I said in the log, which is almost to be expected with a cast as fine as this under Deborah Warner.
This was an evening at The National with Bobbie. I have subsequently seen a good “Good Person” at The Orange Tree with Janie too, but this Olivier production was especially fine in my view.
We saw a few things as a group around that time. Actually I think there was a somewhat enlarged crowd for the Paul McCartney. I think Stephen Lee was the ringleader for these gatherings and this one proved especially popular. I have a feeling Beatrice was there for this one and I think a good few other people.
I am glad that I have seen Paul McCartney perform live; of course this type of 20 to 30 years on concert covers a lot of classics, but in truth I don’t think this was a great gig. I didn’t think Wembley Arena suited this type of band/arrangement (insufficiently intimate – although you are unlikely to get an intimate gig with Paul McCartney).
Now we live in the internet era, I have quickly and easily found and embedded a recording of the whole gig and the Guardian review from the time – see below.
I have very limited recollection of this one, other than finding it shocking and hard to watch.
My diary is ludicrously light on detail and I got confused between this one and another production I failed to get a programme for. In this case, I think we saw a preview and the programmes weren’t ready.
I dined with (presumably) Bobbie at the Archduke before the theatre and we then went on to Jilly’s place, presumably for a birthday party. The diary suggests we had lunch on Sunday also.
Fortunately for the theatre element of the weekend, there are Theatricalia entries and reviews to help me out. Here is the former – click here.
Below is Michael Billington’s top notch review of this production:
I’ve no idea why I didn’t go and see this production with Bobbie Scully at some point during its nearly two-year on-off run. I have a funny feeling we had planned to go and then events intervened. Perhaps she saw it at that point while I was left in a state of shaughraun with regard to this play/production, until some client friends came along with a yearning to see some theatre.
I’m not sure whose idea it was to go and see this in early 1990. Perhaps someone asked me to suggest a production for an outing…or perhaps I tagged along with something they had already planned. I’m pretty sure that Stephen Lee, Rosemarie Whiteley and Suan Yap were part of that group, but my log is silent on the detail of who made up that “crowd”. I’d guess there must have been at least five or six of us to constitute a “crowd” in my log.
Anyway, I/we voted the production good. Fabulous cast, with Stephen Rea dominating the proceedings in the eponymous role. Lots for the superb supporting cast to do. Howard Davies directed it very well.
This was my last visit to the theatre in the 1980s.
I don’t remember much about it. Even when I wrote up my notes, while the memory must have been a bit fresher (more than 30 years have now passed; just a few years would have passed when I first logged this production).
Bobbie was with me that night, but I doubt if she remembers it much either.
…so A Life In The Theatre probably seemed comparatively tame Mamet. Indeed, the one thing I do recall about it was feeling that it was tame Mamet.
One reason I wanted to see this production was the presence of Samuel West in the cast. I knew young Sam from school. He had been polite enough to come with his parents to watch me in the school play, Twelfth Night. more than 10 years earlier…
…so I felt I ought to return the favour. After all, perhaps his nascent career could do with some assistance. As it has transpired, Sam’s subsequent, extremely successful “life in the theatre” did not need my help. I have seen him on stage a couple of times since.
Denholm Elliot was also a draw to this production.
Fortunately, despite my poor memory of the piece and production, there are well-crafted reviews to be had which confirm that it was a very good production.
Michael Billington gave young Sam a good review as “an admirable foil” for Denham Elliot’s character. Would Billington have praised my “conviction and self assurance” if he had seen Twelfth Night in 1978? Mercifully, we’ll never know. But I did get to know Michael Billington quite well over the years, through theatre and cricket.
I flew from Washington DC to Boston. I recall thinking that internal flights were, in many ways, an easier option than railway journeys on that East Coast in those days. You pretty much just turned up and took the next plane, whereas the trains had been rarer beasts that required some logistical planning.
I did some touring on my own around the port and stuff that first day in Boston:
It was wicked cold in Boston. I had almost forgotten about the arctic weather I had experienced in New York (Washington DC was still warm) until I got to Boston, where it seemed, if possible, even colder. Perhaps I should have stayed away from the waterfront and the scenic views from the top of tall buildings to feel less cold.
I remember going into a music shop to buy Bobbie Scully the latest Billy Joel record – We Didn’t Start the Fire – Bobbie was a big fan of Billy Joel and the record was being played everywhere all the time while I was in the States.
The really memorable thing about buying that record for Bobbie was the reaction of a college boy type who was also in the shop, who said to me in that slightly pompous New England accent (which might be mistaken for mimicking the British accent but I think he was a genuine New Englander)…
…you don’t want to be buying that record. It’s complete crap.
No suggestion that this was an expression of his opinion about the record. It’s complete crap. Fact. Period.
It’s a gift for a friend who is especially keen on Billy Joel…
…I said…
…Oh yeh?…
…he said, in a disbelieving voice.
In truth I don’t hold that song in very high regard – not one of Joel’s best in my view, but that song always reminds me of this holiday…
…and also of Graham Robertson’s wonderful Newsrevue parody, “One Didn’t Start the Fire”, three year’s later, about the Windsor Castle fire.
An Interlude Upstate In Massachusetts
I had contacted Emma Weiss who had suggested that I join her and Betsy Brady for the evening and a stop-over in Marblehead…or was it Lynn?…
…I have a feeling that they lived in the former town and/but the municiple railway took me to the latter town. I remain irritated with myself that I didn’t keep a proper travel log for this holiday – the only extensive trip i have ever made without keeping one. I’m also irritated that I didn’t take my camera with me on this upstate Massachusetts leg of my trip.
Anyway, I do remember Emma coming to meet me from the train. I also remember Emma and Betsy giving me a brief driving tour around that part of the Massachusetts coast.
I particularly remember them showing me Salem – we had some tongue-in-cheek discussions about whether we might all be strung up in that town on account of ethnic origins and/or interesting lifestyles. We decided to dine outside Salem.
Boston was wicked cold at that time, but these towns up the Massachusetts coast were wicked colder still.
I remember having a jolly meal with Emma and Betsy, after which, having just got warm, they said it was time for us to visit a local bar…in fact I think they even use the term “pub” up there in New England.
I also recall how very cold it was at night, especially when someone opened the door to the pub. In fact, whenever someone opened said door the drinkers would ring out a chorus of:
CLOSE THE DOOR! CLOSE THAT F***ING DOOR!
Just as we were getting to the point that I thought we had warmed up and I was starting to feel nice and cosy for a pub sesh, Emma and Betsy said,
Right, that’s it. We’d better move on to the other pub now…
…at which suggestion I wondered out loud whether we really needed to go back out in the cold.
Emma and Betsy politely but firmly explained that they live in a small town and that they couldn’t possibly diss the folks in the other local pub by showing off their visitor from England in one pub but not the other.
Word of your existence will have reached the other pub some time ago now, so they’ll be wondering where we are.
Off we went to the second bar, which seemed quite similar in terms of its cosiness, unpretentiousness and friendly clientele.
Emma and Betsy might recall the names of the bars; I can add links and stuff if those hostelries are still there, which they probably still are…with many of the same locals still shouting, “close that f***ing door” on cold nights.
It was a great fun evening. Emma and Betsy were splendid hosts; it was very kind of them to provide that much hospitality to me. I have also enjoyed meeting them both since – e.g. at Michael Mainelli’s wedding, but it has been a good while since I last saw either of them.
Back To Boston, Brunch With Pady & Midge
The climax of my American road trip was an opportunity to see Pady Jalali in her new home environment of the USA. Pady is of Iranian origin but had acquired a quintessentially English accent while at school and then at Keele with us.
But just a few years in the USA had put paid to Pady’s English accent; by the autumn of 1989 she had acquired (and still has) a quintessentially New England accent.
At that time, Pady was teaching math…
…in the USA they only study a singular mathematic, whereas in the UK we study mathematics, or maths…
…at Umass in Amhurst.
Pady suggested meeting in Boston for brunch, along with her sister Midge.
The thing I especially remember about that brunch (apart from having a delightful afternoon with Pady and Midge) was the demeanour of the other diners.
Pady, Midge and I were engaged in conversation as one might expect when friends gather in a diner for a middle of the day meal.
But pretty much every other table seemed to comprise couples or small groups eating in complete silence. Some seemed to be taking some interest in eavesdropping on our conversation. Others seemed simply to be grazing, vacantly.
In those days, of course, non-conversational diners did not have hand-held gadgetry as an alternative focus for their attention. But in any case, this unengaged style of eating out was alien to me (as it had been to Pady and Midge before they migrated to the USA), although it did seem to cross the Atlantic and become part of the UK culture as well by the end of that century.
Of course we were not to be deterred from our purpose; having a good catch up and making a jolly occasion of it.
The photographic evidence suggests that beer, fags and food were all involved (I had long since given up smoking by then, but I was still enjoying beer and food).
It was really lovely to see Pady again – it had been some four years since she left England. Midge was also very good company that day.
It was a super way to end my two week visit to the States.
I’m not sure exactly when I flew back, but I have a feeling it was the Sunday night red eye and I have a feeling I went straight in to work on the Monday. I wouldn’t dream of doing that now.
Pictures from the Washington DC & Massachusetts legs of my trip (including those above but with quite a few more besides) can be seen by clicking the Flickr link below:
In the absence of a travel log, my memories of being a tourist in Washington DC are a little hazy. The photos help.
I do recall really noticing the change of temperature. DC was really quite warm still in late November, whereas the East Coast was having a rare severely cold snap, not least the white Thanksgiving I enjoyed:
I particularly recall being bowled over by the National Air and Space Museum. I remember Michael Mainelli talking it up as one of the things I really shouldn’t miss and I also remember suspecting that I would be less enamoured of such a place than he was. But when I saw the actual spacecraft and actual relics from the space missions, it was truly awe-inspiring.
…although why they are commemorating the gentlemen who first brought McDonalds to France I cannot imagine.
I cannot remember when I had dinner with Katherine Toulmin, but I think it was on that inbetween evening, after spending most of the day around the Smithsonian.
Katherine lived in Fairfax Virginia and very kindly drove in and out of Washington DC to collect me and take me home after dinner. I think we ate in Alexandria rather than Fairfax; the former having a good choice of restaurants in its old town.
I especially remember the journeys, as Katherine explained that you couldn’t avoid driving through some pretty edgy neighbourhoods. She gave me some very explicit instructions on what I should and should not do in certain circumstances. She used her central locking for a good part of the journey.
Other than that, I simply remember a very good meal and charming Virginian company.
I also remember asking Katherine to advise me on where and how I should try grits. Basically her advice was to avoid the eating of grits. But then the hotel offered grits at breakfast the next morning, so I couldn’t resist the opportunity to try them.
…and effectively “checking out” of the W70th appartment I had been lent so kindly by the super kind Wegman couple who I never met.
I think Jane drove in to the City and that it was on this occasion we dined in a Lousiana style place in Alphabet City and we then went across the water to her place in Passaic Park, New Jersey. The cunning plan, if I recall correctly, was that Newark was a suitable starting point the next day for my rail journey to Washington DC via Philadelphia and for Jane’s journey into work.
The snow had all-but disappeared by the time I visited Passaic Park, New Jersey
My research 30 years later suggest that Passaic Park is home to one of the larger ultra-orthodox Jewish communities now. I’m guessing that the neighbourhood has changed. Perhaps Jane too has changed…or more likely moved…but in any case I didn’t see much sign of ultra-orthodox Judaism during my visit.
I enjoyed my short stay “in the burbs” – thanks Jane – and I also enjoyed the rail journey from Newark to Washinton DC with a “day tripper” stop in Philadelphia on the way.
Philadelphia freedom
I did much of the stuff a tourist is supposed to do in Philadelphia…
Independence Hall
…and even found time a for a bit of shopping near the railway station before training it to Washington DC.
If I recall correctly, I had organised my digs for a couple of nights in DC through the more conventional expedient of booking a hotel room. Quite near the railway station and convenient for sightseeing. No I cannot recall the name of the Hotel.
My “crashing at a friend’s place”…or even “crashing at a friend of a friend’s place” days were coming to an end, although there was one more “crash night” on that trip – a colder, more northerly story for another day.
It’s very clear from my log that I went to the theatre (or, as they say in the USA, theater) on the Sunday. Not something that can be done in London much – most theatres in London close on a Sunday. I think I went to a matinee or perhaps they just do the one late afternoon/early evening showing on a Sunday. I think this because I have a feeling that I met up with someone for dinner that evening as well; I think a second evening with Jane Lewis and I think it was the Louisiana-style restaurant in Alphabet City mentioned in Part One of my New York story…
…which rather begs the question, where and what did Jane and I eat on the first evening? Something mid-town and reasonably trendy at the time, I suspect.
But returning to the Lincoln Centre production…
…the theatrical production I chose was a good one. A double bill of short plays; one by Shel Silverstein, The Devil And Billy Markham, which was a musical monolgue performed by Dennis Locorriere of Dr Hook fame.
Locorriere was a superb performer. The Devil And Billy Markham had started life as a Shel Silverstein story in Playboy, which Silverstein adapted as a monolgue for this production.
Below is a video of Dennis Locorriere performing another Shel Silverstein piece, Carry Me, Carrie:
Below is a video of a subsequent performance of The Devil And Billy Markham by an unknown (to me) performer, doing it rather well, but not quite as captivating as Locorriere:
The conceit of this “sequel” play is that Bobby Gould has gone to hell and is being interrogated.
Gregory Mosher, the director of both pieces, is a doyen of both the Lincoln Center and David Mamet’s work, so I was certainly in the hands of the right chap for this visit.
Treat Williams, Steven Goldstein, Felicity Huffman and William H Macy were a very sound headlining cast for the Bobby Gould piece – the latter two it seems went on to become a celebrity couple some years after this production. Who knew?
Ironically, I learn that Felicity Huffman has recently (he says writing in the autumn of 2019) spent time in prison after admitting involvement in part of a college admissions bribery scandal this year, in respect of SAT scores for her and Macy’s daughter. A more Mamet-like, Speed The Plow-like true story I find hard to envisage.
But back in 1989, I remember very much liking both short plays and indeed enjoying the whole experience of seeing some theatre in New York.
I also liked living just a few blocks away from The Lincoln Center – W70th between Broadway and Columbus proved to be a decidedly suitable address for me, even if it was just for a week or so.
Here’s a review from the Central new Jersey Home News:
Billington on Sichuan Thu, Nov 30, 1989 – 31 · The Guardian (London, Greater London, England) · Newspapers.com
Ratcliffe on Sichuan Sun, Dec 3, 1989 – 43 · The Observer (London, Greater London, England) · Newspapers.com
