The Years Before My Death

by David McPhail

  There was a long pause. Phrasing his words carefully, Philip replied, ‘Am I to understand you are turning down the role of Shakespeare’s Polonius to play a Green Termite?’

  I replied, ‘Yes.’

  He didn’t pause. All he said was, ‘Good luck’ and put the telephone down.

  The character really was a Green Termite. He wore a mask and a cape. The crowning jewels of the costume were a green leotard and a pair of Y-fronts that were worn on the outside. It was not a pretty sight. But, I was delighted. I was working on Matthew’s production.

  In the unpredictable business of television, the chance to be directed by your son in a programme he’s written was an uncommon moment. I might have looked bizarre but would not have changed a thing. Except, perhaps, the underpants.

  Matthew and Stephen created an imaginative show about a young super-hero who found himself defending a city, not unlike Auckland. He was supported by his close school friend with no supernatural powers who tied a towel around his neck to imitate a cape. Captain Extraordinary’s third companion was a slender woman who had psychic skills and could blow villains apart simply by lifting a finger. The fourth member of this unlikely quartet was the Green Termite. He was an aging super-hero who couldn’t be persuaded to retire. Together we buzzed around television screens trying to subvert the evil plans of Stuart Devenie.

  Stuart and I had worked together on A Week of It and McPhail and Gadsby, and now he was jumping around this piece of whimsy directed by a boy he’d once baby-sat.

  Then, suddenly, I had a scene with Ian Mune, who’d directed early episodes of Letter to Blanchy. This presented a rowdy opportunity for vigorous upstaging. Matthew of course knew this. That’s why he’d cast it so well. With Stephen he created shows that entranced a young audience, while writing dialogue that made their parents laugh. This balance is hard to achieve and few writers succeed. But, in successive programmes, both proved they were masters of it.

  Actors describe a mistake on stage as ‘dying’. If, when I played King Lear, I had walked into a table and fallen over I would be said to have died. So, the title of this book is not morbid. It’s simply an admission of the times I’ve walked into tables.

  These memories span a lengthy period of New Zealand entertainment. In the sixties, Anne went out with the bass player in a band led by Ray Columbus and called, optimistically, The Invaders.

  Later, in a hopeless attempt to woo her away from rock and roll, I became part of a folk singing group named, without a hint of humour, The Sherwood Trio. Twang! So, I always performed, but never considered it a legitimate way of making a living. There were few options when I was young. I could not connect with the law. Accountancy was the preserve of men who played golf and wore toupées. Medicine was incomprehensible. So, what does a man do who has no qualifications and looks at the world with a wide-faced innocence? He becomes an actor.

  This book is about an erratic life, deeply grounded in my wife and my family. When I was very young I learnt a few things: I couldn’t dance, I couldn’t play hockey, I couldn’t do maths, I couldn’t play cricket or keep in time when marching. But I could make people laugh. And so I did.

  Afterword

  I’ve come to the end of this book. You are probably as relieved as I am. No spectacular secrets were revealed because I have no skeletons in my cupboard. Only dust. The cupboard hasn’t been swept for ages.

  There are three distinct moments in my life. The first was when I met Anne. I didn’t know then and I am still unsure now what the word ‘romance’ actually means. But, when I saw her face my life shifted as if there’d been a momentary earthquake and I’ve never been the same since.

  When we were about to be married Anne gave me instructions. I was to be cautious about drinking the night before and was to arrive at the church sober and respectable. In my keyed-up state, I followed at least one of the instructions. The following day with my best man, Ken, and my groomsmen, Allan and Hugh, I stood staring at the altar of St James’s Church on Riccarton Road. The organist played ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ and we all pulled our shoulders back. I swung a fast, nervous glance over my shoulder and saw Anne and her stepfather standing at the end of the aisle. She was wearing a simple and elegant white gown. But, the most striking aspect of Anne’s appearance was her head-dress. She had dispensed with the traditional veil and wore a white bonnet covered with silk flowers. My heart rate increased. I turned back to the altar and waited. And waited. The organist kept banging away on the hymn but there was no sign of Anne.

  After a moment I turned again. She hadn’t made much progress down the aisle because she was stopping frequently to talk or wave to people in the congregation. I started to laugh. When Anne finally appeared beside me she turned, smiled and gave me a large wink.

  Marriage is sometimes described as a hopeful step into the dark. As Anne took my hand I knew my marriage was a brave stride into the light. Forty years later, in spite of an occasional power fluctuation, nothing has changed.

  I have already written of my feelings on the birth of my children, Anna and Matthew. Their love, companionship and unstinting faith in their sometimes foolish father have constantly sustained me. I experienced pure joy and pride when I stood on stage with my daughter as I played King Lear and she played his Fool. All the years drew down to that moment. I watched her face and saw the little girl, the young ballet dancer, the raging teenager and now this singular artist who, with a perfect tilt of her head, reminded me, ‘I can play a fool, but you’re supposed to be playing a king, so lets get on with it.’ We smiled.

  I was in Auckland about to give evidence in yet another court case. Jon and I had joined with other colleagues in an application to establish a third television channel in 1988. TVNZ greeted our decision by having us frog-marched from their premises in Gloucester Street. We were not paid during the months of the application process but when we won the warrant and TV3 was formed, parcels of shares were allotted to us. The arrangement was quite simple. We would sell half the shares and with the money raised buy the remaining 50 per cent.

  Then, TV3 began to stumble. I was advised not to sell any of my shares because, as a promoter of the new channel, this would unsettle other investors. Finally, TV3 went into receivership and I opened an alarming letter from the receiver. My parcel of shares was regarded as a company asset and I was ordered to pay over $180,000. This alleged debt hung over our family for nearly five years.

  Elaborate court cases followed and, finally, with one more appearance in the witness box before me, the whole wretched affair might be over. It had nearly broken me. I was sitting in a hotel room, trembling with anxiety. If I lost the case we would have to sell our house and our lives would be changed forever.

  There was a soft knock on the door. It was Matthew. I looked into his face and burst into tears. His father, a man whom he loved and respected, was standing in front of him sobbing uncontrollably. With infinite care he put his arms around my shoulders and hugged me. I felt his strength and at that moment my son saved my life.

  Life and laughter are about two things. We can’t remember the moment we were born nor will we know the instant we die, and it’s sad we can’t laugh about either. So, let’s console ourselves and fall about laughing at the life between.

  Acknowledgements

  Firstly, to my editor Barbara Larson, who fearlessly commissioned the book and then gently guided me through it.

  Photographs from television productions are reproduced with thanks to Television New Zealand.

  Dame AK Grant’s Concert is from The Bedside Grant published by Allen & Unwin/ Port Nicholson Press 1984.

  The quote from TS Eliot is from The Complete Poems and Plays of TS Eliot published by Book Club Associates by arrangement with Faber and Faber Limited, 1969.

  The quote from George Carlin is probably from George Carlin.

  Quotes from scripts are from The McPhail and Gadsby Book, first published 1983 by Whitcoulls Publishers.

  The tw
o poems of childhood are from a still unpublished volume of verse by the author entitled Never Put Anything in Your Mouth Bigger Than Your Head.

  Finally, to all the people who appear in this book, I acknowledge that you helped shape my life — mostly for the better and only occasionally for other reasons.

  The author with his mother, 1946. The unease of being photographed in a dress is evident on the author’s face.

  My family at 417 Manchester Street, Christchurch. From left: brother-in-law Bill Guthrie, my brother Clem, my maternal grandmother, then my sister June. Beside her are my brothers’ wives and then my father. In front, mother and me, and on either side are my niece and nephews.

  The beginning and end of an unlikely equestrian career.

  On the bonnet of my brother-in-law’s car, Christchurch, 1948.

  My father Alec, my mother Freda, and a large glove puppet that looks like me. We are in front of a house my father bought for his son, Neil. It is a warm summer morning and yet this is the way my father always dressed.

  The author preparing himself for a life in the entertainment industry.

  The Christchurch Cathedral choir with C. Foster Browne and Canon William Orange. The author is half-way up the stairs, behind him is Mike Rudd, who’s still playing rock and roll in Australia.

  My father Alexander Edward McPhail. A face that could smile or smite with a single glance, but whose eyes always redeemed me.

  Derek Payne and I perform, with exquisite beauty, a sadly forgotten duet at Dunedin’s Regent Theatre, in the late 1960s.

  The Merely Players, including three of my great friends: Kim Gabara wears the headband, Chris McVeigh holds the ball, and to his left is the late AK Grant.

  Anne and me at St James Anglican Church in Riccarton on the 25th of February, 1967.

  Some minutes later on the same day.

  My appearance and habits sometimes caused mild alarm at the office.

  With Anne, Anna and Matthew at the mouth of the Rangitata River. We have holidayed at the mouth for well over 30 years.

  The Fleshettes, the country’s only all-male marching team, between routines.

  Derek Payne and me dressed as Samuel Johnson and James Boswell.

  The invitation to attend recordings of A Week of It showing Ken Ellis, me and Humphrey the Camel.

  ‘Three jokers standing around a leaner in a pub.’ Jon Gadsby plays Wayne, Chris McVeigh Gary, and I am the oft en pugnacious George. Th is sketch launched the expression, ‘Jeez, Wayne’.

  The people who made A Week of It. Over time they developed into one of the most inventive and resourceful television teams in New Zealand and, in doing so, laid the production foundations on which McPhail and Gadsby could be built.

  An early McPhail and Gadsby set. The floor manager is Brent Hansen, who later went on to a spectacular career as a head of the music empire MTV International.

  A slightly bemused Dudley Moore in the A week of It’s Three Jokes sketch.

  With Anne on the night I received three television awards, 1979.

  From the first series of McPhail and Gadsby: the author is a smug Pharaoh while Melissa Miles looks alarmed and the man behind is looking elsewhere. Both their reactions reflect the audience’s response to this episode.

  Sir Paul Reeves, who was Governor-General at the time, graciously declared a new season of McPhail and Gadsby open.

  The author as Dolly, on the right, and Jon Gadsby as Kenny perform a musical number.

  David Hartnell, a make-up artist and gossip-columnist, was celebrated at the time of McPhail and Gadsby. We used my parody of him regularly.

  The author as Tina Turner: another reason my children felt uneasy going to school the morning following a show.

  Jon, Alan and I wrote many song parodies for McPhail and Gadsby. Here the author is trying to look like a young Dave Dobbyn while the remarkable Rawiri Paratene is convincing as a master cello player.

  Jon Gadsby and me backstage at the Royal Variety Concert with Peter Hudson and David Halls. Note three of the four have changed into their dinner suits.

  Th e author in conversation with Captain Mark Phillips. Perceptive readers will notice no lips are moving.

  Anna and Matthew at home in the 1980s. They always danced and sang like their parents, but were constantly funnier and more tuneful than their father.

  The only photograph I have with my two brothers: Neil on the left and John on the right. We are waiting to celebrate a family wedding. Neil is holding a bottle of milk. My hand is behind my back holding a bottle of whisky. We are about to drink whisky and milk. Brothers in arms.

  Matthew McPhail caught his first salmon off the Rangitata River mouth, but this one was mine.

  Another reason my children didn’t like going to school: the author as Nurse Susan.

  Matthew and me at a television awards evening. We are either talking about the lack of alcohol or the presence of someone we dislike.

  My first chance to perform a monologue I’d written about a character I’d become.

  King Lear: Anna McPhail is the playful and padded Fool and I am the King in the bowler hat.

  Later in King Lear: being on stage with Anna was probably the defining moment of my performing life.

  With my eldest grandchild, Milo McPhail, after I became an Officer of the New Zealand Order of Merit. 2008.

  The work of any life should not be filed in libraries. So, here’s my life’s work: Claudia, Milo, Lola, and Felix.

  From Lear to Lycra: my latest role as the Green Termite in Matthew McPhail’s production Amazing Extraordinary Friends.

  Copyright

  A LONGACRE book published by Random House New Zealand 18 Poland Road, Glenfield, Auckland, New Zealand

  For more information about our titles go to www.randomhouse.co.nz

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand

  Random House New Zealand is part of the Random House Group New York London Sydney Auckland Delhi Johannesburg

  First published 2010

  © 2010 text, David McPhail. Photographs from the family collection and television photographs courtesy of TVNZ.

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted

  ISBN 978 1 87746 046 3

  This book is copyright. Except for the purposes of fair reviewing no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.