This Much Is True

It became ever clearer that we were in the middle of disaster. On the day of the opening night, Glenda called an impromptu meeting with the girls — all the women’s dressing rooms were on one side of the stage and the male dressing rooms were on the other. Once we were gathered in Glenda’s dressing room, she said, ‘Look, I don’t want to open the show tonight. I don’t think it’s ready and if we open when it’s not ready, we’re not doing ourselves a favour. Do you all agree?’ We did. Glenda then went to see Michael, who called a full company meeting. All the women were keen to delay, all the men wanted to go ahead. Jack Shepherd summed up the male view: ‘This putting it off is not a good idea. I want to get it under my belt.’ His part was huge, as Flamineo drives the plot and he saw the attempted postponement as a female conspiracy. He was anxious to do the play, psychologically ready to tackle it. It was put to a vote; and Michael, determined not to upset Glenda, made the casting vote ruling to cancel.

I was the Equity deputy (equivalent to shop steward) on the production, so Michael told me to go to Andy Phillips, the lighting designer and one of the producers (who happened to be Glenda’s boyfriend) and tell him about the company vote; the wheels were set in motion for the cancellation of the performance. Boards were placed outside the theatre and the press was informed.

We were all devastated: not just about the first night, but at the open division in the company, which the voting procedure had exacerbated. A small, disconsolate group of women went to La Barca, a local Italian restaurant, to have supper. When Jack Shepherd walked in and saw me, he said loudly, ‘You cunt!’ The whole restaurant went silent. I was shocked, not by the word but by the venom in his voice. At the time, I was terribly upset. I’d always liked Jack; we’d had previous great success in The Girls of Slender Means. Now I realise it came from his frustration and misery at having the moment of final resolution removed, as he saw it, unfairly. It was a ‘coitus interruptus’. And you know how nasty men can be when that happens.

The next night we opened. During the curtain call as we were taking our bows, André Previn, who was in the audience, got up and shouted, ‘Rubbish!’

In a change to Webster’s original text, I was allowed to live at the end of the play (Edward Bond’s idea) but it was harder by far to face the other kind of ‘dying’. It is agony to go on stage every night and know that your work is poor.

Unsurprisingly, we got terrible notices and consequently the audiences stayed away. The whole production had been set up to test the waters for a new permanent company, along the lines of the RSC, doing classical and modern plays to a high standard. It was the flagship venture for Bullfinch Productions. But with the theatre more than half empty every evening, it was clear that the law of the box office had spoken and the show would have to come off. Bullfinch Productions decided they must keep the show running to save face and offered the cast a 30 per cent wage cut. A percentage wage cut favours the higher-paid members of the company — when you’re only earning £50 a week, as I was, a 30 per cent cut is a substantial amount. Glenda was earning £350 a week, so it was considerably less of a financial blow for her.

There are strict rules about wage cuts, because they change contracts already signed with the employee. Equity called the crucial meeting where the wage cut would be discussed and voted upon. Only Equity members of the company were allowed to attend. I made a passionate speech against the proposal: ‘You can’t ask people to take wage cuts. After all, we still have to pay our rent and pay our electricity bills in full, and you don’t say to the electricity company, «Can you make a thirty per cent cut to my bill?» Actors are being made expendable. And it’s wrong.’

It turned out that Glenda had concealed that she was actually a member of the production company, Bullfinch Productions. She had been involved in setting up the show and employing cast members. Therefore, she had no right to attend the company meeting. But she did, and knew exactly how everyone had voted, although Equity told us that the management would never know who voted against a pay cut. A book was presented for us to sign and express our choice — to accept or not. It was one of the few occasions when I was deeply ashamed of my Union.

The rule is usually that one dissenting vote negates the acceptance of a wage cut. The ‘secret’ information was given to the management; only two people voted against— myself and Frances de la Tour. James Villiers didn’t like the situation and said so, but needed the money and so he signed. He made a point of apologising to Frankie. I’m sure everyone signed for similar reasons: we all had rent to pay and bills to meet.

Frankie and I were sacked.