What is the most chaotic thing that ever happened on the set of Play School?
John Hamblin and I had to do a segment where we were going on a picnic with the toys, and I was the one providing all the wherewithal. One of the things that I had to include was a raft, and it was actually a navy-issue, folded up, inflatable raft. They couldn’t afford to get it in to the rehearsal the week before, so we only had one shot, one take, on the day.
At that stage Play School was taped “as live” – so straight through the half hour, not in segments as it is today. So we did the whole setup of the picnic and I’d say, “Everything we need is in this bag.” John had to say, “What? How can the boat be in the bag?”, and I would pull it out and rip it open.
Now, the thing is, it’s meant to inflate in 30 seconds into a two-person rubber dinghy, which it did – but it made the most extraordinary farting sound that you’ve ever heard in your life. For a full 30 seconds. It exploded and just about knocked the whole set over.
We were in absolute hysterics, to the point where someone wrote in and said we were obviously drunk. You couldn’t have written it. It was just so funny.
How do you recover from hysterics in those moments?
Well, in those days, because we did it as live, the producers never wanted us to stop tape. They wanted us to accommodate things that arose, not freaking out when things don’t go as planned. So if you really couldn’t go on you had to swear because otherwise they wouldn’t stop.
But we didn’t want to stop, so you just accommodate it. You just say, “Well, that was pleased to see me”, or something inane like that. It was funny! You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t funny.
Which was your favourite Ted, Big or Little?
Little, I think. Big Ted was a bit dominant. Little Ted had a sort of softer manliness, shall we say.
What is the best lesson you have ever learned from someone you’ve worked with?
The best lesson was from my acting mentor, Larry Moss, who’s an American acting coach and director and actor himself. He stopped me from having stage fright forever by saying, “They don’t come to see you, they come to see themselves.”
The thing that I had always been afraid of – judgment – became irrelevant, because all I have to do is tell the story as if for the first time. To have that lifted was amazing because it meant it wasn’t about me; it was about giving, not receiving. And that was really profound.
What is the oldest thing that you own?
I’m gonna say my skin. I guess it would be some photos – well, they are copies – but photos of my great-grandfather, who was one of the world’s most famous aerial acrobats in the late Victorian period. When I did [the SBS TV show] Who Do You Think You Are?, I was shown press clippings with interviews with him and his children, [including] my grandfather, who had their own act as well.
He was the first person to be thrown from one trapeze artist to another, when he was a little boy. And he travelled the world with the Hanlon Brothers, who were a big high-flying act.
Which film could you watch over and over again?
Goodfellas. I don’t usually like that kind of violence but I just think Scorsese is such a master, and the performances are so top of their game. To be able to be made to laugh at that violence is quite an achievement … it shocked me that I enjoyed that one so much. He’s a master.
What do you do when you can’t get to sleep?
I recite the script of the one-woman play that I’ve just done in Melbourne, written for me by Daniel Keane, called Mother. I’ve been doing that play sporadically for nine years, and it’s so in me, and I want it to stay in me for whenever I’m next called in to do it! I rarely get past the first page. It’s pretty soporific to say it to yourself.
Have you seen any recent plays that have blown you away?
No. I’m so often disappointed when I go to the theatre. It’s such a difficult time for theatre, because the price of tickets is so high and the subscriber base is shrinking for the major companies. There’s such a struggle to keep theatre alive – but it needs to be better.
Where would the money come from to make it better?
Well, you could stop paying Katy Perry $5m for singing at the AFL.
What is the most memorable interaction you’ve ever had with a fan?
When I was living in the Blue Mountains, and my children were quite young, we went to the local pool at Lawson for a swim one day. It was in the height of the Play School years, mid-90s, and all around the pool parents were spotting me. I’m in the pool with my sons and they’re just lying back, slathering themselves with oil and baking in the sun, saying to their kids, “There’s Noni! Go and play with Noni in the pool!” And my kids were being elbowed out of the way by all these other kids, and the parents are going, “Oh come and say hello to me kids!” And I’m like [sarcastically], “Nothing would give me more pleasure.”
The kids don’t tend to notice you, because they see you on a screen … it’s more the parents. People would leave their toddler on the curb in a car park to come over and say, “Come and say hello to my child!” I’d say, “Your kid’s on the road!”
People do get a bit crazy sometimes, but in general I’m really lucky because people feel they know me, so it’s usually a pretty friendly encounter.
Do you have any party tricks?
I can put my fist in my mouth. I don’t get a lot of call for it but I can do it.
Noni Hazlehurst’s memoir Dropping the Mask is out now
