Crying Wolf with Chris Marlton

Around the World in Six Decibels – Decibels 1-3: Seoul to Zurich

No one is more representative of the people than the world’s most favourite actor, Decibel Beaumont. In this extensive (and, frankly, excessive) interview, Chris Marlton asks the questions you’ve all been dying to know about the loudest and proudest ballerina turned model turned singer turned actor of the last century. Buckle up!

She stands in the platinum class lounge of Korean Air with a lectern lean and a coy head tilt. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous to meet this courageous icon who’s been a secret hero of mine for years.

But as I approach her charismatic sphere, the nerves melt away, and a comfort not felt since graduating from primary school overcomes me. This opportunity to spend some time with the 73-year-old Decibel Beaumont feels like a dream come true.

Over the next six days, we’ll share six meals in six of Decibel’s dearest international airport lounges. Join us as we talk about her lives, loves, and favourite films, books, and political assassinations of the year.

Breakfast at Incheon: Godeungeo Gui

Located in the Jung District of South Korea, the Incheon International Airport was built in the ocean on reclaimed land over eight years, from 1992 to 2000.

“This is my third favourite airport in Asia,” drawls the icon as she eats her salty grilled mackerel with her bare hands. I must have looked surprised by this; she scolded me immediately,

“Don’t be shocked, darling; I eat with my fingers all the time. Cutlery is for the weak… and my immune system has never been better. Why do you think I look so damned young anyway?”

She laughs and uses her other hand to nab a pinch of kimchi, which she dramatically holds over her mouth as she tilts back her head. I decide to not be drawn into this and ask my first real question. “You were born in Kolvereid in Norway in 1950 – in February. Have you been back recently?”

She pauses and looks to her right as if she didn’t hear my question. She bites her bottom lip and then leans forward with her elbows on her knees, surveying the low table between us. Her hand moves to take some more kimchi, but she pauses.

“No. I don’t go back.” She sighs, takes her mug of black coffee and sips once, twice, three times. “I haven’t been back since my mother, Marit, passed away in 2006.”

“And that,” I begin as I check my notes quickly, “was a month after your fourth marriage and three months after your father, Derek, passed away?” She smiles wryly, gives a small puff of air through her nostrils before replying.

“I see you’ve done your research. Yes, she died right after I married Gordian that year. That was a hard time for me. I don’t go back to Norway anymore because there’s nothing there for me. Not anymore.”

She takes another mouthful of fish and leans back in her comfortable, light-green lounge chair. Our eyes meet. I note that hers are a similar colour to the furniture she’s sitting on and are beginning to fill with tears; I decide to change tack.

“Did you see the film they made in Rørvik this year?” I ask.

She throws daggers at me, “No, they didn’t make it in Rørvik. It’s set in Rørvik. They filmed it in Trondheim because Rørvik is too cold and there isn’t enough accommodation for the crew. And they filmed it four years ago. It was just released this year.”

“How do you…” I begin to ask.

“I know because they begged me to play the lead. I turned it down. I turned it down because I didn’t want to go back to Norway. And no, I don’t care that it was an award-winning opportunity to play opposite a 3D-animated cat who can drive a car and accidentally gets elected as the Borgermester of Rørvik.”

“What’s a Borgermester?”

“Oh,” she blushes, “Borgermester is Norwegian for Mayor.”

The film we’re talking about is Politisk Mjau, nom’d for Best Picture at the most recent Sundance Film Festival and won Best Sound Design and Best International Gaffer in a Musical or Comedy at the Academy Awards. I realise this may be a sore spot for Decibel, but before I can choose what to say next, an announcement rings out across the terminal.

>a voice booms over the loud speaker>

“ALL FIRST-CLASS PASSENGERS FLYING KOREAN AIR TO ABU DHABI ON FLIGHT KE7901 PROCEED TO GATE 47”

Decibel leans forward, grabs her remaining mackerel, dips it in her coffee and stuffs it in her mouth. Without a word, we both stood and marched off to board our Airbus A380.

Brunch in Abu Dhabi: Balaleet & Dango

Our ten-and-a-half-hour trip from Seoul to Abu Dhabi flew. Before I knew it, I was sitting in a fancy restaurant in the Etihad Airways premium lounge enclosure, waiting for my travelling companion to join me for brunch.

“How did you sleep?” I ask her as she lowers herself into her chair with grace rarely seen in someone her age.

“I didn’t sleep,” she mutters, flatly.

“You didn’t sleep, why not?” I ask, squinting slightly as the morning sun reflects off the Boeing 787-9 we are due to board.

“I slept on the flight yesterday. I was up all night reading Kevin Stromire’s new poetry anthology”.

Decibel Beaumont doesn’t realise that I studied archery and astrology with Kevin at the University of Vienna during the early 2000’s. “Closing the Quarry?” I ask.

“I’m sorry?” she tilts her head.

“The name of Kevin’s new book is Closing the Quarry: Collected Poems on Coltan Mining – 2017- 2020.”

“Oh,” she says, surprised. “No, this must be the one before that.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a large coffee-table book, a hardcover at least 20 by 14 inches. Using two hands, she passes it across the table to me.

The front cover shows Kevin Stromire, Poet Laureate of Denmark, holding a machine gun in one hand and an apple-sized moon in the other. The oversized book of poetry is called Deep Dives into Future Wars: Collected Sci-fi Poems – 2014-2016. The book is 682 pages long and weighs at least four kilograms.

“May I?” I ask.

“Please do,” she replies. I opened the cover and checked the table of contents. I found my favourite poem from the collection and turned to page 426. Before I can begin, Decibel gestures for me to pass it to her. I oblige and hand her the heavy tome. She clears her throat, then begins to read:

The rocks that fly across the years,
We call them home – they house our fears.
We call them back – they house our lies,
They bind us down – the bind that ties.

The rocks that fly across the years,
We call them home – they house our fears.
We call them back – they house our lies,
They bind us down – the bind that ties.

Blindly now, we farm their needs,
Slaves to aliens from outer space.
Gone are all our thoughts and creeds,
Finally one: the human race.

Two plates of sweet saffron-scented Balaleet are brought to our table by the waiter. A single tear rolls down my cheek. We eat in silence until our flight to Switzerland is called.

Lunch in Zürich: Zürcher Geschnetzeltes

I thought we would spend much of our time in the fabulous Zurich Airport dining and conversing. This was not the case. I met her outside the Racing Unleashed virtual F1 Entertainment Centre at Decibel’s behest. She smiled as I approached.

“Why are you smiling?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I dunno; it seems you didn’t think I’d want to spend some of the nine hours before our next flight in high-end racing simulators.”

“I didn’t think that at all,” I reply.

“No!” she said abruptly, “but you didn’t not think it. And I want you to know that I’m a superior race car driver than you are, simulated or otherwise.”

I must have looked surprised. She continued:

“I’m famously competitive. Let’s go.”

I follow her into the large building.

We spend five hours competing head-to-head in five-lap races of every F1 track from the 2022 season. I lose every race, and she is neither surprised nor sympathetic.

After we race, we get in her limousine and
head back to the Zurich Airport, to the SWISS Air lounge, where she orders Zürcher Geschnetzeltes for both of us in perfect Swiss-German.

“Zwei Teller Zürcher Geschnetzeltes für den Tisch. Dieser Mann kann nicht fahren, um sein Leben zu retten,” she declares to the waiter. The waiter looks at me and laughs thickly.

It was my turn to blush. I couldn’t wait to board our Boeing 777-300ER, which is less than an hour away now, headed for Bogotá, Colombia…

Stay tuned next issue for the thrilling final instalment:

Part 2: Decibels 4-6: Bogota to Moscow

Chris Marlton is a comedian, writer, and painter. His freshly released comedy special Muesli Balloon is now on YouTube. Upcoming shows are available at linktree.com/chrismarlton. Follow @chris.marlton and @laserfirecomedy on Instagram and @ChrisMarltonComedy on Facebook.