Close encounters of the worst kind

Some people, when they meet celebrities, gush, genuflect, badger them for autographs or simply cause a minor commotion. I wreak havoc. Th...

Some people, when they meet celebrities, gush, genuflect, badger them for autographs or simply cause a minor commotion. I wreak havoc. There are a string of luminaries who have definitely written me off their dinner party lists, and probably shudder at the very thought of me. I have an unerring knack of putting both feet in my mouth within a hair8217;s breadth of meeting a star.

After a New York play-reading, in which I had a small but interesting part, I was invited to a celebrity-ridden cast party. I downed three Jamaican rums in rapid succession, and found myself deep in conversation with a pleasant, elderly actress, with whom I proceeded to discuss the difficulty of getting good theatrical parts on a regular basis.

I waxed eloquent for a good 10 minutes, bemoaning the fact that we struggling actors rarely got an opportunity to be seen. Patting her knee consolingly, I suggested that we struggling actors8217; should band together courageously, keep our spirits up, and wait with fortitude for that one bigbreak8217;. She listened with great sympathy and patience, and finally escaped my clutches. Weeks later, I discovered she was Lois Smith, a very working Hollywood actress, who had, at that time, just received a Tony nomination for her performance in the Broadway production of The Grapes of Wrath.

At the same party, I proceeded to lecture a budding youngster on the merits of training, urging him most earnestly to study theatre and acquire a technique. He turned out to be Vanessa Redgrave8217;s son. Explaining technique to a Redgrave is akin to explaining Catholicism to the Pope8230;

Then came the fateful morning when, walking past the Metropolitan Opera House, enroute to an audition, I decided to revive my flagging spirits by singing out aloud. The cosmos deemed that I subliminally choose a jazz number, popularised by the international opera diva, Kiri Te Kanawa. I proceeded to belt it out with great gusto, copying her inflections and hoots, when a woman in an overcoat not 10 feet in front of me turned around, gaveme a filthy glare, crossed the street, and continued along the other side, occasionally throwing dirty looks over her shoulder. Of course it had to be Dame Kiri herself, assuming that I was deliberately following her and eve-teasing. How could I have even begun to explain myself?

My piece de resistance occurred one night at the famous Actors8217; Studio in midtown Manhattan, where I had gone to see an experimental play with a friend. Prior to curtain-up, I was explaining some vital point to her, and, gesticulating violently, accidentally struck the person in the seat on my right. I turned around to apologise and froze, transfixed by a pair of world-famous blue eyes staring at me in fury, and a hand clutching his copiously bleeding nose. To have unwittingly given Paul Newman a punch on the snoot must rank as my most infamous achievement.

Occasionally, however, the shoe has been on the other foot. At a Bombay party, I was chatting with a prominent and very kindly journalist who always gives me glowingtheatrical reviews, God bless her. We talked for several minutes about my last play, the film I had just acted in, and finally she narrowed her eyes, tapped my chest thoughtfully, and said, quot;You know, you remind me much of an actor I know called Sohrab Ardeshir8230;quot;

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And then there was this warm, garrulous Christian lady at another social do8217;, who proceeded to recommend various plays in town that I should see, particularly quot;this play Art. It8217;s too good, men. Those tree guys are terrific, specially that one Bawa buggerquot;. I smiled, thanked her, and explained that I was that one Bawa bugger8217;. She gaped at me and shook her head. quot;Not possible, men. You are quite decent-looking. That guy was a terrific actor, but just horrible looking8230;quot;

Sohrab Ardeshir is an actor.