Eccentrics, Lunatics, and Maniacs : Part 2A
March 13th 2008 17:45
This is my account of meeting the once famous (now deceased) Australian actor, Frank Thring. For those of you who do not know the great Frank Thring, I will endeavour to illuminate you about him, then tell my story of the times I met him.
Frank Thring was one of those amazing character actors that overwhelmed anyone stupid enough to try and act next to him. He was larger than life; he had a slow, sophisticated and self-indulgent vocal delivery, which could slice throats with its cuttingly clipped edge, when the scene demanded it.
Thring could weave a mercurial and despotic image, in a moment, with a piercing look from under hooded eyelid.
Thring played Pontius Pilot in the classic Hollywood film Ben-Hur (1959), and in another old Hollywood classic, he played Herod Antipas in King of Kings (1961) , and as Al Kadir, in “El Cid” (1961) with Charlton Heston.
His last big film was Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome (1985), and it was during the filming of that movie, that we last met.
However, I first met him in Melbourne, Australia, at a major theatre company down there, quite accidentally. I was preparing for a production, when a slightly harried Thring burst into the production room, desperate to avoid the inane questioning and clutches of yet another tourist group being shown through the theatre company's work spaces.
"WHERE CAN I HIDE?” growled his strained and affected drawl and as I looked up, I saw, for the first time in the flesh, Frank Thring; tall, bald, over weight and a superior air. He was dressed, as he always was offstage, totally in black, except for a large gold nugget, still in its natural shape, which hung around his neck on a black leather strip.
It was bizarre, but once you realized the large gold nugget was actually real, it somehow arrested your mind from thinking anything bad of it, although dress circle inhabitants would suggest it a trifle uncouth, and gaudy, but not Frank! The nugget had a natural hole in it and it was through this that the leather strap was secured. An odd combination, an expensive nugget and a cheap leather strap, something resembling an old football boot lace actually, and it probably was!
A moment later a congested gaggle of gushing tourists, mainly middle to later aged women, sprayed across the large bank of windows at the far end of the production room, all gesticulating and screeching in such a cacophony, that it welled a moment of sympathy from me for the exasperated Thring, dampening the desire to say something astringently witty. That reticence only lasted a few seconds.
"Why Mister Thring!" I said cheerily, "Good afternoon! It looks as if you have brought your own fan club!” I cheekily remarked. It didn't go down with him too well. He glowered at me for a moment, obviously trying to size me up, but before he could give me a verbal lambasting, I broke his train of thought with another question.
"Mister Thring, they seem to want you to turn their way, maybe they want autographs?"
"Damn the autographs and damn you! I won't look at them! Where can I leave my bag so it is safe?" Thring growled.
"Anywhere here sir, it will be safe enough in the Stage Management area."
"See that it is!" Thring huffed. I then noticed that, inside his small black plastic footy kit bag, now gaping open upon a stool, was a large wine cask, of very cheap moselle.
"Shall I put that in the fridge for you sir?"
"WHAT? No you fool! I like my wine room temperature. LEEAAVE IT!"
And so I did, yet it worried me a little. After all, room temperature that day was about 85 degrees F, and the thought of him guzzling a bladder of cheap warm wine, and a particularly nasty moselle at that, made me feel woozy.
With that brief encounter he was gone; up to see the theatre head, who was an infamously austere and ram rod back correct man, he served in the British Royal Navy, when "rum, sodomy and the lash", as Churchill so charmingly described the average rating's naval life, was still rampant. He had a nickname that said it all, but I shall not reveal it here.
The theatre head was straight, autocratic, and he suffered no fools. Entering a rehearsal room when he was directing, had to be carefully mastered. So instructions were given by your stage manager before you met him.
If one entered, and he did not move his head, you had done well. If his head cocked to one side, an ear towards you, do not breathe or move, until his head returned to normal position. If, however, he turned and looked at you, LEAVE IMMEDIATELY, and pray you are not dismissed at the end of the day.
At the end of my first day, I was told not to return to rehearsals until I had bought soft soled sneekers, he could hear the foot falls of my light leather shoes. Lets face it, he was a pain in the bum! As rehearsals progressed he had a three sided screen erected around his desk, so all he could see was the acting area. that suited us too, we then didn't have to take five minutes to travel twenty feet from the door to a seat.
Anyway, not long after Thring had fled the melee of garishly face painted and lacquered haired fans, gawking at us through the windows, an old hand at the theatre company strolled into the main room, "So, you've finally met Frank?”, he chuckled.
"Yes...I am not sure that he likes me much."
"Frank doesn't like anybody, well, maybe the odd tech, (technician), once he drops his kit and goes for a swim in his pool." This man was trying to unnerve me, and it was working, but I refused to show it.
"Charming! And just when and where does this happen?" I clipped with frozen voice.
"Oh, you'll find out, when you get invited back to his house, usually on opening night, after the party." The senior stage manager then walked over to the production manager's office, he then called over his shoulder, "Don't bother bringing your trunks (bathers), you won't need them!" And he laughed, as did two other members of management who had appeared at the doorway. They all chuckled and grinned, I could see the menacing glee in their eyes, as they viewed the next swimming pool sacrifice, me!
My mind swum lazily, as if in the last moments of drowning. I could see me, in his pool, him on a Roman divan, toga akimbo, thighs sans shorts, with me being instructed to do, yet another lap…
The horror of that thought shook my body back into the world of a normal day's work for a harried assistant stage manager, or ASM, as they are known in the trade.
The ASM's life was an alternation between mind numbing boredom, and sudden heart pounding bursts of fear, usually generated by senior stage management, who often played power games with you, as an old cat does with a mouse on a slippery polished kitchen floor. Such distractions soon alleviated any more thoughts upon the fabulously grotesque Thring.
Then came opening night.
(to be continued)
Frank Thring in his toga wearing days!
Frank Thring was one of those amazing character actors that overwhelmed anyone stupid enough to try and act next to him. He was larger than life; he had a slow, sophisticated and self-indulgent vocal delivery, which could slice throats with its cuttingly clipped edge, when the scene demanded it.
Thring could weave a mercurial and despotic image, in a moment, with a piercing look from under hooded eyelid.
BEN-HUR movie poster
Thring played Pontius Pilot in the classic Hollywood film Ben-Hur (1959), and in another old Hollywood classic, he played Herod Antipas in King of Kings (1961) , and as Al Kadir, in “El Cid” (1961) with Charlton Heston.
His last big film was Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome (1985), and it was during the filming of that movie, that we last met.
However, I first met him in Melbourne, Australia, at a major theatre company down there, quite accidentally. I was preparing for a production, when a slightly harried Thring burst into the production room, desperate to avoid the inane questioning and clutches of yet another tourist group being shown through the theatre company's work spaces.
"WHERE CAN I HIDE?” growled his strained and affected drawl and as I looked up, I saw, for the first time in the flesh, Frank Thring; tall, bald, over weight and a superior air. He was dressed, as he always was offstage, totally in black, except for a large gold nugget, still in its natural shape, which hung around his neck on a black leather strip.
It was bizarre, but once you realized the large gold nugget was actually real, it somehow arrested your mind from thinking anything bad of it, although dress circle inhabitants would suggest it a trifle uncouth, and gaudy, but not Frank! The nugget had a natural hole in it and it was through this that the leather strap was secured. An odd combination, an expensive nugget and a cheap leather strap, something resembling an old football boot lace actually, and it probably was!
A moment later a congested gaggle of gushing tourists, mainly middle to later aged women, sprayed across the large bank of windows at the far end of the production room, all gesticulating and screeching in such a cacophony, that it welled a moment of sympathy from me for the exasperated Thring, dampening the desire to say something astringently witty. That reticence only lasted a few seconds.
"Why Mister Thring!" I said cheerily, "Good afternoon! It looks as if you have brought your own fan club!” I cheekily remarked. It didn't go down with him too well. He glowered at me for a moment, obviously trying to size me up, but before he could give me a verbal lambasting, I broke his train of thought with another question.
"Mister Thring, they seem to want you to turn their way, maybe they want autographs?"
"Damn the autographs and damn you! I won't look at them! Where can I leave my bag so it is safe?" Thring growled.
"Anywhere here sir, it will be safe enough in the Stage Management area."
"See that it is!" Thring huffed. I then noticed that, inside his small black plastic footy kit bag, now gaping open upon a stool, was a large wine cask, of very cheap moselle.
"Shall I put that in the fridge for you sir?"
"WHAT? No you fool! I like my wine room temperature. LEEAAVE IT!"
And so I did, yet it worried me a little. After all, room temperature that day was about 85 degrees F, and the thought of him guzzling a bladder of cheap warm wine, and a particularly nasty moselle at that, made me feel woozy.
With that brief encounter he was gone; up to see the theatre head, who was an infamously austere and ram rod back correct man, he served in the British Royal Navy, when "rum, sodomy and the lash", as Churchill so charmingly described the average rating's naval life, was still rampant. He had a nickname that said it all, but I shall not reveal it here.
The theatre head was straight, autocratic, and he suffered no fools. Entering a rehearsal room when he was directing, had to be carefully mastered. So instructions were given by your stage manager before you met him.
If one entered, and he did not move his head, you had done well. If his head cocked to one side, an ear towards you, do not breathe or move, until his head returned to normal position. If, however, he turned and looked at you, LEAVE IMMEDIATELY, and pray you are not dismissed at the end of the day.
At the end of my first day, I was told not to return to rehearsals until I had bought soft soled sneekers, he could hear the foot falls of my light leather shoes. Lets face it, he was a pain in the bum! As rehearsals progressed he had a three sided screen erected around his desk, so all he could see was the acting area. that suited us too, we then didn't have to take five minutes to travel twenty feet from the door to a seat.
Anyway, not long after Thring had fled the melee of garishly face painted and lacquered haired fans, gawking at us through the windows, an old hand at the theatre company strolled into the main room, "So, you've finally met Frank?”, he chuckled.
"Yes...I am not sure that he likes me much."
"Frank doesn't like anybody, well, maybe the odd tech, (technician), once he drops his kit and goes for a swim in his pool." This man was trying to unnerve me, and it was working, but I refused to show it.
"Charming! And just when and where does this happen?" I clipped with frozen voice.
"Oh, you'll find out, when you get invited back to his house, usually on opening night, after the party." The senior stage manager then walked over to the production manager's office, he then called over his shoulder, "Don't bother bringing your trunks (bathers), you won't need them!" And he laughed, as did two other members of management who had appeared at the doorway. They all chuckled and grinned, I could see the menacing glee in their eyes, as they viewed the next swimming pool sacrifice, me!
My mind swum lazily, as if in the last moments of drowning. I could see me, in his pool, him on a Roman divan, toga akimbo, thighs sans shorts, with me being instructed to do, yet another lap…
The horror of that thought shook my body back into the world of a normal day's work for a harried assistant stage manager, or ASM, as they are known in the trade.
The ASM's life was an alternation between mind numbing boredom, and sudden heart pounding bursts of fear, usually generated by senior stage management, who often played power games with you, as an old cat does with a mouse on a slippery polished kitchen floor. Such distractions soon alleviated any more thoughts upon the fabulously grotesque Thring.
Then came opening night.
(to be continued)
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Comment by katyzzz
Photography Tips
Health Focus
MS Paint Art
Brilliantly written, it is a pity your talents are not able to be put to a more profitable (and enjoyable? ) use.
Love, from the innocent, and I was still that it Frank Thring's days, I always thought him a bit of a mystery and for years wondered how he ever got work, talented as he so obviously was.
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
yes indeed, poor Frank ended back in Oz, probably because the job opportunities overseas dried up, as he became more lubricated! And you are right, he only ever wore a black open necked shirt, often with the collar up, and black pants and shoes.
He was a wonderful character, and in my next instalment, I reveal a lost opportunity for myself, that could have proved career changing, well, either way of course!
cheers and thanks for the comp, wish I knew how to make a buck out of it all too!
fog
Comment by Lilla
From The Home Front
Enviro Warrior
Dream Herald
Esoteric Bookshop
What a wonderful tale of eccentric he weaves... absolutely charming!
Thanks fro sharing.
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
yes indeed, old Frank himself!
cheers
fog