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Barkers 1972January 20, 2019

The double lives of New Zealand’s celebrity impersonators

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How is Austin Powers still relevant in 2019? And why hire the Queen for your birthday party? Alex Casey talks to the movers and shakers of New Zealand’s celebrity impersonator scene.

It ain’t easy being shagadelic.

Orewa local Gary Brown, the only legally authorised Austin Powers impersonator in the world, knows that cold hard truth better than anyone.

“The job can be exhausting. When I’m in that outfit, I am the character. I’ve got no choice. I’ve got to keep up the mannerisms, the walk, the crazy one-liners – it’s what the people expect.”

By the end of a gig as Austin, Brown’s velour suit will frequently be soaked with his own sweat.

Some might assume that celebrity impersonators are a dying breed. In a time where Prince can perform as a hologram and any old Snapchat filter can transform you into a Kardashian catfish, they seem like a relic from bygone days when celebrity felt like something glamorous and illusory. But across the world, and here in New Zealand, there are many hardworking people who still have a lot of skin – and sweat – in the impersonation game.

Gary Brown has been performing as an impersonator since 1988, when he first toured America as Crocodile Dundee. He’s now been sharing his life with Austin Powers for more than 18 years, and describes it as “quite the enterprise” at about 40-60 paid gigs a year. First donning the cravat in 1999 for a swinging ’60s house party, he noticed more than a passing likeness. Not long after, he was contacted by a friend needing entertainment for a large event in Australia.

He told them he could sing, he could dance and he could do Austin Powers.

“They wanted Austin and that was that. I got the crooked dentures done, the suit and the wig made and found the right glasses.”

Gary Brown as Austin Powers. Photo: Adrian Malloch

When Brown arrived in Australia, accompanied by former TrueBliss member Keri Harper in the role of Felicity Shagwell, he realised the “large event” for his first paid Austin Powers gig was the Sydney Olympics.

“It was so amazing, things got so crazy that we had to get security guards to stop people getting photos with us.”

Just like Brown, Auckland actor Judy Rankin first fell into impersonating through her notable appearance. After playing Queen Elizabeth II in a local theatre production in the 1990s, word of mouth began to spread of her regal resemblance. “People started saying ‘you look quite a lot like her’ and the jobs just flowed in from there,” she says. Her first gig was for a business association, sitting outside an estate surrounded by cucumber sandwiches and tea.

Entry to the imitation game can also be born from a deep idolisation of a celebrity. Pauline Berry, an ex-Marilyn Monroe impersonator, can testify to that. “I just really loved her, and nobody else was doing her at the time.” Working as a backup singer, Berry saw an opportunity to do justice to Marilyn’s talent. “I wanted to do her as classy as she really was, not in that garish kind of way. People think that she wasn’t a good singer, but she was the real deal.”

Her first appearance as Marilyn was being driven in a vintage car in the Auckland Christmas Parade. The crowd, she remembers, went nuts for it. “I could see that it made people really happy, they bought into this nostalgic moment where Marilyn was still alive. It was just so nice.” The idea of who Marilyn Monroe is changes depending on the person, according to Berry. “I think she is a touchstone for a lot of people, but also a projection of their failings or their successes. They see her one way, where someone else might see her totally differently.”

Pauline Berry as Marilyn Monroe. Photo: Supplied

Another fan who was driven to embody his hero is Brendon Chase, New Zealand and Australia’s premiere Elvis impersonator. He recently moved to the Gold Coast to broaden his Elvis audience base, and is hoping to book a third trip to Graceland soon. “I’ve always loved Elvis ever since I was a kid. So when I went down to Rotorua in 1996 to support a friend in the first ever New Zealand Elvis contest, I thought ‘I’m sure I can do this’.” He went back the next year, and won the whole competition.

“I just want to keep his memory alive, that’s my vision,” says Chase, one of a global network of self-declared ETAs – Elvis Tribute Artists. “It’s also a way of keeping my passion alive in a different way from just buying posters and pictures of him. When you’re onstage, you can see people go back in time to a different, happier, point in their life. Music can bring back those memories pretty quickly.” Although it’s his full time job, he prefers to call it a “well-paid hobby”.

The transformation requires much more than a cheap costume and wig, but nailing the aesthetic is a good place to start. “Marilyn is very ‘impersonatable’ because she has such a distinct look,” says Berry. “If you grab all the elements and throw them together, you’ll have some kind of simulation.” In her Marilyn days, she maintained the iconic platinum blonde at the salon every three weeks. “I was never as thin as her though, she was teeny.”

In a similar vein, Chase currently owns seven bespoke Elvis suits – with another in the mail.

He has them custom-made by Lansky Bros in Memphis, Tennessee. It’s the same store that dressed Elvis throughout his career, and bought his patterns after he died. “All my clothes are from there. That’s how seriously I take this job, because they aren’t cheap. If I was a carpenter, I would need a saw. It just so happens that I’m a singer and I need a suit.”

Brendon Chase as Elvis. Photo: Supplied

Once you have the iconography in place, you need to lock down the characteristics. “I work hard on the Queen’s voice,” says Judy Rankin. “I have never been able to smile like her, so I try and avoid that at all costs. Luckily, she doesn’t smile very much in public anyway.” When preparing for Marilyn, Berry describes an intense mental game. “I think about being her all day, I watch her old films and focus in on the way that she talks. It’s an attitude that’s very hard to sustain.”

Having been Elvis for 26 years, Chase doesn’t have to prepare as much these days. In fact, he boasts that he can “fall out of bed in character” and sometimes forgets what his real voice sounds like. But that didn’t come without a lot of practice and study. “It’s like trying to get better at a sport. There are four main things: the look, the presence, the outfits and the voice. Many people have got two or three of them, but not many have got all four… I’m looking at three and a half, I think.”

Playing a fictional character, Gary Brown admits to having slightly more freedom when it comes to his Austin Powers act. But that didn’t come without a few legal hurdles. When he first launched his website, he received a letter from a solicitor on behalf of Warner Brothers in California listing a slew of copyright infringements. He got their piracy manager on the phone and convinced him, then the marketing division in New York, that he was the real deal. They waived the infringements, and granted him authorisation to keep the character alive.

Does that mean it’s possible that Mike Myers from Hollywood knows about Gary Brown from Orewa? He can’t be sure on that one, but he was certainly made aware of what is outside the Austin character oeuvre according to the character’s creator. Promoting firearms is a big no-no.

Taking a polarising character like Austin into the real world isn’t without its risks. Brown performs everywhere from birthdays to corporate events, the Sevens rugby and free public gatherings, and says that almost everyone he meets responds positively. “People either love Austin or they hate him, but [the haters] generally have a change of heart.” There was only one instance, during the V8 Motorsport in Mansfield, where things turned ugly. “Some guy didn’t like Austin, so he threw me into the pool. I dislocated my shoulder and I couldn’t perform for the rest of the day.”

Gary Brown as Austin Powers. Photo: Adrian Malloch

Similarly, Berry faced a couple of uncomfortable situations when she was working as Marilyn Monroe. “I really loved the singing but I wasn’t so much into walking about with the doopy-doop voice, sitting on laps and rubbing men’s bald heads.” She quickly found out that kind of interaction is what some people were paying for. “I had one woman who was very disappointed that I didn’t swoon all over her husband and sit in his lap. That’s just not my thing. I did find it quite stressful trying to figure out if clients were expecting Marilyn the singer or Marilyn the slut.”

Despite a handful of bad experiences, the impersonation industry appears to have no shortage of incredible stories. Rankin generally only appears as the Queen these days for 100th birthday parties, of which there are more and more. “If it still makes people smile, then I’ll keep doing it. Because I’m obviously not in it for the money.”

It was at one man’s 70th birthday where Chase had a particularly good day in the office. Upon Elvis’ arrival to the party, the elderly man immediately stood up out of his wheelchair and started trying to dance.

“His kids all started bawling their eyes out around him. They told me he hadn’t been able to stand up by himself for 20 years. That was pretty surreal.”

The nostalgia icons of Marilyn and Elvis may live on forever, but their impersonators aren’t quite so indefatigable. After travelling to Hollywood to commemorate the 50th anniversary of Marilyn’s death, Berry decided to leave the act behind.

“I initially related to her feeling alone in the world, but at some point I stopped feeling like that. I realised that I had actually outgrown her.” Judy is less poetic about the Queen circuit. “If the work dried up, I wouldn’t be brokenhearted. It’s just a bit of fun while it’s there.”

Brendon Chase as Elvis. Photo: Supplied

Working towards winning an Elvis world title, Chase isn’t letting go of his blue suede shoes any time soon. The fans won’t either. “Audiences still love him and they love the music. There are extremely fanatic people out there, I still get screams and yells.” One of his good friends – another ETA – didn’t take out the world champs until he was 55 years old. “I’ve got a bit of time left in me, which is quite nice. I’m fortunate that I keep fit and the music keeps me young. As long as I don’t become the fat Elvis, I’ll be alright.”

As for Brown, he’s still “riding the flow” of Austin Powers – 15 years after the last film was released. He’s got gigs booked all the way through until 2020, but is also hoping to launch his real estate career. To juggle the two demanding jobs, he’s reached out to fellow entertainer-cum-realtor Shane Cortese for advice. “It will be an interesting transition – I want to keep doing my shows because that’s what I love doing the most.” Without missing a beat, he offers a solution.

“Maybe I could just become the grooviest person in real estate.”

Keep going!
“Call me JK” (Photo: Reagen Butler)
“Call me JK” (Photo: Reagen Butler)

PartnersJanuary 13, 2019

‘I look after my mental health every single day’: John Kirwan on living his best life

“Call me JK” (Photo: Reagen Butler)
“Call me JK” (Photo: Reagen Butler)

Simon Day spoke to Sir John Kirwan about what he’s learned about living well – and why he’s determined to help young Kiwis learn, too.

This story originally ran in Barker’s 1972 magazine under the title How to Enjoy Grappa

Sir John Kirwan is relaxed. Standing in his kitchen chopping parsley and garlic, the view of Rangitoto floating on the sea in front of him, Kirwan appears intensely peaceful. He adores Auckland. This city is his first home. It’s a city that gave so much to him. Even if the city threw it all back in his face, in what was supposed to be the crowning moment of his career, “his dream job”. The trauma of his failure in three seasons at the helm of the Blues is the reason it was likely his last coaching job; his final direct involvement in rugby. He seems comfortable with that, with where he’s at. The weight of rugby gone. He’s got more important things to do now – food, wine, family, and New Zealand’s mental health.

Kirwan has a second home on the other side of the world where a large piece of his heart lives and he returns for as many months as possible every year. “We come from Veneto,” he says; the region in Italy’s northeast famous for prosecco and radicchio. Italy feels nearly as important to him as New Zealand. Home is the city of Treviso where he moved to play for the Benetton Rugby Club as a 21-year-old in 1986. He fell in love with the country, its language and culture, its food and wine, and Fiorella, who would become his wife.

Cooking has become an important part of John Kirwan’s wellness (Photo: Reagen Butler).

From the kitchen he yells across the house in Italian to his daughter Francesca (24), searching for the salt. She throws sass back at him, handing him the sale from under his nose. Father and daughter banter in the dramatic performance that appears absolutely necessary any time someone speaks Italian.

When Kirwan speaks Italian it amplifies his unexpected rugged sophistication. He’s permanently well dressed, the thick black frames of his Gucci glasses now a signature look. When the rugby-playing 20-year-old butcher’s son from Māngere (who dropped out of school at 15) was given a chance to play professional rugby in Italy for a club sponsored by a global fashion brand, everything changed.

“I turned up, not quite in a Swanndri, but looking like a New Zealander in 1986, and I worked for one of the biggest fashion houses in the world. Guys were talking about fashion like I would hear from my sisters. That got me into it,” he says.

It’s Labour weekend and the entire country is drenched in sun, and I’ve invited myself over for an Italian lunch at the Kirwans’ beautiful family home in Mission Bay. Kirwan plods around the kitchen in bare feet. Tagliatelle is dropped in a pot of boiling water. I’ve brought a pork ragù for lunch – partly a koha, partly a chance to show off to some Italians – and it simmers on the stove.

Kirwan goes back to chopping the parsley and garlic, before running olive oil through it to create a fragrant bright green dressing for lunch. He’s a good cook, but also a committed student, aware of his deficiencies and eager to keep learning. He loves food. Last week he made a pheasant ragù, cut with chicken to reduce the gamey flavours for his family’s more delicate palates. He’s got a sausage-making machine downstairs that he hasn’t used yet, but his youngest son Luca (19) misses Italian sausages so he’s promised to make some. His kitchen is rustic, and very Mediterranean, with pots and pans hanging in front of an exposed brick wall. There are herbs and bottles of wine and olive oil scattered throughout the room.

Sir John Kirwan at home in Auckland (Photo: Reagen Butler)

Kirwan pours us all a wine – a merlot from his JK14 range. The wine is bright, rich, flavours of ripe blackberry and plums. It’s big and bold and it tastes like Italy with notes of sage and oregano. He’s named the wine Ciccio – “the fatty”– a tribute to his close friend, a former front-rower for Italy, and the full-bodied versatility of the merlot.

Three years ago, with Francesca, he started a wine and liqueur company to bring a small piece of his second home back to New Zealand. He wanted to turn 30 years of passion for Italian wine and food into a family business. From an assortment of hand picked vineyards and distilleries around Treviso he bottles wines and spirits that tell a story of the region and its people.

The idea is to expose Kiwis to something different to all the discounted supermarket pinot noirs, chardonnays and sauvignon blancs, teach them about the history of Malanotte, and why you should drink Carménère at lunch.

He taught me how to enjoy grappa: dip your finger in your glass then rub it on the soft skin on the outside of your hand between your thumb and first finger. It should smell crisp and clean, with the essence of grapes. If it smells like dirty old socks, don’t drink it. He taught me the way Italians drink wine every day and told me the stories each wine tells about Veneto.

Francesca tests the pasta and Kirwan is told something firmly in Italian about “al dente”. He strains the tagliatelle into the pot of ragù. I’ve brought a block of parmesan cheese for the pasta, which I offer to grate.

“Ours will be better, mate. Every time we come into New Zealand we nearly get arrested, we bring back 2kg of cheese each.”

He’s right. His Parmigiano Reggiano is sharp, chalky and crystallised, with full-on umami (mine was from Countdown). We sit down at the beautiful wooden table at the end of the kitchen, pour another glass of wine, and commit to the food – giant plates of rich pasta and a caprese salad. It’s all very Italian.

“Buon appetito.”

Al dente (Photo: Reagen Butler

Sir John Kirwan is frustrated. When I caught up with him during Mental Health Week, he appeared sad but motivated. Fifteen years ago, the decision to speak publicly about his mental health was the “hardest thing I ever did”, he says. He’s proud of how he helped open the conversation about depression, but angry that it appears to have had limited effect on New Zealand’s mental health statistics. He wants results.

“When I first came out in the awareness campaign I thought I would ruin everything that I had worked hard for. And it was a really, really difficult choice. I decided it was so bad in there, if I could help one person then it was worth it,” he says.

“But one of the most disappointing things for me is new statistics have come out and we’ve gone from 606 suicides per annum to 668. Our statistics are heading in the wrong direction.”

In August 1991 Kirwan’s depression hit “ground zero”. On a long tour with the All Blacks to Argentina, his anxiety attacks, which had been his dark companion for a number of years, had become sustained and more intense. When he arrived home in Auckland he “fell apart”.

John Kirwan is chased down by England’s Chris Oti at the 1991 World Cup (Photo by Ross Kinnaird/EMPICS via Getty Images)

He became a prisoner of his darkest thoughts. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t get out of bed, trapped, shaking, sweating and crying. It was the only time he ever missed a game.

But at rock bottom he found something that changed everything. Held in the arms of his brother-in-law like a child, Kirwan realised people wanted to help him, and he started to seek out those people who could help. It had taken him years to acknowledge his depression. But when he did it provided hope. By acknowledging his vulnerability he was able to start getting better.

In the early 90s it wasn’t something anyone talked about. But once he did he found a gift in his depression. Without it Kirwan believes he wouldn’t have grown to be as sensitive, as caring or as well rounded as he is now.

And that’s why Kirwan chose to tell his story. Despite his fears, he hoped opening up would help others find their way out of depression’s black hole. When Kirwan joined the government’s Like Minds, Like Mine campaign, the effect was huge. He was at the centre of a huge shift in the stigma associated with mental health. For a generation of New Zealanders who never watched Kirwan score tries on the wing for Auckland and the All Blacks, this has defined his image as a Kiwi hero.

“And it’s been exactly the opposite of what I thought. It’s been a really interesting ride for me,” he says.

It’s a ride that appears to have only just started; and now he’s chasing outcomes he can count.

“While there’s awareness out there, while there’s less stigma, our stats are still going the wrong way. And that really upsets me. Especially in our young males. By the end of today a New Zealand male will be dead because of suicide. I can’t live with that.”

Auckland or Italy? (Photo: Reagen Butler)

New Zealand’s suicide rate – the number of suicides per 100,000 population – is at its highest since provisional statistics were first recorded in the 2007/08 year. For four years it’s done nothing but increase.

Mental health issues affect a large and broad section of New Zealand. In the most recent New Zealand Health Survey, one in six adults (16%, or an estimated 582,000 adults) had been diagnosed with a common mental disorder at some time in their lives. And our young people are uniquely – and increasingly – affected.

A recent Ministry of Health report shows 11.8% of 15 to 24-year-old New Zealanders struggle with their mental health. This is a steady increase, up from 5% five years ago. The report estimates 79,000 young Kiwis experienced “psychological distress” in the past year – defined as “high or very high probability of anxiety or depressive disorder”. That’s up from 58,000 a year earlier. We also have the highest rates of suicide for people aged 15 to 19 in the OECD.

These stats exasperate Kirwan. He appears to take personal responsibility for each tragedy the numbers represent. Now he’s doing something about it.

“We should have one of the best suicide rates in the world. That’s my goal. Not the worst.”

In October 2018 he launched the JK Foundation, the next step in his mental health advocacy. Focused on young people, its purpose is to provide them with the skills to understand their mental health, empower them to talk about it, and create empathy for others who are experiencing distress.

“We need to teach kids the ABC of mental health. They’ll have more understanding if it happens to them, and they’ll have more empathy for someone who is suffering from it. We’ve got to come up with a solution where we teach all our young people that it’s okay to cry, it’s okay to be angry, but your anger can’t end in violence,” he says.

The foundation has received funding from the Joyce Fisher Charitable Trust, and Kirwan is starting to build a team of experts to design a series of programmes that can be introduced at schools. He wants mental health education to start as young as three, and continue throughout a young person’s development. And he wants its introduction into the education system to be without burdening schools: “because the schools have no resource either human or financial, so we can’t be adding to their pressure all the time”.

Despite receiving support and treatment for his own mental illness, Kirwan quickly discovered how little guidance there is around parenting for mental wellness. Communication has been the most important part of his relationship with his children, and they’re an obviously close family. Before lunch he was watching Luca row in a regatta on Lake Pupuke, later tonight his alarm will wake him up to watch eldest son Niko (23) play football for AC Mestre in Italy’s third-tier professional league. He spends every day with Francesca selling their wine. Anxiety and depression can be hereditary; he’s constantly aware of the kids’ health and happiness.

“In our family we are very open about our feelings. We talk about our worries, anxieties, doubts etc a lot. The kids always come to me or my wife when they have worries about sports, work, school, relationships.

“I think a huge part of it has been doing things together as a family: eating, travelling, going out, watching sports. None of them have experienced mental illness for now, but we do try to stay on track in terms of how they are feeling and progressing in life.”

But he’s knows they’re lucky. He’s deeply concerned about the pressure young people are under, the fact it can be so hard for them to acknowledge vulnerability, and the effects of social media on their mental health. He believes these are key contributors to the growth in mental illness in young people.

“There is a lot more fear in the world. I don’t think it is easy to see the goal posts as much as it was in my day. I think the world is a lot scarier for the new generation and it’s a lot harder to cope with.”

He wants adults and young people to communicate better.  He wants children to be taught to express their emotions, to cry, to be angry but to control that anger.

“Those things are really natural emotions and we just don’t get taught to deal with them at young age. We are told to suppress them.

“I don’t pretend I have all the answers but I want to keep looking for solutions rather than accepting the situation,” he says.

John Kirwan trying to escape from the tackles of two Australian defenders at the 1991 World Cup semi-final (Photo: GEORGES GOBET/AFP/GettyImages)

Sir John Kirwan is healthy. But it’s an ongoing challenge. It’s about constantly mastering his mental health, a task symbolised by the black dog that sits on the breast of the JK Foundation’s t-shirts. He wants all New Zealanders to wear his black dog on our chest, an acknowledgement that we all carry burdens, but if we recognise them, we can manage them and master them. For Kirwan this means being constantly aware of looking after himself, investing in himself, and taking time to himself.

“I stay well every single day. I look after my mental health every single day.”

He has a daily programme. It’s about appreciating his life as individual moments and enjoying each one. It starts with a shower.

“My shower is the greatest thing I ever do. The water on my back is like a massage. How many times do you get in the shower, and get out and get changed and you haven’t even felt the water?

“Then I have a coffee. I make myself a mocha and really sit down and enjoy that. It’s about stopping. I stop 10 times during the day. Mindfulness is staying in the present. The most important thing for your mental health is when you are doing something: stop and do it.”

In 2018 the JK Foundation was launched (Photo: Reagen Butler)

He worries about the effects of social media and the permanent presence of our phones. During our lunch and photoshoot, he looks at his phone once – to check the surf report on the West Coast. I look at mine an alarming number of times – my emails, Slack, Instagram.

“It’s important to put your phone down. Ignore it for 10 minutes, the world is not going to fall over. I don’t think we are going to stop technology, I think there are a lot of good things in technology. But you just need to take a bit of control. Just be aware. Stay in the present.”

Cooking is a part of his wellness programme. When he cooks, all he thinks about is cooking. For that moment his world is just parsley and garlic. When he shares food it’s all about the meal and the people and that moment. It works.

“It’s about taking control. And it’s a challenge for all of us, including me.”

This content was created in paid partnership with Barkers. Learn more about our partnerships here

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