This Much Is True

One of the joys of my time in California were the suppers Eric Harrison organised in his Gloria Avenue bungalow in Van Nuys. Eric was a retired wardrobe master born in Derbyshire, who came to America with Soldiers in Skirts, a drag show first devised during the Second World War for the troops. Then he’d been a dresser on Broadway to Sir John Gielgud when he came to America. Eric was very large in height and width, he had a broad Derbyshire accent, he was a brilliant cook and demonstrated a boundless generosity. He’d become friendly with many great names in entertainment and every few weeks he’d throw a dinner party. His little house was crammed with British memorabilia: it was a hymn to the Old Country. The table was set with gold plates, Crown Derby and Wedgwood, and fancy Sheffield cutlery. On the walls were theatre posters and autographed photographs of stars from old shows, all lovingly inscribed to Eric. Those lucky enough to be invited squeezed into our chairs, and were regaled with fabulous showbiz gossip of the most scurrilous and unmissable kind. The food was lavish, masses of cashew nuts, caviar, always smoked salmon, succulent lamb, great sides of beef, loads of vegetables, spectacular puddings, at least three; it was utterly delicious. I’d sit with husband and wife Vincent Price and Coral Browne; and Norman Lloyd (who died in May 2021 aged 106) and his wife Peggy; and Jeannie Carson (Finian’s Rainbow) and her husband, Biff McGuire; and Patricia Morison, the original Broadway star of Kiss Me Kate and The King and I. Eric never sat with us: he hovered round the table, serving everyone (reminding us he’d been a steward on the Queen Mary) and adding stories of gay secret love in Hollywood.

It is to Waris Hussein that I owe the joy of Eric’s suppers. He brought me along one day and thereafter I became a regular. Waris remembers Coral’s story about Angela Lansbury, with whom he was working: ‘Do you know why Angela always looks so surprised and bewildered,’ she asked. ‘Well, it’s because she came into the bedroom on her wedding night and found the groom in her nightie!’ I’ve no idea if that’s true, but Coral certainly knew that Vinnie backed both teams. Never mind, they were deeply in love and that Hollywood marriage worked.

Please Do Not Wear Shorts

Santa Monica is the beachside suburb of Los Angeles, and when you’re at the beach, you wear shorts. Everybody in LA wore shorts, so I did too — all the time. I don’t think other people wore theirs to interviews though. I often had to drive down the motorway (I refused to call it the freeway) into Burbank to see the film people in the studios there and I wouldn’t bother to change out of my beach attire: blue-and-white striped T-shirt, canvas shoes with little embroidered anchors on them, and my baggy shorts.

I admit shorts are not a flattering garment on anyone of my size and age, but it was left to my agent Susan to give it to me straight. I’d just got back from one of my meetings in Burbank and had barely got my foot inside the apartment when the telephone rang. It was Susan. The director I’d just met had obviously called her immediately I’d left to say, ‘This Miriam Margolyes you sent to see us turned up in her shorts, Susan. That doesn’t work for us.’ Susan said, ‘Miriam, you’re my favourite client. Absolutely my favourite client!’ Then she continued, ‘I’ve just got one thing to say to you: don’t wear shorts, Miriam, OK? In an interview, a meeting or an audition: please, just Do. Not. Wear. Shorts!’

I never did wear my shorts to interviews after that. I did what I was told and put on one of my smart new outfits. That was Susan all over; there was no filter, she told you the absolute truth unvarnished. She was also often terribly rude and abrasive, especially to her junior staff who were always leaving; she went through assistants like diarrhoea.

Susan was constantly sending me for auditions. Quite quickly I got a job on Lawrence Kasdan’s 1990 black comedy movie I Love You to Death, starring Kevin Kline and Tracey Ullman, with William Hurt, River Phoenix, Joan Plowright and Keanu Reeves. I played Kevin Kline’s mother. Norma Aleandro, the celebrated Argentinian actress, was originally cast in the role, but the part was for an ugly old bag; Norma Aleandro was a very beautiful woman, and one day at rehearsal she decided she didn’t want to be an old bag. Susan sent the director a tape of my work and I landed the part. I didn’t mind being an old bag.