Simon Prast: Star-struck box office winner

By MICHELE HEWITSON

SimonPrast is having an uproariously good time. Because I knew he hates to be called a luvvie, and because we have had for the past decade the slightly suspicious relationship which characterises that of the critic and the producer, I thought I'd tease him a bit about his luvvie interest in astrology.

The reason Prast, the Auckland Theatre Company producer, is having such a good time is that I foolishly gave him a one-in-12 chance of picking my star sign.

This was supposed to be followed up with a question along the lines of "Astrology's a bit flaky, isn't it?"

It takes him about 30 seconds to pick that I'm a Virgo.

He has arrived at this annoying psychic demonstration because of the way I'm looking at him, he says. This look - as though he is a pile of messy papers I am itching to tidy - is, he says, pure Virgo. "Ha ha ha, let the record show."

I am able to get my own back later when I ask the Pisces with Gemini rising (whatever that means, probably a messy type) if it's true that he takes his laundry home to his mother. He blushes and laughs so hard that he almost falls off the couch.

"I try to involve my parents in every aspect of my life. Ha ha ha. I don't have a washing machine. Ha ha ha. Isn't it terrible?"

He is, let the record show, 40 years old.

But look, seriously, he does hate being called a precious luvvie. With justification. Because without Prast we would not have the ATC and, whatever you think of a new season line-up which includes Ladies Night and Middle Age Spread (and many subscribers have complained, says Prast), without the ATC we would not have a professional theatre company which is now entering its second decade. He is a very good businessman, and a very good salesman.



The Rocky Horror Show has broken the million-dollar mark at the box office. The extended Auckland season drew an audience of just under 30,000, almost twice that of ATC's next most successful show, The Vagina Monologues, which dragged in 18,000 punters.

Now the ATC is invading Wellington. The Rocky Horror Show opens there next Thursday.

The ticket seller, which is how Prast refers to his role, is vastly relieved.

" It was the 60th production of our 10th year, of my 40th year.

"So I'm sort of the odometer of life, all these zeroes rolling over and so you know, a million dollars. I'm very satisfied."

Partly, though, that luvvie tag is of his own making.

Who else would wear hairy shoes? These shoes look as though they've been made from the coat of a long-haired cat. He wears them to theatre openings, which is where I see him. We exchange a word or two of banter which passes for conversation between critic and nervous producer on that oh-so-important night.

We like to keep our distance.

So, he is generous about sharing his space. Even though he quite likely knows - because he's psychic, obviously - that his collection of velour rugs depicting John F. Kennedy could be interpreted as rather luvvie.

And Prast does say some terribly odd, vaguely mystical things. As in "the universe will not tolerate that sort of imbalance", in reference to one of his hot topics, the day the planes brought down the World Trade Centre towers, and the morally defunct leadership of the United States.

But despite the odd hissy fit and accusations of a dictator lurking within the director - during the great ATC-versus-the-critics spat of 2001, the usually measured Denis Welch of the Listener called him the Robert Mugabe of Auckland theatre, which was plain silly but does give a clue to how aggravating Prast can be when he puts his mind to it - he is good-natured about most things.

He's retained a sort of wide-eyed appreciation of the world.

He's a successful businessman who lives like a teenager flatting for the first time.

There is that laundry. He doesn't have a stove. He lives on stuff from the bakery downstairs, Burger King and caramel frappuccinos with extra cream and extra caramel from Starbucks.

There is no food in his fridge. There is lots of booze. The booze is for his mates. Prast famously gave up drinking in 1996 after a night out on the town with Russell Crowe. He arrived two hours late on the set of Hercules. He was never employed on the show again; he has not had a drink since.

Then there's all this stuff gracing the acres of open-plan living space above K Rd. It represents what goes on inside his head, says Prast.

INSIDE Prast's head is a busy place. There are the Kennedy rugs, and his vast collection of Kennedy and American memorabilia. There is a clear Perspex cube containing a huddle of Barbie dolls, an artwork called Don't Feed the Barbies.

There is a row of Air NZ airline seats, complete with safety instructions and sick bags. You are welcome to use the ashtrays in the seat arms. This "child of the 60s" collects American airline memorabilia from the period. He is going, he says, "for the minimalist look".

This is a room which provides a visual autobiography, fittingly. Because it is the autobiographical which interests him most as a director of other people's plays.

Here he is on meeting the New Zealand-born author of The Rocky Horror Show, Richard O'Brien: "He's one of the sanest people I've ever met, he's still just a wide boy from Tauranga. And it turns out the show is autobiographical, the sweet transvestite is him. I thought it was such a lesson when you're studying a play. Don't study the subject matter, study the playwright because it's about the playwright."

Remove the kitsch clutter and strip Prast's autobiography down to the bones and you will find no skeletons. This is despite the fact that his father was sentenced to 17 years in prison (he did nine years) for smuggling heroin and morphine.

Prast was a 19-year-old law student at the time. He speaks about his parents - they were keen hot-rodders; his mother's hot-rod nickname was Drag-on Lady - with affection and respect. He intends to earn enough money to support them handsomely in their old age to "go some way towards thanking them for all they gave up". They helped him through the lean early days.

Of his father's conviction, he says: "Life can deal you many cruel blows and I think that the sooner you are exposed to that ... it's like a vaccination".

He introduced his parents to Helen Clark at an ATC launch. This, he says, was one of his proudest moments.

What really gets Prast going is hypocrisy, any sniff of injustice. Any argument that drugs are morally reprehensible when alcohol is legal makes him fairly furious.

He mostly resides now in what he calls, in a phoney toney accent, "polite and decent society". Not by choice, he says. He's met a lot of people, can work a room like a politician, but he often thinks that the "underworld" figures he has met are nicer people.

If he's thinking they're probably nicer than critics, today he's being far too gracious to say so.

So, if he promises to stop wearing those hairy shoes, I promise to stop calling him a luvvie.