Actor Michael Hurst moved to New Zealand as a young boy. Photo / Doug Sherring
Michael Hurst's acting career began in the 1970s, when he became a trainee at The Court Theatre in Christchurch. Since then he has acted in and directed hundreds of plays and television productions. Arguably most famous for playing Iolaus in cult shows Hercules and Xena, Hurst is currently touring his latest show, The Golden Ass till July 30.
I was born in Liverpool in 1957 and, when I was 2, my father was conscripted to Kenya during the battle for independence. He was in the British Army for two years, so I didn't see him till I was 4.
Growing up in Merseyside in the 1960s, there were still bomb sites that hadn't been cleared and we'd play in them. When I was still young, we moved to a new estate called Thatto Heath in St Helen's, just outside Liverpool. It consisted of vast acres of terraced housing with piles of sand, pipes and work gear. A lot of the houses were still half-finished, so it was like a playground. When I was about 5 or 6, I was led astray by the older boys, and we did terrible things. We'd climb up into the ceilings of the half-finished houses and put our feet through the new plaster, or we'd smash windows. Because I was young, I was usually just the lookout, and it was my job to yell when the watchman came. Eventually, the police came to our house.
When my parents got pregnant with me, because it was the north of England in 1957, they had to get married. Then Kenya showed dad this whole other world, so once returned to England, when the opportunity came to move to New Zealand in 1966, he took it, because back then New Zealand needed skilled tradesmen and my dad was a glass-cutter. We flew here on a DC8, that was exciting. I'd also never seen a shower before, but when we stopped in Hong Kong, I had my first shower. When it got hot all of sudden, I leapt out, leaving the hot water running on my brother who'd turned 3 the day we landed. My dad came roaring in and said in his northern English accent, "I don't care if this is Hong Kong, you don't leave your brother in the shower!"
In England, I'd gone to a catholic school called St Joseph's. The playground there was asphalt surrounded by a high brick wall with broken glass bottles embedded along the top, to stop people climbing over. So it was such a contrast, to move to New Zealand and go to Elmwood Normal in Christchurch and see a gigantic playing field in the middle of the city.
During high school I was the junior champion for fencing in Canterbury. I was also awarded cups for debating, public speaking and drama and I got the English prize. These things were all part of my "theatrical swag" and meant acting was in the back of my mind. After school I went to Canterbury University to study English, History and French, with the intention of going to teachers' college after getting my degree, to be a secondary school teacher. That year I also did a play with Canterbury Repertory Society, called Time Out For Ginger. Someone from The Court Theatre saw it and I was offered a position as a trainee.
I didn't care too much what my parents thought of me abandoning my degree and getting into theatre. They'd split up 18 months earlier, so I was still sore from that. They're both since passed away and, I loved them, but at that point I was very single-minded.
My parents spent a lot of time being miserable because they were not a good fit. Coming here was a big shift too, and they didn't have much money. We also lived in dumps to start with, and we moved half a dozen times as they became gentrified, which meant I had my hardships when I was younger, watching my parents have a terrible time. I'd hear them fight, and sometimes it got violent. Alcohol was also involved, and it was tough.
At some point, Dad got into singing. He'd work in the factory during the week and sing in the pubs on Friday and Saturday nights, and Mum, a North Country lass, was excluded. In the end that drove them apart and they reached breaking point when I was in my final year of high school. They sold everything and returned to England, intending to move back for good. I went with them, but I flatly refused to stay and I flew back to New Zealand by myself to do seventh form. I found a flat with two brilliant students, Andrew and Jamie, and they said I could live there rent-free for my last year of high school. All I had to do was keep everything clean.
I was having a fantastic time, until one day dad turned up at the flat. They'd all flown back - a last ditch attempt to save the marriage – but dad couldn't do it, so I had to go home to look after mum and my two younger brothers. Eventually, I said to Mum, if I don't leave, you won't ever get back on feet, as she'd started going down the alcohol route. I did leave, she picked herself up, and after that our relationship blossomed.
As a trainee at The Court Theatre I spent two years doing plays, and not just acting but designing sets, lighting, sound and doing publicity for the shows. I also fell into that young person trap with smoking and drinking, because everybody smoked and drank back then. In the 70s, you'd go to the rehearsal room and pick up a tiny little ashtray that you'd hold in the palm of your hand. If you weren't speaking or being to spoken to, you'd have a cigarette, with your own personal ashtray. Before long, I was smoking a pack a day, when it dawned on me, if I keep doing this, it won't end well.
I decided to move to Auckland with my girlfriend at the time and, in order to get healthy, we each bought a bike and cycled up. The first day we headed to Cheviot, carrying our great big packs on our backs, but our backs got so sore. Another cyclist stopped and told us to put our gear on our bikes so I attached everything to the handle bars and cross bars. It was hard slog, but in the end we were doing 100km a day and it took us about three weeks, until suddenly we were in Auckland, working at Theatre Corporate.
Everybody examines themselves at same point. They'll lie awake at 4am and wonder, and I'd be lying if I said it hasn't been hard at times, but it's not been miserable. I've never had to be a waiter, although of course I've been out of work, but then I'll write a show. I could put on a play with a bit of tinsel, a cymbal and a plank. And if it's only me, and the overheads are low enough - i.e. none - I can make it work. And if no one else wants to do it, I'll do it myself.
That actor's lifestyle is a bit precarious ... not knowing where the next job is, that anxiety affects all actors, but Hercules changed my life. It was a deliriously happy time, and it gave me financial and creative freedom. I am also happily married and have a loving family.
The Golden Ass is my third production with Arts On Tour. They have a network of 30 venues around the country, and they put people like me in a van and we drive to these small towns. It doesn't matter whether the space is a living room or an opera house, it's that romantic thing of being a roving player. Once there, we'll pack in, do the show, stay in a motel, then get up the next day and drive to the next town. I love it. I love the rigour of it. I grew up a working-class lad, so real work is about lifting planks and making things and touring feels like real work. At the coal-face, sleeves up acting and it keeps me on my toes. I love touring.
I'm a rational person. When people ask what star sign I am, I won't tell them because I don't care. I can't understand how people believe that stuff. But I love the ancient overtones of theatre, and how it examines our complexities. As an actor, I've done my ten thousand hours, but I'm also just a person telling a story, and that changes something in that moment. That's important, it always has been and I hope it always is.
From where to get the best view to when the roads will close.