Impersonation. It started, as most things do, with Greeks putting on masks and pretending to be gods.
Rome added mime. The Renaissance added commedia dell’arte. The Victorians added cross-dressing music hall, where men in women’s dresses—and vice versa—became a national pastime. America added vaudeville and minstrelsy, and later the most parodied President in history; his predecessor being number two—although many would say he was parody in itself.
The 20th century delivered Frank Caliendo doing everything, and everyone. And in Australia, Andrew Startin, who in 1997 sent a home video of himself doing Sam Newman to The Footy Show, won a trip to London, and spent the next while perfecting Bruce McAvaney—he’s “Speeeeecial”—Dennis Cometti—always “Centimetre-perfect”—and Gary Ayres—“At the end of the day…”
Last Monday, I was lucky to spend most of the day with Starto. First, navigating team golf and the vagaries of Gensomes—then over lunch, a 10-minute flashback to Bruce at his very best. It was “Speeeeecial”—although we just wish Bruce hadn’t putted into the bunker on 18. It was “Sooooo costly!”
What was left on the cutting-room floor was the gold, though. This was spontaneous—well, with some prompting—Bradman’s thoughts on the current state of play, his dislike of Arthur Morris. Rafa Nadal, Mr Trump and Joe Biden, all while trying to hit decent golf shots. To me, imitation is about mimicking, yes, but content separates the best from the good. Starto’s content is “Centimetre Puuuurfect.”
Happy Sabbath.
Nick
