Too long in the tooth and over the hill – surely not

By Derek Lord

Published:

I HAVE a certain amount of sympathy with TV presenter Selina Scott, who apparently plans to sue Channel 5 for withdrawing its offer of a job because some executive decided she was a bit too long in the tooth.

It seems she had been asked to stand in for Natasha Kaplinsky while the newsreader went off to have a baby, but, after a shake-up in the television station’s management, some new boss reckoned that Selina’s 57-year-old face no longer fitted the bill.

Ms Scott feels that this is not only ageist but sexist, and has pointed to the number of male presenters who are still going strong despite their advanced years.

She has conveniently ignored the fate of dear old Michael Aspel, who left the Antiques Road Show when he became older than most of the items featured in the programme, although, in fairness, he looked a lot younger than his 75 years.

This week, my own age finally caught up with me when, for the first time in my career, I was turned down for a television role because I was too old. Ironically enough, the part was that of an antiques dealer.

It all started when I got a phone call from a theatre manager I had worked for. He told me that a casting director for a popular Scottish crime series had phoned him and asked if he knew how to contact me. He gave me her number.

When I rang the number, I got through to a casting agency in London and spoke to a pleasant young Scots lassie.

Of course, she didn’t know me from a hole in the ground, but someone else must have recommended me for the job.

Once she had established that I was Irish, she asked me to e-mail a recent photograph. I sent her the one at the top of this column and she rang back to say she had received it.

She told me to go to the Glasgow television station that makes the show on Monday at 4.45pm for an audition.

Then she said: “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how old are you?”

There was something in her tone that set alarm bells ringing in my head. I subtracted five years from my age and gave her the result, but even that wasn’t enough.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were that old, Mr Lord. I think they’re looking for someone much younger.”

In desperation, I said I didn’t look my age. I told her my body weight index hadn’t changed much in 20 years and that I still had most of my hair and teeth, but I could tell that my plea was falling on deaf ears.

She told me she would pass my age on to her boss and get back to me one way or the other. She never rang back, so I was left with a bit of a quandary: should I accept defeat or go along for the audition at the time she had given me in the hope that the director might overlook my advanced years?

I had visions of being turned away by the security men if I turned up at the television station and my name wasn’t on the list of actors who had been given an official appointment.

I dug out a DVD on which I had recorded some of the television roles I had played over the last 30 years, so that I would have something to ask the receptionist to pass on to the director if I didn’t get past the front desk.

When I played the DVD, the memories came flooding back. There was the scene shot in the Glasgow Rangers Supporters Club in Sandy Row, Belfast, in which I threatened to knock the head off a very young Kenneth Branagh.

It was his first television role and probably the last time he used his own Ulster accent before ditching it in favour of the English accent he employs these days.

I remembered having a chat with him during a lunch break. When I asked him if he had another job lined up, he told me he had hired a hall in London where he was going to put on a one-man Shakespeare show. I wished him luck with the project, although I thought he was as daft as a brush. It just shows you what I knew.

The following scene on the DVD sees me sharing a urinal in a very grotty Belfast pub with the late, great John Thaw.

The first time we read the scene, he told me I was speaking too loudly. If a lesser actor had said that to me, he would have spent the next six weeks in traction, but I swallowed my pride and lowered my voice.

It must have worked because, when the play was broadcast some months later, I got a call from the National Theatre in London offering me a leading role in a play they were doing. I turned it down, but that’s another story.

In the event, I didn’t hand in the DVD. When I got to the receptionist’s desk, I discovered that my name was not on the list, but the director and producer were kind enough to let me read for the part of the antiques dealer, anyway.

When I had finished the audition, they thanked me for coming, but I could tell from their reaction that I might just as well have stayed in bed.

My life as an actor has gone full circle. Forty years ago, I was turned down for the part of James Bond on the grounds that I was at least four years too young. But, as someone a lot wiser said: “Time and tide wait for no man.”

But I’m not complaining. In a few weeks, I’ll be dancing and singing my ancient head off on the stage of the Pavilion Theatre in Glasgow in front of packed houses during the pantomime season. There’s still life in this old dog, yet.