[Red Moon]

Christopher Biggins: Panto... it's not behind me!

This Christmas is the first in four decades that I'm A Celebrity... winner Christopher Biggins hasn't been a Dame, a Buttons or a Baroness Hard-Up. But as reveals here, he can't wait to shout 'Naughty, naughty!' again.

Performing in pantomime is usually a joy, but unfortunately you do get the occasional pain – and working with comedians Cannon and Ball provided one that not even Nurofen Extra could have shifted.

It was Babes In The Wood and I was contracted to do two shows with them, one at the Birmingham Hippodrome and one at the Mayflower Theatre, Southampton.

The problem was that they didn't like anyone getting a laugh other than themselves. And when I came on as Nurse Tickle in a tiny ra-ra skirt, there was a roar from the audience.

During one show, I went off for my quick change and discovered the dastardly duo had snuck into the wardrobe department to lengthen my skirt. Consequently, I entered to disappointed silence – no big laugh.

I was so angry I chased them down the corridor threatening a terrible revenge. The little one [Bobby Ball] was so frightened he was seen running towards Southampton docks. The tiny ra-ra skirt was back for the next show.

This Christmas will be the first time I haven't done panto for four decades. My love affair with panto began in 1965 when I played a rat in Dick Whittington at Salisbury Playhouse – little did I know that 42 years later, my career would be defined by a rat.

In 1969, before I started training at Bristol Old Vic, I was spotted by director and playwright David Wood – the J.K. Rowling of children's theatre – who asked me to be Head Jumblie in a production of The Owl And The Pussycat. The show was a success and moved from the Cochrane Theatre, London, to the Apollo, Shaftesbury Avenue.

Then, when I was 26, Dougie Squires, the famous choreographer, and the theatre managers Peter Todd and Jamie Phillips – all three legendary panto experts – asked me to play Mother Goose, the Hamlet of panto. I took great umbrage. All the Dames I'd seen were ancient.

I was offended right up until the point they mentioned the money. Panto is a lucrative business but this was incredible – I was being offered £1,000 a week in 1974 [equivalent to £8,330 today]. Then there was the role itself. Mother Goose is on stage all the time. She may have been a fat old bird, but I couldn't say no to this golden egg.

I did three years at Darlington Civic and three at Brighton's Theatre Royal. During that time, Dougie, Peter and Jamie taught me the most important things about the great tradition of Pantomime Dame. First, your costumes must be funny and outrageous and change with every entrance. Second, you should never, ever forget you're a man in a frock. Not a drag act. The Dame must have no vanity – she must be as daft as your auntie and as warm as your granny.

The other vital thing is a catchphrase. I'd seen all the great Dames – Les Dawson, Arthur Askey, John Inman – and they all had their inimitable one-liners. Eventually we settled on 'Naughty, naughty!'

'Now boys and girls,' I would say, 'you may have noticed I'm a bit plump, so whenever I put my hand into my bag of sweeties I want you all to shout, “Naughty, naughty.”'

And for years up and down the country, young and old, they have. Whenever I've been a Dame, the catchphrase has always been there – from Mother Goose to Jack And The Beanstalk.

One piece of business I shamelessly copied, because it was a stroke of genius, was the great Terry Scott's striptease routine. There are few things funnier than a fat man in a frock taking his clothes off #– particularly if they include vast flannel bloomers with a reinforced gusset.

As my career progressed, I began to direct pantos and write as well. But I'd find it deeply frustrating when certain actors, those who confined themselves to serious theatre, pooh-poohed panto. Thankfully Sir Ian McKellen, who first played Widow Twankey in Aladdin at the Old Vic in 2004, has changed a lot of minds.

When doing a run, I go into the theatre at midday and don't come out again until after 10pm. I take vitamins, have the flu jab and have never been off sick, perhaps because the dressing room becomes a cross between a bedsit and a hospital.

I don't take off my make-up between shows – I just eat something from Marks & Spencer, then sleep until just before the half-hour call before the next show. Then I check the make-up and my dresser brings in the costume and wig.

It's a good idea to wear something to soak up the perspiration underneath the costumes. I remember playing Winnie The Pooh and under the yellow fur I was wearing a vest and long johns, which had to be wrung out in the interval.

Nowadays, there are many things we cannot do any more. For instance, when children come on stage for the song sheet – my favourite moment – they can't be patted on the head; and the health-and-safety brigade has stopped us doing anything 'dangerous', such as throwing sweets. How many kids have been concussed by a fruit pastille?

Anyway, sometimes it's the performers who need protecting. I'll never forget one little volunteer who bravely came up to sing and promptly vomited over the footlights. When I said: 'Oh, never mind,' he did it again.

We were knee-deep in jelly babies and Tizer. When I made the decision to do ITV1's I'm A Celebrity . . . Get Me Out of Here!, I was nervous about taking a break from panto. If it failed, I knew it could be disastrous for me, not least financially. But, thrillingly, the show was a great success and now I want to get back on stage.

The first show I'd like to do is Dick Whittington – because of the rats. In fact, I'd like to write a scene where King Rat gets into bed with me, as happened in the jungle when a real rat jumped on to my hammock. I can't wait.

Perhaps the best panto memory of all was at Darlington in the Seventies. There was a little boy in the front row, aged about seven or eight. All the way through I could see his mother whispering to him. When I called for volunteers, he was determined to come up on stage.

It is traditional to have a chat with the children and this little boy was the funniest, most enchanting child I have ever met. The audience loved him and he went back to his seat to a storm of applause and cheers.

After the show, I discovered he was blind. A little while later, I received a moving letter from his mother telling me that the experience had 'made her son's life extraordinary'. A remarkable thing to say, I thought, but she didn't expand upon it.

But that's what panto – often a child's first experience of the theatre – can do and we mustn't forget it. It brings joy and can make lives extraordinary. It's our duty to make it the best it can be.

Source and Pictures: Daily Mail

[Jackie]

He likes doing Panto thats what he enjoys so why not.I bet he's missing it this year.