'Been reading this on m'olidays. It's perfectly ridiculous & also v funny...' - Dawn French
'
Curtain Call To Murder positively explodes with the double-entendres and vicious wit that has become his trademark.' DAILYEXPRESS
A murder on stage. A cast full of suspects. Can dresser to the stars Jayne unravel the mystery?
It is opening night at the London Palladium, and tensions are running high amongst the feuding cast of "Leopard Spots." Amongst them are an ageing lothario, a national treasure, an amateur psychic and a comedian-turned actor all vying for the spotlight.
When an on-stage accident forces an unexpected intermission, it is clear only to dresser to the stars Jayne that the drama has turned deadly. Can she step out of the wings and identify the killer before it is too late? Or will murder make an encore...
Discover the year's most entertaining, devious and fabulous mystery from author, actor and comedian Julian Clary
Release date:
October 10, 2024
Publisher:
Orion
Print pages:
336
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Breaking News, BBC News website, 11 p.m, Tuesday, 29 August 2017
The theatre world was in shock following a horrific death during a performance of a new play at the London Palladium this evening.
Audience members screamed in horror during a celebrity-filled press night performance of Leopard Spots at the Argyll Street theatre. Distressed members of the public streamed out of the theatre and were seen weeping and trying to comfort one another on the pavement. Several people collapsed and had to be tended to by the St John Ambulance staff present.
‘There was a lot of blood,’ claimed one witness. ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go to the theatre again after this.’
Julian on the murder
And it wasn’t fake blood, unfortunately. Awful to see such a thing. Traumatising, especially in such a setting. You might witness a road traffic accident if you’re unlucky. But you’re unlikely to be staring intently at the very point of impact as you are in a theatre. Imagine. An audience is engaged, concentrating and then that happens. Seared into the memory, I’m afraid. I’ve told you when, so now begins the telling of this tale: the why and the who. And, to do that, we must travel back in time to the Edinburgh Festival 2016.
12 months earlier
The Scotsman, 12 August 2016
By Stephanie McDonald.
Headline: Leopard Spots [*****], Edinburgh Festival Traverse Theatre.
This refreshing and original play is just the breath of fresh air this festival needs and gave hope to this reviewer that innovative and creative work is still alive and well. (I was beginning to lose faith after watching an experimental LGBT dance company piece yesterday that involved two lesbians wrestling in a bath full of gravy.)
Written and directed by Trevor Millicent, Leopard Spots stars the comedian Simon Gaunt in his first major acting role and he certainly makes the most of every scene, sparring with the other ‘name’ – a rather gnarled but still enigmatic Peter Milano.
The story revolves around a married couple, George and Geraldine (Milano and the ever-fragrant Miriam Haughton) having a make-or-break holiday to revive their fractured marriage in a rundown holiday hotel in an unnamed tropical location. The only other guest is a mysterious American heiress, Miss Simpson (a languid Hermia Saunders), who may or may not be suicidal or terminally ill – or neither.
Gaunt plays the hotel manager, but as his staff have all gone AWOL, he has to multitask as a cook, a waiter and even a masseur – with hilarious results. It is a masterclass of comic brilliance. Think Basil Fawlty on steroids. George and Geraldine’s marital spats fizz with authentic venom or reignited lust, depending on how many glasses of champagne they’ve consumed.
When a leopard is seen roaming the grounds and the mystery of what became of the missing staff dawns on those who remain, all four end up locked in the hotel’s booze-filled storeroom and the stage is set for the messy, terrifying climax – which I won’t spoil.
But I can inform the reader that their hearts will race, their sides will ache and their spirits will soar with delight. An astonishing and accomplished piece of work that thoroughly deserved the standing ovation it received. A proper well-written, well-acted play – quite a rarity here this year. And not a drop of gravy in sight.
The Sunday Times, Sunday, 14 August 2016
By Michael Billingshurst.
Headline: Leopard Spots [*****], Edinburgh Festival Traverse Theatre.
A new play by Trevor Millicent, at least for the last few decades, has usually been a date with Dame Disappointment. He has persistently failed to enthral since his remarkable debut Who Are You and What Do You Want? set pulses racing in the 1990s. Leopard Spots is therefore a surprising delight. My cynical expectations dissolve within moments of the curtain rising. What a surprise! There’s life in the old dog yet.
The play sparkles with witty dialogue throughout and benefits from a plot that has you leaning forward in your seat with anticipation. All this is delivered with panache and pathos by a stellar cast led by the cheerful Simon Gaunt, and the presence of that lecherous old lush Peter Milano provides him with a perfect foil. Miriam Haughton and Hermia Saunders add to the fun.
The laughs come thick and fast until the final minutes when they are replaced by genuine fear. To carry off such a segue is a remarkable feat of both writing and performance. Comedy and terror? Who knew they would mix together so well, much like one of the many generous cocktails the characters in this sharp and clever play neck during the course of their endeavours.
At last, Millicent has found his form again. Smelling salts recommended and not, on this occasion, to keep you awake.
Trevor Millicent: notes for archive
The fact that Simon Gaunt and Peter Milano loathed each other rather added to the frisson of their on-stage relationship, I feel. I couldn’t have planned it better. It is even possible that I did everything in my power during the rehearsal period to ignite this friction. This is sometimes a director’s solemn duty. The play’s the thing. Collateral damage is not my concern.
Daily Express, Tuesday, 16 August 2016
By Ken Thomas.
Headline: Leopard Spots [*], Edinburgh Festival Traverse Theatre.
Hopes were high as I took my seat at the Traverse. The smell of sweaty punters and chips wasn’t going to spoil my enjoyment of a show that was the talk of the festival. But how wrong I was. I staggered out two hours later in a cold sweat of bewilderment, feeling so empty that I needed some fast food myself.
It starts on a bucolic veranda with cocktails and Coward-esque banter, but there’s worse to follow. There’s a man-eating leopard on the loose in this jungle jape, you see, and a gaggle of hapless guests and the hotel manager decide it’s best to lock themselves in the pantry for safety. This stifling, windowless room is a metaphor, wouldn’t you know it, for the fractured marriage of the ill-suited George and Geraldine. Why not get a divorce and shoot the big cat?
There’s also a Yankee Camilla Parker-Bowles rich-bitch-type wandering around and him-off-the-telly Simon Gaunt doing a turgid turn as a waiter. Neither silver-tongued nor silver service, unfortunately.
If Tennessee Williams meets It Ain’t Half Hot, Mum is your thing, you’ll love it. The audience the night I went had a rollicking good time. I didn’t. Pass the chips.
Popbitch, Thursday, 25 August 2016
Which actress at the Edinburgh Festival celebrated her great reviews by giving a special after-dark performance on the Meadows on Friday night? Apparently, her, er, vocal range was most impressive …
Julian on Peter
Spare a thought for Peter Milano. It was painful for him to read these reviews – even the positive ones. It hurt to see himself described as ‘gnarled’ and ‘an old lush’.
The Stage, touring news, Friday, 28 April 2017
Premiered at last year’s Edinburgh Fringe, Trevor Millicent’s Leopard Spots is to tour this summer and into autumn with all the original cast. Tickets are now on sale at Bath, Cheltenham, Brighton, Birmingham and Plymouth.
Jayne’s diary, Wednesday, 10 May 2017
Two months stuck here at home. I’ve cleaned every room, sorted wardrobes, tidied the garden, caught up with Rowanne. Now I need a job, please, before I start baking cakes or decorating. Fed up with evenings at home with Dad, who never speaks.
Funny thing, though – I felt the tingle yesterday, out of the blue. A sort of buzzy feeling at the back of my neck. I’ve had this before. Like a premonition that something good is going to happen. Last time it happened I got a letter the next day inviting me to uni. Not that that worked out in the long run, but I’ve learned to trust these things. Just have to be patient now.
Jayne’s diary, Friday, 12 May 2017
Taffy called, whoop! I’ve got a job! Dressing. Starts in two weeks.
There’s a new play called Leopard Spots that’s going on tour. Big hit at the Edinburgh Festival last year, apparently. The dresser they had booked couldn’t do it suddenly. Yippee!
Anyway, I’m pleased. Just about had my fill of being at home with Dad. Excited.
Jayne’s diary, Friday, 2 June 2017
Bag packed. Dad’s care package is sorted. Told him I was going but he didn’t really respond. I don’t know what goes on in his mind, if anything. I’d say he looked cross about it.
I’m not taking loads with me. Usual black clothes for work and a few summer dresses and tops. That sort of thing.
Found Mum’s old toiletries bag in the bottom of a cupboard in the bathroom. I think I bought it for her one Christmas. Never used – she didn’t go anywhere. So, I’ve put my bits and bobs in.
Julian on Jayne
Allow me to slide in here, if I may. Meet Jayne.
Jayne Oxley is thirty-six, and there is much to know and admire about her. Jayne is about to start work as the dresser for Leopard Spots. Dressers do much more than just dress. The good ones take care of the inner as well as the outer needs of their charges. They enhance every performance, stroke egos, lighten moods and pay compliments like a Michelin chef adding ingredients to their signature dish in a fractious kitchen environment. They polish the sequins, fluff up the feathers and ensure that the illusion of glamour is seen like a body stocking, whatever the sordid reality of their charges might present.
But she is so much more than that. Jayne is clever. She carries her cleverness about her person secretly, like a polished conker in her pocket or a mint under her tongue. It radiates and pulsates, all-seeing. You don’t have to spend much time with her to realise Jayne is bright. Her intelligence is there in the pigment of her iris and the steadiness of her gaze. Her conversation is perceptive, and she has a habit of cutting to the chase. Some people don’t bother to notice. Jayne may swim in a sea of big egos, but don’t underestimate her. She can hold her own.
Jayne has the ability to enjoy life in adverse circumstances. It would be withering to say she is easily pleased, although some might see it that way. What I mean is she is a naturally happy person. There is no ‘if only’ or ‘when’ about Jayne. The sun on her face, the sausage roll in her mouth – these give her pleasure and she acknowledges the sensations. This doesn’t take a conscious effort.
Jayne lives in a suburb of Wolverhampton called New Invention. The house, once gleaming and radiating contentment when her late mother was around, is now dusty and dour with her widowed father’s moody presence. Fortunately, Jayne isn’t there much to put up with this. She escaped. Jayne works as a theatrical dresser, ironing and zipping her way around the country on touring productions – musicals, plays, ballets.
Jayne is a principal player in this story, and we must pay attention to what she says, thinks and does. A murder is to take place and Jayne is our amateur sleuth, take note, although she has no foreknowledge of this. But it is just as well, because as we all know, the police are too busy exchanging unseemly banter on WhatsApp groups to do proper old-fashioned plod work.
Jayne has had no action on the man front for some time. She isn’t bothered about this and would laugh if you asked her if she wanted a boyfriend. It might be more trouble than it’s worth, she’d say. But then, it would be nice to have someone looking out for her. She finds nerdy men attractive. Glasses and beige slacks. They hide a strong sex drive, she thinks. All that obsessing over Star Wars or online gaming or Taskmaster means they have feelings and thoughts other than porn and booze.
She’d had such a boyfriend at university, called Allan. The theatre design course at Birmingham University had been going well, but then she left to look after her mother and Allan found someone else within a week.
People make assumptions about dressers like Jayne – that they are retired dancers or failed actors. No one, surely, would choose dressing as a career? They think dressers are people who just want to be involved in showbiz at whatever cost, no matter how paltry the wages. Jayne knew all of this, but she didn’t mind. She was hiding in plain sight. Being a dresser was her destiny, her escape. She had a particular talent for it. Attention to detail, a calming presence and no real interest in financial rewards. She had worked out the limits of money as a means to happiness some time ago. Money bore no relation to life satisfaction and that was a fact.
Jayne’s mother knew what she was worth, as mothers do. As she lay on her hospital bed she reached out and stroked Jayne’s hair, blinking slowly.
‘I won’t worry about what will happen to you. I’ve never worried about you. You can look after yourself.’
‘Can I?’ said Jayne doubtfully. She felt that her mother was signing off, tying up loose ends. Saying goodbye.
She rested her hand on Jayne’s shoulder and pulled her closer.
‘Don’t stay at home, will you? Get away from your father. He’ll manage fine without you. Don’t do what I did.’
‘But what shall I do?’
‘Oh, you can do anything. But you’re a late bloomer, so time is of the essence.’
So, after the cancer took her mother, Jayne did as she instructed. She went back to university. Then, in her second year, her father had a stroke. No one else could look after him so she abandoned her education once again, packed her bags and returned to Wolverhampton to do her solemn duty for her now mumbling and incontinent dad.
‘I’m never going to get away now,’ she thought. Her elbows tingled, indicating an imminent eczema flare-up.
Her parents’ relationship had been, for many decades, one of mutual antagonism, and it soon became apparent to Jayne that the expectation was for her to recreate that role. It was as if it was too late for her father to change his relationship with any woman, be it wife or daughter. Despite his compromised abilities, or maybe because of them, he mooed his disdain.
Jayne’s lightbulb moment came when she sat one evening in her mother’s chair. Her father, in his usual place, now furnished with a motorised ‘rise and recline’ armchair, was on the other side of the kitchen door. As had been the custom when her mother was alive, this door was left open. Aha, thought Jayne. This was so they didn’t have to look at each other or engage. No eye contact, no contact of any kind, in fact. The lightbulb flickered and went out. What could she do except accept her lot?
After ten years of marriage and the arrival of Jayne and her younger sister, Sara, her mother had an affair with a married neighbour. When this was discovered, she ran away with him and was denied any access to her daughters by their angry, vengeful father. When the affair fizzled out, she came home to resume her motherly duties – but not her wifely ones. Mother and father lived in a tense, glowering union that science may one day reveal to be an incubator for cancer like the one that finally claimed her.
For others trapped in Jayne’s situation their fate might have been sealed, their life laid out like a funereal shroud. There might seem to be no escape.
But Jayne’s intelligence was to save her: her thoughts were her own and she savoured them for their insight, serenity and optimism. This may be her situation now but she would not be smothered or defeated by it. A way out would be found. She remembered her mother’s advice, and after three years the need to escape overpowered her.
She had worked as a dresser briefly at the Birmingham panto during the Christmas break, and after a few phone calls, she was invited back there to work on visiting musicals. Her sister watched over her father in the evenings.
The taste of freedom was so delicious that she wanted more. Not just evenings – her whole day, her whole life. Her mother’s words ringing in her ears she began the arduous task of contacting social services and getting a care ‘package’ in place. Three visits a day. Her dad would be all right. He’d have to be. If he was cross and irritable, that would be normal for him. Happiness wasn’t something he was familiar with, before, now or in the future. But, for Jayne, happiness was within her grasp.
A national tour of The Rocky Horror Show wanted her services. Jayne packed her bags and left, and had a wonderful, joyful time. One tour led to another. She was dependable and efficient, and word got around. Wardrobe mistress Taffy Evans took her under her wing and from one job to another. Taffy was tiresome and a tad eccentric sometimes, but they rubbed along fine.
She loved her new life. Not in a euphoric way. But quietly and sincerely. She enjoyed being in a different city every week, looking around, taking it all in, sitting on benches in shopping centres and eating her sandwiches. Jayne was content.
She wondered if she was too easily pleased; after all, it wasn’t a well-paid job and there was little chance of promotion. But she had already established that money didn’t interest her much and she wasn’t troubled by ambition. She enjoyed having a sense of purpose, being a cog in the wheel – a small but vital part of the show. Most of all, she loved feeling free.
Note: I am very grateful to Jayne for letting me rifle through her personal diaries. Without them, there would be so many gaps in this book. On the readers’ behalf, I sent her a Greggs gift voucher; she was thrilled.
Jayne’s diary, Saturday, 3 June 2017
All Dad wants to do in the evening is watch The Chase. There’s a channel where it’s on constantly.
This is what he does when I’m not there.
After two episodes, he threw down the newspaper and asked if there was anything else I wanted to watch. Sometimes, in the interest of my sanity, I’ll choose a drama or documentary, but this never goes down well.
Eventually, we returned to The Chase. It’s like a drug. Nothing else will do. I thought to myself: Just another hour. Just another hour of Bradley saying ‘Time to face the Chaser …’
But it’s hard.
‘On what part of the body is the cranial cavity?’
The contestants are having a lovely day out, at least.
The morning will be better. I’ll greet him in the kitchen, lay the table and give him his porridge. We can talk about the weather, and then he’ll go to the lounge with the Telegraph and I can get the bus to the station and escape.
I’ll always hate The Chase. It is a time warp of misery. Relentless.
‘Good luck with the wedding. But right now you have been caught by the Chaser.’
‘Five attempts to push back. Two executed.’
Text messages between Hermia Saunders and Miriam Haughton
H: Hey! What great news! We’re off on the road. The old gang back together again.
M: Yes. Luckily a TV project I’ve been pencilled for has been postponed so I am able to join the tour. Only five lines, but hey-ho. Three more than my last job.
H: I’m so glad.
H: That sounds wrong! I mean it wouldn’t have worked without you.
M: Sweet of you. As long as we can keep Peter in check we’ll survive. You know he tried to kiss me on the last night in Edinburgh?
H: No! What did ya do?
M: I kneed him in the goolies quick-sharp before he made contact.
H: Good work! He can’t help it though. He’d chat up a streetlight.
M: Charming.
H: I didn’t mean – oh, never mind.
Jayne’s diary, Sunday, 4 June 2017, Bath
Journey here took three hours, which wasn’t bad considering I don’t drive very fast and there was lots of traffic for a Sunday. Digs OK, I suppose. Single bed, own bathroom. Landlady quite posh. Has a pet parrot and a pug called Damien. Likes theatre. Was hoping for an actor, not a measly dresser, lol. Asked if I’d like to invite the cast back for supper one night. I said I hadn’t met them yet! Awks.
Walked to the theatre to see how long it takes (25 mins) then had a sandwich in Greggs. No TV in my room so listened to some music on my headphones and unpacked. Googled the people I’m working with on this play. Seem OK. Hard to tell. Not exactly nervous but I hate this part of a job where you don’t know anyone or if it’s going to be all right or not. It’s like the first day at school.
Jayne’s diary, Monday, 5 June 2017, Bath
First day! Spent most of the day in the wardrobe department on third floor sorting things. Silk tea dresses for the ladies and endless hotel wear for Simon: waiter garb, chef’s whites, spa uniform and security guard outfit. All extra-large, I noted.
Taffy in one of her bossy moods. Inspected my ironing and tutted. Met some of the actors. One called Hermia seems really nice and friendly. American. They can be a bit insincere (mind you, so can anyone!) so will reserve my opinion. Offered me a dab of aromatherapy oil behind the ears. I was too polite to refuse.
The other one, Miriam, has a rather sour smile. I think I saw her in an episode of Doctors once, but I can’t be sure. The ‘star’, or so he thinks, is Peter Milano. I knocked on his door and he shouted ‘Who?’ in a really loud actory voice. When I told him it was me with his costume, he told me to leave it outside as if he couldn’t be bothered with me, so I haven’t actually met him yet. Dreading that.
Simon Gaunt – the comic who’s a proper star – is just as you’d expect. Big, warm smile, no airs or graces. Not at all posh.
Stage management just grunters. Lol.
Went to Greggs to get a sandwich then got told by Taffy that I couldn’t eat it in wardrobe in case of mice so went to green room. They were all in there talking but no one spoke to me so I stared out the window most of the time. Had a quick look at Peter Milano. Big, booming voice. Seems self-important and, I’d say, a little prickly. Clearly handsome once but sagging a bit now.
Ken Thomas’s blog, Monday, 5 June 2017
Well, what do you know? Despite my dire prediction, Leopard Spots proved to be such a success that a national tour has been announced. There’s fancy.
My fellow critics were much kinder than little old me and sprinkled it with stars like they were confetti at a royal wedding. Perhaps I had a headache the night I saw it? I certainly had one afterwards.
Anyway, the cast must be thrilled. Packing their faux Louis Vuitton suitcases as I type, no doubt. Remember, ladies – what happens on tour stays on tour … From what I hear through the scurrilous grapevine of theatrical gossips who text me constantly, plenty of prophylactics and perhaps a family-size tube of lubricant wouldn’t go amiss. And some budget vodka? Apparently, there’s little difference between the £6 supermar. . .
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