The moppet show

They're cute, astute and in demand - but only a few of the kids who audition for TV ads will hit the big time, writes Shanthini Naidoo

Every Saturday morning, a steady stream of parents arrive at a nondescript building in Norwood, Johannesburg. They all have stars in their eyes - and, they believe, in their arms.

Their destination is a children's talent agency.

Weekends are frenetic for the agency head, Natasha Brickman, who is growing her client list at a brisk pace. Every child is accepted, catalogued and signed up - because you never know when the next Shirley Temple will arrive. Or the next Glug-glug kid, or Wedwo kid.

Every mother's child is the most beautiful in the world - but not necessarily the most beautiful in this room.

Brickman's office is decorated with mug shots of smiling kids - big, small, short, tall. It resembles a missing persons' bureau, but nobody is missing here. They are all looking.

Brickman, a perky blonde who might star in a fitness video herself, collects a R300 admin fee and a contract that declares her the sole agent. "You have to register the child as a taxpayer," she says. "No tax number, no job. The agency gets 30%, SARS gets 25%."

The contract form also asks for the child's eye and hair colour, height and talents - can you sing, can you dance? Can you swim and play an instrument?

Any parent who has heard of Honey Boo Boo, the eight-year-old trailer-trash beauty queen, might want to sidestep the limelight. Diva behaviour can be a problem, but Brickman says South Africa's kiddie talent is at least well protected from exploitation.

"We do adverts in South Africa for overseas: the UAE, the rest of Africa, South America. It's because we have strict rules about children in advertising."

The seen-and-not-heard generations of children have grown up. New-age parents know about developing self-esteem and encouraging talent as soon as their munchkins can crawl.

Cuteness is a factor, but no matter how cherubic their curls, little stars cannot throw vloer-moers for jelly babies. "The kids must not cry and fuss, they must play and have fun - otherwise they're out," Brickman says.

Before ushering in the next group, she tells a young mother: "Send me new photos as they grow, like when the baby has two teeth coming in at the bottom. They love that."

Later in the day, she coaches a confident little boy for his audition for an Oreo advert, the first shot in SA since 2006. It focuses on South African family values. It's a big gig.

"First you twist it," he repeats, chest puffed out. His concerned mother says he has been for five auditions but hasn't been called back. "Maybe he's not smiling enough."

"Don't worry, young man, you'll get a job," Brickman assures him. It is not an impossibility.

She shoots head shots of the talent on her digital camera. Mothers too: "If they are decent, of course. Agencies prefer the natural parents in ads." Hers is one of hundreds of children's agencies. They send mug shots to casting directors who select faces based on the client's brief.

Casting director Gidion Koegelenberg is looking for a star for a bank's TV advert, a young girl who will walk with her dad through 30 years of evolving ATMs.

Koegelenberg is recasting for this ad in a Melville studio. Somewhere else, a little blonde girl has a broken heart - the client now wants a darker child.

Argentinian costume designer Mariano Gomez, who is assisting at the casting, says the final ad will contain computer-generated imager. "The child must pretend to see friendly monsters and fairy creatures, wave to them, tickle an octopus in the sky and jump over hippo paving stones".

"It's fun work," he says, sipping on a bucket-sized energy drink. "I've been doing ads in South Africa for 17 years. Lots of big international companies film in Joburg. They use local kids and then dub the ads into different languages. The kids are fine, the parents ... Sometimes not so much. Especially when they 'encourage' from the sidelines."

The five- and six-year-olds trickle in.

"Children these days are so exposed - they are, like, cool, you don't have to force them. They want to be here. They look at themselves in the mirror and practise like little pros."

Gomez is suddenly surrounded by a frenzy of pink: tutus and tights, ribbons and bows. There are pretty moms, corporate moms and a few dads who grumble about being roped in by absent moms.

While Koegelenberg sets cameras up in a soundproof room, Gomez claps for silence and explains the brief: "You are walking with your daddy through the city. As you walk, things on the road are changing. First thing, imagine you see balloons and they become a big octopus. You reach out and scratch the tummy." He tickles the air.

"Then the pebbles become a hippopotamus you must jump over. Skip." He skips. "Then you smile and wave at a big, er, Barney - but he's green. Look at the monster and make him shush. Then walk away from the camera and give me a big smile and a wink." He shushes and winks. A mother shows her child how to wink. She blinks.

The little girls get it, first time. Some practise the role, others play, the bossy ones lead the ring-a-rosies.

Five-year-old Kgahliso Solomon is with her mom, Diemiso, who took the day off work for the audition. "It's great for her confidence, but I don't tell her the audition is for TV until she gets in," says Solomon. "She has been in a Grandpa ad and an AIG insurance ad. She got about R4500 for the two, after tax. It's not a lot, but it isn't money you have budgeted for. So I buy her something nice afterwards and then save the rest for school."

Grandmother Liphiet Mfaba has brought Angel, five, to her second interview for the day. "She was at Oreo earlier," says Mfaba.

Angel has pearl earrings and missing teeth. She smiles shyly, saying the Oreo lines softly to herself, but gets stuck halfway.

Karabo Magongwa, also five, pipes up. "I know, I know!" Putting on her acting voice - strong, husky and coated in giggles - she says: "Daddy, I'm going to teach you how to eat an Oreo. No laughing, this is extreeeeemely serious." She waves her finger, ending with the punch line: "Then you dunk it, then you eat it." The little diva in her neon cartoon T-shirt is a hit.

Karabo's mother Patricia, a grocery despatch clerk, says: "She has lots of confidence. Since the age of two she has been acting at crèche. I can see her looking in the mirror and performing. She is talented, so I can't keep her at home. If she doesn't make it, I tell her there are other kids and she will get her turn. Just be yourself and do your best."

Gomez says the child is chosen first, then "parents" and extras.

"Working with children and animals is always complicated," he says. " There must be child-minders on set. They must be very respectful of all these rules. The kids must do homework, rest after two hours, have their food, and then shoot."

Garfield Taylor, who has worked as a "baby whisperer" on the sets of Pampers adverts around the world, says the key is speaking to children as if they are adults. "In four years, styling nappies on thousands of babies' bottoms, I hardly came across any that did not like me. I would introduce myself to them and say, 'My name is Garfield and I am going to change your nappy now, is that OK?' It nearly always worked. Babies must think it so weird when people talk to them in strange voices."

Taylor noticed star factor in babies only a few weeks old. "Brand-new babies have personalities, without a doubt. And boy, does it come out when the cameras are rolling."

There has been a spike in demand for children in advertising of late, says Gomez. "Coke used to be about excitement and sexiness, a chick in a bikini. Now it's emotions: children and puppies. Do you see the Allan Gray adverts?"

Back in the eggbox-lined studio, Koegelenberg is ready to do screen tests. He sends mothers to the back of the room and asks the little girls in adult fashion: "Agency, name and age, please." The girls don't hesitate. They have done it all before. He shows them two brooms, the "hippos" they must skip over, and waves at the air, the imaginary "octopus" they must tickle.

"Right, jump left, then right. Remember the Barney monster? He is here, sitting on the camera. Wave to him."

He repeats the process 40 times without losing patience. "It is also about how they take direction," he says.

Casting director Mandy Sewell says after this step the advertising agency, production house and director select a top five.

"They will cut down to the top two, because with kids you always need a back-up. Babies are the easiest. You just leave the camera rolling and blow bubbles at them."

A mother has brought her friend's child, but is hesitant about allowing her own daughter to audition.

"Did you see how hectic Toddlers & Tiaras is? It can get out of hand. What happens if they don't call back? How do you tell them? She already has big expectations, that she's going to be on TV. I don't have the energy to nurse that broken heart."

Most will not make it. But for some, like Karabo Magongwa, with her big voice and mischievous little face, stars are rising.

She is currently on television screens sharing Oreos with her "dad," which was voted "cutest kid advert ever" in a poll by Buzzfeed.com. And by year-end she will be skipping over hippo stones and tickling balloon octopus tummies.