If I didn’t know this crucial statistic about breast cancer and I was looking after people’s health on the station, how many other women had the same thought in their heads? This was the reason I decided to do the commercial. Even though I was trying to slow this public life of mine down, there are some things I believe must be done, regardless.
I have been unofficially in charge of the health of all the people on the station since I first arrived. I am sure my children grew up thinking I was a doctor. One actually told someone on the phone one morning, ‘Mummy is in surgery, could you call back later,’ when I was taking stitches out of a stockman’s wound.
Apart from the fact I have always been interested in medicine, the entire health of everyone on a cattle station just seems to be the responsibility of the missus. Whether she likes this job, or knows anything about medicine, seems to be beside the point.
When the arrangements to shoot the commercial began, they asked if the crew could come to the station in January to do the shoot. I explained a few of the trials of trying to do anything in January in the Outback. The heat, for a start, would cause all sorts of trouble for all of them—we had had many camera crews over the years trying to capture the beauty of the North in the wet and on some occasions the film had melted in the camera. The bugs swarm in the thousands so I told them there was no way they could do any filming inside under lights—the last time that was tried during the wet within minutes so many bugs had fallen onto a light they covered the bulb and the heat of the high-voltage bulb set them on fire.
After I’d told them just a few of the problems, they rang back and said January was the only time they could get to Bullo which would coincide with me being there.
The first day of shooting nearly finished everyone off. A commercial is not shot as you see it on screen—a bit’s shot here, a piece there, and nothing seems to make any sense. But the shooting follows a precise plan and somehow it all jells together and, miraculously, they come up with a commercial. The idea was to get the difficult shots over with first, so the schedule for the first day was to shoot at the front gate, fifty miles away. The logistics of the front-gate shoot were incredible, so it was suggested initially that we make a mock-up front gate at the homestead. However it was decided that too many people had seen the front gate in pictures in my books, so we would have to use the real McCoy.
By the time the people, gear and equipment were packed into vehicles, and the journey down our road over the mountain ranges was completed, we arrived at the gate at midday. It was blisteringly hot as the heat bounced off the sandstone ridges of the Pinkerton Range, and there are very few trees for shade. Most of the crew had brought flasks with them which held about one litre of water. These were emptied on the trip along the road, so when we arrived there was a rush on the cool-drink esky Marlee had packed. This supply also ran out, as it was just too hot to be out. I was used to this heat but certainly didn’t go out in the sun at midday. These people were from the South, were dressed in shorts and sleeveless tops, and doing their best to stay out of the sun, while trying to shoot a commercial.
In one of the takes, I had to lean on the top rail of the front gate, my arms folded casually, with the Bullo River sign clearly showing underneath. The steel was so hot it burnt me through my shirtsleeves.
By the time the shot was set up to the director’s satisfaction the cameras had been in the sun for too long and were too hot. So cameras had to be kept in the shade, and film in an esky. The cameras were lugged back and forth from the shade of a tree 150 feet away when the shot was ready, then back after the shot was finished.
A weary group of very sunburned people dragged themselves back into the homestead that night looking so beat Marlee and I didn’t have the heart to say we told you so.
It was rush hour in the swimming pool, there were long showers, and a lot of lotion and sunburn cream was smeared on. Then after a good meal everyone disappeared to bed, very early, thankful for one thing, at least they didn’t have to go to the front gate again. They weren’t the only ones glad about that, I can tell you!
The next day was a breeze in comparison—just around the homestead taking shots with my beloved horse Boots. He was his usual self, stealing the show in all the takes.
The final shot for the day was a silhouette shot of Boots and me standing against the red sunset. It came out really well in the finished commercial. However there were a few hiccups during filming. I had lent my new riding boots to one of the staff the season before and they hadn’t been returned, so I had to borrow Franz’s boots which were a size twelve! I didn’t have to walk, which was fortunate but while I was concentrating on keeping my boots under control, the crew were looking everywhere but at us and delaying the shot. Finally one of the girls said, ‘Boots is being indiscreet.’
There he was in silhouette with all his stallion’s assets on full display. I told them the problem was easily solved. A few tickles on his tummy and everything disappeared—everyone was impressed.
Because we had been filming only at sunrise and sunset, and doing the inside shots during the day to escape the bugs, we began to run out of time. So it was back to filming during the day.
The following day was the most tiring day I had experienced for a long time. The take was the now famous ‘then you bloody well should’ swearing commercial.
I get so many letters that start, ‘Dear Sara, I bloody well have!’ And I am so glad this turned out to be the best commercial because it took blood, sweat, tears and a lot of swearing to get it done.
After the director had given me instructions for the commercial, I stared at him, thinking he was joking. I had to remember a lengthy speech—I couldn’t change a word because it had all been vetted by the legal department—and hit a bump when the script required, looking cool, comfortable and relaxed! I walked towards the Toyota with one thought on my mind—the man is mad!
Thinking this was going to be one right royal stuff-up, I learnt there was more! The cameraman—who deserves the Victoria Cross—had to hang out the passenger-side door on ropes in order to get the camera far enough away to film me driving. He had to keep the camera steady, so I had to drive so he wouldn’t lose his balance, at the same time as watching for trees along the edge of the road so as not to wrap him around one. Also, the shot had to be done as quickly as possible because the camera was heavy and it was around thirty-eight degrees in the shade.
Oh well, here goes, I thought, it has got to be done so you’d better get to and do it! Although how well, I had lots of doubts about at this point.
While the cameraman was being tied into position, I was learning my lines and mopping perspiration from my face. There were no make-up artists running around dabbing every time a drop of sweat appeared, in fact there were no make-up artists at all. Whatever make-up I had put on that morning had long since gone with the constant mopping of sweat, so I was what you might call ‘natural’.
The cameraman was ready, hanging out the door on metre-long ropes balancing a hefty camera, the director called ‘Ready’ and I started the engine. I went up through the gears carefully so as not to jerk the cameraman off balance, and tried to look into the camera as if I didn’t have a care in the world. I kept glancing at the road so I didn’t go bush, and watched the trees on the passenger side so we didn’t lose the cameraman. I hit a bump where the script demanded and finished with a convincing, ‘then you bloody well should!’ I brought the Toyota to a halt under the shade of a tree, then waited for the results.
When you finish a take, I had learned by now, that was not the end of things by a long way. First you look at the director who usually looks like he has just had his teeth pulled without anaesthetic. Then after a few minutes you get a decision—sometimes favourable, sometimes not. Then your eyes travel to the cameraman whose response is more businesslike, either a ‘Yes’ or an ‘I’d like to do it again’. In this situation I didn’t think our cameraman would be saying the latter too often! Then you look at the sound ma
n to see if anyone spoke during the recording and spoilt the tape. Lastly, the client has to be pleased with the results, seeing they are the ones paying, and the advertising agency has to put in their two bits.
The results this time were not good. The director thought we could do better and gave me a few tips on my delivery. The cameraman wanted to try another lens—so it obviously didn’t faze him hanging out in midair and relying on me not to sideswipe him on a tree! The sound man just said, ‘Sorry no good’ as the noise of the engine as I moved up the gears was so loud it ruined the whole take, and the client chipped in that I had said ‘will’ instead of ‘can’ and that was a legal no-no.
I said a few choice four-letter words under my breath, got back into the Toyota, ran through my lines, wiped the sweat now pouring down my face, and backed up to the starting line. This time I had to get through the gears in record time before I started to speak. I did some swift gear changes that would have impressed Marlee, managed to not wrap the cameraman around a tree, hit the bump, then completely forgot my lines. I backed up to the starting line disgusted, even swearing on camera, not the words in the script though!
I don’t remember how many takes there were before there was a ‘Yes’ from every department. To me it felt like forever. It was close to fifty degrees in the cabin of the utility and I had visions of me looking like a talking beetroot in the finished commercial.
One of the biggest problems was that I had received various scripts in the mail and had done a good job of memorising those. So good in fact, they kept popping back into my mind every time I was supposed to say the new lines.
The whole crew knew I was a beginner at this game and couldn’t do enough to help me. During one of the many pauses while discussions were in progress, I was standing under a tree with the cameraman. I was critical of my performance and apologised for keeping him hanging on ropes. He said not to worry, telling me some professionals do up to twenty takes before they get it right.
I finally whipped through the gears, got all the words right, hit the bump and kept the cameraman in one piece. All of this done looking like I didn’t have a care in the world. Only part of a thirty-second commercial had just taken half a day.
The photographer doing the stills for the magazine ads also had his fair share of problems. The camera became so hot at one stage he ended up with a red ring around his right eye where the rim of the viewing lens had burnt his skin.
Apart from some very uncomfortable still shots taken by the photographer in forty-five degree heat, the rest of the takes were a breeze. Well, maybe not a complete breeze. One inside take with me in the saddleroom should have been easy, but caused a considerable amount of trouble. The day had stretched to fifteen hours but we still needed to do one more take to stay on schedule. The harder I tried to get through the few words, the bigger mess I made! The two words ‘risk factor’ were causing me hell. I just couldn’t get my tongue around the phrase with these two words in the middle. Finally, I was handling it so badly, we took a break.
The director offered me a beer, and I immediately said no. If I couldn’t get the words out now what would I do after a beer? He assured me it would relax me. As I was past caring by this stage I drank the beer and had a quick bite of food. Then it was back in front of the cameras. I did the take perfectly. The director was delighted and it was thumbs up from every quarter. I sagged with relief and the director said they would have to give me beer every time. He then suggested that since we were on a roll, maybe we could do one more very short shot and wrap it up for the night.
The next take didn’t go so smoothly, but we kept at it determined to get it done. The director coached me but I would get one thing right and another thing wrong. He decided we’d have one last go and then leave it. One of the crew jokingly said perhaps I needed another beer.
I took a deep breath and did everything I had been instructed—I got all the words right to satisfy the client, with emotion to make the director happy and clearly to satisfy the sound man. Suddenly the cameraman let out an almighty scream, ‘Kill him!’
Silence fell on the scene, all eyes locked on a house guest frozen in the act of handing a can of beer to me on camera. ‘What are you doing!’ was all I could get out.
He feebly replied that he was only trying to help, someone had said I wanted a beer!
The cameraman was shaking his head and repeating over and over it was a perfect take until a hand with a can of beer came into the last dozen or so frames.
We eventually laughed about turning it into a beer commercial and decided to have one more go. Everything was set when someone asked, ‘Where’s the beer man?’ But our guest had quietly departed to his room. We got a clear take first go, with no beer can!
The commercial was an incredible learning curve for me. It was also very exciting once I got over the camera nerves. Well, I don’t think I got over them, I just had them better under control by the end of the shoot.
One thing I had a terrible time conquering was the clapperboard—that little black and white board they put in front of your face at the beginning of each take. I would be ready, with the director’s requirements straight, then that thing would snap in front of my face. Everything would disappear and I would stare vacantly at the camera!
I had a few raging arguments with myself trying to deal with this peculiar problem, but I had to admit it was beating me. I explained my problem to the director who simply eliminated the little white board and started with, ‘Ready, camera, action!’ instead. The change was miraculous.
After sitting in a collapsed heap for most of the day after their departure, it was back to work. I was busy with the office work and packing the business papers I needed to keep running the station while I travelled to four countries. A bigger problem was packing clothes for all seasons for a trip halfway around the world. I was about to embark on book tours of England and Ireland. These would be followed by a holiday in Austria with Marlee and Franz and then another book tour—this time in South Africa.
My first stop was Darwin. There was a good bit of work to be done—papers to be left with the bank and with lawyers and accountants—as I wouldn’t be back in Australia until March. I also had a few dentist appointments. Age was telling on my teeth and they were no longer the bright and sparkling teeth of old. I had asked my dentist about whitening teeth. He said he could put a lasting enamel coating over the front of my teeth, which sounded great to me. After I made the appointment for this to be done I had frequent nightmares about my teeth sticking out so far I couldn’t speak properly! I called my dentist and voiced my fears and was assured nothing like that would happen. So I went ahead.
It was a time-consuming procedure and a little uncomfortable as my mouth was open for long periods. But there was no pain involved and the results were just amazing. I had my young teeth back! After running my tongue over the new thickness for a few days, I soon forgot the extra layer was there, but was delighted every time I looked in the mirror. Everyone said how well I looked. But no-one picked that it was my rejuvenated teeth that made the difference.
My new teeth and I boarded a Qantas flight and were off to London for a ten-day book tour of England. We started the tour on the 12th January, but the book went into the shops on the 13th. There it is again. I wonder if Charlie is sending messages by having very significant events always happen on the 13th? If I meet the man of my dreams on the 13th then I will know he is still in my life. Until then I will go on treating these events as coincidental.
In London I stayed in a delightful old hotel. I have heard of economy of space, but this place took the concept to staggering lengths. With the homestead on Bullo with a quarter of an acre of floor space, I am not what you would call a space economist. So you can imagine how I felt in a room half the size of my dressing room at home. And I had to live there for ten days! The wardrobe was so narrow it wasn’t even the width of a coathanger, so everything was hung flat against the wall. Every time I needed something up the back of th
e wardrobe, everything had to come out and go on the bed. The dressing table was all of ten inches wide. And the bed could only be approached from one side by sliding sideways along the wall. Along with a low ceiling, just barely out of reach, the word cosy came to mind. I like cocoon more.
Having organised my clothes in the small furniture supplied, I had the problem of where to put my suitcase. It had to go somewhere because it took up half the floor space. But alas there was nowhere. So during the day, I put it on the bed and at night we swapped places.
Armed with all my toiletries I headed for the bathroom door, opened it and backed away, right into the dressing table. The bathroom was smaller than a broom closet. The door swung past the miniature washbasin with two inches to spare, and cleared the toilet seat by about the same amount then slammed into the side of the bath.
I missed a few phone calls when I got wedged between the door and the washbasin and it took a few days before I could slip in and out of the bathroom unimpeded. But after I organised myself, I had to admit it was a nice little room and quite adequate for sleeping in. Once I stopped walking into the walls every time I turned around to move somewhere, I came to enjoy my little hideaway. With the bedroom and bathroom under control, I was ready to attack London.
I didn’t realise how much I smiled at people until I stayed in London. I got two reactions to a smile. I was looked at with a cross between alarm and curiosity, or the person would suddenly look in the other direction while watching me carefully out of the corner of one eye. It was the middle of winter, so I suppose after it has been raining for a few months, one doesn’t tend to smile much. But after a day of seeing so many serious faces it started to get me down. I did get a daily smile out of the security guard at the BBC, but he was Jamaican. I think it must have something to do with coming from a country where the sun shines regularly. Well, that’s my theory.
The Strength of Our Dreams Page 9
