SHAKESPEARE VOLUME 1 NUMBER 2 (DECEMBER 2005)

A Twenty-fifth Anniversary
Study of Rehearsal and
Performance Practice in the
1980 Royal Court Hamlet and
the Old Vic Macbeth: An
Actor’s View

Kevin Quarmby

2005 marks the twenty-fifth anniversary of two famous Shakespeare productions

on the London stage: Peter O’Toole’s Macbeth and Jonathan Pryce’s Hamlet.
Comparison of differing techniques for rehearsal and textual assimilation,
combined with markedly dissimilar approaches by their respective directors,
situate these productions in the historical context of British theatre of the early
1980s. From the viewpoint of an actor in both productions, this survey represents
a primary resource in the study of twentieth-century drama. It exposes the
opposing forces of ‘‘old’’ and ‘‘new’’ acting and directorial styles, the
significance of changing attitudes to set and costume design, and the ultimate
importance and limitations of performance space and venue. Most importantly, it
demonstrates how both audience and critical reception might impact on the
developing strategy of Shakespeare performance.

Keywords Hamlet ; Macbeth ; Peter O’Toole; Jonathan Pryce; British theatre;

1980s; acting; set; costume; audience; Shakespeare; performance; rehearsal;
technique; Royal Court; Old Vic; Kensington Gore; Bryan Forbes; English Stage
Company; Richard Eyre; Max Stafford-Clark; naturalism; Keith Wilson; Brian
Blessed; Frances Tomelty; Dudley Sutton; Bernard Archard; Jack Allen;
Nottingham Playhouse; BBC; Jill Bennett; Geoffrey Chater; Christopher Logue;
Harriet Walter; Michael Elphick; William Dudley; Ghost; Toby Robertson; Prospect
Theatre Company; Timothy West; Jack Gold; Harry Lauder; John Tordoff;
Merchant of Venice ; Lancelot and Guinevere ; Gordon Honeycombe; Donald
Wolfit; Clive Wood; Royal Shakespeare Company; David Sumner; character;
motivation; Hecate; apparition; witch; Liverpool Empire; Sue Plummer; Jenny
Tiramani; Shakespeare’s Globe; trompe-l’œil ; proscenium; critical reception;

Correspondence to: Kevin Quarmby, English Department, King’s College London, Strand, WC2R 2LS,
UK. Email: info@quarmby.biz

ISSN 1745-0918 print/1745-0926 online/05/020174-14

# 2005 Taylor & Francis
DOI: 10.1080/17450910500399323
 ANNIVERSARY STUDY OF HAMLET AND MACBETH 175

Michael Billington; Irving Wardle; National Theatre; James Fenton; Southwark;

Judas; Sting; Peter Hall; Jack Tinker; review

It is the evening of 3 September, 1980. The Old Vic is full of expectant theatre-
goers eager to see its latest production. A play is well underway. ‘‘Knock, knock,
knock’’, as the actor who commands centre stage exclaims ‘‘Wake Duncan with
thy knocking. I would thou couldst’’. Surprisingly, the curtain falls on this mid-act
scene as the stage-crew dressed in black scurry over the stone-effect painted
canvas stage frantically mopping away pools of red ‘‘Kensington Gore’’, the
theatrical blood-substitute made famous by countless Hammer House of Horror
movies. Heard over the backstage relay system, the ominous clunk of spring-
loaded auditorium seating announces a mass-movement towards the front-of-
house bars. A lone, authoritative voice booms from the front of the Dress Circle:
‘‘Ladies and gentlemen, kindly remain in your seats, this is not an interval.’’ The
voice is that of the play’s director, Bryan Forbes. The ensuing scramble to re-
settle in vacated seats ensures yet more mirth amongst the bemused audience to
this particular Shakespearean production. Murder and death, suicide and
infanticide, all are greeted with the same glee; barely suppressed giggling makes
way for out-and-out laughter. This is the first public performance of Macbeth ,
starring Peter O’Toole.
Five months earlier, on 2 April 1980, another Shakespeare play rocked the
London theatre-going scene, although for somewhat different reasons. The Royal
Court Theatre, home of The English Stage Company and famous for its support of
new writing, staged its own version of Shakespeare’s Hamlet , with Jonathan
Pryce as the Prince, directed by Richard Eyre.1 Throughout the rehearsal process,
doubts were expressed as to how this re-staging of a Shakespeare classic would
sit in the avant-garde atmosphere of the Royal Court. The Court’s artistic
director, Max Stafford-Clark, offered Eyre the opportunity to direct a play of his
choice in the full knowledge that traditionalists might baulk at Hamlet ’s
‘‘classic’’ status and question the validity of an early modern text on the self-
consciously modern Royal Court stage.2 The midweek opening night of Hamlet
came and went. Lacklustre reviews from the daily newspapers made way for rave
reviews from the Sunday papers and, after a decidedly shaky start, Hamlet at the
Royal Court became the hottest ticket in town, even extending its run by several
weeks through popular demand.
2005 marks the twenty-fifth anniversary of these two astonishing productions
of Shakespearean tragedy on the London stage. Both productions have, in their
own right, become the stuff of theatre legend. The productions are, I suggest,
indicative of opposing styles of theatre practice: an exclamatory, leading actor-
centred evocation of a theatrical past that possibly traces back to the early
modern stage itself, and the modernized naturalism of an ensemble perfor-
mance, studded with subtle nuance and politicized comment, which reflects the
twentieth-century quest for filmic realism in its re-animation of the Shakespear-
ean text.3 This article compares these two productions from the viewpoint of
a young actor fortunate enough to have rehearsed and performed in both. It
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surveys the productions’ different techniques of rehearsal and of assimilating the

text, the hierarchy of artistic control (director and actor-managerial) and how
this impacts on the cohesion of performance; it analyses the technique of such
performance when adjusted by opposing forces of ‘‘old’’ and ‘‘new’’ style. It
likewise examines the design concept, its execution and effect on the individual
and collective performance, the restrictions of performance space and venue,
whilst considering the plays’ reception by audiences and critics, and the impact
such criticism had on the developing strategy of performance.
Rehearsals for Macbeth took place in the roof-top rehearsal space to the rear
of the Old Vic’s fly-tower. Either by dark winding stairs or crammed into an ageing
wrought iron lift, the Macbeth cast daily ascended to this vast room with vaulted
wooden ceiling and cream painted brick walls. By the morning of our first call the
parquet floor had already been marked out by the stage management with
coloured tape to provide a visual schematic of the Old Vic stage.4 For the first
day’s read-through at the Old Vic, two trestle tables were pushed together,
around which two rows of chairs were arranged to form an inner and an outer
ring. The director Bryan Forbes sat in a central position, flanked by O’Toole on
one side and his designer Keith Wilson (his collaborator on the film International
Velvet , released in 1978) on the other. Cast members in descending status
arranged themselves as best they could in the remaining seats. A definite sense
of theatrical hierarchy was evident, with Forbes, O’Toole, Brian Blessed, Frances
Tomelty, Dudley Sutton, Bernard Archard, and the near-blind Jack Allen seated
closest and resting their scripts on the tables, while the rest of us sat expectantly
around this inner sanctum, perching our scripts on our knees. This hierarchy sets
the scene for the rehearsal process of Macbeth , based on the star status of its
principal actors and the supporting status of the rest.
In contrast to the historically evocative circumstances of the Macbeth
rehearsals which utilized an Old Vic roof-top space resonant with the ghosts of
Lilian Baylis, Olivier, Laughton, Gielgud, and Robson, the Royal Court’s Hamlet
began rehearsing in a run-down chapel on Kingsway, Central London, before
moving to Alford House in Kennington, a Victorian sports and social centre
unfairly nicknamed ‘‘Awful House’’ by successive rehearsing companies. Unlike
the forced theatricalism of the nameless ‘‘darlings’’ under Forbes’s direction,
Eyre had established an informal approach to actors during his time as artistic
director at the Nottingham Playhouse (1973
/78) prior to moving to the BBC.
Instead of grouped tables surrounded by a hierarchy of chairs for the first read-
through, Eyre insisted on a wide circle of chairs occupying the middle of the
rehearsal space. Not only did this provide an immediate sense of ensemble and
team spirit, it also ensured that each actor and technician felt part of an artistic
whole.
Read-throughs are invariably fraught affairs, with director, designer, and
actors in a state of anticipation and unease; as actors we are faced with meeting
fellow professionals, often for the first time, and knowing that within a matter
of days or even hours we will be working in unusually intimate circumstances.
Read-throughs are also occasions to judge the pace of a production. Few actors
 ANNIVERSARY STUDY OF HAMLET AND MACBETH 177

‘‘deliver the goods’’ at this early stage; most are happy to speak their lines and
discover the personalities of their colleagues. With Jonathan Pryce as Hamlet,
there was an air of expectant anticipation as we awaited the first hint of his
delivery. Jill Bennett’s self-assured and regal Gertrude was already in evidence,
as was the nasal obsequiousness of Geoffrey Chater’s fawning Polonius. Eyre
made the fascinating choice of the jazz-poet Christopher Logue for the Player
King; Logue’s linguistically precise and melodiously hoarse delivery was in stark
contrast to the naturalism achieved by the rest of the cast. Added to this was the
manic innocence of a young Harriet Walter as Ophelia and the rugged sexuality of
Michael Elphick’s Claudius, so we were all aware that this was a unique
production with a unique cast. As Eyre explained the overall artistic concept,
and with the aid of William Dudley’s dollhouse-sized model of the Hamlet set, a
court of intrigue and secrecy, spying and deceit, slowly emerged. Into this
stultifying Danish court of wooden panelling and secret passages, Pryce’s Hamlet
would confront the awful death of his father. Central to this concept was the
Ghost of Old Hamlet who would not appear, but would manifest itself in the
guttural retching of Pryce; Hamlet almost literally vomited up the ectoplasmic
utterances of his dead father.5
Five months later, at the read-through to Macbeth , we likewise eagerly
awaited the delivery of O’Toole’s opening lines. O’Toole had already made a
speech welcoming us to the ‘‘new’’ Old Vic Company, founded after the forced
demise of Toby Robertson’s Prospect Theatre Company, and now led by Timothy
West as artistic director. Much of the infamous history of this season stemmed
from the change of regime. The governors of the Old Vic Company had long
before negotiated with O’Toole to play Macbeth in their inaugural production.
Jack Gold was to direct, but a difference in artistic opinion forced Gold to retire
from the project and Forbes was invited to take his place (Green and Rigby). All
this occurred before West was even offered the role of overall artistic director,
and hence the perceived breakdown in communication between what in effect
became two in-house production companies: the ‘‘original’’ O’Toole set-up and
the new regime under West’s control. Hence also our welcome. O’Toole informed
us that he had spent the last few months on a farm in Ireland learning the lines of
‘‘Harry Lauder’’ (he superstitiously refused to use the name Macbeth), and that
as he was word perfect he expected us to be ‘‘off the book’’ as soon as possible.
We then began to read the play. O’Toole was indeed off the book, but his delivery
was tortured and idiosyncratic. Each foot of the iambic pentameter was over-
stressed, each line ending with a pause which accentuated the metrical cadence
without any deference to sense or through-line; the effect was like listening to a
very mature public schoolboy being forced to recite Shakespeare in class. Still,
this was the first day of rehearsals; surely over the coming weeks some
concession to contemporary naturalism in Shakespearean performance would
creep into O’Toole’s delivery.
If O’Toole’s interpretation of Macbeth at this read-through appeared laboured,
the same cannot be said for other actors in the company. Frances Tomelty as
Lady Macbeth displayed a fiery passion and sexuality that complemented the
178 QUARMBY

character’s single-minded obsession with power and decline into paranoia and
suicide. Brian Blessed’s Banquo exuded warrior-like energy and bravado, whilst
Dudley Sutton portrayed Macduff as a vulnerable, careworn soldier who longed to
return to his wife and family and escape the intrigues of the Scottish court.
Seyton, the servant to Macbeth who informs his master of Lady Macbeth’s demise
in act 5, was to become a pivotal creature of court, covertly following and
observing his master and mistress’s behaviour throughout the play. Played by
John Tordoff, Seyton (emphatically pronounced ‘‘Satan’’) was indeed satanic in
his portrayal of sly sycophancy; ever watchful, he personified the arch-
intelligencer eager to spy on the Macbeths for personal gain.
As the weeks of rehearsal progressed it became evident that not only was the
Old Vic being wrenched apart by two conflicting company spirits (many from
Macbeth had already been cast by West for his productions of Shakespeare’s The
Merchant of Venice and the newly commissioned Lancelot and Guinevere by
Gordon Honeycombe), but also by an internal clash of acting styles. Snatches of
ranting and roaring could be heard from behind the closed doors of the rehearsal
space. Those not involved in a specific scene were relegated to a small kitchen
with kettle and biscuits, or to rehearsing unnecessarily dangerous fights with an
Irish stuntman O’Toole had met on a film set.6 O’Toole’s delivery did not waver
from that first read-through.7 His exclamatory style remained firmly rooted in
the tradition of the lead actor controlling the stage, as exemplified by Donald
Wolfit’s post-war touring Shakespeare productions.8 This performance style sat
uncomfortably with the delivery of other actors in the company. Clive Wood,
whose Claudius was acclaimed in the 2004 Royal Shakespeare Company (RSC)
Hamlet at Stratford-upon-Avon, valiantly injected his own naturalism into
Macbeth ’s Malcolm. Likewise, Bernard Archard, whose magnificent profile and
regal demeanour determined his casting as the Duke of Wellington on television,
approached his role as King Duncan with intelligence and a desire for naturalistic
effect. Archard was, however, often thwarted in his attempts to intellectualize
his role; on asking O’Toole why in 1.6 it is only Lady Macbeth who greets Duncan
at the castle, Archard received the reply: ‘‘That’s easy*/it’s because I have a
quick change’’.9 David Sumner as Ross and Christopher Fulford as Donalbain also
approached their respective roles with the intellectual rigour expected of late-
twentieth-century actors. Each received similar responses to any attempts at
intellectualizing their performances; when Sumner enquired what he should be
thinking when Macbeth raves at the ghost of Banquo in 3.4’s banquet scene, he
received O’Toole’s sharp reply: ‘‘Think nothing, remain still and look at me.’’
It was clear that the function of the supporting actor in Macbeth was to focus
solely on the lead actor, and not to distract the audience’s attention. Likewise,
the single limelight operator was instructed to follow O’Toole, and only O’Toole,
whenever he was on-stage. Actors used to exploring their roles and discovering
an inner reality with which to communicate emotion to the audience found
themselves isolated in an artistic process that denied their skills. Rehearsals
became factionalized, with individuals discussing and answering amongst
themselves questions of character, motivation, and textual nuance. What could
 ANNIVERSARY STUDY OF HAMLET AND MACBETH 179

have become an exciting debut to the Old Vic Company season descended into a
stylistic free-for-all without firm directorial control; constant throughout was
O’Toole’s unwavering belief in the company and in this Macbeth . Even after
disastrous reviews, O’Toole graciously presented each actor with a red rose,
thanked us for our efforts, and re-affirmed his commitment both to the
production and specifically to his own performance.
In contrast to the firmly entrenched artistic concept based on star status of
the Old Vic’s Macbeth , Eyre’s trust and interest in all his actors had earlier in the
year achieved significantly different results. Of course much time was spent
nurturing and developing Pryce’s performance, but at all times the rehearsal
space was open for everyone to watch and learn. This ensured that the process of
artistic discovery was shared, if somewhat vicariously, by all. This in turn led to a
conceptual uniformity whereby each character, however humble, brought an
individual life to the play. We were constantly reminded that at any moment
someone in the audience might observe us on-stage; Eyre concentrated on the
minutiae of performance, on the simplest gesture or task, as if its absence would
seriously detract from the evolving narrative. Only through total commitment
and concentration from each individual could the reality of Elsinore be
communicated in such an intimate acting environment. Eyre is famous in the
business for his shy almost self-effacing demeanour and his incisive intellect; two
of his great skills are in casting and in allowing his actors the freedom to
experiment. After such experimentation, Eyre intellectualizes the problems and
adjusts the performances. This freedom to explore, to develop an inner life
regardless of the ‘‘weight’’ of the role, was in such stark contrast to the
‘‘blocking’’ direction (moving an actor around the stage to achieve visual
conformity) of the Old Vic’s Macbeth .
Unlike the successful rehearsal process of the Royal Court’s Hamlet , which
relied on and benefited from Eyre’s measured and consistent directorial concept,
the failure to provide a cohesive and firm directorial path for the Old Vic’s
Macbeth cannot solely rest with Forbes.10 As a film actor, director, and producer,
Forbes was, like his leading man, a star in his own right. Princess Margaret
regularly frequented the stalls bar during rehearsals with Forbes’s wife, Nanette
Newman, and there was an air of British film stardom about the whole theatre.
Many of Forbes’s personal friends from his latest film projects were employed in
the play, each bringing an individual acting style that was not necessarily honed
to the requirements of a proscenium arch stage. Indeed, in an impassioned on-
stage speech, O’Toole advised us all to be wary of ‘‘this bloody barn of a
building’’. It was this cross-disciplined approach to the play which ultimately
exemplified the lack of directorial control.
O’Toole’s directorial input, however, remained unchallenged.11 Whatever
artistic choices he made, O’Toole’s personal vision went gloriously unchecked.
The omnipotent and immanent actor-manager had survived into the early 1980s.
This Macbeth had a life and direction of its own, and was rehearsed as if there
was little more to be gleaned from the text and everything to be gained by
promoting the leading man in a theatrical triumph.12 Forbes was helpless when
180 QUARMBY

faced with this ego-driven onslaught, and confined himself to supervising the
event as best he could.13 One mid-rehearsal decision of O’Toole’s that Forbes was
powerless to overturn was the abandonment of the traditional portrayal of the
three witches as ‘‘secret, black and midnight hags’’. Instead they became sultry
seductresses resplendent in figure hugging diaphanous white robes.14 This
altered the dynamic between Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, with the queen forced
to compete on a heightened sexual level with the witches. Macbeth’s lust for
witch and wife alike compounded the visual and narrative confusion for both
audience and actor, a factor which became clear when the witches first donned
their white costumes and long flowing wigs at the technical rehearsals.
A decision made prior to rehearsals was to excise the Heath scene (3.5) along
with any reference to Hecate. Despite this, the scenes with the newly sexualized
witches continued to cause problems. At the technical rehearsal, considerable
time and effort was spent on the Cauldron scene (4.1), which proved particularly
difficult to stage. The apparitions were enacted straightforwardly enough
(although without recourse to a downstage trapdoor, reserved for the cauldron
fire), with a deep and tremulous pre-recorded voice-over providing the other-
worldly prognostications. The first apparition, ‘‘an armed head’’, was repre-
sented by a plumed helmet rising from behind an upstage centre platform, and
the second, ‘‘a bloody child’’, was a bloodied doll snatched from the centre stage
cauldron fire and held aloft by one of the witches. The third apparition, ‘‘a child
crowned, with a tree in his hand’’ was a young boy actor, dressed only in nappy-
like loincloth and bearing a twisted branch, who appeared upstage centre as the
recording boomed the ‘‘sweet bodements’’ concerning Birnam Wood and
Dunsinane. Finally, eight masked and crowned members of the company, with
the bloody Banquo following behind, entered downstage right from the wings and
traversed the stage diagonally to upstage left. The fire descended through the
trap as the witches exited off-stage, leaving Macbeth wondering ‘‘Where are
they? Gone?’’ Unfortunately these white-robed witches, the school-play standard
stage effects, and the incongruous voice-over, generated no visual or aural
wonder and the scene was invariably greeted with audience hilarity. After a
particularly fraught technical rehearsal that, following theatrical tradition, was
staggered over three days, and a dress rehearsal that highlighted the problem of
the leading actor immersing himself in an off-stage tin bath of Kensington Gore
prior to dripping the immortal lines, ‘‘I have done the deed’’ (invariably
prompting audience laughter), Forbes delivered his post-dress rehearsal and
pre-opening night notes. Now too late to influence what he obviously perceived
to be a lost cause, Forbes offered the only advice he could: we were all advised
‘‘make up the back of your necks’’.
Unable to control O’Toole, Forbes was also unable to impose his artistic will on
the set and costumes. Wilson’s design consisted of grey-black stone effect
wooden platforms and ramps, making a fanciful castle-like structure complete
with Gothic window and an ominous grey-sky backcloth. The design was
somewhat conservative in concept, and sat uncomfortably even in the faded
grandeur of a neglected Old Vic proscenium.15 Actors made perilous entrances
 ANNIVERSARY STUDY OF HAMLET AND MACBETH 181

down canvas covered ramps, having poured themselves into knitted chain-mail
suits fitted with rubber soles. These suits are hand-knitted from grey string, into
the surface of which lead is then beaten. The effect at first is dramatic and
effective, but unfortunately does not last if the suits are not carefully stored.
Hung in the dressing-rooms overnight on coat-hangers, as ours were, the weight
of the lead stretches the suit to about twice its length. Medieval warriors were
forced to wear surreptitious elastic garters to prevent the appearance of
rampant elephantiasis. Actors familiar with the problem chose suits that at first
seemed too small, but which eventually fitted perfectly; the rest were soon
swamped by their costumes. It took considerable effort to remain upright in
these rubber-soled garments; swift entrances down steep inclines sent folds of
lead bearing considerable momentum in awkward directions. O’Toole abandoned
his suit at the technical rehearsal for a pair of burgundy basketball boots and a
floppy maroon tracksuit sparsely festooned with metal key-rings to symbolize
the missing chain-mail. These design anomalies only enhanced the mirth of
the audience. This was a production whose obligatory four-week tour to the
provinces included packed houses at the Liverpool Empire, and the two-thousand
seater rocked with merriment every night.
By contrast, the designs of Sue Plummer for Hamlet were historically accurate
evocations of late-Elizabethan dress. At a time when period costumes were
decidedly unfashionable, Plummer made no concession to such modern contrap-
tions as hooks and eyes, Velcro, or even buttons. This presented the hard-pressed
Royal Court dressers with considerable difficulties when a quick change was
called for. Many years before the artistic and historic creations of Jenny Tiramani
at London’s Shakespeare’s Globe replica, actors at the Royal Court were
encountering the unique experience of wearing fairly realistic early modern
dress and adapting their actions and performances accordingly. The ties and
lacings forced a new physicality on each actor, directly influencing and imposing
restrictions and limitations of movement that inevitably impacted on perfor-
mance and implicitly suggested early modern attitudes towards social and gender
status. Hamlet’s state of mental and physical unruliness is heightened by the
loose freedom of his unfastened attire; those who remain constricted in their
early modern garments serve as visual touchstones, as physical expressions of
pretentious social and emotional superiority. The costumes of the Royal Court’s
Hamlet supported the tragic narrative of this self-destructive Danish dynasty.
Likewise, Dudley’s set design was an evocative representation of an Elizabethan
interior created at a time when historical realism was little valued in the theatre
and was confined to the visually opulent historicized Tudor drama on television
and in film.16 The trompe-l’œil effect of the wooden panels, complete with a
painted half-concealed courtier eavesdropping on the Elsinore intrigue, added to
the claustrophobia of Denmark’s court.17 The Royal Court thus was staging a truly
historical production in every sense of the word.
Of course, it is easy to praise the design and execution of Hamlet whilst
mocking the entire concept of Macbeth . The productions were, it must be
remembered, intended for markedly different spaces and venues. Although much
182 QUARMBY

smaller than the Old Vic stage, the Royal Court retained a similar proscenium
arch that framed the action: the audience for both remained observers, removed
from intimate involvement. No concessions for a thrust stage were made in
either production. The close proximity of the audience in the more intimate
Royal Court allowed a subtlety of performance impossible at the barn-like Old
Vic. Grand sweeps of Old Vic dress and upper circle loomed mountainously in the
distance, fading dove-grey pillars blocked the view, and serried ranks of
threadbare red velvet stalls disappeared into a far horizon, dotted with fire
exit signs. No wonder O’Toole was convinced that exclamatory delivery was the
only way to reach the far corners of the Old Vic auditorium. The filmic precision
and focus of Eyre’s Hamlet would almost certainly have required major surgery
to achieve the same effect if transferred to the Old Vic. Perhaps the intimacy of
the Royal Court could have had a improving effect on O’Toole’s performance,
attenuating his obsession to spit the lines in order to ensure aural clarity; ‘‘a
great actor always spits’’ was O’Toole’s oft-repeated mantra. In the event, the
Royal Court’s Hamlet was right for a specific time and a specific place. The Old
Vic’s Macbeth might just, at another time, have suited the place. But in the early
1980s, a sophisticated theatre-going audience well-versed with the small-screen
realism of television’s Armchair Theatre and Play For Today would not accept an
acting style that now seemed archaic, condescending, and insincere.18 Tastes
had changed. Reality and comprehension in Shakespearean drama had already
replaced the posturing of an exclamatory leading actor expounding his personal
rendition of a venerable classic text. Audiences wanted to believe and
experience for themselves, and their verdict was forthright and final.
The audiences were, of course, assisted in their decision making by the
reviewers who saw and wrote about the productions. As I have mentioned,
the critical reception of the Royal Court’s Hamlet was initially muted. As far as
the fairly small early audiences were concerned, the play was an instant success
and standing ovations became the norm. Some Shakespeare lovers, however,
were suspicious of the liberties taken with the text: the programme proudly
proclaimed that the text was ‘‘based on the Second Quarto with cuts and
additions’’ (Shakespeare Hamlet programme 9). These ‘‘cuts and additions’’
Irving Wardle found hard to sanction. Calling Pryce ‘‘a relative newcomer’’, and
implicitly surprised that he should be entrusted with this ‘‘three and three
quarter hour test for a reigning virtuoso’’, Wardle did, however, admit that
Pryce’s performance was ‘‘full of unexpected and convincing verbal emphases;
explosions and throwaways where you least expect them’’ (Wardle Hamlet ). Most
importantly in relation to the naturalistic delivery that Eyre sought during the
rehearsal process, Wardle acknowledged that the production succeeded ‘‘in the
supposedly impossible task of making much of the text sound as if the actor had
just thought of it’’. However, Wardle also thought Pryce’s performance ‘‘slovenly
(particularly in word terminations)’’ and one which failed to build a coherent
portrait: ‘‘Instead of finding the man, Mr Pryce gives us a series of turns’’.19
Michael Billington’s response to the cuts and additions to the text was far less
critical than Wardle’s. Billington described it as ‘‘a production that bristles with
 ANNIVERSARY STUDY OF HAMLET AND MACBETH 183

intelligence and good ideas: and it gave the heartening feeling. . . . that it is
possible to do a fine classical production outside the twin national companies’’
(Billington Hamlet ). That a highly experimental and fairly low-budget production
should be compared with the heavily subsidized RSC and the National Theatre
went far to validate the Royal Court’s decision to mount a Shakespeare classic,
and to silence the dissenters.20 It was, however, not until James Fenton’s
announcement that ‘‘this is a tremendous Hamlet ’’, one ‘‘both exciting and
intelligent’’ that ‘‘demands to be seen’’, that the Royal Court box office saw
daily queues for ticket returns, and the regular appearance of famous visitors at
the stage door to congratulate Pryce and the company (Fenton Hamlet ).21 After
an inauspicious start, with traditionalists baulking at the ‘‘cuts and additions’’ to
a sacred text, the Royal Court’s Hamlet became a critical and commercial
success. This historicized production which relied on clarity of performance and
concept set a new standard for popular, accessible Shakespeare.
The critical reception of Macbeth at the Old Vic was more emotive. On the day
that The Times announced that Southwark Borough Council had been given
government approval to ‘‘acquire a Thames-side site for a mixed development to
include a new Globe theatre’’ (Local Government Correspondent), Wardle’s
review was headlined ‘‘Putting the Clock Back Too Far’’ (Wardle Macbeth ).
Wardle concluded that the production failed because of two wrong assumptions
implicit in its concept: ‘‘[T]hat it is happening mainly for the sake of the star, and
that the stage is a world unto itself’’. Wardle claimed that on ‘‘Mr Forbes’s stage,
status is entirely an internal stage affair’’. What Wardle could not know was that
from the first rehearsal Macbeth was doomed to this star-vehicle status, and his
comments implied that the fault lay in the collaboration of O’Toole and Forbes.
Fenton’s appraisal of the production that had received ‘‘the worst reviews of the
year’’ was less circumspect in its apportionment of blame, concluding that the
problems ‘‘stemmed from an utterly private conception of personal glory’’ and
from the imposition of a ‘‘conception so private and intense that it rejected any
offer of help or advice in its realisation’’ (Fenton Macbeth ). For Fenton, this
private and intense concept of O’Toole’s, which dominated the production,
resulted in a ‘‘deranged’’ performance.
Undaunted, O’Toole refused to adjust his performance. The day after opening
night, during rehearsals for The Merchant of Venice , West admitted that in the
early hours of the morning he had been telephoned by reporters from the Evening
News . Asked to comment, he had unwisely said that he had little control over the
artistic decisions of a fellow director or artist and that he felt ‘‘sorry for the
company’’. ‘‘Peter’’, he said, ‘‘has absolutely refused to listen to Bryan and me,
or anyone, about certain basic things affecting the production’’ (Green and Rigby
2; West 194
/204). This remark, embellished into a front-page story of
recrimination and accusation in the Evening News and the Evening Standard,
prompted a second night closing curtain speech by Forbes. ‘‘I have always
thought’’, said Forbes, ‘‘that Judas was one of the least attractive characters in
the whole of human history and would like to say I don’t disown my company.’’
This allusion was turned into plain insult by Frances Tomelty’s husband, Sting,
184 QUARMBY

who denounced West’s ‘‘unprofessionalism’’ and commented that ‘‘Timothy West

is Judas’’ (Spencer). The result was an irreparable split between the two
productions, Macbeth and The Merchant of Venice , and divided allegiances for
those who happened to be performing in both. Macbeth remained in the
repertory until early December 1980, and we all breathed a sigh of relief when
we were finally released from our Old Vic contracts.
As a young actor I had, by the Christmas of 1980, experienced one of the most
exciting and innovative Shakespeare productions of the year, and one of the
worst Shakespeare productions in professional living memory. Both, in their own
ways, had a profound effect on the reception of Shakespeare. Eyre was courted
by the National Theatre, and in 1981 was made its associate director under Peter
Hall.22 Pryce became an international theatre and film star. The Royal Court
Hamlet was acknowledged to be a great Shakespearean production. In contrast,
the Old Vic’s reputation was tarnished for some considerable time, and Timothy
West spent many years overcoming an unfair reputation for professional
disloyalty. Bryan Forbes never again directed a theatre play. O’Toole, although
battered by unfavourable reviews, continued to act in stage classics that
accommodated his idiosyncratic delivery, and enjoyed a film career of increasing
success and approbation.23
Despite the harsh reviews, Macbeth achieved almost cult status, and was
financially a highly successful production for the Old Vic management. Thus, in
1980, two Shakespeare productions attracted large audiences for two distinctly
contrasting reasons: Hamlet on account of the great critical acclaim awarded a
success and Macbeth because audiences enjoy a kind of macabre voyeurism upon
failure. Both productions introduced Shakespeare to a new audience of theatre-
goers, and demonstrated the power of critical publicity as an engine for box-
office success. The factors that shaped these different productions were the
relative strengths of their directors, the degree to which hierarchy was asserted
in the rehearsal processes, and the presence or absence of egotistical self-
promotion by their leading actors. Neither production was adjusted in the light of
reviews, whether favourable or not. Both remain, I suggest, decisive moments in
theatre history in general, and in the development of Shakespeare drama in
particular. They have, by differing example, impacted on the twenty-first-
century representation of Shakespeare on the British stage.

Notes

[1] An audio recording of a performance of this Hamlet is in the British Library Sound
Archive; see the list of References under ‘‘Shakespeare’’.
[2] The previous year had seen productions of Bent , Reggae Britannia , Happy Days , and
Sergeant Ola and his Followers at the Royal Court, prior to a refurbishment of the
auditorium for the 1980 season.
[3] For comparison between Pryce and O’Toole in their delivery of Hamlet, listen to the
audio recordings in the British Library Sound Archive; see the list of References
under ‘‘Shakespeare’’.
 ANNIVERSARY STUDY OF HAMLET AND MACBETH 185

[4] Commonly in a rehearsal space, various colours of tape are stuck to the floor to
outline the stage’s shape and size, to differentiate between any raised platforms,
pillars, or furniture that make up the set (whether permanent, manoeuvred, or
flown in for specific scenes), and to highlight the entrances and exits up or
downstage left or right. The actors must visualize the arrangement of the set from
this schematic, with the assistance of a designer’s model if one is available.
Typically, not until the last few days prior to public performance, at the technical
rehearsals on stage, is the schematic realized and experienced in three dimensions
by the actor.
[5] Irving Wardle was unsure about this effect, commenting that at first it seemed as if
Pryce ‘‘is about to vomit; then an unearthly robot croak wells up from his guts and
the hair-raising duologue is under way’’ (Wardle Hamlet ). Michael Billington
described the ‘‘effect of the Ghostless Hamlet’’ as that of making the play one of
‘‘internal dialectic, with the prince himself in the grip of some private daemon’’, so
that Pryce displayed a ‘‘Dybbuk-like style of acting’’ (Billington Hamlet ). James
Fenton also commented on the boldness of this device: ‘‘Hamlet Senior speaks to us
from the cellarage of his son’s guts’’ (Fenton Hamlet ).
[6] Still dangerous, the stage-fights lost their visual impact because O’Toole insisted
upon arming himself with a flimsy aluminium sword in order to conserve his energy.
At each encounter the sword became increasingly bent, the comedy of which was
not lost on the audience.
[7] Wardle described O’Toole’s delivery as ‘‘voice thick, hoarse, and full of abrupt
sledgehammer emphases’’, his verse consisting of ‘‘a heavy lurch from beat to beat,
delivered in measured, sustained tone’’: ‘‘Arresting to begin with, if only as total
departure from modern verse convention, it grows extremely monotonous and blots
out the sense’’ (Wardle Macbeth ). Billington wrote that O’Toole ‘‘delivers every line
with a monotonous tenor bark as if addressing an audience of deaf Eskimos who have
never heard of Shakespeare’’ (Billington Macbeth ). Jack Tinker summed up the
critical reaction to O’Toole’s delivery: ‘‘Baby Jane is playing Macbeth with laughs’’
(Tinker Macbeth ).
[8] Wardle scathingly remarked that ‘‘anyone prompted by The Dresser to start pining
for the good old days of the actor managers will find a useful corrective in this Peter
O’Toole/Bryan Forbes collaboration which gruesomely evokes the kind of thing one
used to get from Wolfit on a bad night’’ (Wardle Macbeth ).
[9] Archard also privately reported the directorial note he received from Forbes, who
commented that, having met ‘‘many members of the royal family’’, it was
noticeable that ‘‘they all fold their arms’’. Archard decided after one rehearsal
day with arms firmly locked across his chest that this was one character note he was
unable to use to its full advantage.
[10] Somewhat unfairly, Billington attacked Forbes for ‘‘this shaming venture’’ and for
‘‘licensing such ham’’ (Billington Macbeth ).
[11] The personal vision of O’Toole extended to his dressing room at the Vic. It was
dramatically, and rather hastily, painted pillar box red from floor to ceiling to
remind the actor of the blood in the play. Guarded at all times by O’Toole’s huge
Irish minder, this room came to symbolize for his fellow actors all that was awry with
the production.
[12] Perceiving this, Billington characterized the effect as ‘‘one flying, scarcely credible
leap [by which] the Old Vic Macbeth takes us back about a hundred years to the days
of the barnstorming actor-manager’’ (Billington Macbeth ).
[13] Fenton acknowledged that ‘‘Forbes may have misdirected the remainder of the
cast’’ but ‘‘I doubt if he got anywhere near Mr O’Toole’’ (Fenton Macbeth ).
[14] Fenton described the sexually alluring hags as ‘‘the Knightsbridge witches’’ (Fenton
Macbeth ). It was at the first night after-show party for Macbeth in the basement bar
186 QUARMBY

of the Old Vic that one of them, Trudie Styler, met the husband of Frances Tomelty
(Lady Macbeth), the musician Sting. Styler and Sting later married.
[15] Fenton thought that the set ‘‘appeared to have been loaned by a minor public
school’’ (Fenton Macbeth ).
[16] Billington described the effect of Dudley’s design: ‘‘It is almost a shock. .. to find we
are back in a Renaissance world . . . a stunning Elsinore which is part Holbein, part
Kafka’’ (Billington Hamlet ).
[17] Fenton saw this as the ‘‘studilo of some Italianate palace, whose marquetry
furnishings are devised so as to deceive the eyes’’ (Fenton Hamlet ).
[18] That the management thought that they would get such a television-aware audience
used to cutting-edge drama is suggested by the programme’s full-page advertise-
ment for the ‘‘New Plays by Dennis Potter to be seen on LWT [London Weekend
Television]’’ (Shakespeare Macbeth 30).
[19] Wardle was equally scathing of Bennett’s ‘‘unnatural performance’’ as Gertrude,
and the ‘‘robust man-to-man tones’’ of Michael Elphick’s Claudius. Likewise, he
questioned the dramatic validity of the apparent ‘‘attempted rape’’ of Ophelia by
Hamlet, and the decision to address ‘‘To be or not to be’’ directly at the distraught
Ophelia (Wardle Hamlet ).
[20] Dudley privately and proudly proclaimed that the stage floor, bedecked in ancient
and expensive-looking timbers, was in fact discarded scaffold boards from a local
building firm stained to look like finest oak.
[21] As a young actor, I keenly enjoyed (and remain unashamed about) the excitement at
meeting first Vanessa Redgrave and then Rudolph Nureyev scurrying up the
backstage stairs to congratulate the cast, or of finding Peter Cook lounging on a
sagging cane chair in the wardrobe, fascinated by the intricacy of the costumes.
[22] Eyre directed Frank Loesser’s Guys and Dolls , John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera , and
Bertolt Brecht’s Schweyck in the Second World War in his first National Theatre
season of 1982.
[23] O’Toole received an Oscar nomination for the film My Favourite Year (1982) and The
Last Emperor (1987), and starred in West End revivals of G. B. Shaw’s Man and
Superman (1983), Pygmalion (1984), and The Apple Cart (1986).

References

Billington, Michael. ‘‘Review of William Shakespeare Hamlet Directed by Richard Eyre,

performed at the Royal Court Theatre London’’ The Guardian newspaper (London, 3
April 1980): 11.
*/*/. ‘‘Review of William Shakespeare Macbeth directed by Bryan Forbes, performed at
the Old Vic Theatre London’’ The Guardian 4 Sept. 1980: 11.
Fenton, James. ‘‘Review of William Shakespeare Hamlet Directed by Richard Eyre,
performed at the Royal Court Theatre London’’ Sunday Times 6 Apr. 1980: 39.
*/*/. ‘‘Review of William Shakespeare Macbeth directed by Bryan Forbes, performed at
the Old Vic Theatre London’’ Sunday Times 7 Sept. 1980: 41.
Green, James, and David Rigby. ‘‘O’Toole Stabs Critics Over His Macbeth’’ Evening News 4
Sept. 1980: 1
/2.
Local Government Correspondent. ‘‘Theatre Plan Approved for River Site’’ The Times 4
Sept. 1980: 2.
Shakespeare, William. Hamlet directed by Laurence Oliver at the Old Vic Theatre London
on 22 October 1963. Audio recording in the British Library Sound Archive, NP659WR-
NP660WR.
 ANNIVERSARY STUDY OF HAMLET AND MACBETH 187

*/*/. Hamlet directed by Richard Eyre, performed at the Royal Court Theatre London,
1980. Theatre programme. Author’s personal copy.
*/*/. Hamlet directed by Richard Eyre, performed at the Royal Court Theatre London on
10 April 1980. Audio recording in the British Library Sound Archive, T3065BW-T3067BW
and M8415BW.
*/*/. Macbeth directed by Bryan Forbes, performed at the Old Vic Theatre London, 1980.
Theatre programme. Author’s personal copy.
Spencer, Charles. ‘‘Stinging attack on ‘Judas’ West’’ Evening Standard 5 Sept. 1980: 2.
Tinker, Jack. ‘‘Review of William Shakespeare Macbeth Directed by Bryan Forbes,
Performed at the Old Vic Theatre London’’ Daily Mail 4 Sept. 1980: 3.
Wardle, Irving. ‘‘Review of William Shakespeare Hamlet Directed by Richard Eyre,
Performed at the Royal Court Theatre London’’ The Times 3 Apr. 1980: 19.
*/*/. ‘‘Review of William Shakespeare Macbeth Directed by Bryan Forbes, Performed at
the Old Vic Theatre London’’ The Times 4 Sept 1980: 11.
West, Timothy. A Moment Towards the End of the Play . . . . London: Nick Hern, 2001.