Summer reads: I’m Liz Hayes by television personality Liz Hayes

Aussie TV legend LIZ HAYES gives an open account of the ups and downs of celebrity encounters in an edited extract from her new memoir I’m Liz Hayes.

Aussie TV legend LIZ HAYES gives an open account of the ups and downs of celebrity encounters in an edited extract from her new memoir I’m Liz Hayes.

I shared my Sydney apartment for a time with Richard Wilkins.

Richard was working at Nine, hosting MTV. We’d found ourselves in a limousine together on the way to a charity event. I didn’t know much about Richard, but we had a good hour to talk before reaching our destination.

He’d told me he had parted from Lynette, his wife at the time, and that he was looking for a new place to stay. If he got stuck, I said, I would be happy to help him out. I had a spare bedroom and bathroom.

When Richard moved in it was the beginning of a lifelong friendship, and despite some media speculation, it was a relationship that never involved romance.

Richard came with his own style and personality. After he arrived, paintings went up on the wall, pot plants found a place in the corner and his violin took centre stage. He was warm and witty and exceedingly generous, as were his rather impressive home-making skills.

And to my delight, he filled his bathroom with all manner of creative hair concoctions. My blonde mane, and his, had never looked so magnificent. We had a fabulous and very funny time.

Richard was ambitious and extraordinarily hard-working. His favourite and most challenging job, though, was as a father. His children were always his priority. They were a joyful addition to our apartment, along with my brother Phillip, his mates and the many family members and friends who visited.

Our personal lives kept us both entertained. I think my private world kept Richard mostly amused and his just kept me eternally intrigued. We maintained separate telephone lines to make things easy.

Richard Wilkins. Picture: Jake Nowakowski

There was one moment, though, when we were both flummoxed.

An international star had landed in Sydney and arrived at our apartment to stay with me. I hadn’t told Richard, because he was supposed to be away for a few weeks and my friendly

star was keen to keep his stay confidential. Ideal timing, I’d thought, as I made plans while checking the calendar.

My friend Julie, the only other person who knew of the impending celebrity visit, collected our man from the airport. The eagle has landed, she reported in to a messenger as I sat on the Today set quizzing Federal Shadow Treasurer Peter Reith about the cost of milk.

All was in place, I thought, for a few days getting to know my guest away from the glare of paparazzi. While I continued to work in the mornings, he would look around the city, in disguise.

And for a while it worked well. But when Richard suddenly turned up, the secret went south.

Early in the morning I received two telephone messages.

The first from Richard, who’d changed his plans and come home early, calling from the phone in his bedroom: ‘There’s someone in your room and I don’t know who it is!’

And at about the same time, from the now-startled international star, whispering urgently into my phone and locked in my bedroom: ‘Someone has just come into the apartment!’

I phoned them both back in a commercial break.

ME TO RICHARD: What are you doing back?

RICHARD TO ME: Who’s in there?

ME: I can’t tell you.

RICHARD: What! Why not?

ME: It’s someone who is not ready for guests.

RICHARD: What?

ME: Well, he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here.

RICHARD: Who?

ME TO INTERNATIONAL STAR: His name is Richard, he’s my flatmate.

INTERNATIONAL STAR: What?

ME: I’m sorry, he wasn’t supposed to be back so soon.

INTERNATIONAL STAR: I can’t stay in your room all day.

ME: I think you’ll like Richard.

ME TO RICHARD: Look, I’ve told him not to worry, that you’re my flatmate, and maybe he’ll come out and say hello.

RICHARD: Well, I’m here for a while.

ME: How long?

RICHARD: I don’t know, a few hours.

ME TO INTERNATIONAL STAR: Richard is a really nice guy.

ME TO RICHARD: I’ve told him you’re a nice bloke.

It could well have been a scene from a television comedy. And totally out of my hands.

The outcome didn’t surprise me. The international star slowly emerged into the lounge room, and Richard was, as he always is, an understanding and friendly face. He stayed for a couple of days then set out again, and the international star settled in for a few more days of antipodean life.

The friendship between Richard and the star far outlasted that between the star and me.

So many stories. So many memories. All of them good. And the warm friendship Richard and I had back then continues today. We both work hard and wonder about the future. We

still marvel at our long careers in this business, careers that in the beginning we hadn’t dared believe possible.

***

We live in a kaleidoscopic world, and adding to its coat of many colours are celebrities. Those who, for whatever reason, find themselves at the centre of attention. Some seem to like the spotlight, others don’t.

During my many years of holding a 60 Minutes microphone, I would find myself talking to a vast number of famous people.

And the stars of Hollywood were, for me, the most challenging to interview. I felt many celluloid stars viewed the media with a level of disdain – unless, of course, they were in control of what was being reported.

I understand why. Anyone who has been subjected to unwanted and relentless publicity gets it. Not all publicity is good publicity, even if that is occasionally the view. Celebrities become fodder, headline- and column-fillers for gossip columnists. My own experiences had taught me that lesson beyond doubt.

It’s a vicious cycle. It can start when the media is courted to help build a celebrity’s brand. But it’s often when the famous come to sell their wares, that the horror begins. They’re

forced to chat to the very people they most fear and distrust: journalists. And almost inevitably, somewhere along the line, it turns into a battle.

***

A celebrity who did seem to be in a sorry state, or at least in need of a group hug, was Hugh Grant. Just weeks into my job at 60 Minutes, I was sent to London to interview the English actor. Grant arrived for the interview still recovering from stinging headlines, having been caught in a vice operation with a prostitute and hauled into a Los Angeles police station. It was an inglorious time for Grant, and I felt incredibly sorry that he had had to endure such a worldwide tabloid berating for this sexual encounter.

I recall he arrived for the interview at our London hotel at the allotted time without any fuss. I decided to tackle the elephant in the room and asked the obligatory question about his indiscretion and he answered it with his newfound discretion. He batted the business away with a well-rehearsed reply that I figure came from dealing with the media storm in America, where he’d first had to stump up and face the music.

There was little joy on this subject for either of us.

I shifted to asking him about his acting, and whether he was really just playing himself. In hindsight it was also an unkind question, but he took it on the chin. He was polite and seemingly reserved but it seemed his zing had zagged and he was just a bloke who happened to be an actor, caught in the public glare. It’s probably one of the few times he didn’t employ his trademark sarcasm.

Grant was one of many who got caught up in the nasty web of tabloid stories. And after a number of years looking many like him in the eye, I have to admit to some feelings of sympathy.

I watch Grant these days and he seems to have recovered his zing. He remains a very matter-of-fact and accomplished actor who has kept his sense of humour.

***

Drugs were a bit of a taboo subject when I raised the topic with a certain Hollywood star: Robert Downey Jr.

At the time of our interview in 2005 he had not long come out of a difficult era with substances. His drug-taking had been well publicised and he’d recently given a heartfelt and open interview to Oprah Winfrey about it.

I was in London to interview him about a musical album he’d put out that would end up receiving mixed reviews. We had arrived early and set up a number of cameras in a pretty swish five-star Regent hotel suite. We had grand plans. We’d interview Downey Jr first, then get him to bang out a tune on a piano that we had ready not too far away. All of this, of course, was dependent on whether Downey Jr felt like it on the day.

His American public relations person arrived to check the room and make sure that all was good for her client. Downey Jr was running late, and when he did arrive he seemed a little

slow out of the blocks. He gave us a short acknowledgment, then asked for a bowl of porridge before disappearing into another room for hair and make-up.

When he took his seat for the interview, I instinctively sensed he wasn’t really in the mood. Then when we started he simply stared at Grant, our sound man, who was positioned at

his side.

It was odd, given I was asking the questions. I might have been wrong, but I wondered whether, by refusing to look at me, he was perhaps hoping to unsettle me. Either way, I was

of the opinion that he’d woken up that morning wishing he could just go back to sleep.

I got some arbitrary answers from him to my early questions.

But when I raised his rough ride through those earlier years on drugs, he did look at me. And was apparently unimpressed.

‘Liz,’ fired his PR person.

I continued, mentioning that I understood Mel Gibson had been a major support.

‘This is fucked!’ said Downey Jr, now glaring at me. And with that he stood up and walked into the other room.

I didn’t think this was a subject off limits. ‘Sorry, Robert did a whole program with Oprah Winfrey about this,’ I said, looking at his PR person.

Her reply was that ‘Oprah was different.’

And I couldn’t argue with that, but I could argue that Downey Jr had talked at length about drugs and not appeared to be upset by it. Until now.

A huddle of sorts occurred in the other room where Downey Jr was holed up. There was a difficulty, it seemed.

I’m guessing that the concern was it didn’t look good for Downey Jr to be seen walking out of an interview.

His PR person returned and advised us Robert would be prepared to sit down and say goodbye nicely. I told her, without the niceties, that there was no point.

It was an unfortunate end to an interview that I would have preferred to have gone well. Downey Jr had seemed like an open and honest talker, and a great voice on how to beat

those terrible demons.

This is an edited extract from I’m Liz Hayes, by Liz Hayes, published by HarperCollins and available now.

Originally published as Summer reads: I’m Liz Hayes by television personality Liz Hayes