the times | Thursday April 28 2022 9
arts
Yet though your agent’s primary
function is to get you work, in reality
they’re so much more; business
manager, nursemaid, confidant,
therapist, and in one case I know
of, reserve dog walker. They are not,
however, your friend. Confuse the two
and you’re in trouble.
But by far their most valuable
skill is that of clairvoyant, for
they must have a naked
instinct for which jobs to
put you up for, which to
accept and which to turn
down. One friend of mine, now
a big Hollywood movie star,
recalls in her early days
turning down several
medium-sized film roles
in the hope of landing a
really big one, only to
be told by her agent: “I
hope you’re not going
to prestige yourself out
of the business.”
In one sense the agent’s job is
an unenviable one, for the more
successful they are the sooner they’re
signing their own death warrant.
Actors are nothing if not self-deluding,
and when (or rather if) we get a big
break it’s only a matter of time before
gratitude for services rendered gives
way to a smouldering resentment that
our agent may be holding us back,
a feeling happily fuelled by more
powerful rivals who can now sense an
opening. “Happy with your current
representation, are you?” they’ll ask
mildly when they encounter you at
a glitzy premiere. “If ever you’re
thinking of moving, here’s my
number... ”
The language between agents and
their clients is also baffling for anyone
who isn’t schooled in its archaicrituals. Agents have to veer between
being Father Christmas (“It’s an
offer!”) and the Grim Reaper (“You’ve
blown it!”) with nothing in between,
and so a lexicon of euphemisms has
grown to soften the tsunami of bad
news that usually proliferates. “It’s
gone in another direction/not
going your way/not going any
further/didn’t work out/they’ve gone
younger/older/fatter/slimmer/they’ve
gone ethnic”, and one I received
recently: “They think you’re the
wrong temperature.”
Even good news, on the rare
occasions when it’s imparted, is often
merely confirmation that you’ve made
it to the next stage of the tortuous
selection process: “You’re on a heavy
pencil/you’re in the mix/they’ve put a
pin on you/you’ve got to go in for a
chemistry read with the lead actress.”
And inevitably, at the end of every
phone call, whether it’s triumph or
disaster, the breezy benediction:
“Onwards and upwards.” And so
our fragile soap bubble of hope dances
in the breeze of these linguistic
tantalisers.
If there’s one thing Call My Agent!
perhaps doesn’t properly deal with
(although maybe the UK version will),
it is the fact that big agencies are
now like the Amazon of public-forum
moneymaking. It’s barely about
actors any more. Nowadays, they
all represent gamers, podcasters,
influencers, YouTube stars and cute
puppies. The enforced rise of “home
entertainment” owing to Covid has
only accelerated a trend that was
already happening. How long before
low-earning actors are discreetly
dropped in favour of 13-year-olds who
film themselves stroking snails?
I will be glued to the latest
incarnation of the show — although
come to think of it, why wasn’t I seen
for it? And one thing is for sure:
there’ll be no shortage of source
material. Asking one trusted actor
friend of mine if he had any
recollections of the various individuals
who have represented him over the
years, he replied mildly: “Do you want
the story of the agent I slept with, the
agent who took me to court or the
agent who was imprisoned for
downloading child pornography?”
Break a leg, everyone.Her Maj
deserves
much better
than Cliff
Richard and
Basil Brush
L
ooking at the list of music
stars performing at the
Queen’s Platinum Jubilee
pageant, I could not help but
think: hasn’t she suffered
enough? After months of drama with
Meghan, Harry and Prince Andrew,
now our beloved 96-year-old
monarch must sit, wave and engage
her best rictus as Cliff Richard leads
the crowd through Congratulations
and Ed Sheeran sets Anglo-Irish
relations back a few decades by
belting out Galway Girl.
Maybe the Queen is not known for
having the most refined tastes —
Gary Barlow’s Sing
has been listed in
her top ten
tunes, and
her literary
sensibilities
are said to
stretch to
the collected
works of
Dick Francis
— but surely she
should be credited
with more than this. At least
Basil Brush will be on hand to liven
things up.
There is an assumption, every time
a national gala celebration happens,
that the royals and, by extension,
their millions of subjects cannot cope
with anything displaying real
character, so the line-up must
feature stars of the most bland and
inoffensive hue.
Without suggesting this would
be the ideal spot for a Sex Pistols
reunion, couldn’t the event benefit
from artists with a bit more style and
substance? Paul McCartney would
be a good call. He’s a sir, everyone
loves the Beatles and his songs are
for the most part actually good.
A charismatic representative of
modern British life would also bring
dynamism to the day — Stormzy,
perhaps, or Dua Lipa. Cliff and
Sheeran, loyal subjects though they
may be, hardly display our creativity
at its dazzling best.
Will HodgkinsonMy agent is also
my confidant,
therapist, reserve
dog walker
The agencies in Ten Percent,
top, and Call My Agent!, above.
Below: Joshua McGuire and
Dominic West in the new seriesTen Percent is on
Amazon. Michael
Simkins is appearing in
Stephen Moffat’s The
Unfriend at Chichester
Festival Theatre from
May 21Why isn’t Stormzy on the bill?