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"TELLING TALES" STORY COMPETITION
And the winners are ...
Incognita ran a competition to find the most entertaining
or illuminating story about the Entertainment Industry, and the
entries flooded in with over fifty submissions from all areas
of the industry (and from all over the world).
After much deliberation, we have finally chosen the top three
stories submitted ... and the winner's are:
Winner:
Kirsten - London, UK
Kirsten tells a cautionary tale for all actors from the perspective
of a Wardrobe Assistant
CLICK HERE TO READ THE STORY
1st Runner Up:
Terry Walter - Milano, Italy
Terry shared an inspirational story about his time in Opera
CLICK HERE TO READ THE STORY
2nd Runner Up: Kris
Keppeler - Seattle, WA, USA
Kris had a funny story about an early stage appearance as one
of a group of Shakepearian faries
CLICK HERE TO READ THE STORY
Congratulations to all our winners who are now enjoying a
selection of Incognita gifts and clothing as their prizes!
Also, as part of their winnings, all three stories are being
put here on the Incognita Enterprises' Official Store site for
everyone to read, along with a photo and link to the winner's
websites (if they have one).
So, congratulations again to Kirsten, Terry and Kris and here
are their stories for you to enjoy ...
WINNER: TALES
FROM THE WARDROBE
Kirsten (last name withheld on request)
London,
UK |
Many years ago, when I was just starting out as a wardrobe
assistant in television, I had the task of dressing one of the
show's new stars. She was only about seventeen, and had only
just started in the business herself. As she was near my age
and I had seen her work on screen in another show I was quite
looking forward to working with her. That was until my first
day when I finally met her.
I had heard about prima donnas from others who worked in the
industry, but didn't expect to find one on my very first day.
She swanned into the wardrobe department, went through the outfits
I'd selected for her for the day's filming, rejected every one
of them and then went immediately to the rack carrying the costumes
for the other young actress in the series (who had been there
for over a year) and proceeded to insist that she be given this
other actor's wardrobe as it was "more appropriate for her
character".
Needless to say, this young starlet was about two sizes larger
than the actress whose wardrobe she wanted, which meant there
was no way she could have fitted into the clothes, but she proceeded
to make a huge scene when this was pointed out, which meant the
Head of Wardrobe was called in to handle the situation and try
and smooth the waters.
I was, by now, feeling very upset and not too happy, as this
girl was now blaming me for "not knowing her character well
enough" to be holding such a responsible position. It didn't
matter that I had chosen her wardrobe for the day from a rack
of pre-selected outfits chosen for her by the Head of Wardrobe
at the beginning of the week's filming - it was all my fault.
The Head of Wardrobe calmed her down, made some alternative
suggestions for the day's filming and we finally (after an hour
of precious time) sorted her out. She swanned back out of the
room, leaving a wake of discarded clothing behind her, which,
of course, I had to clean up.
Later that day I was called into the Head of Wardrobe's office.
Fearing that my first job had finished before it had even really
begun, I went with heavy heart to see her. Imagine my surprise
and relief when she told me that she was very sorry this had
happened on my first day, that this actress was known for being
"difficult" and that the wardrobe and hair and make
up department had been putting up with her arrogant behaviour
for nearly two months and today had been the last straw.
She then told me the situation would be handled and I wasn't
to worry, that the producers had been made aware of her ongoing
behaviour (the producers had rung down to ask for a report on
this actress as her short term contract was coming up for renewal
and my boss hadn't held back with her feedback), before congratulating
me for keeping my cool and sent me back to work.
What followed next was like a military campaign. No matter
her protestations, she was always dressed in the most unflattering
outfits, her hair was always done in a style that just didn't
suit and when she complained to the producers, they told her
it was part of her character development and she had to like
it or lump it.
Four more months passed with no obvious change in her attitude,
and with increasingly ugly clothing and hair until her contract
came up for discussion. I found her that day, sitting in wardrobe,
and, despite how much I disliked her, I'm a little ashamed to
say, crying.
The producers hadn't even entered into a conversation about
her contract - she had been told that her character no longer
had a place in the series - and that was that.
It was really because of her nasty, off-hand and prima donna
behaviour in wardrobe and make up, and increasing high-handedness
on set, according to my boss. And really, is a good lesson for
actors and for anyone working in this industry.
Twenty years later, I've seen a few more actors behave like
this and on the whole seen the same result. Never treat anyone
badly in this industry - no matter what position you hold - it
just doesn't pay. Producers aren't stupid and know that actors
have one face for them and one for everyone else. So they'll
ask around amongst the crew, in all departments, to find out
what an actor is really like as a person. The same goes for crew,
in many ways - when you're working on a production, you're part
of a team. If you have a gripe, deal with it professionally and
with respect. Don't throw a tantrum. It may just lose you your
job.
Copyright © Kirsten T. |
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1st RUNNER UP:
OPERA BRINGS THE HOUSE DOWN
Terry Walters
Milano, Italy |
When I was started as a young tenor in opera, I began working
in community theatre in my local town. My third or fourth show
was the immortal "Carmen" where I played 'Le Remendado'.
The singer playing "Don Jose" was a slightly older
tenor, who worked by day as a doctor. From memory, I think his
name was Adam. He had a beautiful voice, but had no professional
aspirations, unlike myself.
The production was very high quality, if I say so myself,
and a lot of time and skill had gone into building the sets and
assembling the costumes and props. It was quite exciting, almost
like playing a "real" opera, with a full orchestra
in a beautiful old theatre that sadly no longer exists.
On Opening Night, during the scene in Act 3 where "Micaela"
entreats Don Jose to return to see his dying mother, and we are
all on stage having just broken up a fight between Don Jose and
Escamillo, I noticed that the prop tree behind Don Jose had begun
to lean towards the front of the stage.
Remembering that during the fight scene just previous, Escamillo
had knocked the tree in a small stumble, I began to worry that
the tree might now be unstable and, as it was a heavy piece of
set, that Don Jose may now be in trouble as he was standing directly
in front of it.
It was therefore with morbid fascination that I watched the
tree slowly begin to tip and fall towards Don Jose. Wondering
if I could move discreetly to the tree and stop the fall myself,
then realising that to do so would pull attention away from a
very impassioned moment between the two lead singers in that
scene - thoughts which all happened in a split second - I saw
with increasing awe and respect Don Jose, without missing a beat,
reach out behind him, grab the falling tree and just keep on
singing.
He remained like that - propping up the prop tree - for the
next few minutes, still singing. Micaela, seeing what was happening,
adjusted her movements and, to this day I don't know how, they
both made it seem like it was all part of the choreography and
completely natural that Don Jose would be singing about his dying
mother, all the time holding up a tree on the hillside.
At some point he moved back towards the tree, causing it to
sit back on its braces before exiting to the most thunderous
applause from the audience I've ever heard. Of course, they'd
seen what we'd seen and were just as impressed and appreciative
as we were of a performer who'd not only kept going with the
set literally falling down around him, but had actually fixed
the problem without any fuss or distraction.
A few years later I left the US for Europe to chase my dream
of being a professional. While I never achieved my professional
dreams in opera, instead going into retail, I am still an aficionado
of the genre and in all my years of attending performances I
have never seen another display to equal Adam's pure professionalism
or quick thinking.
Opera's loss was the medical profession's gain.
Copyright © Terry Walters |
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2nd RUNNER UP:
A FAIRYTALE BEGINNING
Kris Keppeler
Seattle, WA, USA |
Several years ago, while just getting started in the biz,
I got cast as a Fairy in the chorus for a local Gilbert and Sullivan
production. One night, after the first fairy dance on stage,
I discovered my wand had disappeared and I didn't recall dropping
it.
I discreetly looked around for it then noticed it stuck to
the wing of the fairy standing in front of me. Just as I grabbed
for it, we all fell to our knees to honor the entrance of the
Fairy Queen.
The wand dislodged itself from the wing and flew into the
air making a high arc over the front line of fairies, past the
Queen and onto the front of the stage.
Luckily, during the next fairy dance, one of my quick thinking
fairy colleagues discreetly picked up the wand as she danced
by and handed it back to me.
A great introduction to the biz and live performance for me.
Copyright © Kris Keppeler 2007 |
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EXAMPLE STORY: DON'T PUT YOUR DAUGHTER
ON TV, MRS McLEAN
Sally McLean
Melbourne VIC
Australia |
One of the questions people love to ask performers is what
was their most embarrassing moment while performing. I mention
this because, in my case, it very neatly ties in with my first
major encounter with someone who was an Australian celebrity,
and, in my opinion, a wonderfully generous man.
It was the mid-Eighties. I was eleven. The youth performing
arts group I was in at the time, The Strolling Players,
were asked to perform on "The Good Friday Appeal" -
a telethon held by Channel Seven in Melbourne each year to raise
money for the Royal Children's Hospital. All the stars appeared
at some stage on this telethon, whether it be performing or sitting
on the panel reading out donations or answering phones in the
telethon phone room and reporting back via live crosses during
the day. This was a BIG THING. And it was an even BIGGER THING
for me personally, because it would be my first appearance on
television.
The day dawned sunny and bright. We'd been rehearsing for
a while, knew our stuff and although nervous, we were certainly
ready. I was feeling especially proud, as I had been chosen as
one of two girls who would be dancing out the front of the group
while the others sang. BIG HONOUR. BIG EXCITEMENT.
We got to the studio, checked in and were then taken to a
sound stage to familiarize ourselves with television cameras
and the like. All goes perfectly. Years later, in hindsight,
I know this should have been the first tip-off that things were
about to go horribly wrong. But, being eleven, and my eyes full
of stars - literally (My god, I mean, I'd seen Australian television
icons Bert Newton, Molly Meldrum and Ivan Hutchinson within five
minutes of each other - this was the BIG TIME!), I didn't realize
that the old theatre adage of "bad rehearsal, good performance"
also went the other way.
Waiting off camera, we finally get the nod to set up. We do.
Group of about twenty girls at the back who would sing, two dancers
at the front (one of them me), and two musicians from the group
- complete with instruments and music stands for accompaniment.
Please note those two musicians - they will feature heavily in
the following paragraphs.
This telethon also had a live audience in the studio, so the
nerves were already running overtime in response to all those
faces looking at us. Then Bert Newton does the throw: "And
now, here are The Strolling Players from Melbourne, Victoria
with …" (I can't remember what we were doing - one
of those little details that slips your mind years later). And
we're on.
The music starts, the girls begin to sing and Libby (a beautiful
ballet dancer) and I start to dance. It's a jazz ballet routine
- very simple steps, and we knew it backwards. As a result of
this over-confidence, I began to slightly exaggerate my movements
(think of every cheesy dance school recital you've ever seen
or heard of, and that about describes my performance at this
stage).
Really enjoying myself now - only about 30 seconds into the
performance - I attack the next step with real gusto. It's a
side step with arms outstretched. And then it happened.
I don't know how it happened. Maybe I'd traveled further across
the floor than I realized, maybe I leaned a little off-center,
whatever it was, all I remember is the feeling of metal connecting
with my hand and the sound of music stands crashing to the floor.
A quick look over my shoulder as I continued the routine (a side
step in the other direction - fortunately) revealed two very
shocked and ever-increasingly annoyed musicians standing, trying
to continue playing, in the midst of floating sheet music and
two sadly twisted and collapsed music stands, as production assistants
descended on the floor from all directions in a futile attempt
at damage control.
Ooops.
Another look over at the panel of stars sitting on the other
side of the studio revealed great amusement, with the odd expression
of sympathy.
I was crushed. Apparently I finished the routine without further
incident and the poor musicians (if I remember correctly they
were Merry and Gillian who were both good friends of mine - although
that was debatable right at that moment), managed to play the
rest of the tune without their music.
And then it was over. I've only seen the broadcast once -
about a day after it happened on a friend of my mother's video
recorder - so I don't have a great recollection of what actually
made it on screen. But I do remember that the moment when I collided
with the music stands just happened to be when the camera was
following me. As a result, there is a sudden jerky movement of
the camera as it is wrenched away from the carnage, and I believe
the Floor Manager is heard to faintly say "sh*t!",
as the vision switches to another camera on the other side of
the group - yet in the corner, you can just make out the gentle
fluttering of sheet music and the shocked faces of Merry and
Gill.
Not the most auspicious way to begin your career in television
entertainment.
Needless to say, I was out of there as fast as I could move.
I was so embarrassed I would have welcomed the earth swallowing
me up right there and then. I made it to the street outside Channel
Seven, and was waiting for Mum to join me, when Shirley Strachan,
lead singer of the Seventies rock group "Skyhooks",
turned television personality, walked out of the building nearby
and headed for his car and driver. Shirl had been on the panel
of stars during my "accident", so I tried to hide behind
a nearby parking sign, praying he wouldn't see me.
He looked over to where I was and stopped. He indicated to
his driver to wait a minute and walked over. I was horrified.
This would be my ultimate shame. Here was this famous children's
presenter (He was doing "Shirl's Neighbourhood" at
the time), walking towards me, who I would have to talk to, when
I'd just made the biggest fool of myself ever in my short life
in front of not just a television audience of 1.2 million, but
also a majority of the people I was aspiring to emulate.
He stopped in front of me and I looked up at him and attempted
a smile. Leaning down, he said "I think it was great that
you kept going. That was the sign of a true professional. In
live TV anything can happen. Well done for keeping your wits
about you."
With that, he shook my hand (I asked him to sign my autograph
book, which he did), said goodbye, walked back to his car, got
in and drove away with a wave in my direction.
I was ecstatic. This man, who didn't have any reason to, had
done a wonderful thing - he'd given me back my sense of pride.
He had recognized a child in distress, and even though it was
her own doing, had known that it meant the world to her to have
done well. And so he gave her something to be proud of which
she would never have found on her own. And all within 30 seconds.
About the same amount of time I'd taken to destroy two music
stands on live television in front of a live audience, a television
audience and a panel of stars who were my heroes.
For that, I shall always be grateful to Mr. Strachan - a true
star in every sense of the word.
Copyright © Sally McLean |
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