2nd Green Room Gossip
By (Sir) C.E.S.S. Poole
Your honorary knighted Thespian
An Empty Bladder
Only the other day I was struggling. I was trying to commit some lines to my memory.
Funny thing memory isn't it? Like the endless ebb and flow of the tide. My
ability to retain my lines was remarkably good. In my youth Chekhov, Oscar
Wilde, Noel Coward and even the great Mr. Shakespeare used to flow off the page
through my crystal clear blue eyes into my brain with considerable ease. Even
after a highly festive night with my fellow Thespians, nursing the worst
hangover you can imagine my retentive aptitude was always in tip-top condition.
Time and Tide waits for no-man. And I am now beginning to realise that over
sixty years of abuse with the noxious substance stored in my never empty "Toddie" has had some detrimental effect on my grey
matter.
I have been asked to make a cameo appearance in a forthcoming television mini
series. This in itself will be no great problem for me as my character is named
as "the drunk in the toilet". What is causing me a great deal of
consternation and in-depth soul searching is the script I've been faxed gives
my character about thirty lines.
As a man with an inbred knowledge of the art of inebriation and with a life
time of experience to draw on in the field of toilets, I am having difficulty
convincing myself that any character, in such a state of drunkenness, would be
able to deliver a single word never mind eight sentences. It is when confronted
with a problem like this that all actors say, "Thank God for the
director!" It is to this captain of the filmic ship that we all must
turn. However as the director is a new young protégé of Johnie
Woo from Hong Kong and apparently doesn't speak a word of English apart from
"Laction" and "Clut",
I'm preparing myself for a torrid time. I will have to - as most of us
jobbing-actors have to - fall back on my own devices.
An old late friend of mine the legendary Mr. Oliver Reed would have been
perfect for this role. So I shall follow the advice he gave to me twenty years
ago when he was still in his prime. It was the mid-eighties and Oliver was
filming in
Mr. Reed had taken a shine to me during the course of the day's shoot as he had
espied my "Toddie" finding its way to my
lips during those endless hours while we were "Hurrying up and
waiting". At wrap he invited me to join him in his trailer and have a
glass or two of an exceptionally good single malt whiskey. I was then asked if
I'd care to join him and three other acquaintances for a meal at his hotel.
We enjoyed a splendid meal accompanied by several bottles of a delightful
full-bodied South African red wine. It was my first time in the country but
Oliver had been there many times before and was in the position to recommend
some excellent Cabernet Sauvignons.
It was well past the bewitching hour when the hotel staff suggested that we
leave the hotel lobby - the bar had already closed - and adjourn to Oliver's
room. My memory of this stage of the evening is now a trifle hazy. In fact it
was extremely hazy the following morning. But I do recall that about 4am. the conversation was centred around some of the most
diabolical scripts we as actors have had to deal with and I was asking Oliver
for his advice.
It also transpired that Oliver had surreptitiously made an assignation with a
young female during our evening meal. This nocturnal meeting was to occur in
her room, which was adjacent to his.
At this point my memory limps towards total amnesia. For some forgotten reason
Mr. Reed was standing naked on a small ledge that connected his balcony to the
young lady's next door. We were on the fifteenth floor and the ledge was
approximately one foot wide. With his hands placed delicately on the wall
behind him he urinated whilst his voice boomed into the night, "My dear
boy," he roared. "Just hit your mark. Say your line. Don't fall over
and always empty your bladder!"
What the exact question was that I asked of him to prompt this reply now
escapes me but it did and still does seem to be excellent advice. I shall take
full cognisance of it when I attempt to converse with Mr. Jackie Loo Wong
tomorrow on the set.
I'm sure I will be able to convince him that I can improvise my eight sentences
into a couple of monosyllabic meaningful grunts and groans and I most certainly
will hit my mark and empty my bladder!
Till we meet again, don't know where, don't know when...........
(Sir) Cecil Edward Steven Simon Poole signing off till next
month.
Ron Smerczak
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Name |
Comment |
Date |
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Erna |
Eagerly awaiting next month’s
update |
2007-09-19 |
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Mandy Lebides |
Well done, Ron, on both your
submissions. I am looking forward to the next edition! Please continue to use
Writescapes for good commentary |
2007-09-25 |
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