I saw him in two productions, S-K, the Miller Merchant and Long Day's Journey into Night: there was a magnetism which didn't transfer to celluloid.

Best of all was being loaned-out to the NT at the Old Vic by the Young Vic (for whom I worked as a casual from not long after its opening until I made my debut with the company a couple of years later) one summer vacation. One of my weeks was spent at Camperdown House (then ENO's rehearsal hub) at Aldgate East, where I was on hand during rehearsals of one show just to keep an eye on the set. The show was Amphitryon'38 by Giraudoux: the leads were Christopher Plummer and Geraldine McEwan, the director, Olivier. In truth, he was not the most wonderful of directors: when the cast were on breaks he'd often stay in the hall and work out what he wanted by playing it himself. I was totally invisible, so far as he was concerned, and was able to watch him puzzling out what he wanted - I remember particularly a sequence of business with a set of double doors which he tried all sorts of ways before finding a very simple and effective solution, which he choreographed and gave to Plummer move for move.

There were good stories and bad about him, but many there loved him unconditionally, all the same. Vi Marriott, Frank Dunlop's secretary at the Young Vic, who had been connected with Olivier since the glory days of the Oedipus/The Critic double-bill always referred to him as 'Father'. She had hundreds of stories about him: here's just one for now.

The Cut always had plenty of winos hanging, sitting or often, laying, around. Olivier was walking towards the theatre one day from the sheds which were the offices when he stopped and looked harder at one in particular. "Hang on, I know your face, don't I?". He received a mumbled reply along the lines of "No, mate". This happened on several occasions, and he'd start walking again, muttering that he was sure he recognised him, and racking his brains to remember how.

Then one day, he stopped and faced the man again. "I was right: I did recognise you. I know exactly who you are"

Have you seen the Olivier Henry V film? Do you remember that opening shot of Elizabethan London, recreated in model form? Olivier had recognised him as the man responsible for the models, even though it was some twenty years previously. He'd obviously been through very bad times, and was now helpless and homeless.  Not for long: Olivier got him sorted out, found him somewhere to live and gave him a job in the scenery workshops, where he turned out the most exquisite carvings in jablite (an expanded plastic rather like a more solid version of oasis, the flower-arrangement base). I apologise for forgetting his name (which might have been Jim) and I really ought to remember it because I worked alongside him for a few weeks on the sets for Richard II.

That is, indeed, a heart-warming story, Ron.

From what I can gather, L.O. was always very nice to those he felt weren't competing with him....a lot of the younger actors at the NT tell stories of his charitability. But with his immediate rivals - Gielgud, Richardson, Guinhess, Scofield - he could play all sorts of nasty political games.  Basically, for whatever reasons of his own, he always wanted to be the top dog.  There's a very funny story about him telephoning Peter Hall at the latter's flat in the Barbican and asking to know what floor he was on - Olivier just wanted the satisfaction of knowing that he was on a higher floor in his own place over in Victoria. 

 I attended Olivier's performance of "Long Day's Journey into Night" but caught very little of it as I sat behind a chap who was at least 6'6'' and only saw the actors when they were disappearing into the wings!
 I also saw the the Redgrave/Oliver "Uncle Vanya" at Chichester and it is Redgrave's performance that remains in my memory.
 Donald Wolfit ,a much derided actor, gave one of the most exciting performaces I've ever seen as Pastor Manders  in "Ghosts" with  Flora Robson and Ronald Lewis. His curtain line " And not insured" managed to sum up a whole character in three words.
  That evening however is also one I'd like to forget. We were waiting at the stage door when Dame Flora came flying out at a rate of knots (a rather frightening sight) waving us all away crying "No, sorry I've got to get to Victoria and catch the last train to Brighton" I was very brave for a teenager, I stood firm and said "Well we've been waiting half an hour and I think we have missed our last train to Portsmouth." which did the trick but it was a bit cheeky. The really embassing moment had come a little earlier. We were all looking out for Wolfit and Robson when the actor playing Engstrand walked towards me as if to sign my programme and I, not recognizing him, took no notice. He looked at me with a rather pained expression, gave me a "Well if that's how you feel" look, shrugged his shoulders and walked away. Today some 50 years too late I would like to say "sorry" to Richard Wordsworth.
 Speaking of whether an actor is good or bad I think one can only go on performance and not reputation. A few years ago I saw another production of "Uncle Vanya" at Chichester with David Jacobi and Trevor Eve. Eve gave a wonderful world class perormance as Astrov, won an award, and went on to ham his way through "Waking the Dead" giving ludicrous performances, gazing madly into the middle-distance as though he cannot even remember his lines.