The first Histories sequence, Richard II to Henry V, performed in 1951, is still one of the best seasons ever.
Performances like Gielgud's Angelo, Benedick and Cassius, Ashcroft's Beatrice, Portia and Cleopatra, Redgrave's Antony, Lear and Shylock, Quayle's Falstaff, Coriolanus and Mosea, Harry Andrew's Henry IV and Enobarbus, live with me vividly to this day. I don't want to give the impression that the work in the early 1950s was in any way inferior to what we see today.
Her teaching was fierce and relentless, wonderful on breathing and the use of words. She sat at the piano, smoking a stubby pipe, giving instructions out of the corner of her mouth. She was an eccentric figure, dressed in a heavy woollen smock, summer and winter. But Patrick Crean, the fight arranger, did offer to take us through the general technique of stage fights, and I also discovered Denne Gilkes, the widow of a Scottish professor, who offered singing lessons at five shillings a time in her beautiful Tudor house in High Street. No movement or vocal coaching was available, nor any instruction in swordfighting. I soon realised that the young actor, bent on self-improvement, had to find his own way to it. It was probably the most completely realised performance in the production.Īs I was merely playing one of the mariners, most of my time was spent watching rehearsals. Michael Hordern (who at the time I had never heard of) was a glowingly rebellious Caliban, physically quite animal-like, which is amply justified by the text. The potentially murderous Neapolitan lords, meanwhile, were a feeble bunch, hardly serious opponents for Prospero. Richardson's Prospero was a whimsical and ingenious magician, but hardly a vengeful figure, which I think the play requires. There was little analysis of the emotional and dramatic structure of individual scenes, and no analysis of the power structure and political attitudes of the characters. His groupings were always superb, but he seemed to be happy for the principal actors to work out their own interpretations. Looking back, I feel that Benthall was more a choreographer than a director by today's standards. The Tempest's set was by Loudon Sainthill and was highly pictorial, with lots of coral reefs and seaweed. Costume and set designs were equally rigid, something that today's actors would find unreasonably imposed. Strict silence was observed in the rehearsal room and the reading of newspapers was discouraged. Moves on stage were given and rigorously adhered to they had to be written down in the script, in pencil in case there were any changes. The first read-through was remarkable: all the leading actors gave finely prepared readings - they could have gone on stage and performed the play that evening.ĭirectors would present actors with a more or less rigid blueprint of what was expected of them. Rehearsals were also much more structured than they are now, largely because they lasted only four weeks today eight weeks is the average. We were just about permitted to address the leading actors by their first names. Benthall was always to be seen in well-pressed trousers and a blue blazer. At that time rehearsals had a certain formality: most of the directors would wear a jacket and tie. Rehearsals took place in the Conference Hall (now the Swan Theatre), the shell of which is the original Memorial Theatre, burnt down in 1926. The joint artistic directors were Anthony Quayle and Glen Byam Shaw, and The Tempest was directed by Michael Benthall (subsequently artistic director of the Old Vic).
The musician ii by loudon sainthill plus#
It cost me £3 a week for board, plus three cooked meals a day - and my washing done! (I am now paid more than twice what I would expect in a provincial theatre, plus overtime and a subsistence allowance.) I was lucky with my "digs": a charming middle-aged couple had a son in national service, and I slotted neatly into his place. I was paid £9 a week, roughly what I would have earned in a repertory company at the time.
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