This Much Is True

So, I continued doing my Rex Harrison version for five months on Broadway. Every night the theatre was packed to the gunnels. It was quite an experience to step out there, thinking, ‘I’m actually on Broadway.’ I loved standing in the wings, watching the dancers, the lights flickering on their beautiful bodies. They were larky and fun — as the oldest person in the cast, to be on such good terms with all those gorgeous, talented young people was a joy. I’m still in touch with many of them and there’s a standing invitation for them to stay with me if they come to London.

The company was very welcoming when I arrived: it’s a bit daunting to join a fully formed company, and I was taking over from a terrific actress — Carol Kane — who originated the role of Morrible. But they took me to their hearts and couldn’t have been friendlier. They wanted to know what I’d been paid in London. Now, I love talking money, because the more information performers have, the more powerful they are. And so when they asked me what my London salary had been, I willingly told them. I wish I could remember the exact sum now, I think it was £3,500 per week.

A few days later, I got a call from David Stone, the producer of Wicked. It started as a friendly phone conversation but very quickly turned nasty. He said, ‘The company has been complaining about you: I hear you’ve been bragging to them about your London salary.’ I couldn’t believe my ears! ‘Bragging? Not at all! They asked me, naturally, for a comparison, and I told them the truth, as I always do.’ There was a pause, then, ‘Do you want to destroy me?’ David Stone asked. I was baffled. How could I, a small-part actress, destroy the most powerful producer on Broadway? He continued: ‘You know, of course, the new salary negotiations are underway? You’re deliberately trying to destroy me.’ Nothing I said could shake his assumption. I put the phone down. I sent him a huge bottle of vintage whiskey — no response. We never spoke again until I left the show five months later. The show is still a huge hit all over the world. It deserves to be. David is a successful producer of immense wealth. But I wouldn’t swap my reputation for his, any day.

I’d never seen myself as performing in musicals: I wanted to act, to be in a play on Broadway, but it never happened. The closest I got was to BAM, the Brooklyn Academy of Music, in Peter Hall’s production of The Importance of Being Earnest, playing Miss Prism to Lynn Redgrave’s Lady Bracknell, in 2006.^[15]

I knew exactly how to play Miss Prism; she may be a Victorian spinster governess of impeccable morals, but she is boiling with sexuality. Her romantic soul is in a frenzy of love and longing for Reverend Chasuble. She may not look it, but she is still moist.

Terry Rigby was my Chasuble. An excellent actor, but he didn’t like me at all, and refused to accept that we were a parallel romantic couple to the other young lovers. It was hard to play with him, so it wasn’t a happy experience, but Lynn was magical — superb as Bracknell, a loving company leader — and bravely fighting the cancer which would kill her five years later. We all loved Lynn and trusted her completely.

I looked up the reviews just now as I write this, which is the first time I’ve ever read them. I strongly believe reviews should not be read during the run of a show. Good reviews can make you smug, bad reviews depress; and if a company member is singled out, it can cause jealousy. I give strict instructions never to mention or discuss reviews in my hearing while the show is running. But it was a long time ago, and since mine were good, I reproduce them here!

‘Manoeuvring her stout form like a miniature battleship, Miriam Margolyes is formidable and robustly funny as Cecily’s gently censorious governess, the fatefully forgetful Miss Prism.’ That was from The New York Times. From TheaterMania: ‘Giving Redgrave a run for the money is Margolyes, whose Prism moves about with the slow splendor of an ocean liner going out to sea. Miss Prism often repeats the warning «You reap what you sow,» and what Margolyes reaps is great appreciation for her performance.’

To be compared to one ship is unfortunate, but to be compared to two looks like carelessness. I think I’ll sign out as Rear-Admiral Margolyes.

Call Me Gert and Leave Out the Rude Part

In 1982, my cousin Esta Charkham asked me to read a script her friend Silvio Narizzano had given her. The script was written by Win Wells, about Gertrude Stein — the literary lioness of the twenties and thirties — and her lover Alice B. Toklas. It was called Gertrude Stein and a Companion and it was to change my life.