We went on a Friday evening to see part of a preview run of this play/production, which went on to have a good long stint at the Aldwych and which had previously been tested at the Yvonne Arnaud Theatre in Guildford (according to my notes) and/ot Theatre Royal Bath according to the Theatricalia entry.
Anyway…
…I have always been partial to a bit of Simon Gray and also partial to a bit of Alan Bates’s acting and Harold Pinter’s directing, so this was a “must see” for me and Janie – hence the Friday evening booking.
Below is a rare review of the actual Richmond performances from the Ealing & Acton Gazette:
Janie and I still say “my dear child” in the gnarley style that Alan Bates delivered that phrase in this production.
This was our first visit to the Almeida together and I have a feeling we ran into my NewsRevue friend Ivan Shakespeare on this occasion and indeed on more than one of our first few occasions at the Almeida. Ivan was a volunteer there and I think he did Saturday evenings whenever he could.
As a result, Petra and I set off from Keele for London a fair bit later than we had intended.
My personal diary entry skims over the details of this…
…but I remember the hair-raising aspects of this episode very clearly.
We took this trip in Petra’s car, as the idea was to have a Chinese meal in Soho’s Chinatown, see The Dance of Death at the Riverside Studios, and then return to Keele at night. That sort of round trip only makes sense in a car.
It also only really makes sense to do that sort of road trip if you allow plenty of time for the journeys and know your way around London by road. We were more than a little deficient in both of those regards.
Imagine the scene – Petra driving east along the Marylebone Road in Friday afternoon traffic, by which time we realised that we had not allowed enough time to eat before heading out to Hammersmith to see the play. I was trying to work out, by landmark and road sign, where we should turn off for Chinatown…or perhaps we now meant to turn off for Hammersmith…
…to be fair, my directions might have been less than perfect…to be equally fair, Petra’s knowledge of the road layout of the Marylebone Road must also have been less than perfect…
…but in truth, I couldn’t fathom then and certainly couldn’t fathom now how the next bit happened. We continued driving east along the Marylebone Road…on the wrong side of the dual carriageway.
I asked DeepAI to reimagine the scene for us. I did suggest that I should be depicted head down in the crash bracing position, but the technology wouldn’t depict that.
I think I adopted the crash bracing position. For sure I covered my eyes at least and no doubt expressed orally my terror. I vaguely remember Petra saying reassuring stuff like:
Don’t worry, don’t worry. It’ll be OK. I’ll get us out of this.
I think she must have manoeuvred across all of the lanes and turned right onto Judd Street, although how she managed to dodge all of the Friday rush hour traffic while doing that I can barely imagine.
I asked DeepAI at least to show me covering my eyes. Not much joy there. You’ll have to imagine the terrified gestures and sounds for yourselves. Still, thanks to DeepAI for the images
The irony of having diced with death ahead of going to see The Dance Of Death might have been wasted on me then, but it is not wasted on me now.
I also recall how bad the traffic was between Marylebone “Dice With Death” Road and The Riverside Hammersmith, such that we were cutting it fine ahead of seeing The Dance Of Death. But we did make it to the theatre in time and by gosh was it worth the trip and the trauma.
The Dance Of Death by August Strindberg, Riverside Studios
All we had forfeited was one day of Keele Festival week (and nearly our lives), but it transpires that the great Alan Bates gave up a Hollywood movie for the chance to play Edgar in this production. Here is a preview interview piece from The Standard:
I had long wanted to see some Strindberg, having read plenty of it at school and then more during my working summers, when I tended to read plays voraciously while commuting to work. The opportunity to see Alan Bates opposite Frances de la Tour in a Strindberg play, albeit one I hadn’t read at that time, had been enticing to say the least.
That last article reminds me that the production we saw was The Dance Of Death Parts One & Two, barely expurgated, so it ran for a bum-numbing four hours.
That’s FOUR HOURS on those excruciating seats they had in The Riverside Studios back then.
Still, my review of The Dance Of Death was a one-worder:
Excellent
Petra and I will have arrived in Chinatown around midnight, by which time the choice of eateries was limited to say the least – I suspect the choice was either Yung’s or the notoriously and relentlessly rude Wong Kei.
Yung’s in Wardour Street
Extravagantly, and wisely, I plugged for Yung’s, sparing us the indignities and lesser food of Wong Kei. Clearly I thought the meal at Yung’s was very nice as I described it as such in my diary.
I like the diary description “returned through the night” for the drive home, which was, as far as I can recall, relatively incident free.
So was it good manners or post traumatic stress related amnesia that made me miss out the details of the “driving the wrong way along the Marylebone Road” incident from my diary? It’s hard to recall my diary entry mindset, forty years on, although my memory of the incident remains very clear indeed.