Flashback extract
They arrived in a flurry of excitement, and the avuncular Peter Brook bounded over to our corner and introduced me as Young Lucius, grandson of Titus Andronicus. Apart from Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh, there was an imposing entourage, and this retinue seemed scary as it loomed over me. But I was a mere 4’ 8” then, and I was suddenly overcome by an attack of shyness. They all tried to make me feel at ease and I melted beneath the gaze of Scarlett O’Hara. Her eyes blazed just as I remembered them from the film. But the man next to her was no Rhett Butler. My first impression of Olivier was of a pleasant, ordinary man in a suit, pretty much like my father wore to the office, but less shiny.
For some strange reason I don’t remember a great deal about the rehearsal period. Anthony Quayle I watched with fascination. He was playing Aaron the Moor, and as he gabbled his lines a fine spray of saliva cascaded from his mouth like a fountain. Other actors seemed too polite to mention being drenched in his spit. I was glad I didn’t have any scenes with him. It would have been revolting to be on the receiving end of his saliva emissions.
When Peter Brook directed me, other than telling me where to move, and when to enter and exit, he gave me very little advice about my actual performance, other than encouraging me with congratulatory remarks.
Once during rehearsals, he came down heavily on Vivien Leigh, criticising her performance. I saw her looking towards her Larry for support, but Olivier was staring at his feet, determined not to get involved. It seemed that everyone had the greatest respect for Peter Brook, and his word was law. When this particular rehearsal ended, Vivien Leigh swept out, followed by Olivier, who resembled nothing more than a hen-pecked husband as he trailed in her wake. From outside the rehearsal room doors we all heard the muffled start of a quarrel and Vivien Leigh’s voice rising like a shrew as she berated him.
It had been an astonishing scene to witness. Performing, Olivier had been mighty, a believably tragic Roman general, whose sudden laugh in the midst of the horror sent shivers down everyone’s spine. But as soon as the rehearsal ended he became a small man in the presence of his wife. It was like watching a role reversal, as if she wanted to bring his actor’s greatness down to size.
Years later I discovered it was well known that Vivien Leigh was at that time having an affair with Peter Finch, so it must have been a turbulent time for them both.
Apparently, Olivier, who knew about the affair, never did play the outraged husband and simply accepted and ignored it. But, apart from witnessing the occasional scene from a floundering marriage, the rehearsals were exhilarating to watch. And soon the exciting day came when I was shown my first passport, issued by the Foreign Office on 15 April, 1957, full of visas for the Iron Curtain countries. The visit by the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre Company was to be the easing of the tension between the capitalist west and the communist side of the Iron Curtain. The Stratford-upon-Avon company of actors were setting off as envoys for Britain. But would the leading ambassadors be able to contain their anger and keep from airing their dirty laundry in public?
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