(1977-1983) ANGUS MACKAY DIARY NO. 42 Tuesday November 1 1977
Total Page：16
File Type：pdf, Size：1020Kb
Angus Mackay Diaries Volume IV (1977-1983) ANGUS MACKAY DIARY NO. 42 Tuesday November 1 1977 David Buck told me that the London critics had been in last night, and that they'd written bad notices. Well. I wasn't too good tonight - my concentration wasn't there. A rather silly audience, and of course his remarks about the critics hadn't helped, I suppose. But whatever the cause, I must learn to concentrate, to grip myself and the audience more firmly. Wednesday November 2 1977 Dear Miriam Myloe came tonight, all the way from Cheltenham with Tony Rousefell. He was slightly less acidulated than before. I took them out to supper at Renato's opposite the theatre. Fairly primitive, paper napkins, vegetables on the plate etc. When they left, there was a gap while my taxi arrived. That is when a great grey cloud descends, and I dare not think. Or it will affect tomorrow's show. Grief can't be shared. Thursday November 3 1977 Power cut during matinee. Audience stimulated. Lovely house tonight - I was best yet. Friday November 4 1977 4.30 p.m. during a power cut. If I am to go on with this diary, it must become less boring. It is of course a help to write about my depression at the end of a day. Something like the comfort of talking to a friend comes to me, but of course the diary entry as it were, represents what has been missing in the day instead of what has been present in it. I did always mean my diary to be an entertaining recapture of the moment. Now that D. is dead, I must try to put my happiness, and not my misery, down. So for a start, I was much amused to hear someone asked if the Queen was bearing the strain of the Jubilee tours well, reply heartily, 'Oh, she has stood up to it enormously'. The play has had sniffy notices from the London papers. I would imagine that would put paid to any idea of a London transfer. I never thought it would transfer, and the part is not ideal for me to play in London, tho' I think I'm not bad in it by now. I don't quite see why the critics have been so rude to poor Jonathan Raban (quite nice to us.) If I were criticising this play, I would damn it with faint praise rather than get at all insulting. I think the point of the play, that reality cannot be escaped, a good one. The play rather lacks dramatic vitality than anything else, and if the four of us didn't know what we are doing, it would often fall flat on the boards, in a way that any play of Noel C's, for instance, however bad in other ways, wouldn't. The other actors are all nice, tho' it took me some time to see that. Marty Cruckshank was nice. She is an abrupt, aggressive girl - well, 34! But her immaturity makes her seem younger, and her defiant ungraciousness hides a warm heart, I think. Unhappily she still equates frankness with honesty. She is very good in the play, I'd say, but may be a little overdone from the front. Sheila Ballantine and David Buck have something in common. Warm, easy-going, ebullient, through both waves of emotion and gusts of feeling easily blow, so that both are thoroughly actors, but alas that fine sense of scale and judgment is finally lacking, in different ways in each, so that for example, they vary too much each night, and a clear line of thought is not there. David B. gets himself thro' by shouting, suddenly and dramatically (oh the depression of that word) on an apparently capriciously chosen word. Or, told to correct me kindly and quietly by Eric T, when I call him by his real name that he doesn't wish to hear, he has, after a perf. or two, reverted to the rising shout of rage which is more immediately attractive to him (and easier to do) but of course renders that part of the play dangerously monotonous. He simply likes the sound of his voice raised, so raises it. Like smokers, including a cigarette in their performance regardless. Sheila B. lets the emotion flood thro' her, impressively at times, and gives the impression of great naturalness. but she becomes inaudible sometimes, and at rehearsals betrayed startling ignorance of what the lines actually meant. That doesn't stop her delivering them like an angel - sometimes. There is a way in which I sometimes feel I can't really act at all - just make amusing remarks in public with more or less success. Nobody ever seems very interested in my acting. I like to think that is because I do work to make it not look like acting. The hotel is just across the road from the Clifton Suspension Bridge. Sometimes, when the sun is out, or a thunderstorm is on the way, the view is very dramatic, like a Poussin - I think, the dark green of the trees in the gorge, and the line of the bridge that even I think is beautiful, strung across it. One day, a young mounted policeman walked his horse past us on a sunny day, reached the grass of the downs, and horse and rider decided to gallop at the same moment. 12.10 p.m. House very full and good. Felt at ease almost throughout for the first time. John, Joyce and David tomorrow. Gosh. Sunday November 6 1977 They arrived after the show, and were gratifyingly complimentary about me and sensible about the play. I had lunch on Sat. with Kathleen Barker, the Secy of the Society for Theatre Research and she came, too, which was all right as she is sensible and informed. We four then went off to Michael's Restaurant. A blind choice, but really quite excellent. What was a shop has been turned into a charming Victorian drawing-room with a coal fire, and big sofas; the warehouse beyond is delightful - fresh flowers in the Gents! - interesting menu, all was delicious, except the vegs. Met Michael himself, who explains much about the place. They laid a fresh table for six or seven, who sat down well after twelve. Joyce is still shy and a bit spiky, and should not tell David off in public. She is very bossy with him sometimes, as well as keeping him on a string. But what a rare girl, all the same. John forced things a bit - kept saying 'I hope everyone is having as good a time as I am' and told a very unfunny rather frenzied story about people none of us knew. But what a good friend he's been to me. So where are you? I like David more and more. There were moments when I wished we were alone to have a quiet talk away from the two spoiled children! This morning we walked over the suspension bridge and around Clifton. Very enjoyable. I was tired when they'd gone, as we were at the rest. till 1.30 a.m. So I lay down. After dinner, watched the Bulshoi in Nutcracker. Hideous decor and most of costumes. Dreary version, too. Monday November 7 1977 Had Hedley Goodall to lunch. About 65-ish, remember him on the radio before the war. Diffident, and has always lived here; Jeanne Watts' teacher, which accounts for her humility and diffidence a little, I expect. But very agreeable and amusing. House a little strange tonight, some silly laughers, some very quick, some too quick. Heard after there was a party of American tourists in front. Oh dear. Thursday November 10 1977 Two late nights. On Tuesday night to Val Lorraine's. Knew her in '59. A warm vague, excellent-hearted muddled woman. Nine of us sat down to a rather scrambled meal, for which she kept apologising. I was very bright, and kept the table in a roar, rather despised myself for it afterwards, but oh why do other people take so long to tell stories. Attractive house, rather ram- shackle, poor furniture, set back sideways from the road, Grosvenor Lodge. Walked back to hotel in usual grey despair that comes over me at the end of every evening with people, now. Last night Julian came, and had me to dinner in Renato's. Sweet man, but nasty food, very cheap. George Rowell and his wife came. Thought them both rather dim and second-rate. How is one to describe such people differently? She is dowdy in dress (very) in the dreariest way, wears no make-up and appears to have nothing above the average housewife about her. She is a schoolmistress. He is quite a well-known scholar at the Drama Dept. and is self-deprecating in a useless way, just to get out of being positive. No wonder Julian likes them. But I am ashamed of saying to David B. I was bored when I asked him to join us. Thursday November 10 1977 Matinee day. Very proper audience, who retreated a million miles at the bad language in the afternoon. Eric came in the evening, when it had gone splendidly, and was very complimentary. Good. I am liking David Buck more and more. Sunday November 13 1977 Two late nights. Myles and his brother, Keith Rudge, came to the play, and I took them to Michael's. Another delicious meal, and the welcome was delightful. We had a nice long drink with Michael.