A bedroom closet is an odd place for an actor to be recognised.
In the early 1970s, Jack Charles starred in a play called Bastardy at Melbourne's Pram Factory. Occasionally, he'd go from the Carlton theatre to wealthy Kew, where he'd burgle houses.
Inside one residence, he saw headlights in the driveway. Panicking, he leapt into a closet. He was soon discovered by the home owner.
"What are you doing here?" the man asked.
"I'm robbing you, mate," Charles replied. "I'm sorry."
Then the man's wife entered. "You're Jack Charles!" she said, having recently seen Bastardy. Instead of calling police, she put the kettle on. "You're a good actor," she told him, over cups of tea. "You should make a living out of it." He promised not to steal from them again, then left.
Four decades on, Charles is enjoying a career resurgence; The Gods of Wheat Street, Cleverman, Wolf Creek and The Agony Of ... series among his best work. But it's what happened since that night in Kew – and everything leading up to it – that interests Anh Do.
In 1980, when Do was a toddler, his family fled Vietnam for Australia. Now, he's one of our most versatile entertainers; his talents spanning comedy, acting, writing and art. Do's autobiography, The Happiest Refugee, boasts an Australian Book of the Year Award among its many accolades.
His ABC program, Anh's Brush with Fame (Wednesday, 8pm), deserves equal praise. In each episode, Do interviews a prominent Australian while painting their portrait. When he's done, he reveals the art work to them (and us). It all sounds rather pleasant, if a little dull.
Don't be fooled by the simple format. This is one of Aunty's best shows.
Responding to Do's enthusiasm, his subjects offer candid, emotional responses. You might assume they'd be daunted, perched on stage while he renders their likeness on canvas. Instead, this set-up helps them relax. It feels less confrontational than a traditional TV interview, where journalist and subject sit toe-to-toe under hot lights.
"Esteemed actor, former heroin addict and jailbird, member of the stolen generation, gay man and Indigenous rights activist," Do begins, quoting a newspaper article.
"What a life I've had," Charles says. "And I'm still living it."
Indeed, he is. The odds were always stacked against Charles, who was stolen from his mother as an infant, then sexually abused in a Salvation Army boys' home. As a teen, he was thrown out of home by his foster mother. Juvenile detention was the first of 22 incarcerations.
In the 1970s, he met another man named Jack – his only significant romantic relationship. "It was always doomed to failure," Charles says. "Having not being nurtured and raised in a loving fashion myself, I never knew how to receive love from this bloke."
Addiction and homelessness followed. Yet Charles did more than survive. He found purpose as an activist and a mentor to prisoners, and continues to perform.
Over the course of this episode, two facts are re-affirmed. First, material deprivation causes crime. (It's no accident Charles turned his life around when the state housed him in a flat. It's the least it could do, frankly, after subjecting him to decades of institutional racism.)
Second, Charles is a remarkable individual. A genuine role model, in an era where every celebrity tries to wring "inspiring" narratives from their privileged lives.
How to capture such a towering figure in one painting? The "reveal" at the end of this episode is beautiful. Don't miss it.
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