9.

‘And you can call me Mum’

My Fair Lady and Dame Julie Andrews

When I saw the My Fair Lady audition notice sometime during 2015, I thought, ‘What have I got to lose?’ It would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work with the person who had had such a profound impact on me during my childhood – Dame Julie Andrews. Opera Australia, along with John Frost, were holding auditions for the 60th-anniversary production of My Fair Lady to be staged at the Sydney Opera House in 2016, with the possibility of a national tour the following year. I hadn’t set foot on a musical theatre stage since arriving in Australia, but I knew I needed to be a part of this show – well, at least I needed to submit my theatre CV and see if I could actually secure an audition. The days of putting your name down and being guaranteed an audition slot were long gone. Every potential applicant had to submit a CV, or an audition video, then wait to see if they’d be chosen for the first round, otherwise known as the ‘cattle call’.

It had been at least fifteen years since I’d forked out money for a decent biography photo – and it looked like it too. So I decided to invest in new headshots, ones that made me look less ‘opera’ (if that’s even a thing). With my hair taken out of a chignon and now hanging loosely over my shoulders, and swapping the gown, faux-fur wrap and diamanté jewellery for my best ‘girl next door’ look, I hoped to resemble the person walking into the audition room. After dredging up my very limited amateur musical theatre experience and listing any show in which I had attempted any form of dancing, I sent off my application. To my surprise I secured a slot. I’d been given permission to walk through that first door.

An audition is essentially a job interview for a performer. I am my own product and if I want to get that job, then I need to work on my product. This means going to a vocal coach or singing teacher to work on my chosen audition repertoire, getting it as polished as I can before the day – not always easy when you don’t get a lot of notice. When preparing for any audition, whether for an opera company, musical theatre production or a choral society, you’re usually asked to present three contrasting songs or arias. I used to focus on making sure I offered a variety of repertoire that showcased different technical aspects of my voice. But, through trial and error, I’ve learnt to present pieces that show me at my best; the ‘contrast’ will be achieved through either language or composer.

If you are putting yourself forward for a particular role, you may be required to sing a number from the show you are auditioning for, or a song ‘in the style of’ the show. Picking the correct repertoire is vital to you being considered at any audition and can determine whether or not you get through to the next round. At times, they can ask you to sing something completely different halfway through an audition, which means taking a song that they have sitting on a desk, allowing you some time to look at it in an adjacent room, then asking you back in. I know one musical theatre audition required each person to sing for no more than 30 seconds, because they knew they’d have a ridiculously large number of people auditioning. No pressure!

The staff at Opera Australia knew what I could do and were well aware of my strengths – and my weaknesses. But I was climbing over the fence into musical theatre, and I didn’t know how I’d be received. So, with repertoire sorted, coaching undertaken and hours spent finetuning my pieces, I turned up to my first audition for musical theatre in Australia.

There haven’t been many times I’ve walked out of an audition room with a smile plastered across my face, but I did after that first one. It was one of my best auditions. I sang confidently; the members of the panel were supportive and extremely forthcoming in their praise. It had been a long time since I’d sung for anyone outside of Opera Australia, so it gave me a such a boost to know I could still impress.

With the auditions being held at the offices of Opera Australia, I had the advantage of running downstairs to the wardrobe department and grabbing my stock character shoes for the next stage – the dance audition. God help me. After trying to execute what I thought looked like rather complicated waltzing, a fellow auditionee, who looked at least 30 years younger than me, said when we left the room, ‘Don’t worry, everyone got a tick next to their name – even you!’ Um … thanks?

The final dance audition turned out to be, hands down, one of the most terrifying experiences of my career, even though the Tony Award-winning American choreographer Christopher Gattelli did all he could to calm my nerves. The night before, I had asked a theatre friend, ‘What am I meant to wear to a dance audition?’

He replied, ‘What dance audition?’

‘My dance audition for My Fair Lady tomorrow morning at 9 a.m.,’ I told him. ‘Apparently I need to do something called a soft-shoe shuffle. What the fuck is a soft-shoe shuffle?’

He laughed at me and, in the kindest way possible, said, ‘You’re screwed.’

With this added bit of confidence, I turned up the next morning, and it became instantly apparent that I should have been wearing some form of lycra. I found the routine we were given incredibly difficult to execute under pressure, and I know I asked far too many questions – which surely would have set alarm bells ringing. When we were asked to move to the sides of the room, I nearly died when I realised we would be watching each other. If that wasn’t enough to deal with, we were also told to improvise! Could this nightmare get any worse? When they called my name, signalling me to stand in the centre of the floor, I heard someone at the back of the room say, ‘She’s from the opera’, which I hoped would excuse what they were about to witness.

‘Sorry,’ I whispered to the panel in response, feeling like I needed to apologise. Yet deep down I was thinking, ‘Okay, maybe I can’t dance, but I can sing, and I deserve to be in this show.’

All I remember about the improvised section is that my go-to character under stress resulted in me trying to present my best prostitute acting in eight bars. With all those degrees and years of experience behind me, that’s what came out? The whole thing is a blur, but I do remember not being in time with anybody else at the end. I left the room feeling so deflated, realising I would only ever be a ‘double threat’, and beating myself up for not having the skills required to perform the routine properly, or execute the dance steps with ease. If only I’d taken dance classes as a child instead of learning the bloody clarinet!

After thinking my potential career as a dancer had come to a screeching halt, I gathered with the others in the adjacent room, waiting to see if we were going to be sent home or told to come back in the afternoon to sing for the final round. I heard my name called out and I couldn’t believe my luck! Now I had seven hours before needing to be back at 5 p.m. to sing for the panel one last time. I’d been granted another shot at the jackpot, and could either spend seven hours shitting myself, or try to relax and focus on the job at hand.

I killed time hanging out with a friend who had also secured a callback, so after a well-deserved lunch, we headed back to his house and waited. When you’ve come this far in the process, the prize seems within your grasp, and as the hours ticked slowly by, I wanted the contract even more. Sick of waiting around, we headed back to The Opera Centre, deciding to hang out there. At least we could check out the competition, and chat to anybody willing to talk.

When I finally walked into the room at 6 p.m., I was greeted by a panel of twelve very experienced and influential people who had the power to either offer me the opportunity of a lifetime, or to say, ‘Thank you but no thank you.’ As I slowly started to take it all in, looking over every face staring back at me, my eyes immediately stopped at the perfectly poised woman sitting right in the middle of them all. There she sat: Dame Julie Andrews. I’m sure the sheer joy of that moment was written all over my face, and as soon as she spoke, there it was – that remarkable voice from my childhood. I could have closed my eyes and transported myself back to sitting in front of the television in my parents’ lounge room, watching one of her movies for the hundredth time. She instantly made me feel like the most important person in the room, giving me her undivided attention while I sang. Julie had a natural way of encouraging me to do my absolute best without uttering a word.

The opportunity to sing for Julie and finally meet her face to face was a true bucket-list moment. Looking back now, that audition still has an element of the surreal. But I had a job to do. Putting my starstruck feelings to one side, I focused on proving to Julie, and every other person on that panel, that I should be in their show. I sang only one piece: ‘Art is Calling for Me’ from The Enchantress by Victor Herbert. I have always loved singing this song – I still do – and I believe if a piece resonates with you, it will be evident in your performance. It showcased my acting ability and vocal range, ending on a top B-flat. After a brief chat with Julie, I left the room, wanting that job more than anything else in the entire world. I was so close, which meant the disappointment I would experience if I didn’t get in would be huge. But I knew I would always have that moment.

To my surprise, in December 2015 I found out I had been successful and had an offer to join the cast of My Fair Lady in the role of Lady Boxington and ensemble. This information had to stay confidential until the official cast announcement, but I had received the phone call from my agent while seated at a dinner table with two colleagues, taking a break from basting the Christmas ham for our annual chorus Christmas party. Without thinking, I just blurted it out – so much for abiding by the rules! I then rang my sister even though I knew she would be fast asleep in bed. Lisa screamed down the phone as soon as I said, ‘I bloody did it! I got the show!’ We both cried. I couldn’t believe it. Then, after waking Mum and Dad, I thought I’d better do the right thing and keep my mouth shut. In the end, another five months passed before the company announced the full cast in May 2016. But in the meantime, another announcement would change my life forever: the birth of my beautiful nephew, Archie, in March of that year, which has turned out to be my most precious gift, and the announcement that trumped all others.

Before rehearsals commenced, I decided to improve my dancing ability by enrolling in tap classes with a friend at the Sydney Dance Company. I knew I couldn’t get any worse than I had been at the audition, and I needed to turn up to rehearsals in six months’ time and be much better at picking up a dance routine. Due to double shows on Saturdays at the opera, I could only attend a limited number of classes, but I enjoyed every moment, and it made the commencement of the dance rehearsals slightly less daunting.

***

On 25 July 2016, I entered The Opera Centre not for a music or production call with my fellow opera singers, but to meet my new musical theatre family – a strange feeling to be in a place so familiar, yet to feel like it’s the first day of school. I was exactly where I wanted to be: at the My Fair Lady school in the presence of the fairest lady of them all.

I look back on this experience with fondness and complete humility. I promised myself that I would treat every day with Julie as a gift. On day one, we all sat in a rehearsal room around a very large square table. We were all given the opportunity to introduce ourselves, and when Julie’s turn finally came around, she added, ‘And you can call me Mum.’ That summed her up perfectly, and what she would be like for the nine weeks I had the privilege of working with her.

Being in the rehearsal room with Julie felt like a daily masterclass. In notes sessions, she would speak the text of the music and the script, giving every single word or note its purpose, explaining the cadence in a sung or spoken phrase, showing examples of arrival and descent (essentially deciding what the most important word of each phrase would be, which I found invaluable), and singing on occasion to emphasise her request. How lucky were we! Whenever I rehearsed with her, I wanted to give 150 per cent, even if my body ached. At the end of those long rehearsal days, Julie would say to us, ‘Go, off to your bunky-beds go – you’re all splendid’, and it would lift us as we exited the room, heading home. I rehearsed with such joy and commitment every single day. To recreate the original production Julie had performed 60 years before on Broadway – scene by scene, note by note, spoken word by spoken word – did not feel like a job at all.

Julie gave so much of herself daily, seeming to possess an infinite amount of energy. She would bring in copious amounts of homemade banana bread and other scrumptious treats, always making sure our every need was catered for. If you are lucky in life to meet someone you have truly idolised for many years, your hope is always that they fulfil your expectations. Well, Julie exceeded mine. She truly is one of the most humble and gracious human beings I have ever had the honour to meet and work with. The wonderful team of people who have been by her side for many, many years were, individually, equally divine.

Those weeks of rehearsals challenged me in new ways. I had to learn how to use my voice safely while entering this new musical genre, and experiment with ‘mixing’ my voice when required while still holding true to my opera roots and technique. But getting used to the repetitive nature of musical theatre’s eight-shows-a-week schedule, over a long period of time, required some mental and physical adjustments. I didn’t know, for example, that choosing to stand in a rather awkward position in the Ascot scene eight times a week over consecutive months would cause physical problems, because I hadn’t factored in the long-term strain on my body.

In the opera world we can be rehearsing and performing up to five operas at any one time, with each opera having difficult physical, vocal and costuming requirements. Every night is a different show and on double Saturdays there are always two separate operas. One opera may be less taxing than the other, and this can allow for vocal and physical respite. An opera colleague asked me once if I ever felt bored with the repetition of musical theatre. This wasn’t asked in a negative manner, just out of curiosity, because she couldn’t imagine performing the same show for so long. But having been required to digest such a huge amount of repertoire every year as a chorister, after a while I welcomed the break to just focus on one score and not have to worry or feel guilty about it. When the tour commenced, I did pack a folder of some new arias to learn, purely for my own vocal development, as I had been singing the same ones for far too long. Despite my best intentions, they never left the darkness of my suitcase. Maybe I just really needed a break from opera.

But the biggest challenge had nothing to do with my voice. They say everyone in musical theatre is a triple threat. I believed I possessed two of the threats, singing and acting, and now I had to master the third – dancing. And by dancing I don’t mean ‘opera dancing’. I learned very quickly that musical theatre dancing is on a whole new level. Though I know My Fair Lady is not really considered a dance show, for me it really felt like it. Christopher Gattelli had the most beautiful approach in these rehearsals, and he made me feel like a dancer. He choreographed numbers that allowed the dancers in the show to shine while allowing the ‘movers’ to contribute to the scene in a wonderful way, melding us all together to tell the story. I got a buzz every night waltzing at the Embassy Ball. I’d hit the big time – advanced waltzing. My arms had never been so bent and angled; my elbows had never been parallel to the floor before, or my head tilted at such an angle, and I didn’t think I could physically bend my torso back any further than what was required. I found it exhausting at first, but my God did I feel like a dancer! It left opera waltzing for dust. Wearing my beautifully flowing costume, I felt like a princess at the ball.

‘Get Me to the Church on Time’ became my favourite number, and I looked forward to it every night. I remember the first time we rehearsed it onstage in full costume. I had only ever danced it wearing leggings and a T-shirt, so wearing the full costume – layers of rather thick fabric, hat, wig, shoes, the full kit and kaboodle – instantly became a very different story! When we reached the end of the number, I thought I would vomit right there on the stage. It became glaringly obvious, and fast, that it would take a while for me to become show-fit, and even though it became easier over time, I still panted in the wings after exiting the stage, making my way to the quick-change area to strip out of the costume, get some air on my body and catch my breath.

I also found the breathing quite different. In opera, the breathing is very low and diaphragmatic. I’d never worn a zipped corset before, as the corsets in opera are always laced, meaning they are easily adjustable depending on how I’m feeling on the night. Due to several quick changes in My Fair Lady, those zipped corsets were the only option. And, after they’d been through the wash once a week, it felt like they had shrunk. The combination of my opera technique, where I am used to breathing low, and the physical elements of the show meant that I started suffering from reflux as my breathing became shallower. I found not eating straight before a performance, and only snacking on a few things during a show, helped reduce the acidic build-up. I also learned to pace my breathing through the more physical numbers, especially when I had to dance.

When we were ready to move into the theatre and begin piano and stage orchestral rehearsals, Julie sat down and told us something that I knew already, and respected: the importance of every single person involved in the production, and how everyone had their part to play. But she explained it so beautifully. She said, ‘The ballet backstage is as important as the ballet onstage.’ I had never thought about it that way – as, essentially, a dance. There was choreography for those of us visible to the public, just as there was for those working away in the dark beyond the stage curtain, the people who were enabling us to do our jobs and present the show every night.

The company photo taken on our last day in the rehearsal room at The Opera Centre, and the photo we were given from the media call onstage at the Sydney Opera House, are the only photos I have with Julie, and they sit proudly on my piano. To this day I have never seen so many photographers, reporters and cameras fill the Joan Sutherland Theatre as there were at that media call. At the end of the session, I sat in the theatre’s foyer being interviewed for the New Zealand news website Stuff, for a piece they called ‘Kiwi Katherine Wiles on Working with Julie Andrews’. Certainly a combination of words I thought I would never see in my lifetime.

During rehearsals, a friend said to me, ‘You must get a selfie with Julie before she leaves!’ But I couldn’t have imagined asking for one. Since that first day of introductions, I had enjoyed the many conversations and much laughter, and we had shared private moments, yet I still felt very much in awe of her, and the more I had the privilege of getting to know Julie, the more I respected her privacy. It had become an unspoken rule. Our society has become all about selfies and snapping photos with celebrities to post on social media. But I didn’t need that kind of photo to prove that I had worked with Julie, and I didn’t need to pretend she was my new BFF. She very kindly signed the cover of the original My Fair Lady LP cast recording for me, and her memoir Home for my sister. The memories I have of the rehearsal process leading up to opening night, of sitting down receiving production notes at the end of a long day, of hearing her demonstrate through her singing the way to shape a phrase or give purpose to a particular word, of sharing a cup of tea and a piece of banana bread, of listening to her wonderful stories and infectious laughter or watching her reactions as we recreated each scene from 60 years ago, are enough. These memories will remain with me for a lifetime.

***

Our opening night of My Fair Lady at the Sydney Opera House on 6 September 2016 ended up being an experience like no other. Trolleys of gifts were being brought up in the lift to the backstage area, and you couldn’t get into Julie’s dressing room for the flowers and gifts that had somehow hemmed her in. Her room looked like the flower market at Covent Garden, with the Opera House carpet transformed into a sea of flowers. I took the opportunity to write Julie an opening-night card, and I must have penned a dozen drafts of what I wanted to say. It would be my only opportunity to not only truly thank her for the lessons she had taught me, but to express the impact of the entire experience.

Over these two and a half months, I had become part of a new ensemble of performers. I had reconnected with my opera family a little over this time, seeing out my performance obligations in Carmen at the Opera House – rehearsing a whole day of My Fair Lady then switching hats and being an opera singer again in the evening. Although exhausting, I loved it; it really was like having the best of both worlds. The dedication, commitment and focus of my new colleagues in My Fair Lady blew my mind. They needed to be able to do it all: sing, act and dance. They lived contract to contract. They didn’t have the privilege of a full-time, permanent job, and they worked their butts off. I felt like I needed to prove myself and earn my place among them. They certainly made me feel very welcome, and I did finally feel as though I deserved my place on the other side of the fence. But as much as I adored the production and every single show, a part of me yearned for the day I would return home to my opera family, the place where I truly belong.

The gifts from Julie and management that every member of the company received on this first opening night, and the three opening nights during the run of the show, were more than generous. I had never received so many, and soon my dressing-room table was taken over by a wonderful assortment of wrapping paper, cards, flowers, champagne and good-luck cards and messages. Their sheer presence astounded me. We were finally unveiling our new production, and giving life to a show that, 60 years before, had opened to an audience just as expectant as ours.

Before the show commenced, we had a private moment with the creative team, and a chance to reflect on the last six weeks we had all just shared. ‘Give the joy tonight,’ Julie said to us. ‘Keep it real and crisp, and just hand it out. Don’t think about yourselves – just give the gift.’ She didn’t want the night to be about her; it belonged to us, to the show and to telling the story. Every night I would think of that comment as the curtain ascended. I reminded myself that every night is opening night for the people sitting out there in the dark.

As I stood onstage with the cast five minutes before the show began, the buzz out in the auditorium felt like electricity. The moment Julie walked into the theatre to take her seat, the audience sounded like a crowd cheering at a sporting event. It was insane. It felt like such a surreal moment when that curtain finally rose, and I buzzed with adrenaline. I still feel an enormous sense of pride to have been a tiny part of it.

From that first premiere to the closing performance, the wealth of talent in the cast was astounding. What an honour to share the stage with one of Australia’s most celebrated entertainers, Reg Livermore, as Alfred P. Doolittle. In his late seventies at the time, he glided across that stage, never missing a beat or a show. The energy instilled in every second of his performance offered me a lesson in professionalism, and I learned so much by watching him rehearse and perform. Eliza Doolittle is a tour de force, and Anna O’Byrne’s casting in this role was a dream. Her journey throughout the show requires the talents of someone who can transform from cockney flower-seller to upper-class refinement in just over three hours. Anna had it all, with each part of her journey being truly believable. Every performance she gave was perfection, and I had never witnessed this overall consistency in a show, night after night, week after week, month after month. I stood in awe of her talent. And if that wasn’t enough, what a beautiful ensemble member – unpretentious, kind and a joy to work with.

English actor Alex Jennings, who played Professor Higgins, was exquisite from day one. Glorious both on and off the stage, he became the glue that bound the company together, a true team player in every fibre of his being. His apartment became a regular venue for some wonderful parties; early in rehearsals, he kindly invited me to attend one of his soirées, but I had to fulfil my duties and turn up to Carmen show number 22 that night at the Opera House, so I couldn’t accept his very generous invitation. How I have regretted my level of professionalism to this day – instead of insisting I honour my commitment to Opera Australia, I could have been having dinner with Alex, his gorgeous wife Lesley and Julie Andrews! Ridiculous decision! Did I remember Carmen number 22? No, of course not! Would I have remembered that wonderful evening? I would have remembered it forever!

Every principal character had been perfectly cast. To finally cross paths with Pamela Rabe, who played the role of Mrs Higgins for a short time, was another wonderful experience. Her calmness, stillness and quiet confidence were what I noticed almost immediately. What a masterclass to watch her every night onstage! What she did in the silences, her reactions, her minuscule gestures and movements that spoke a thousand words seemed nothing short of extraordinary. If it hadn’t been for this show, I doubt I would have ever crossed paths with Pamela, Anna, Alex, Reg, Tony Llewellyn-Jones, Robyn Nevin and Deidre Rubenstein – what a lesson in everything ‘theatre’. The consistency in all aspects of their performances – their singing, dialogue delivery, reactions, timing, energy, focus and sheer ability to get through every show at such an elite level – blew me away, even though I’d been in the industry for many years.

I loved the coming together every night at the one-hour call for our focused physical and vocal warm-up. I hadn’t experienced rehearsals like this in opera before, perhaps because the opera seasons are usually shorter, whereas a long-running musical needs to be kept tight and fresh, and any element of creative licence creeping onto the stage needs to be reined in. Part of this rehearsal took the form of spacing calls. This is where we would stand onstage in our starting positions for a particular scene, and if any members of the cast were absent, we would allocate these vacant positions to the swings in the show so they could fill in for the people away. This meant that everyone knew exactly what changes there would be before curtain up, allowing the show to run smoothly. In opera, the assistant director either leaves notes on our noticeboard regarding changes for that evening’s performance, sends an email or talks to the people involved beforehand.

In musical theatre, I love the way they use these warm-ups to fix any potential issues. The swings are amazing. Our swings in My Fair Lady were unique in that they also had their own tracks in the show. In most productions, they don’t feature onstage every night unless they are filling in for someone else, but our team never had a night off, and often their participation in the show would double, sometimes triple with all these extra responsibilities handed to them before – or occasionally during – a performance.

Three days after our premiere, Julie Andrews left the theatre to return to her home and family in America. Before the performance, we sang Julie one of her favourite songs in the rehearsal room, and when I saw her in the corridor during the interval, she said, ‘What a wonderful show tonight to leave on.’ She left a beautiful note pinned to the noticeboard:

I am so proud of you all,

Love ya,

Jules aka ‘Mum’

When I left the stage after the curtain call that night, I immediately felt the loss of her presence and energy in the corridors backstage. I felt deflated, but quickly realised that now it would be up to us to continue this journey, to honour Julie and the production we had all created with her and grown to love.

***

Julie came back to direct the show for three weeks when we took the production to Brisbane the following year. How lovely to be reunited, and for her to weave those strands of magic back into a show she held so dear. We performed a season in Melbourne and then finished with a return run in Sydney’s Capitol Theatre. Over the run of the contract, our cast changed in both principal and ensemble roles, with some people leaving to join other shows, to return overseas or for personal reasons. This allowed new people to join the ‘family’ and offer new interpretations to these characters. I remember the last thing Julie said to us all: ‘I truly hope that our paths will cross again.’ How blessed am I that they crossed even once.

The My Fair Lady tour closed on 14 October 2017 at the Capitol Theatre in Sydney, and the following day I converted back to my full-time job at Opera Australia. What a privileged position to be in. I have never had to generate my own work, create my own devised performances or personally promote myself to earn an income. I have so many friends who are incredible entrepreneurs, creating a huge range of performance opportunities for themselves and others across all platforms of performance – inventing entire shows on cruise ships, writing and performing in the corporate world, or embarking on unique collaborations with other arts organisations and artists. They work incredibly hard, and I just don’t know how they do it. I find myself in constant awe of their steadfast determination to forge careers for themselves within the entertainment industry. I have the gift of working for an organisation that provides a weekly schedule, telling me where I need to be and when. If I’m honest, the world of the freelance performer terrifies me, and if I found myself in that position again, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be half as successful as some of the people I know. Respect!

My Fair Lady gave me the opportunity to see if the grass really was greener on the other side of the fence. But after it ended, I didn’t need to worry about where my next pay packet would come from, face the anxiety of turning up to audition after audition trying to secure the next big contract, or find another way to make a living. The talent and commitment in the musical theatre industry is exceptional and I just wish there were more opportunities for everyone. My Fair Lady made me cherish my position at the opera even more and reminded me to never take my job for granted. When I returned to Opera Australia, so many people said, ‘Welcome home’, which confirmed the sense of family I feel there – a family I had truly missed, and one that I felt very happy to return to.