by Shane Briant
The highlight of the promo tour was appearing on 'The Don Lane Show.' Don Lane had been the Australian talk-show king for many years; it went to air each Saturday night in prime time and had a huge following, such as Parky and Letterman. Bob picked me up – I was staying with Wendy's sister, Robby, in Elizabeth Bay. We then collected Sylvia from her five star hotel and arrived at the Channel 9 studios where we were welcomed by a gushing young guy who immediately confided to Sylvia that meeting 'Emmanuelle' was a dream come true. Sylvia was always very magnanimous when people groveled like Uriah Heep – it was water off a duck's back. She'd lay a gentle hand on their arm and smile lovingly, then move on towards the dressing room where she knew the champers would be set up. On this occasion, she walked into the huge dressing room, took one look at the ice bucket containing the Moët & Chandon and said, "I only drink champagne that has my name on it!" By this she meant Cristal – it was a semi-serious joke of hers.
The young man backed out the door smiling. "I'll see what I can do," he said.
Ten minutes later he returned with a bottle of Cristal in an ice bucket and Sylvia poured us all a glass.
By the time we were summoned – twenty-five minutes later – Sylvia was in such a delightfully relaxed mood she wasn't in the least inclined to chat to any talk show host. However, I impressed on her that Fox Columbia would be sorely disappointed if she didn't go to meet Don and show all of Australia how beautiful she was. That seemed to do the trick. She stood and we were led to the rear of the set.
Most people who watch 'Parkinson' won't know that the back
she had to climb to appear at the rear of the set, ten feet above where Don was sitting.
"Hell, no. Count me out!" she said.
I could hear Don say, "So please give a big Australian welcome to the stars of 'Lady Chatterley's Lover' Sylvia Kristel and Shane Briant!"
"Come on, Sylvia. Up!" I replied, pushing her to the steps.
"Well, help me for Christ's sake."
Ten seconds later she was standing at the top of the set, waving her arms and blowing kisses to the audience as if nothing had happened. I stood behind her, waiting for her to walk down the steps towards Don, who had his arms out to her in welcome. Sylvia didn't seem to see Don, she simply continued blowing kisses for a good thirty seconds until I took her arm and guided her down to the seats. She was so happy to be there she was much more interested in the studio audience. I think that was why she showed little interest in the questions Don was asking her. Because the interview was rapidly grinding to a halt, I decided to answer most of Don's questions while Sylvia nodded her assent.
I have to say, she looked stunning that night, her eyes sparkling like emeralds.
Relaxing in Sydney after the Don Lane Show.
The show ended up a success. It was a great introduction to Australia for me because Sylvia allowed me to do most of the talking.
In Sylvia's suite in Sydney. Boy, she could party!
Back in London the film premiered at the Leicester Square Theatre. It was the first time I'd seen my name above the title. I stared at the size of the letters – who, me?
As I flew back to London I knew what I had to do. I'd been born in London and spent most of my life there, yet my genes were those of my mother rather than my Scottish father. I was an Aussie at heart. I had to return to Australia, my mother's and Wendy's
country.
On the flight home from the promo tour of 'Chatterley' one of the spectacularly beautiful Garuda attendants asked me very politely why I had chosen to fly economy class. I had no idea what she was talking about. Seeing my confusion, she continued. "All the crew go see 'Lady Chatterley' in Seednay. Very nice film. But why you not fly… 'firstaclass'?"
Now I understood. Like most moviegoers, the Indonesian cabin crew thought all film actors were insanely rich. I wasn't about to disappoint her, but I had to think quickly. "Er…I am about to make a film in London about someone who has no money but flies around the world constantly. I wanted to see what it was like to fly economy; I've never done it before."
The flight attendant smiled broadly. "Ah! Of course. I see! Yes!"
Ten minutes later she reappeared with a bottle of champagne from first class – in a plastic bag so my fellow passengers wouldn't be jealous.True story! I love Garuda. But I love Qantas a lot more!
THE POWER OF AN AUSSIE DE FACTO!
Back in London, I spent every day plotting how to get back to Oz. My dear friend and agent, Adza, had passed away several years back and I was now represented by a new agency – Richard Stone. Things were not 'happening' in the U.K. back then, while I knew they were in Australia. The Aussie film industry was on a hot streak, making dozens of movies every year. Many people in Oz had suggested I emigrate to Australia because English actors were highly thought of – it was an odd kind of 'cultural cringe,' one that's not so prevalent today.
But how was I to work in Australia without a visa? I had to find out what my options were. I visited the Australian Consulate in London and told them my mother was born in Australia. That didn't cut the mustard. I was surprised.
"What nationality is your father?" I was asked – clearly paternity was more important than maternity.
"Scottish," I replied.
The immigration assistant made a sad face.
"How much money will you be bringing to Australia?"
I thought long and hard about how to answer. Lie? No point, I'd be found out in minutes.
"Er…five thousand pounds," I replied.
An even glummer face.
"What do you do for a living?" she asked.
I knew that was the killer question. "I am …er…an actor," I replied, my voice the barest reed.
The official snapped the file closed. That was it. What else could I tell them? That my girlfriend was an Aussie? How would that help if the fact my mother was born in Sydney didn't count? It was worth a shot.
"My girlfriend is Australian. Does that help?"
An immediate smiley face. "How long have you been together?"
"Six years," I replied. "We hope to get married really soon."
Now, the woman beamed at me. "With a de facto spouse, I don't see any problem in granting you a resident's visa."
That was that. Mother? Nah. Girlfriend. Yes!
Odd.
Wendy and I thought it might be a good idea for me to test the waters before we uprooted ourselves completely from London, so we decided I would go out to Sydney first while Wendy held the fort in Pimlico. I had to tell my mum what I was planning, and I knew she'd be desperately lonely without me. So, to placate her, I promised I'd fly her out to visit me so she could again visit the country she'd left as an eight-year-old. That helped a lot.
I flew back to Oz six months later, leaving Wendy to organize what we'd bring with us, and what we'd sell.
I'd told the woman at Australia House that I planned to bring five thousand pounds, but I actually arrived in Sydney with two. My plan was to stay a year and see how I got on. It was going to be an interesting test. You may think two grand isn't enough to live on for so long. I'm here to tell you that in 1982 it was plenty if you were prepared to live frugally. The friends I'd made in Sydney during the promo tour became friends for life, and within a few weeks I was sharing a house in Paddington – the equivalent of Knightsbridge in London – with two lovely sisters from Coonamble. Fifty dollars a week. Shared bath and kitchen. Having little cash, I had to cut my cloth appropriately. I'd engaged the wonderful agent Shirley Pearce (Russell Crowe's agent – but he wasn't famous then.) I relied on her to 'make things happen.' I'd usually sit on my sundrenched bedroom balcony, waiting it out with a cask of wine that cost about six dollars. Or nip down to Bondi and lie there, in the sun.
It was a very tough life!
In the evenings, I'd watch television, eat a jar of chili con carne bought at the corner shop, and revisit my cask of white wine.
The waiting game is a hard one for actors. But a necessary one. What make
s it easier is knowing that you have an agent who cares about your career, has faith in your talent, and is busting a gut to get you work. Simply having an agent is not enough. Too many actors these days have agents who probably don't give them a thought for weeks, if not months, on end. The answer to that problem is to work like hell yourself, making connections, meeting people in the business, and putting yourself 'out there.' I was lucky enough to have a good profile because of all the 'Chatterley' promotion. Casting people knew who I was, and I was the new 'English Import' in town. So I could afford to wait it out and allow my Australian agent Shirley Pearce to do her work while I lazed on the beach. Back home in England Wendy was doing her best to combine managing international sporting events with handling our move to Oz.
Australian films & Television
'RUN CHRISSIE, RUN!'
In 1985 I made a film that had originally been titled 'Reunion,' but underwent a sad name change later to 'Run Chrissie, Run.' I believe it was also released somewhere, possibly America, as 'Moving Targets.' I hated the new title because back in Dublin, the word 'Chrissie' is a pejorative, otherwise known as a scrubber. It was produced by the South Australia Film Commission, directed by Chris Langman, and shot in Adelaide and the Barossa Valley. But at last I was seeing Australia.
Carmen Duncan and a young Annie Jones were a mother and daughter on the run from the IRA. Michael Aitken was the IRA renegade, and I was the man sent to kill him. On my team were Nicholas Eadie, a talented young actor, and Red Symons, the rock star front man of one of Australia's best known groups – 'Skyhooks.' Red never stopped kidding around. I'm sure we bad guys had much more fun than the heroes, Carmen, Annie and Michael, as we did our best to be a very oddball threesome. Nick Eadie had his head shaved. He looked like the 'hoon from hell,' in his black leather jacket and chains. Red imbued his character with constant sarcasm and razor sharp wit, and I did my best to be the cool 'silent one.' I ended up half 'James Bond,' half 'The Saint.'
Midway though the shoot the armorer showed me how to fire my Uzi submachine gun.
To fire a single round was practically impossible for a novice like me, since the gun has a hair trigger. The best I could do was two rounds. The armorer suggested I fire the whole magazine, just so I could see how long it'd take. I was amazed. About two and a half seconds! When it came to the scene where I fired the gun, I made the stupid mistake of deciding not to wear earplugs.
I'd worn them at the demonstration and hadn't found the Uzi too noisy. What I failed to factor in was that the demonstration took place in an open field, whereas I would be firing through the windscreen of a car from the inside. Enclosed!
The safety officer gave me earplugs, but I took them out while
he wasn't looking because I wanted to be able to hear all the dialogue crisply. Big mistake!
With rock star Red Symons on 'Run, Chrissie, Run.'
Come the moment, the windscreen exploded on cue and I began firing the Uzi through it. The noise within the enclosed car was like being at the epicentre of a category five cyclone. Never again – my ears buzzed for two days.
The Barossa Valley, the home of the Australian German community in South Australia, is absolutely beautiful, as is the wine of that region. One of the biggest scenes involved a festival well known in Europe amongst German speakers as the 'Schützenfest.' In Adelaide and its surrounds, the South German Association has held the festival every year since 1964, although the first one dates back to 1865! Originally a shooting festival, it's now more of an excuse to eat, drink, dress up in dirndls and lederhosen, and play 'Oompah' music as loudly as possible. The spectacle was a great asset to the film, and I felt as though I was back in Germany – I'd my own baby Lederhosen when I was three years old and I loved wearing it when I was young enough to get away with it!
Every week one of the main cast members would be made 'Entertainment Officer,' and he or she would have to come up with something unusual and amusing to do on weekends.
When my turn came I decided we would have a barbeque in drag, with a prize for the worst dressed. Not very original, but at least 'do-able.' Carmen came as Charlie Chaplin, Michael in a lovely organza dress and far too heavy rouge and lippy, and Nick Eadie wore stilettos, fishnet stocking and suspenders. Nick won.
At one point during our barbecue, the manager very politely enquired if we'd move our 'barbie' to a spot around the back of the hotel. Some elderly guests, arriving for lunch had been somewhat shaken by our appearance.
A cross-dressing Barbie in Oz.
With Red Symons, director Chris Langman and DoP, Ernie Clark.
ALMOST A WILD DUCK.
Sometime in 1983 I heard word of a forthcoming film production of Ibsen's 'The Wild Duck,' to be shot in Australia. I was doubly intrigued to read that Liv Ulmann was to play Gina, and Jeremy Irons, Harold. Though surprised that Jeremy wasn't playing Gregors, as far as I knew, no other actors had been cast. So the part of Gregors was still up for grabs. As a huge admirer of Liv Ulmann from my university days, I was determined somehow to contact Jeremy and have a chat. I hadn't seen Jeremy for many a moon, but I thought he could possibly swing things my way?
The reason I'm recounting what happened is to impress upon all up-and-coming actors that one should never even consider imposing on friends to do you a favour and put in a good word for you. It's a real 'no-no,' and actors hate being put in this invidious position. Not only that, but regardless of their fame, they're rarely in a position to be able to help you out. Of course, way back then it seemed like a good idea to chat to Jeremy.
It took me some time to find out from various sources that he
off, I made further enquires and eventually tracked Jeremy to a hotel and called him at a civilized Swiss hour, and a very uncivilized Sydney hour. Jeremy sounded suitably surprised to hear my voice. Why wouldn't he? What on earth was I doing calling him from Sydney after all these years? The man was trying to holiday with his family – the last thing he needed was a ridiculous call from me.
"I hear you're coming to Australia to film the Wild Duck," I opened.
A pause, then he replied. "Yes, that's right."
Silence.
I continued. "Would you believe it, I am meeting Henri Saffron in two days. Wouldn't it be fun if we could act again together – me as Gregors, and you as Harold?"
Another awkward beat of silence.
"Yes, that would be interesting," Jeremy replied.
I then asked after Sinead and the children and enquired about the holiday snow conditions. I said no more about the production, hoping in a way that the next time he was in touch with Henri Saffron, the director of 'The Wild Duck,' he might mention my name, as he was about to begin the casting process and any help would be useful.
Anyway, this intensely awkward conversation ended after a few short minutes. I wished him well and he returned the sentiment. That was that. I met with Saffron a week later, but he cast Arthur Dignam as Gregors. I should never have suggested to Jeremy that he put in a good word for me. It isn't done and I cringe at the memory of it.
Many months later when Jeremy was finishing the filming I called him at his hotel – the Sebel Town House; in those days all the celebrities stayed there. I was ushered into his suite by a butler – it may have been the very same one that I had met when I visited Paloma Picasso. He asked me to wait in the drawing room.
Jeremy didn't keep me waiting long. He appeared from the bathroom wearing a deep claret silk dressing gown, smoking a cigar. I thought, 'Zut! Noël Coward est mort, vive Noël Coward!'
We chatted, exchanging our separate news. It was great to see him again after all those years. I asked him what he'd been up to and he told me how much he'd enjoyed working recently with Volker Schöndorff in 'Swann in Love.' He'd starred with Alain Delon and Ornella Muti. I was envious to say the least. He was now definitely in the major league, could virtually name his fee and was set for an Oscar – I could feel that then. It came with 'Reversal of Fortune.'