Life must be filled up

Yesterday marked 400 years since the publication of the First Folio. To mark the event, there’s a flurry of TV programmes; discussions and screenings of the plays. Sunday evening’s Talking Shakespeare, which included archive interviews with actors, was good.*

The Secret Life of Books on BBC4 yesterday evening featured Simon Russell Beale talking about the First Folio and the earlier, quarto editions and how there is really no such thing as a definitive version of Shakespeare’s plays. He also recited, quite beautifully, some of the more famous speeches. Later, on BBC2, came Shakespeare: rise of a genius. Oh dear. The actor playing Shakespeare channelled Mark Rylance as Thomas Cromwell, i.e. one facial expression throughout and a lot of gazing into the distance. I was irresistibly reminded of Ben Miller’s ‘the actor Wolf Hall’ in the wonderful Upstart Crow. The scenes of ‘Shakespeare’s London’ were intercut with interviews, some insightful, some, I thought, quite mad. We also saw clips from films: Anthony Hopkins in Titus Andonicus (he was just Hannibal Lecter), Ian Holm as Richard III and Leonardo DiCaprio as Romeo. My heart sank when I realised this was part one of a series. The fact is that very little is known about Shakespeare’s life. In my opinion, you would learn more about Shakespeare from Simon Russell Beale’s half-hour than from watching the entire ‘genius’ series. I think he’s a really great actor, yet he’s not a household name.

*One of the most interesting anecdotes came from Helen Mirren, about the time when Olivier was playing Othello at the National (a production I saw). One night, he was so astonishingly brilliant that the entire cast clustered in the wings, so as not to miss a word. When he came off stage, Olivier walked past everyone and locked himself in his dressing room. After a while, people started knocking on the door. ‘Are you all right, Larry?’ ‘Larry, are you all right? You were astounding tonight.’ ‘I know!’ came the reply. ‘But I don’t know WHY!’ Oh the despair of knowing you’ve given a wonderful performance and can never repeat it.

I borrowed this header from the person from whom I got the idea for this post. The plan is to list Shakespeare’s plays, saying whether or not you have read and/or seen them. The trouble with Shakespeare is that you may know a famous speech or two from a play without actually having read the whole thing. I also found Upstart Crow kept interfering with my thoughts.

All’s Well That Ends Well: Can’t remember reading or seeing it.

Antony and Cleopatra: studied this for A-Level. Seen: National Youth Theatre production with Helen Mirren as Cleopatra. My memory of this is that it was at The Roundhouse but I looked it up and it seems to have been the Old Vic. 1965! I was still at school and went with a friend. National Theatre production with Helen Mirren and Alan Rickman; very disappointing. I wonder how many people have seen both productions? I seem to remember a TV production with Colin Blakely as Antony. Perhaps my favourite Shakespeare.
( lots more, bad luck )

Photo BBC. Edward Fox unrecognisable as the Fool. He was also in the 1983 film .

I still have strong memories of the original film of The Dresser, which starred Albert Finney and Tom Courtenay, so my expectations of this production were high.

Ronald Harwood’s play is about a touring theatre company run by ‘Sir’ putting on King Lear in wartime, while air raid sirens go off. ‘Sir’, an ageing ham, seems unfit for the performance and is cajoled and bullied onto the stage by his long-time dresser, Norman. So there’s a play within a play, Lear inside The Dresser. The BBC production (by Richard Eyre) was lovely to look at: beautiful photography, perfect costumes and atmosphere. It was very stagey: a play filmed for television rather than a television play.

I have to say that Ian McKellen stole the show with his nervy, fidgety, vulnerable yet at times cruel performance as Norman. Anthony Hopkins somehow failed to shine as ‘Sir’. I did find myself in tears at the end, but that was due to Lear. Top quality TV and what we pay the licence fee for.

Miss Bun the Baker’s Daughter , D E Stevenson
The Secret Life of Bletchley Park, Sinclair McKay
Love, Nina , Nina Stibbe
Bluestockings , Jane Robinson
The Cruellest Month, Hazel Holt
Dear Lupin
Olivier, Philip Ziegler
The Garden Plot, Marty Wingate
The Pure Gold Baby , Margaret Drabble
The Silent Tide , Rachel Hore
To Love and be Wise, Josephine Tey
( comments )

Photo from The Telegraph

Those words from Othello, spoken by Olivier, were heard over the credits at the end of yesterday’s Arena programme (one of two): The National Theatre. Although ostensibly about the history of The National Theatre, fifty years old this month, the programme was largely about Olivier. The same is apparently true of the books published to tie in with the anniversary. According to the reviewer in Private Eye, both Michael Blakemore’s Stage Blood and the Derek Jacobi autobiography As Luck Would Have It are really books about Olivier. I’ve requested both from the library, together with Philip Ziegler’s new biography of Olivier, but I’m still waiting for them.

The early National Theatre programmes all included ‘A short History of The National Theatre’, starting in 1848. Arena had little to say about that, just some ancient footage of George Bernard Shaw and a photograph of Harley Granville-Barker. The TV version began in 1963, when The National Theatre was finally established at The Old Vic theatre, with Laurence Olivier as its first director. It ended in 1973, when Olivier was replaced by Peter Hall. Olivier was kept out of the loop; he and many others saw this as an act of treachery. After all these years, scores are still being settled. Joan Plowright spoke loyally, Jonathan Miller less so. How I dislike that man. I don’t think there can be any doubt that without Olivier’s charisma there would have been no NT.

Olivier ran the Old Vic as an actors’ company, with himself as just one of the actors. That was the theory. In practice, of course, many of those working with him were completely overawed, by his already legendary career and his sheer physical presence. Most of the actors, though, look back at that time with fondness. It’s a pity that old black and white footage of extracts from the plays gives little idea of a live performance. As the Private Eye reviewer said, probably only the film of The Entertainer gives modern audiences a glimpse of Olivier’s magnetism on stage. I’ve written something about this before.
( The National Theatre and me )

I wanted to read Hello The Autobiography by Leslie Phillips because I thought it would be interesting to learn how the Cockney boy became the suave actor. What do I get? Within the first few pages, a lurid account of how he lost his virginity. Too much information! Not to mention another example of the cynical assumption by publishers that the public will only read autobiographies which have been gratuitously spiced up (see also John Prescott, Cherie Booth, Edwina Currie, Sue McGregor etc. etc. ad nauseam).

I’m persevering though and only posting about the book now because, for those who care about such things, Phillips’ early years in the theatre are pure Ballet Shoes. His family was really poor: father died young, mother took in mending, older brother and sister drudging, young Leslie doing any odd jobs a boy could. Then his mother, ‘uncharacteristically’, he says, heard about the Italia Conti School and took him for an audition. He was given a free place on condition the school took 20% of his future earnings. Before long he was appearing in West End shows with the required chaperone and working with famous actors. See what I mean? Just call him Pauline: he was pretty enough.

He appeared in Peter Pan, first as a wolf, later as John Darling and played a cherub in Dorothy L Sayers’ The Zeal of Thy House. Apparently, Sayers took a great interest in the production and the players, was terribly nice to everybody and helped make the show a success. He also worked with Vivien Leigh, Rex Harrison and Yvonne Arnaud, met Laurence Olivier and a host of other famous theatrical types. This didn’t stop him doing other odd jobs which came up, working as a paid fire watcher and planting an allotment. As a result he was able to give his mother plenty of money and still save £1,000 (a lot in those days!) before he was called up. Not surprisingly, all this changed him and he even ascribes his being accepted for OCTU training to his ‘newly acquired upper crust accent’ and ‘looking the part’. Over modest, surely?

Yet again I have to complain about publishers (who have the nerve to charge £18.99 for this book) who can’t be bothered with decent editing. So far I’ve been irritated by ‘Lord Peter Whimsey’, a double negative and various spelling mistakes. Orion, you despise your buyers. Don’t worry folks, you can buy this book anywhere for nothing or get it from the library. Now, can I be bothered to read on? I’ll try and get as far as the peerless Navy Lark.

Now that Tom Stoppard is 70, BBC Radio has been having something of a Stoppardfest. Listening to Pick of the Week while I was cooking this evening I heard part of their broadcast of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. Ah me, I saw the original production at the Old Vic and still have the programme.