Jon McKnight

The spirit of Robert Lenkiewicz

Portraying a real person you've never met on stage must be a daunting prospect for any actor. But having to do so in front of a theatre full of people who knew that person personally, and in many cases intimately, is a challenge best attempted only by the bravest of the brave.

Or, in the case of Robert Cargill, the most talented of the talented.

No-one who watched his performance in the premiere of The Man In The Red Scarf at the Barbican Theatre in Plymouth tonight could have considered it anything but a triumph of the highest order.

His portrayal of the artist Robert Lenkiewicz evoked not just the spirit of the late lamented painter but gave it a physical form that was a study in perfection. 

The body language, posture, mannerisms, gestures and speech could not have been more accurate or convincing and could only have been rivalled if Lenkiewicz himself had been able to be there.

And as someone who spent hundreds of hours in the artist's company over many years, I had to keep reminding myself that he really wasn't.

To sit, at times, only four feet away from the actor and feel the hairs stand up on the back of your neck as you believe you're watching a man you know in reality to be dead is as good as it gets in a theatre - and physiological proof, if you like, of the actor's talent.

That's why those of us in the audience who knew Robert Lenkiewicz personally found it painful, moving and distressing to see "him" dying on stage in front of us as Death finally claimed the man who had once faked his demise in a notorious but elaborately planned publicity stunt.

Ridiculous as it might seem, as I'd been to his funeral service in real life, there were times in the performance when I questioned whether he hadn't managed to fake it a second time and reappeared to play himself to an unsuspecting audience.

Such is the magic of theatre, and the power of Robert Cargill's extraordinary performance.

The play, performed by New Street Productions and written and produced by Jojo with original music by Paul Lloyd, concentrated on the artist's relationships with women, his support for the homeless, and his larger-than-life personality.

Former Brookside actress Jill Greenacre gave a particularly fine performance in a cast of women who played multiple roles, knowing that some of the artist's lovers they were portraying were watching them from a few feet away in the auditorium. So no pressure, then!

They acquitted themselves superbly, resulting in a play that would, I suggest, have left the artist tickled pink if only he could have been there to see it.

It deserves a much wider audience. And for all those who wish Robert Lenkiewicz was still with us, this is about as near as we're likely to get.

The play runs at the Barbican Theatre until 20 December.

Jon McKnight

Warren Mitchell: it's not all an act

Warren Mitchell, celebrated for his portrayal of Alf Garnett in Til Death Us Do Part, treated audiences in Plymouth to a rare stage appearance last week as the star of Visiting Mr Green.

Yes, he was playing another bigot, but one who redeemed himself by the end of the play and was, throughout, an engaging character it was impossible not to warm to.

With only one other actor in the cast, he was on stage throughout the performance, shuffling about with the aid of a stick and sometimes a human arm for support.

He looked every inch the 86-year-old widower he was portraying, and it was almost painful to watch the efforts the actor made even to get in or out of a chair.

Like the rest of his performance, it was utterly convincing.

So it was something of a surprise to see the actor, not the character, emerging from the Stage Door of the Theatre Royal in a wheelchair pushed by an assistant.

It would appear that Mr Mitchell is, sadly, every bit as frail in real life as the character he was playing.

Quite how he found the energy to act so splendidly and for so long, despite his difficulties, is a testimony to the professionalism of one of our finest veteran actors.

Speaking sometimes rather more quietly than his co-star, despite them boh having radio mikes, he had the whole audience leaning forward in their seats to catch every word he uttered.

Not a line fluffed, not a syllable slurred. It was a measured, touching and involving performance.

Let's hope it's a long time before death parts us from him. And in the meantime, catch him if you can on the UK tour of this absorbing play.

Jon McKnight
Author of Sort The Bastards!

An actor with aplomb in his mouth

It's one of those moments every actor dreads. All that rehearsing, all that learning of lines... but you suddenly can't think what you're supposed to say next.

Picture, then, Tony Haygarth - an acclaimed Shakespearian actor and veteran of everything from Boys From The Blackstuff to Clockwise and Midsomer Murders - who found himself lost for words (or at least, lost for the right words) a few minutes into his performance as Alfred Doolittle in Pygmalion at the Theatre Royal in Plymouth.

It's a tough role for any actor, and possibly the most demanding in Shaw's play, calling as it does for flights of articulacy that would have impressed any real-life Professor Higgins as much as it did the audience for Peter Hall's touring production.

Sitting with his back to the wings, Tony stuttered, then spluttered, and without missing a beat, announced, in character: "Could somebody please give me a line?"

At which point a prompter in the wings shouted out the line that had eluded him, the audience erupted with cheers and applause at his masterful recovery from what could have been an embarrassing situation, and the play continued as intended.

I've very occasionally seen professional actors forget their lines on stage - but never, ever, have I seen an actor deal with it with such aplomb.

It takes a brave actor to invent an extra line for a George Bernard Shaw play, but I couldn't help feeling that Shaw himself, had he been there, would surely have shared our utter admiration for Tony Haygarth's imaginative handling of every actor's nightmare.

Leaving the Stage Door afterwards, Tony confided that it was just one of those things and he was glad the audience appreciated the way he'd solved the problem.

Actors don't get much more professional than that.

If you get a chance to catch his performance elsewhere on the tour, treat yourself. I can't imagine he'd forget that particular line again, but the way he delivered the rest of them was something to behold - and certainly worth the £19 a ticket, as he stole the show whenever he appeared.

Jon McKnight
Author of Sort The Bastards!

Una signed my stubs!

Actress Una Stubbs, the British institution who shot to fame in Summer Holiday and burned her way into the public consciousness as Aunt Sally in Worzel Gummidge, is still wowing audiences in Peter Hall's touring version of Pygmalion.

After her dazzling performance as Mrs Pearce, Professor Higgins' housekeeper, in Shaw's classic play, I couldn't resist trying to catch her for a word as she left the Stage Door at the Theatre Royal in Plymouth.

As a journalist and TV producer rather used to meeting celebrities in the course of my work, I never, ever, ask them for autographs as it's really not the done thing.

But I made an exception in Una's case - not because I was star-struck, but because I still had the remains of my theatre tickets and wanted to see if Una would sign my stubs.

She did, willingly, and was absolutely charming about it... though I didn't disclose the reason I'd asked for her autograph.

Jon McKnight
Author of Sort The Bastards!