Year of the Queen: The Making of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert - The Musical by Jeremy Stanford
Authors: Jeremy Stanford
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on my feet.
Once the frock is approved I take everything off and remain shivering in nothing more than my undies and stilettos in the cold room as I wait for the next outfit. Deep in conversation, everyone seems to have forgotten me momentarily. With agonizing relief, I quietly slip off my shoes but get sprung doing so. Anthony wheels around and apologizes, telling me to get dressed, that I’m finished.
2. The fabulous Opera House frock under construction.
And just like that, a cab is summoned and I head back down the windy stairs again.
Next stop is a moulding session for my head. To get around the problem of us getting in and out of drag make-up quickly in the show, we’ll be using masks. Drag make up takes about an hour and a half to apply, so when we need to suddenly appear doing a drag number, we’ll just slip on a mask instead. That’s the idea anyhow. I’m not sure anyone’s proved it’ll work yet, since it’s a technique which has been developed for the show. Somehow, this next session will produce one of these masks.
A cab drops me at an industrial suburb out near the airport. It’s the kind of area where they take murdered bodies to dump them. I take my life into my hands dodging speeding lorries as I cross a ghastly motorway to a recently finished industrial estate. Dwarfed by the enormous warehouses, I follow the meticulous instructions on my care package to a large warehouse door which looks more unused than used. Doubting I’m in the right place, I press the buzzer and am greeted by two men who look like ex-members of DEVO. They welcome me inside the cavernous workshop, which they don’t seem to notice is freezing cold. Shelves line the walls and there’s numerous empty work benches which look well used but are currently on leave. The men tell me they make animatronics for film and T.V., creatures and monsters, and as they speak I notice a pile of lifelike monster heads on the bench next to the hand where I’m leaning my weight. I quickly withdraw my hand in case I’m bitten. If Anthony Philip’s costume warehouse came alive at night, I certainly wouldn’t want to wander around this joint after dark.
The two DEVO guys explain today’s process to me, like it’s a safety drill on an aircraft. They crack funny but nerdy jokes and finish each other’s sentences. I’m in my best tee-shirt, but they both wear crafty smocks which are covered in goo and I begin to worry about the state I may be catching the plane home in.
They seat me in a salon chair and cover me with a plastic apron. They give me two hand signals and ask me to repeat them so they know I’ve understood. One for, “I’m okay” and another for, “I’m not okay”. I’m not getting a good feeling about this. I’m instructed to not move a muscle in my face during the procedure as it will wreck the mask and we’ll have to start again. I make the gesture they’ve given me that means, “I’m okay”, as a lame attempt at humour which they ignore as they bring large buckets of… ‘what?’ over towards me.
I close my eyes and try to get comfortable as they first smear my face all over with Vaseline. It feels cold and oily. They ask me my first, “Are you okay?” and I make the sign. Then they entirely cover my face in dental paste which smells minty and hardens with lightning speed. As it sets I try to think of pleasant thoughts, but the best I can come up with is feeling like my face is a giant tooth being cleaned. The dental paste makes its way into my mouth and I can feel it trickling down my throat. It’s gritty and irritating, and I begin to imagine terrible thoughts like I’m going to cough and ruin the whole process, or even worse, vomit, then choke on it and die before they can get this whole shebang off me. One of the DEVO guys has left the room and I hope it’s not to get the large sharp knife they use to decapitate their naïve hostages. The remaining guy cracks odd little jokes and I have to resist
Once the frock is approved I take everything off and remain shivering in nothing more than my undies and stilettos in the cold room as I wait for the next outfit. Deep in conversation, everyone seems to have forgotten me momentarily. With agonizing relief, I quietly slip off my shoes but get sprung doing so. Anthony wheels around and apologizes, telling me to get dressed, that I’m finished.
2. The fabulous Opera House frock under construction.
And just like that, a cab is summoned and I head back down the windy stairs again.
Next stop is a moulding session for my head. To get around the problem of us getting in and out of drag make-up quickly in the show, we’ll be using masks. Drag make up takes about an hour and a half to apply, so when we need to suddenly appear doing a drag number, we’ll just slip on a mask instead. That’s the idea anyhow. I’m not sure anyone’s proved it’ll work yet, since it’s a technique which has been developed for the show. Somehow, this next session will produce one of these masks.
A cab drops me at an industrial suburb out near the airport. It’s the kind of area where they take murdered bodies to dump them. I take my life into my hands dodging speeding lorries as I cross a ghastly motorway to a recently finished industrial estate. Dwarfed by the enormous warehouses, I follow the meticulous instructions on my care package to a large warehouse door which looks more unused than used. Doubting I’m in the right place, I press the buzzer and am greeted by two men who look like ex-members of DEVO. They welcome me inside the cavernous workshop, which they don’t seem to notice is freezing cold. Shelves line the walls and there’s numerous empty work benches which look well used but are currently on leave. The men tell me they make animatronics for film and T.V., creatures and monsters, and as they speak I notice a pile of lifelike monster heads on the bench next to the hand where I’m leaning my weight. I quickly withdraw my hand in case I’m bitten. If Anthony Philip’s costume warehouse came alive at night, I certainly wouldn’t want to wander around this joint after dark.
The two DEVO guys explain today’s process to me, like it’s a safety drill on an aircraft. They crack funny but nerdy jokes and finish each other’s sentences. I’m in my best tee-shirt, but they both wear crafty smocks which are covered in goo and I begin to worry about the state I may be catching the plane home in.
They seat me in a salon chair and cover me with a plastic apron. They give me two hand signals and ask me to repeat them so they know I’ve understood. One for, “I’m okay” and another for, “I’m not okay”. I’m not getting a good feeling about this. I’m instructed to not move a muscle in my face during the procedure as it will wreck the mask and we’ll have to start again. I make the gesture they’ve given me that means, “I’m okay”, as a lame attempt at humour which they ignore as they bring large buckets of… ‘what?’ over towards me.
I close my eyes and try to get comfortable as they first smear my face all over with Vaseline. It feels cold and oily. They ask me my first, “Are you okay?” and I make the sign. Then they entirely cover my face in dental paste which smells minty and hardens with lightning speed. As it sets I try to think of pleasant thoughts, but the best I can come up with is feeling like my face is a giant tooth being cleaned. The dental paste makes its way into my mouth and I can feel it trickling down my throat. It’s gritty and irritating, and I begin to imagine terrible thoughts like I’m going to cough and ruin the whole process, or even worse, vomit, then choke on it and die before they can get this whole shebang off me. One of the DEVO guys has left the room and I hope it’s not to get the large sharp knife they use to decapitate their naïve hostages. The remaining guy cracks odd little jokes and I have to resist
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