Size Matters Not: The Extraordinary Life and Career of Warwick Davis (21 page)

Almost every actor will tell you that there’s nothing quite like performing in front of a live audience. There’s no second take so you have to get it right the first time. If you don’t, the audience lets you know straight away. Fortunately, panto is the home of the live cock-up, although the worst thing that happened during this version of
Snow White
was a blackout. In another, more recent production, Grumpy (played by my father-in-law) and Dopey got stuck in a lift on the way to the stage, which brought proceedings to a sudden halt for a few minutes before they were successfully extracted by a caretaker with a crowbar.

Although the happy squeals of delight from the kids in the audience gave me a pretty big ego boost, I soon found out that panto took great discipline and stamina. We did three shows every Saturday and two every other day of the week, except for Mondays, with 10 a.m. matinees for the littlest children – who were also our toughest audience. For everyone, actors and audience alike, panto is great fun and all involved have a brilliant time.

Since then I’ve acted in
Snow White
dozens of times – as the tabloids say, every year at Christmas, there’s always a – wait for it– “Dwarf Shortage,” so demand is very high.

Once, a few years later in Dartford, there was a bomb scare just as we were reaching the grand finale and everyone had to evacuate the building. Once we were outside a policeman told us it could take a while, so the seven dwarfs went down to a local boozer with the wicked queen (who happened to be male and smoked a pipe) for seven halves and a pint of Guinness. We took great delight, sitting there in the smoky, quite grim pub, watching locals enter and not know where to look or what to say as we shouted: “It’s your round!”

“Oh no it isn’t!”

“Oh yes it is!” and so on.

During that very first special
Snow White
in Cambridge, after exchanging a handful of waves and a smattering of nice words, Sam and I slowly started to get to know each other; there are always lots of Christmas parties for panto folk. I presented Sam with a Christmas card with a long message in it, telling her how much I enjoyed her company and so on. It was very reserved and polite, although I think it was clear that romance was on my mind.

I opened Sam’s card to me. It read “from Sam.”

I sighed. “Patience, Warwick,” I thought, “just hang in there.”

After the last show of the day on New Year’s Eve, everyone was busy zooming out to join the festivities in town. New Year’s Day was a rare day off so most people wanted to make the most of it. I wasn’t in any mad hurry and the theater was almost deserted by the time I was about to leave. The exit was on the far side of the stage and the dressing rooms were on the other side, so you had to cross the stage to leave the building. I was halfway across the stage when I saw Sam coming the other way. The stage was dimly lit, there was no one about, and the curtain was down.

Something inside told me it was now or never. I was nervous, I was shorter than Sam, and I wondered how this would go.

I needn’t have worried. It went perfectly.

As we kissed, alone on that stage in what was a flawless moment, I half-expected the curtains to open and an audience to leap to a standing ovation. This was, after all, my finest performance.

It was around this time that I was finally able to drive my first car – a brand new Mini. I actually bought it a while before I’d passed my driving test
^d
and had it customized. It was black and I had the interior redone in black leather, with wood strips along the doors and dashboard, a made-to-measure driver’s seat and, of course, raised pedals. The only catch came when applying for insurance, as I had to mention the modifications. This meant that they needed to know my height and weight. I was at home when someone from the insurance company phoned to check my details.

“There seems to be a mistake with your form,” he said, “your height is down as three-foot-six; we need to know your height, not your child’s.”

“But I am three-foot-six,” I said.

This was followed by a short silence.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. I’m very aware, more than most people, of my exact height.”

I explained why I was smaller than average but this didn’t seem to help matters.

“But there aren’t any numbers low enough on our system for me to input your height.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that but it’s not my problem, is it?”

“But I can’t accept it, it doesn’t fit on our system.”

“Can’t you just put a note on the system?”

And on and on the conversation went. I was simply a blip in the system. However, once I got to speak to someone senior enough, I eventually got my insurance. It’s the same with passports, life insurance, visas – anything that requires height and weight, including – believe it or not – the taxman (of whom, more later).

Being able to drive offered me a newfound freedom. I didn’t much care for traveling by bus – my friends always wanted to sit upstairs, which inevitably involved death-defying ascents and descents of the insanely steep staircases they have on buses. They posed an extraspecial challenge as I was too short to reach the support rail. I’d never complain; I just tried to get myself up those damn stairs. I find that most problems to do with being short can be overcome with a little determination. Then, it seemed to me at least, no one expected anything from the world – now it’s as if people who are different automatically feel as if the world should be altered to suit them. But while I was (not) growing up, I had to make do with the world as it was and find the best way around the obstacles it put in my path.

Needless to say, as soon as I got my driving license, I drove everywhere I could.
^e
I drove Sam to and from college and gave her lifts to wherever else she wanted to go. We were soul mates. Being with Sam was the best and easiest thing in the world.

When she wasn’t acting, Sam was studying hairdressing and beauty therapy. She told me that her college were having an end-of-year makeup competition in which students would create crazy designs to show off their skills.

Ever one to take a challenge to the limit, I hatched a dastardly prizewinning plan. I got my hands on some fake fur and two chamois leathers and Sam did the rest. When it was Sam’s turn to show off her creation, I leapt onto the catwalk screaming and beating my chest with one hand, waving my banana in the other, doing my finest Cheetah impersonation. I circled the stunned judges, thumping my hands on the floor, before throwing my banana in the air and galloping out – with first prize. Tarzan would have been so proud.

By now, as any woman whose boyfriend has dressed up as a monkey for them will tell you, I was madly in love. I bent down on one knee and proposed (after removing the monkey getup). Sam said yes.

Me in monkey makeup as designed and painted by Sam, who’s holding the first prize certificate. I knew we’d win if I waved my banana at the judges.

 

In my adapted Mini – yes it really is that simple. Bolt on a raised seat and a set of adapter pedals and you’re away – although you should always make sure your nuts are tight.

 

I’m first on the left: Sam is second from the right. That stage was the setting for a very romantic scene between us.

 

Mr. Cool himself.

 

^a
Back off, Peter Davison fans.

^b
She wasn’t late then, of course – that would have been quite something. It is well known in panto lore that all the Snow Whites eventually become Evil Queens. That must be a rough day, when you get the call, “We’d love you for panto, except this year we want you to play . . . er . . . the Evil Queen.”

^c
“Panto” or pantomime is an extremely popular English Christmas tradition of theatrical entertainment that takes place across towns and cities in the U.K., mainly for children, that involves music, topical jokes, and slapstick comedy. They’re nearly always based on a well-known fairy tale or nursery story. Men dress as women and women as men, and lots of celebrities take part – some famous Americans who have recently done panto include David Hasselhoff (who played Captain Hook in
Peter Pan
), Henry Winkler (also Captain Hook), and Vanilla Ice “Ice Baby” (er, also Captain Hook). Apparently Americans are very good at playing mad pirates with a crocodile phobia.