how to suck eggs. But of course, we were in English territory: we quite rightly had to abide by their protocols and rules. As an Australian of European heritage, I guess I could see both sides. Needless to say, there were some interesting moments.
But it was fantastic to be part of such a large team of performers. Most of the cast, which included dancers and acrobats, were French–Canadian. An exception was Steve Balsamo, an English singer-songwriter who, as a relative unknown, had famously won the part of Jesus in the 1996 London production of Jesus Christ Superstar in a tough audition process. With a Venetian dad and a Welsh mum, Steve has music in his blood.
Then there was Garou, who is now a superstar in both Canada and France. Garou’s story was similar to Steve’s: Luc Plamondon heard him singing in a bar in Quebec and asked him to play Quasimodo in his then unstaged French production of Notre-Dame de Paris.
It was a brilliant decision on Luc’s part: when Garou was on stage he became Quasimodo, expressing all the pain and heartache Quasimodo lives and breathes. It was a privilege to wor
k with him – we got on so well, and we remain good friends.
I also loved working with Bruno Pelletier, who played the poet Gringoire, the narrator in the show. Fleur-de-Lys was played by yet another French–Canadian, Natasha St-Pier, who has also become a big star in France and Canada. Natasha was one of the few cast members who spoke English fluently, and we instantly clicked.
As well as a troupe of dancers, there was a troupe of acrobats brought over from the French production. The acrobatic work in the show was truly spectacular.
Two weeks before the show’s premiere I flew to Monte Carlo to accept the World Music award for the Best Australian Solo Artist. I don’t remember seeing any Bond girls this time, although Elle Macpherson was there to present me with the award, as well as yet another opportunity to play the short guy. I sang ‘Live (for the One I Love)’, called simply ‘Vivre’ in French. It had been released in the UK as a single just days earlier. I would never get blasé about awards – and this one meant a lot. Many of the Notre-Dame cast were there, because they had once again won the French award. Bravo to them!
The UK production of Notre-Dame de Paris premiered on 23 May 2000. Of course, it was scary – it was my first performance in London’s West End and the pressure was on – but being surrounded by so many great performers who knew the production backwards helped. The audience’s response was fantastic: we got a standing ovation, which, after all the work, was gratifying.
Mum and Dad had flown over to attend opening night. Also attending was Sophia Loren, to whom my parents were introduced. It was already a night they’d never forget – meeting Ms Loren made it legendary. I don’t know where I was, but I missed out on the pleasure. The folks have been telling me about it ever since.