CRITICS are often snooty about amateur theatre. Kenneth Tynan described it as ‘an exhibitionist alternative to bridge’ and James Agate, in his heyday at The Sunday Times, used to say that the difference between amateur and professional actors was that the former lacked the technique to convey emotion when they felt it, whereas the latter had the skill to express it even when they didn’t.
Now, a critic, Michael Coveney, has come along with a richly entertaining and informative book, Questors, Jesters and Renegades (Methuen), that at last does justice to the massive contribution of amateur theatre to national life.
One of Mr Coveney’s sharpest points is that almost all the best actors started as amateurs. Dame Judi Dench made her debut in the 1951 staging of the York Mystery Cycle, starting with a small role and graduating, in later years, to the Virgin Mary; in 1952, Sir Ian McKellen played a page in a Bolton Little Theatre production of Emlyn Williams’s Spring 1600, a forerunner of the film Shakespeare in Love; Sir Michael Gambon was a Vickers apprentice engineer who first trod the boards at the Geoffrey Whitworth Theatre in Crayford and at the Unity Theatre in London, where he was Buck Mulligan in Joyce’s Bloomsday; Sir Kenneth Branagh, patron of the Little Theatre Guild, was a 16 year old when he joined The Progress Theatre in Reading and, as he records in the book, went on to make a total hash of his job as a stage manager.
This story is from the March 18, 2020 edition of Country Life UK.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber ? Sign In
This story is from the March 18, 2020 edition of Country Life UK.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Sign In
Save our family farms
IT Tremains to be seen whether the Government will listen to the more than 20,000 farming people who thronged Whitehall in central London on November 19 to protest against changes to inheritance tax that could destroy countless family farms, but the impact of the good-hearted, sombre crowds was immediate and positive.
A very good dog
THE Spanish Pointer (1766–68) by Stubbs, a landmark painting in that it is the artist’s first depiction of a dog, has only been exhibited once in the 250 years since it was painted.
The great astral sneeze
Aurora Borealis, linked to celestial reindeer, firefoxes and assassinations, is one of Nature's most mesmerising, if fickle displays and has made headlines this year. Harry Pearson finds out why
'What a good boy am I'
We think of them as the stuff of childhood, but nursery rhymes such as Little Jack Horner tell tales of decidedly adult carryings-on, discovers Ian Morton
Forever a chorister
The music-and way of living-of the cabaret performer Kit Hesketh-Harvey was rooted in his upbringing as a cathedral chorister, as his sister, Sarah Sands, discovered after his death
Best of British
In this collection of short (5,000-6,000-word) pen portraits, writes the author, 'I wanted to present a number of \"Great British Commanders\" as individuals; not because I am a devotee of the \"great man, or woman, school of history\", but simply because the task is interesting.' It is, and so are Michael Clarke's choices.
Old habits die hard
Once an antique dealer, always an antique dealer, even well into retirement age, as a crop of interesting sales past and future proves
It takes the biscuit
Biscuit tins, with their whimsical shapes and delightful motifs, spark nostalgic memories of grandmother's sweet tea, but they are a remarkably recent invention. Matthew Dennison pays tribute to the ingenious Victorians who devised them
It's always darkest before the dawn
After witnessing a particularly lacklustre and insipid dawn on a leaden November day, John Lewis-Stempel takes solace in the fleeting appearance of a rare black fox and a kestrel in hot pursuit of a pipistrelle bat
Tarrying in the mulberry shade
On a visit to the Gainsborough Museum in Sudbury, Suffolk, in August, I lost my husband for half an hour and began to get nervous. Fortunately, an attendant had spotted him vanishing under the cloak of the old mulberry tree in the garden.