MJ Celia's portrait safely made it through cyberspace. Such expressive eyes, conveying thought and feeling beyond the clipped Kensington clipped vowels. Immediately thought of 'Jesus bids us shine through the world today....' Hope the same image has been restored in your small corner by now.
Your posting encouraged me to take my biography of Celia Johnson (1991) by her daughter, Kate Fleming off the shelves. I was fortunate to be able to see a lot of Celia's work and even remember the distraught isolation of her Hester Collyer in Rattigan's "The Deep Blue Sea" when she replaced Peggy Ashcroft, for a time, circa 1952/3. Her wide range made her capable of playing with the lightest of touch in Coward or Ayckbourn. I'm thinking now of the celebrated revival of Coward's 'Hay Fever' (1965) NT. at the Old Vic, directed by the author. Rightly, he was dubious about the casting of Edith Evans as Judith Bliss; not only was she too old for the role but she was also erratic in remembering the lines. Like Pinter and Sondheim, he was fastidious about precision in the delivery of his text. Apart from memory lapses, the Dame also irritated him and, in a letter to his friend Joyce Carey, he wrote "...I might have been spared Edith's doubtless well meant approximations. Classic example was her insistence on saying - "On a VERY clear day you can see Marlow." Finally, when I had corrected her for the umpteenth time, pointing out that the "very" was very, VERY, superfluous to my intent, I heard myself saying - "No, dear, on a CLEAR day you can see Marlow - on a VERY clear day you can see Marlowe and Beaumont and Fletcher." Which I was rather pleased with. You may very well hear me repeat the story, and, should you be so fortunate, you are NOT, - on pain of death - to stop me!" The Letters of Noel Coward (2007) Methuen drama
In due course, Celia Johnson replaced Dame Edith, restoring pace and clarity, and the production transferred to the Duke of York's Theatre. Theatregoers may remember Maggie Smith as Myra, progressing to the breakfast table and with inimitable timing exclaimed, "This haddock's disgusting." Ordinary phrases become hilarious with a precise intonation.
I've gone OTT with Festive Season and birthday spending which far exceed my tokens but I eagerly await the arrival of a 7 DVD set, The Noel Coward Collection, and, among several choice titles, CJ can again be seen as Judith Bliss and I gather that her "Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont" is also due for DVD transfer.
Finally, I played diplomat Richard Greatham in a rep production of "Hay Fever" in November 1963 (the date is important). This was the era of the infiltration of graduate directors and their fad for conceptual theatre. Coward's play was given an ultra-modern setting, including the on-stage use of a television set and I was horrified in mid-scene to sense a frozen silence from the audience, already sobered earlier in the day by the John Kennedy assassination at Dallas, Texas. TV schedules (all two channels at the time) had been cleared and, although the sound was mute, the footage could clearly be seen. There was no such thing as a remote control and the TV set was plugged into an off-stage connection. I waited for an anticipated 'laugh' response, on a particular line, so that I could hiss "Turn the 'flippin' set off' at the Prompt Corner. No laugh came and even sotto voce, my retort rang round the auditorium. An expletive was socially unacceptable in 1963 and the theatre manager awaited my exit. I must have been jinxed, or finger-pointed by the incident, as six months later, I had two printed 'bloody's' in Act 1 of "On Monday Next" and after the second, a woman called out, "Cut the filthy language." This incident led to a surreal sequence of Letters to the Press about 'standards' but that's for another day. Ah, me, 'who can bear the whips and scorns...'?
