Gone in 60 seconds


Gone in 60 seconds, by Tony Davis - 28th September 2002
(Credit: The Sydney Morning Herald)


'"You're here for the weirdo hour," Russell Jordan says in a thick American accent, "These guys can be really kooky."

We are sitting at a long table in a large, empty dance studio up from the Sydney Theatre Company at Wharf 4, Walsh Bay. In the narrow corridor outside are 30 celebrity lookalikes and improvisational comics, plus a smattering of musicians, dancers and singers.

Their goal is a full-time gig at the Universal Studios theme park in Osaka, Japan. Jordan, a one-time singer and actor, is the man they need to impress. This morning he assessed 200 singers. Yesterday it was dancers; tomorrow it's stunt performers. But, right now, it's predominantly weirdos and each will be given one minute to prove themselves worthy of entertaining the 11 million visitors the park attracts a year.

First up is Craig. A thirty-something in street clothes, his monologue builds slowly, so slowly it still hasn't left the ground when, 45 seconds later, Jordan yells: "Thanks, Craig, that's all we need. Thanks for coming out."

"But I didn't really get to the comedy."

"That's OK, next time."

Anne, dressed as Marilyn Monroe, is next. Anne looks very little like the woman born Norma Jean Mortensen, but she sings quite fetchingly until her abridged version of Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend is further abbreviated by Jordan's, "Thanks, Anne, we do appreciate your time."

Carl, another thirtysomething in street clothes, marches in, yells at himself and then bashes himself up until he's a heap on the floor.

"Thanks Carl, very good, thanks for your time."

Christopher is next. A thin young man in black, he plays amazing sax and has more luck. "Do you sing as well?" asks Jordan. There's a nod in reply. "Come back at four and do that for us."

Zoe, a singer, isn't going to make the mistake of starting slowly. Her rendition of Somewhere over the Rainbow begins with the song's climactic ending. Her voice is beautiful and powerful. Has she brought another song? Yes, she has. Can she remember the words? Er, no she can't. "Thank you, nice job today, that's all we need."

Ellen is what we might call a celebrity look-unalike, though she owns a Marilyn Monroe wig and dress. She begins strongly, I think, with a scene from The Seven Year Itch. "Thank you, Ellen, that's all we need to hear."

Next up is Gerald from Coogee who, at 53, is much older than most of the other hopefuls. A veteran of small parts in TV commercials and "a bit of theatre work", he has twice tried for Universal Studios Japan without success. This morning he is auditioning for the part of "Doc" Brown from Back to the Future.

He shuffles in, pats down his white overalls then suddenly booms in an American accent: "This reminds me of the time I attempted to reach the centre of the earth."

With a powerful voice, rubbery face and wild eyes, Gerald's mad doctor fills the room completely. What's more, he's interspersed the film dialogue with convincing-sounding Japanese phrases. "Come back at 4," Jordan says, leaving out "nice job", "well done" and other kisses of death.

During this tour of Australia's east coast, Jordan will see about 1000 performers. He will dismiss more than 900 of them in less than a minute.

"Does it still hurt to say no?" I ask. "Not really. Keeping things moving is part of the audition process, for the good of the talent as well as us. Otherwise they are waiting for hours. Everybody today is being professional and handling it fine, and there's not too many hurt feelings." What about when people get aggressive? "I can take it, unless they pull out a weapon, fake or real, both of which we've had. That stops the audition right there."

Ian enters next, armed with a unicycle. In a thick, bonza-beaut accent, he explains how life should run in the opposite direction (get death out of the way nice and early ... and finish with an orgasm). Jordan laughs a little, though is not convinced it will go down well with the crowds in Osaka. "I think that's all we need."

Nor will the next Marilyn, who delivers another film monologue and receives another "that's all we need today."

Alice offers a Liza Minnelli-on-Broadway-style routine, which is "great, great, very good", while Christie uses a thick Australian accent to tell us about the sordid details of an affair. This may not be ideal for a family-oriented theme park, but Jordan suggests it is "great" and "well done", and "enough for the moment".

Ashley is a Michael Jackson impersonator, a category not strictly called for. He mimes, moonwalks and ... isn't needed anymore, either.

Steve arrives riding Irwin the Emu, while being chased by a snake on a string. The routine is funny in parts. Very small parts. The act lasts a minute. Jordan says it is "very, very clever" and "cute". He also very much appreciates Steve's time.

Tim - square jaw, dark hair - knows he only has a minute and, boy, is he going to use it. He starts with the first few lines from Banjo Paterson's The Man From Snowy River, suddenly becomes an auctioneer at the end of the world's most frantic auction, morphs into a Russian hitman then flips on his back and simulates having a baby.

Jordan grins broadly and shakes his head with what may or may not be disbelief. He says how much he likes it. It is, however, enough for today.

Universal's human resources representative Amy Teet says Australians make up about half the park's 160 performers; the rest are mainly from the UK and US. Today's successful applicants will be offered a 13-month contract. Take-home pay is about $4400 a month, air fares and a living allowance (in yen) are provided, and accommodation is rent-free in a purpose-built 10-storey building near the park.

Teet says the number of Sydney applicants is down on last year. Melbourne, she adds, produces the most singers and dancers, the Gold Coast is the place for celebrity lookalikes.

After a short break Narelle enters and delivers a check-out chick routine in a Kath & Kim accent, something that may potentially fail to have them rolling in the aisles of Osaka. Next is Donna, in a midriff top, who gives us a piece of heavy drama about her life approximating that of a French bird raised in a box and force-fed grain before being "drowned in Cognac".

"Nice job, well done, thanks."

And still they come. Just as I'm starting to think there may be a good reason 90 per cent of actors are unemployed, in comes Mad Dog Morgan. He grabs attention with a crack of his whip, delivers a cowboy routine filled with personality and vibrancy and even throws in a few Japanese phrases. No artistic barriers are pushed but at least Mad Dog seems to have tailored the act to the market. He is, in short, the sort of performer you'd expect to find in a theme park, and becomes the fourth person Jordan wants back.

The last to audition is Nicole. She pushes into the room a tiny chair adorned with a cow's head and speaks incomprehensibly before handing Jordan a bottle of vodka and earplugs and singing Joe Cocker. Badly.

Jordan speaks for both of us when he says, "Great, that's all we need."

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