Dubliner (Stockholm)

Dorothy Michaels (Tootsie)

“Evening gentleman, evening. Brrrrrrrr, it’s shockingly cold out there this afternoon isn’t it!? Oooooh, I know, it’s absolutely freezing ‘to be sure’ you're right Shane?! Yes, yes, I know,….cheeky! I think I’ll go over here by the fire and warm up. A brandy would be lovely thank you Michael. Do you mind keeping an eye on my handbag Brian? Whilst I nip to the ladies and powder my nose? That wind plays havoc with a girls massacara don't you know! Thank you boys.”

‘Motivation’, that’s always been my problem.

If i don’t have it, then I can’t do the job and if I can’t do the job then the job never lasts. And if the job doesn’t last then the money runs tight. And there’s no point in going down the boozer without cash. Like most jobbing actors, i always need work and I’m not fussy, but it’s gotten so bad now that almost nobody in this town will work with me.

No, no, to be honest that’s too limited, I’m being too kind to myself there. Noboby in the whole of Swedish media wants to work with me now. And it’s all down to my inability to play a role if I can’t see where the character is coming from.

Take my last and most recent gig as a classic example; I was playing the role of a hotdog - stood atop one of the vendor stands on Stockholm’s main shopping drag. I had to stand on the roof of this stall, come wind, rain, snow or shine - sandwiched between two foam buns, and spend the whole day squirting ketchup onto my head, out of an oversized ‘comedy’ tube. Only in this business!

It was humiliating yes. But I can handle that. What I could not handle though was the fact that it was illogical.

I mean, what hotdog in his right mind would want to encourage people to eat him? Actively! It didn’t make any sense to me. I just couldn’t understand it,.so I put it to the manager:

“You’re a hotdog” said the boss (Svennis), “Just get up there, dump the red crap on your head for 8 hours, take your Krona and then you can get down the boozer. What’s so tough to do or hard to understand about that?” he said. To his mind you see, it was an easy gig.

“A hotdog would not stand on a roof, encouraging people to “roll up, roll up” and come and eat him would he,..it. It’s illogical!” I said to him.

“You’re a hotdog!” he repeated. “A hotdog doesn’t have logic”, he added. “A hotdog can’t move! Just get up there and sauce yourself up!” he said. 

I agreed with him – A hotdog can’t move, can ‘he’? So if he can’t move, how’s he gonna stand up? And why, even if you DO believe that he can stand up, is he gonna stay put in the town centre and pour ketchup on himself? If it was me, and I was a sentient and mobile saucisson, I’d boot it away from the hoards of carnivores, as fast as my porky feet would carry me!

Well,....it was kinda typical. We went back and forth like that for a while. I stood by my point and Svennis stood by his, and so we agreed to part company. And yet again, it was another gig down the swaney for me.

See, i'm a method actor of my convictions and i'm proud of that....But it does mean that i spend a fair amount of time "between jobs!"

Don’t get me wrong, I can DO foodstuffs! Nobody does foodstuffs like me. Did you ever see my ‘Henrick the Pickled Herring’ in The Fischback Shack in Vallentuna? No? Well believe me, it knocked em f*cking bandy over there!

Now, THERE I had my motivation!! Dressed up as a mackerel with a snorkel and flippers. I was tanked-up every night, bowling around the restaurant, amusing all the punters, with my patented blend of 'Swinglish' gobbledegook and body-popping. Originally only a two week assignment, i ended up staying there for four months in the end. I was the talk of the town, the toast of Schwininge.

See, it was successful cos i could get into the mind of that herring. As far as i understood it, he was a ‘good time’ fish, a party sprat. He was a fish out of water who was just out for laughs and he didn’t care what people thought of him.

His 'Devil may care' attitude was clear in my mind, I knew exactly where that fella was ‘coming from’. That pickled herring Henrick,....he was a real cool cat. The punters loved it and it knocked the critics on their asses!

But these good promo gigs are hard to come by and by definition, even the best ones are only short term.

I’ve not worked since the hotdog debacle three week ago and money is once again, a little scarce. Still, i didn't get where i am today without being able to think on my feet. As a multi-talented actor, i can always find a way to put beer on my table.

Trussed-up as an old Jewish spinster / lezza, in a syrup,..covered in war paint, in the (freezing and dark) Dubliner, on a Tuesday afternoon in the depths of a Scandinavian winter, ain’t necessarily what I thought I’d be doing again at this point in my life. But hey, you’ve gotta stick to what you know,..when you love the booze, and it's mid afternoon in a country where most pub's opening hours are midnight till 2am,...May to September only.

And,.....as we all know, a girl can always ponce a few drinks off the tanked-up ex-pat Irish, even if her face does look like a smacked arse that’s been slapped with a wet herring! All you've gotta do is "Work it" a bit!

“,…Another?………….Oh, thank you! Don’t mind if I do actually Patrick my love. Pint of Guinness and a large Glenfiddich if you would my dear,…you really are a doll!……Cheers!”

Now there’s motivation.

Dorothy Michaels’ rating for The Dubliner – 5/10

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