Sounds like a commandment right there. Yeah! Find your truth.

MONEY

After you won your Logie, you reflected on how you were “just a little migrant boy from the suburbs”. How was the money situation, growing up? Always a point of stress. You know, migrants coming here from a poor village on an aspirational punt.

To what extent was their move an economic decision? When they left Fassouta, life was becoming increasingly difficult, and much less peaceful, for Arab Israelis. My mother was studying nursing and Dad wanted to do a degree in electrical engineering, but was told he could only do that if he became a teacher. So they decided to migrate, bringing with them all the money they’d saved. Dad eventually got an electrical engineering degree here and, for the next 20 years, he worked days and Mum worked nights so we were never alone. I definitely inherited some insecurity about money from my early childhood.

How did you broach the conversation of wanting to work in the arts? You do it by promising that you’ll get a degree in a normal job first. My first degree was a bachelor of building and project management. At the same time, I started dabbling in acting, doing weekend workshops. I was kind of moonlighting for a few years then, when I got my degree at 25, I said, “That’s it, I’m out of here.”

Loading

What was your first paid acting job? I had a role in Australia’s Most Wanted in 1994 as a hooded crim. But my first proper job, after doing a year at the Actors Centre [in Leichhardt, in inner-west Sydney] followed by three years at WAAPA [the Western Australian Academy of Performing Arts], was at Belvoir St Theatre [in inner Sydney’s Surry Hills].

What are the realities of money as an actor? You’re an artist in a country that doesn’t really value artists, so do it only if you love it. I’m ever-grateful for the work that I get, but the reality is, even great actors work for free. Any other kind of artist in this country gets a cheque when they win a prize: no acting award comes with a cheque. So even the most celebrated actors might still be struggling.

What are your criteria for saying yes and no to jobs? It’s gotta make money [laughs]. I’ve got a young family to look after [Shammas has three sons aged six, four and 10 months]. I think actors are made to feel as if they’re not allowed to honour the “business” part of showbusiness. But we have to, and it’s smart to.

Say I give you 100 bucks and you have to spend it within the next hour. What do you buy? I’d buy my partner a nanny for a day. And a massage. A massaging nanny.

BODIES

Describe your body for me. Geez, that’s tricky. [Pauses] I’m lean. Not too tall, but not short. I have long arms and large hands. I have hairy legs and a less hairy torso. I’m quite active, so I think I have muscle definition. I have a beard and a somewhat full head of hair. I’ve got thick eyebrows that talk and express as much as my hands do. Deep-set eyes. Brows. And a good Arab nose.

Loading

How do you feel about those physical qualities? I’ve grown to love them.

“Grown to” implies that that wasn’t always the case? Yeah. But then, with middle age, I’ve grown a bit more appreciative of this gift that I’ve been given.

Tell me why acting is terrible for your body. Because you push it and when you’re closer to 50 – the warranty’s run out, basically – you start to feel it more.

Tell me why acting is good for your body. It takes you out of your head. Especially Shakespeare.

What’s your secret party trick? I’ve always been able to stand really well on one leg.

Hazem Shammas plays Macbeth for Bell Shakespeare, which runs in Sydney from February 25, then Canberra and Melbourne in April and May.

[email protected]