This was published 3 years ago
‘I often wonder why he stuck with me’: the steadfast love between two old schoolmates
Ian Darling (left) and Greg Fleet, both 58, met at Geelong Grammar aged 12. Fleet became a comedian with a heroin habit; Darling a financier turned documentary filmmaker. Despite their different lives, their friendship never wavered.
Ian Darling and Greg Fleet: “I didn’t have the courage to be an actor – I lived that life through Greg.”Credit: Simon Schluter
GREG: The headmaster told Ian, “This new kid’s dad has just committed suicide. Look after him.” He was incredibly friendly and nice. He came from a really established family – there were so many things expected of him that no one would have dreamt of for me. My family was such a disaster, I could have said to my mother, “After school, I’m going to South Africa to become a mercenary,” and she would have said, “No worries.”
We clicked through drama. We’d stay up late, improvising poems or lying onstage in the school theatre telling stories. It was like a love affair; that intensity, that closeness. When I look back at all those years after school, as a drug addict and a complete mess of a human being, I often wonder why Ian stuck with me. But I guess when things got weird, he remembered that kid.
After school, we lost touch: he did uni and got into finance; I was expelled from the National Institute of Dramatic Art and got into drugs. Then we ran into each other on Collins Street in Melbourne. I was in op-shop clothes, probably going into withdrawal, completely broke. He was wearing this gorgeous suit, looking like a million bucks. We were both jealous of each other. I’m thinking, “God! He probably spends more on lunch than I do in a week!” And he’s thinking, “He’s living this wonderful bohemian artist’s life.”
All those years [I was using heroin], he tried to stay in touch. At one point he had seven phone numbers for me. At the 30-year school reunion, the only school reunion I’ve ever been to, I told him I was crowdfunding for a play. He said, “Oh, how much do you need?” I said, “$8000, but we’ve got $3000, so we’ll get there.” The next day, it was full. Done. It took me a while to figure out it was him. But he’s not creepy rich, and he’s not flamboyant. He doesn’t buy yachts and have elaborate parties. Lots of people from school love showing off their money; [they] talk about the less privileged in a disgusting way. Ian would never do that.
He’s always very kind, very conscious of other people’s feelings. In some ways it broke my heart that he was such a good son. I would have just said, “F... you, Dad, I’m going to drama school,” but Ian’s father – who loved Ian’s films and was a beautiful photographer himself – expected him to have a “proper job”, and Ian accepted that. It’s been a joy to see him gently break the mould and make amazing films.
It’s very hard for me to tell Ian what his friendship has meant to me.
This play about our friendship [The Twins, at the Adelaide Fringe this month, then Sydney and Melbourne], I really hope it works – more for him than me. We’ve had a couple of fights during rehearsals, because he’s not really used to people going, “No, f... that, do it this way.” But I’ll be like, “F..., man! Can you put your phone down? I’m telling you something intimate and you’re looking at the footy scores!” And he’ll go, “No, I’m trying to book us a theatre in Melbourne!” Then we both calm down.
The L-word was never thrown around in Ian’s family, but he’s said that to me: he’s said, “I love you.” I was incredibly moved. It’s very hard for me to tell him what his friendship has meant to me. I love him, too.
IAN: The first time I met Fleety, despite what he was dealing with, I remember thinking, “Wow, what a cool, funny, friendly guy.” We did play after play after play together at school; we both thought we were possibly the greatest stage actors ever to live. We really were like twins, joined at the hip.
After school, because he was so hard to find, I used to go and see him onstage. I remember him performing for 3000 people in Theatresports and absolutely nailing it, and – it’s terrible to feel this of a friend – being so jealous! And also, so proud. I didn’t have the courage to go to NIDA or be an actor; I lived that life vicariously through him. Little did I realise he had 40 cents to his name and was using heroin heavily.
For years we never spoke about drugs. I didn’t know where to start. Now I understand that, in so many cases, heroin is something to take away the pain. Fleety never blames his father for his own failings [Fleet’s father faked his own suicide, married again, had another family, was discovered by Fleet’s mother, returned to Fleet’s family, then abandoned them again] but he’s realised he must have suffered pretty severe emotional trauma from his childhood.
He’s devastated there are so many friends he’s let go, so many people he’s burnt. He wants to be a good friend; he doesn’t ever mean to let you down; he’s so upset when he does. He desperately wants to level the ledger – but he has. I don’t think I tell him that enough. He’s an incredibly good, loyal friend. This play [The Twins] is the most confronting thing I’ve ever done – by far! I can only do it because of my absolute trust in him.
I’ve asked him how he stopped using, and he said, “It sounds strange, but one day you wake up and you just stop.” Writing his [2015] memoir must have been great therapy, and his daughter and sisters are so important to him: they’re big motivators. So is his creative work. If he’s creatively fulfilled, everything falls into place.
Sometimes I worry he might still be using, or might start again. I’ve got to stop that; if his close friends don’t trust him, who will? But the fact we’re so close now – as close as we were at school – is the greatest indicator for me he’s not using. And if he is, he’s trying bloody hard not to.
We gave him a grant a few years ago to do some writing in the Kangaroo Valley south of Sydney [at the Shark Island Institute, a creative hub Darling founded]. My first thought was, “What can he steal when he’s down there? We don’t have a TV; we don’t have any silver; he can’t walk [out with] the fridge.” Shame on me for thinking that! But the great thing is we can talk about it and laugh. Every relationship has its highs and lows, and when you’re dealing with Fleety you get the whole package. That’s the joy of it.
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