AK03:As good as the bloody original

By DAVID McPHAIL

Years ago I never thought my short legs, protruding stomach and balding head would be anything other than unfortunate impairments preventing me from enjoying active sport and making it impossible to find a girlfriend. Then Robert David Muldoon became Prime Minister of New Zealand and everything changed.

I'd never intended to be a television performer and today there are many who wish I'd been more forceful in carrying out that intention. I was a television producer. I produced music shows, but I was becoming too old for rock and roll and too young for lifestyle interview programmes.

Around this time I started boring people rigid with my contention that, as newspapers had political cartoons, television should have them as well. To shut me up, a weary executive agreed I could make a pilot programme for a topical satire show. To ensure it would fail he gave me hardly any money. This meant I couldn't afford to pay actors and had to rely on the charity and enthusiasm of my friends.

In those distant days it was impossible to attempt anything in the way of political humour without running straight into Robert Muldoon and, as he seemed to be the only politician actually doing anything, you simply could not ignore him.

This presented a problem. Annie Whittle didn't look the least bit like him. Neither did Jon Gadsby or Peter Rowley. It soon became clear I was the only one who bore any resemblance to the Prime Minister. I was quick to point out it was only a faint resemblance. I didn't want to admit, especially not to myself, that I looked anything like him. But, my so-called friends insisted it was uncanny.

So, I began my ill-formed impersonations. At first, the make-up people glued bits of latex to my face and threaded fake hair through my rapidly diminishing hairline. The whole process could take up to an hour and, while it was generally agreed I did look rather like the Prime Minister, there was a hint of Frankenstein's monster in the look. The make-up was taking far too much time and for a period we ditched the Muldoon character.

But, as I said before, you couldn't ignore him for too long. So, they cut out the latex, used less hair and created the celebrated dimple with the swipe of a brush. Eventually, they just slicked my hair back and painted in a couple of jowls. I was younger then and needed them painted in.

I'd shove my stomach out, pull my head back, push my jaw forward, flick up my cheek and when I was in that rigid and slightly painful position the only sound I could make was his voice.

If you were a Muldoon impersonator, and there were quite a few of them around when I started, you learned the tricks by watching him on television. I have to admit the best mimic of the Prime Minister's voice was a radio announcer in Wellington. His vocal recreation was eerie but he never appeared on television. Luckily for me, he was 1.8m tall and looked like a male model.

In an attempt to lift my impersonation slightly above the level of a crude parody, I decided to observe my prey in the flesh. Back then the vicar of Fendalton, the redoubtable Canon Bob Lowe, hosted a television show called Open Pulpit. Anyone who might remember that programme is now in a home, on a pension or seriously dead.

Bob would invite prominent New Zealanders into his church and gently quiz them about their lives and beliefs. One night his guest was Robert Muldoon and I sneaked into a back pew for a closer look. Afterwards I was sneaking out when Bob spotted me. "David," he boomed, because Bob was a canon in more ways than one, "David, you must meet Rob."

Now, this was the last thing I wanted to do, but Bob guided, or more accurately, frog-marched me into the church hall.

The Prime Minister was standing alone with his back to me. Bob announced my reluctant arrival. "Rob, here's a young fellow who's trying to make a career impersonating you."

Muldoon turned slowly. He had a disturbing gaze. Someone said it was like a mongoose waiting to pounce. "Well, well," he said. "You'll never be as good as the bloody original." And then he turned away.

The whole thing has come full circle since then. Robert Muldoon became old and fractious and faded from national life.

I became older, equally fractious and stopped the impersonations. But I remained fascinated by my curious alter ego and now I find myself inhabiting his skin once again.

The play is, of course, totally different from my cartoon-like television attempts. When I started to write the play I still felt a deep uneasiness, bordering on distaste for the man and his legacy. When it was finished I found I rather liked him.

The last time I saw Robert Muldoon was in 1992. The National Party could have farewelled him with some sort of function - after all he'd been a Prime Minister, political leader and an MP for 31 years. But they chose not to.

Instead a surprise dinner was arranged by Bob Jones and David Beattie. Tom Scott rang me and asked if I'd come along and do something. I said no. In spite of all the years and my unusual association with Muldoon, I didn't have much affection for the man. Tom agreed and then he said, "We all know he's a bastard, but he's our bastard."

So I went. I wrote the best script and gave him the best impersonation I could. Apparently he wasn't impressed. It was simply a case of not being as good as the bloody original.

On stage

* What: Muldoon

* Where & when: Westend Theatre, St James, Sept 30-Oct 5

Herald Feature: Auckland Festival AK03

Auckland Festival website