Sir Donald Wolfit (1902-1968) fully deserves a thread to himself - and he would have been the first person to agree!

I only met him once when I was a stage struck youth of 17 with the British Empire Shakespeare Society (BESS) at Aberdeen.   Good quality amateur actors with a plentiful supply of university students.  From approx 1944-1949, Wolfit brought the Donald Wolfit Shakespeare Company to His Majesty's theatre, a lovely Matcham theatre on Rosemount Viaduct.  He got no subsidy and financed his company from his savings.   He also had the reputation of an ogre as soon as he stepped inside the stage door of any theatre.   They used to play six productions, over a two week season, and my pocket money was subsidised to 9/- (45p) for a gallery seat, Row C 23, which covered the whole season. 

I still have clear memories of his Lear, Shylock, Richard III, Petruchio, Iago (Frederick Valk was his Othello and the tension between them was volcanic).   He occasionally departed from the Shakespearean canon to play Volpone, - a fox with wit and a vicious bite.

We invited him to an after-show reception and he arrived wearing a plush teddy bear coat and his usual black homburg hat.   Oozing grandeur.   I kept my distance but as the youngest member of BESS I was invited to touch his garment during the line-up procession by showing him a model of the set for Othello.   He immediately became pragmatic and interested when he saw that we aimed for simplicity and I stressed that the intention was to avoid the cliche of using traverse curtains, accompanied by the clatter and noise in scene changing.   He discussed the need for thrift (in Aberdeen?).   Discussing props, he saw some goblets on the table.   'Use small enamel basins.  Put them on wooden pedestals and paint 'em gold.'      Our President thought that he would show a passing interest but I got his full attention for 10 minutes and he didn't patronise my sprog status.   His parting shot was 'Understand the mechanics of staging and you'll always be better on-stage.'      The monster was also a man of quiet passion and integrity.

A few years later, I saw him several times in a wider repertory at the King's Theatre, Hammersmith or the Scala Theatre, W1 - all that tiling down the side walls.  Reminded of of being in a long lavatory.   Best of all was his performance as Christopher Marlowe's 'Tamburlaine'.    This was one of life's great experiences at the Old Vic in the early 50s.  Apparently he greeted the cheering at the fall of the final curtain with, "We've done, Kit, we've done it."   The final image of a wounded animal clambering over a painting of the world map, spread across the stage, remains a memory of a colossus at work.   His vocal range was always exceptional.   On this occasion, he was directed by another giant (physically and mentally), Tyrone Guthrie.    If he was met by stalemate in rehearsal, he would stop the proceedings with a curt dismissal:     "Now go home, think about it, and come back in the morning and surprise us."
Wolfit behaved well in rehearsal but the control freak emerged after he scored a second huge success as Lord Oglesby in 'The Clandestine Marriage'.    The final split occurred when the management prematurely closed Tamburlaine, although it was still playing to packed houses.   Guthrie was an immovable object and after a confrontation, Wolfit walked out.   A rift was inevitable as Guthrie was primarily an ensemble director - the early 50s signalled a need for change - and Wolfit couldn't ever be anything but an actor manager, steeped in the traditions of the early 20th century.

I've been re-reading Ronald Harwood's searching biography, 'Sir Donald Wolfit - His Life & Work in the Unfashionable Theatre' (1971), Secker & Warburg @ £3 50p!   Harwood was also Wolfit's general factotum for several years, before becoming his business manager and it is much more than likely that his play 'The Dresser' was an acute study of the great actor; written with love, affection and much humour - he understood Wolfit's wide repertory of foibles and several of his anecdotes made me laugh out loud.   The play was also filmed in 1983 with Albert Finney (another striking Tamburlaine when the NT opened at the South Bank in 1976, although he couldn't muster the essential extra notches which Wolfit kept in reserve.   Tom Courtenay was the loving dresser.)

Harwood deliciously writes about the nightly 'procession' from dressing room to the theatre wings.

              "When the assistant stage-manager called five minutes to the rise of the curtain,
               Wolfit slowly descended to the stage, his dresser in attendance, carrying a silver salver
               upon which stood a moist chamois leather, a glass of Guinness and - rare in wartime -
               some peeled grapes.   Actors who happened to be waiting in the corridors stood
               aside to allow the little procession to pass; Wolfit nodded to them with an expression
               of infinite weariness.   The silence backstage was oppressive. (as this was his
               first performance as Lear).

              He waited in the wings, doing his best not to concern himself with the bustle of
              activity that precedes the performance; this, in itself, was unusual, for in other plays,
              no matter how large or wearying the part, he would be hissing last-minute instructions
              to the stage-management, electricians or actors.   But not this night; he stood
              perfectly still with Rosalind (Wolfit's third wife, Rosalind Iden), ready as Cordelia,
              beside him, occasionally glancing at her with a look that seemed to want to make sure
              that she understood the weight of all the world was upon his shoulders..."

              "One night, at Belfast, as Othello lay on the floor dying, a young officer knelt
               over the Moor to make sure he was well and truly dead.   Othello whispered,
               'My boy, you must do something about your breath.'

Harwood redresses the egocentric behaviour by writing about Wolfit's loyalty and caring attiude towards his company, many of whom were recruited during wartime, by necessity old or infirm men.   He remained loyal until they were too old, too tired, or too ill to work and those in need were quietly given gratuities.   He also believed that Shakespeare was every man's birthright.   He defied the rules of apartheid and insisted on being allowed to play to blacks only houses in South Africa.   On a troopship bound for Cairo, during the war, he showed his displeasure for officers only, on-board performances,  and rearranged his schedule to include other ranks, playing to capacity and cheering audiences.

And how well he adapted to the screen.    I remember him in "Lawrence of Arabia",(1962), "Svengali"(1954) and the hard-headed northern businessman in "Room At The Top" (1959).  He essayed many fine performances on radio and I cherish my tape of his Archie Rice in "The Entertainer" from 1964.   Stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Olivier and Max Wall in this role. 

When Wolfit died in 1968, Caryl Brahms and Ned Sherrin organised an obituary programme for BBC TV, 'The Knight Has Been Unruly' and, despite their enmity over many years, Sir Tyrone Guthrie delivered the following address:

        "Sir Donald Wolfit is I think one of the four or five of the great theatrical talents
        of our day.   He will be remembered I think by anybody who saw his Lear, Shylock,
        or his Volpone.   For me, I shall never forget his extraordinary tour de force in the part of
        Tamburlaine at the Old Vic in 1950.   But here's the rub: it was a solo tour de force.
        And this I think held him back from the position to which his extraordinary talents
        entitled him.  Because ours is now a theatre of ensemble; we're more interested in the team
        and in the interpretation of the play as a whole than in the extraordinary star turn at the centre.
        And Donald's was essentially the art of a star performer.   And regrettably he was on
        few occasions in his career matched by a team which could stand up to him.   
        Too often he was the bright particular star and let us say the head of the comet
        of which the tail becomes a little fuzzy.
     
        This apart, I would say he was almost without fault as an actor,   A marvellous voice,
        extraordinary power, and not only was he gifted with this voice but he had worked on it l
        like a trouper all his life.   He kept his talent honed and bright, and was working almost
        within a few days of his death.   That's a lovely thing and something that I think must
        be envied in anybody who has its opportunity."

  Thank you, Mort.    I'll keep practicing....practicing!

I returned to Donald Wolfit's career the other day prompted by the arrival of Michael Holroyd's 'Strange Eventful History: The Dramatic Lives of Ellen Terry, Henry Irving and their Remarkable Families';an era in the theatre which paved the way for major developments in 20th century theatre.    Ibsen, Shaw, Strindberg and Wilde were making inroads in a way which Osborne, Wesker, and Pinter shaped the second half of the century.   Through the NT, RSC and Royal Court, a high definition performer like Wolfit needed to co-exist within the parameters of an ensemble and we saw indicators of this in his Tamburlaine.  Olivier had the wisdom to recognise this and reserved his jealousy for his equals.

I never saw Woolfit in the flesh, Stanley, but seem to remember that he died on the very night that the BBC televised a new production of Ibsen's Ghosts, in which he played Pastor Manders. Spooky.

[The Beeb televising a whole Ibsen drama at prime time? When was the last time any classic play went out on a major channel?]

He played General Murray, Don B - the stuffed shirt officer who was replaced (much to Lawrence's approval) by Jack Hawkins's Colonel Allenby.

And oddly enough, I was watching another Peter O'Toole film last night - Becket, in which the subject of this thread makes a memorable appearance as the Bishop of London.  O'Toole, on the commentary, describes Wolfit as his 'mentor' and the actor who most influenced him - and relates what an intimidating experience it was to be on set with him.

What a(nother) marvellous thread, Stanley! It's so fascinating to read about these people from someone who had first hand experience of them.  Wolfit was indeed never given his place among the 20th century acting 'greats' - Olivier and Gielgud seemed to have a disdainful attitude toward him, regarding him as a bit of an old ham.  Yet I think he was a far more relaxed film actor than either of those two.

The post-war period in British acting (roughly 1945-1970) is my favourite. Actors of that generation still had a genuinely theatrical spirit - and they knew how to project. After that, television became rather too important and theatrical technique suffered.

Hugh Griffith - his Falstaff for the RSC in the early 60s is little documented, but a friend of mine tells me it was the best - and most moving - he'd ever seen.  I have the DVD of Quatermass 2 (TV version), which features him in a very out of character role. 

Harry Andrews - by all accounts, he was a real gent, as well as a great actor.  Recently, I watched the film version of Orton's 'Entertaining Mr Sloane', with HA as Ed - a role that might well have been written for him. 

I wish to God I'd seen that, Ron!

More and more, that period of theatre looks like a golden age: I think the crucial difference between that golden age and others, though, was that audiences and practitioners seemed aware that it was a golden age.  You had the Indian summers of Gielgud, Olivier et al co-existing side by side with the emergence of young geniuses like Derek Jacobi, David Warner, Ian Richardson and Alan Bates (to name only the men, there were just as many noteworthy women). 

I find there's also a real 'romance' about theatre paraphernalia from those days: the 60s NT programmes still look strikingly modern to my eyes - probably because they set the template for state sector theatre for the next generation. 

Productions I wish I'd seen:

1) RSC's 1964 Marat/Sade - I'm not a huge fan of Peter Brook, but by all accounts this was very special.

2) David Warner's 1965 Hamlet

3) The premiere of Pinter's The Homecoming (1965)

4) Maggie Smiths' Hedda Gabler (1970)

5) Peter O'Toole in Merchant Of Venice (1960)

6) Ian Richardson's Richard ll (1973)

7) NT premiere of The Royal Hunt Of The Sun (1964) - the play is admittedly rubbish, but it was - by all accounts - a spectacular production.

The RSC's Wars Of The Roses (1963) -this was shown on television, wasn't it?

9) Osborne's A Patriot For Me (his masterpiece and the play he will ultimately be remembered for) - Royal Court, 1965

10) Edward Bond's Saved (Royal Court, 1965)

The NT/Ingmar Bergman production of "Hedda Gabler", Ron, played a season at the Cambridge Theatre with Maggie Smith as a malignant Hedda.    My residual impression is of the claustrophobic set in an overpowering red and black.   Early 70s?

Edward Bond.   I was glad to see that his "The Sea" was revived at the Haymarket Theatre with Eileen Atkins a few months ago.   I still shudder at the thought of the eye-gouging scene in "Lear"; made me cringe as did the film of Pasolini's "Salo: 120 Days of Sodom".    John Gielgud was magnificent as Shakespeare in "Bingo" (also Royal Court) but I'd like to see a revival of Bond's  "Restoration", 1981 at the RC again.   It was rather Congrevian with all the moral complexity which Bond can muster.    Neat songs by Nick Bicat, too.         Let's hear them again.        The good thing about the late 60s/early 70s is that the rabid Tory councillors (Lady Bird?) were all fixated by the mundane "Oh! Calcutta!" and the Royal Court managed to stage a few productions which would have drawn their wrath.     Osborne's "A Patriot For Me" was highlighted by seeing George Devine in drag!   The Court production much better than the Haymarket Th revival but Alan Bates improved on Maximalian Schell's performance.

Pinter.   Glad to record the 2002 season "Pinter at the BBC" as this included "The Homecoming", "The Caretaker", "The Birthday Party" and "Home"; original cast recordings.     Re "The Homecoming", I got to know Terence Rigby quite well when working on 'Softly. Softly' and he played the boxer in the original cast/and Broadway transfer.   I asked Terry why Vivien Merchant was such a compulsive actor.  "She believed every word she spoke, at every performance."   A masterclass in one sentence!

Overall, the 1955-1970 years were among the best because we watched the Royal Court, the RSC and the NT spearhead a new wave of directors, writers and actors.      Thinking about the scary "Marat Sade", I have a distinct impression of the RSC running a Theatre of Cruelty season in the direction of Earls Court.   Could it have been the LAMDA Theatre?     Glenda Jackson, Patrick McGee et al.    Heady times, I remember.

You never know, Stanley, it might even have been another occasion when our paths crossed. I saw the production at the Cambridge in April 1970. One of my abiding impressions is that, from the way Maggie Smith swayed and slumped to the floor, my blood ran cold as I thought she actually had shot herself. Jeremy Brett as Tesman, Robert Stephens as a wonderfully uncouth Loevborg amd John Moffatt as a repugnant Judge Brack. Certainly one of my great theatrical experiences.