Feeling ok about being a freelancer
On the outside always looking fin
I have long been a fan of mermaids. So much so that I have written myself mermaid characters three times now in my career. In my very first solo show, I played an elderly mermaid and wore a made-to-measure tail from America, created by someone called Mertailor. Because the tail had been shipped from the US I had to collect it from my local South London customs office. The man who handed it over was unimpressed by my explanation as to what it was. Tooting Broadway, it seems, is a long way from Weeki Wachee.
I recently binge-watched Merpeople, a documentary about people who are mermaids for a living, and was excited to discover that Mertailor (actual name Eric Ducharme) the man who had made my tail all those years ago, is heavily featured in it! Merpeople is a great documentary, but while I expected it to be fun and endearing, I didn’t expect it to resonate quite as hard as it did.
One of the performers that the programme follows is a 37 year old woman called Mermaid Sparkles who, prior to filming, had been grafting away at being a mermaid for years, despite the lack of mermaid opportunities in her home town of Arkansas. (Yes really). In one episode, Mermaid Sparkles prepares for an appearance at a child’s birthday party, but when she starts putting her costume on (with the help of an amiable pirate) the zip of her tail breaks. This is a gut wrenching moment and, despite never having been in this situation before - I’ve never been a kid’s party entertainer for one thing - it felt weirdly relatable. Seeing a person that has worked for years to become skilled in one very specific niche getting changed in a messy bedroom for a one-off, random gig…..what can I say - it spoke to me! We’ve all got changed in a cupboard, we’ve all had genuine “goes wrong” moments, we’ve all roped in an amiable pirate/friend, and we’ve all done low paid gigs while dreaming of something more. Je suis Mermaid Sparkles.
In the documentary, Sparkles auditions for The Mertailor’s live mermaid show and aquarium, and tragically doesn’t get hired. The stakes are high for mermaid people, just as they are for everyone whose skills or attributes are niche, because the opportunities are few and far between. I feel this as an actor (or whatever I am) too. Casting people never say “I specifically want this character to be a tiny red haired woman.” They never say this. Literally never. So I identified with Sparkles; it’s rare that she gets to audition for mermaid opportunities at all.
Ultimately Sparkles goes on to perform with the Circus Siren Pod - an elite company of professional mermaid entertainers. These are an impressive gang of women at the top of their game who are hugely skilled and resilient. Even they have to slum it though; sleeping in bunk beds, helping to clean the tank, mainlining eye drops to minimise eye infections…Show business is never quite as glamorous as it seems.
The older I get, the weirder my job and life choices become. It’s increasingly hard to look myself in the eye and say, “Yes I’m still ok with this lack of stability, with the rejections, and with having to chase invoices for tiny amounts of money. It’s still worth it.” But the thing is, most of the time it is, and sometimes I get a reminder of why. While I was at The Edinburgh Fringe this year I went to see The Kaye Hole, a life affirming cabaret night hosted by Reuben Kaye. On the night in question I watched Heather Holliday swallowing swords, each one bigger, and alarmingly bendier than the last. According to the Sydney Morning Herald, sword swallowing “is the only job she has had, apart from a brief detour as a snake charmer.” How excellent is that? Such a novel alternative to Telesales. Apparently sword swallowers have to be mindful of not eating too much before doing a show. After all, no one wants a load of spaghetti bolognese to come up on the sword. There comes reality again, knocking on the door of glamour.
Watching Heather Holliday, and the other acts that night, made me feel less of an oddity. It made me feel ok about all those nights spent roughing it; a bunch of performers sharing family rooms in a Travelodge, getting changed in toilets, trying and failing to explain what one’s job is, never quite ticking off the things you’re “meant” to have achieved in life, living slightly on the edges. It made me feel connected to something, to a never ending band of troubadours with specific and highly niche skills; clowns, musical-theatre-improvisers, fire breathers, sword swallowers and mermaids. Circus freaks and improv geeks. I am proud to be part of this gang.