You're not in Hollywood anymore, Jake The Muss
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, known as Browns Bay, a pact was signed with the devil, or, at the very least, someone who looked a lot like him.
Until the afternoon of Monday, 25 May 1992, the received wisdom said that it was simply impossible, both physically and financially, to produce a television show in New Zealand that would last beyond two seasons. But on that fateful date, standing at the mythical crossroads of Glenfield and Wairau Roads, hours before the broadcast of his new soap, Shortland Street, the head of South Pacific Pictures, John Barnett made a bargain with the evil gods of network television, that would guarantee the future of season, after season (after season) of low-rent, locally produced television.
What he didn’t, and couldn’t, realise at the time, was that, by doing so, he had unleashed a terrible curse upon every actor who would ever appear on the show.
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