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Hart to Hart: The latest actors to play one of Sir Roger Hall's great characters compare notes

Hart to Hart: The latest actors to play one of Sir Roger Hall's great characters compare notes

NZ Herald2 days ago

Andrew Grainger (left) and Ross Gumbley play Dickie Hart in different versions of Sir Roger Hall's The End of Summer. Photos / Supplied
In a possibly historic moment in NZ theatre, Andrew Grainger and Ross Gumbley will be men alone, on stage at opposite ends of the country playing the same guy in the same one-man play at the same time.
Dickie Hart first came to life on stage nearly 30 years ago in C'mon Black, a play inspired by Roger Hall's visit to South Africa among a party of All Black supporters for the 1995 Rugby World Cup. Upon his return and thinking the team's defeat in the notorious final had killed his idea for a play about the jaunt, Hall wrote a piece for the Listener about being there. But writing that story inspired C'mon Black, a solo show featuring Dickie, the rugby-fanatic cow cockie easing into retirement who finds on his travels that the outside world is a complicated place.
With Timothy Bartlett in the role, it premiered at Dunedin's Fortune Theatre. Dozens of Hall's plays had been the box office lifeblood of the southern company until it foundered in 2018.
But it was a Wellington actor, the late Grant Tilly, who played many Hall characters on stage and screen, who picked up the C'mon Black ball and ran with it. He toured the play all around in New Zealand and took it to London. He got the benefit of Hall editing the monologue after its Dunedin debut. 'Good friends told me the script was too long and too preachy, so I hacked a lot out of it,' Hall tells the Listener.
Back then, Hall wasn't thinking there would be a Dickie Hart trilogy – 'Hard enough to look ahead to the end of the play'. But now there is.
You Gotta Be Joking debuted in 2013 and had Hart and wife Glenda shifting to a townhouse in Wellington. And now End of Summer Time, in which the couple have moved to Auckland – the one place Dickie said he'll never live – to be near their grandkids.
When the new play starts – it's set between 2019 and 2023 when Dickie is in his early 70s – they, like Hall, are living in an apartment near Takapuna Beach. But that's as close to home as the latest work gets to its author.
'There are often many parallels between me and my characters. Move along; nothing to read into this.'
End of Summer Time may be about Dickie being a fish out of water, stranded on Takapuna Beach, in Auckland traffic, suffering apartment bodycorp politics, and worse. But this City of Sails tale premiered at Wellington's Circa Theatre last year and came back for an encore season in April. Circa stalwart Gavin Rutherford played Dickie, having first performed him in a 2011 revival of C'mon Black, timed for that year's RWC.
Hall wasn't involved in the Wellington End of Summer Time production but he liked it. 'Gavin's performance was magic. For me and for everyone else in the audience.'
Sir Roger Hall: "There are often many parallels between me and my characters. Move along; nothing to read into this." Photo / Supplied
Now Auckland Theatre Company and The Court Theatre in Christchurch are staging simultaneous productions. Hall has had two plays in production at the same time before, but it's been a while.
'During the giddy days of Glide Time there were two productions of that, at least, and similarly with Middle-Age Spread. It was enjoyable but I always had to make sure I had put enough money aside to pay for provisional tax. This was an era when the IRD expected you to estimate your income for the following year and pay tax on it. I pointed out this was impossible for me to do since I didn't know that far ahead how many productions there would be.'
Yes, in a possibly historic moment in New Zealand theatre, two blokes are playing the same guy in the same one-man play at the same time. Well, more or less – Andrew Grainger, a familiar face on the Auckland stage since arriving from the UK in 2007, will be in the ATC production for 20 performances at the ASB Theatre from June 17.
Ross Gumbley, Court Theatre's former artistic director and now artistic adviser, will start his 51-show run in the Court's intimate Wakefield Family Front Room four days later. Each man will deliver some 10,000 words in every performance.
On a late Thursday afternoon, after each putting in a long day's rehearsal a couple of weeks before opening night, both actors join the Listener via Zoom.
Gentlemen, welcome to the Dickie Hart group therapy session.
Ross Gumbley: I've certainly never done anything like this before. In fact, Andrew, I think the last time you and I met was when you auditioned for The 39 Steps.
Andrew Grainger: Goodness me, that was a long time ago … I hadn't been over here that long.
Doing a Roger Hall play with a character of this particular seniority, do you have to age up for it?
RG: Well, I'm a little insulted, you had to ask [laughing]. There was a quizzical tone in your voice. I can't speak for Andrew, who looks ridiculously undercast. I mean, I'm only 12 years off his age … the play takes place in a sort of a zone between 71 and 75. I think you have to cast it that way because of the sheer stamina required…
AG: Yeah.
RG: …to keep this piece driving right through to the end. Andrew, you're much more match-fit than me. I think I've done three, four plays since 2006. So the first week of rehearsal has been … I've been sleeping well. Let's put it that way.
AG: You're right. It is exhausting, especially at this stage, when you're really searching in your head for what's next, and the change because you've got to remember what leads into what. But as far as age is concerned, I might be too young, but you can't get wrapped up in that because if you start playing 'old man' too much, it becomes … people are here to listen to the story.
RG: Yeah. It's the oddest thing to rehearse a comedy. When the audience isn't there, they're the other character in this game and all you're doing is actually getting ready and making yourself prepared to accept them into the world of the play that you're creating.
AG: That's right.
RG: And if something happens in that room, you are duty bound to write it into the show that night. Because when the audience knows you're on your toes and you get that sense of danger, then they have to keep their eye on you.
What's it like being on stage alone with 10,000 words?
RG: Andrew, have you done a one-man play before?
AG: No, I haven't. It's my first time.
RG: I'm keen to hear your experience of this.
AG: It's exhausting. It's all encompassing. For me, I'm paranoid that I'm going to be boring. So you have to trust the director going, 'It's interesting, it's fine.'
But it's also about finding when we move the story forward, when we hold back, what's important for the audience to hear at this point. All these technical things. Normally you have a bit of time where you can go off, have a cup of tea. But in this, you're just always on and for me at the moment, I'm going, 'Oh, this is going ever so well. Oh, I'm liking this …' And then boom. It's like this big thing comes down in front of me, and I'm going, 'I have no idea where I'm going next or what I'm doing.'
RG: I'm just going to mute you now, Andrew, I don't need to hear any more of that [laughing]. I've never done a one-man play before, but I've done a few two-handers with Mark Hadlow, which is almost like the same thing. In this play, you're a long time waiting for a cue if you drop your line. So, I'm thinking about it as one line – 10,000 words, a bit of punctuation, over 29 pages. It's taken me the best part of this week to get over that feeling of there is no other actor here.
And as Andrew says, you never get to catch your breath. The key in a one-person play is variation of rhythm. Roger has got some beautiful set pieces, like that lovely run where Dickie takes the ute into the CBD and the pace of the anxiety. Your foot is on the accelerator, literally as an actor.
Having read those 10,000 words, I know there's an event in the middle of the story that might cause a very big lump in the throat for anyone performing it, and audience alike. How are you finding it?
AG: Well, it's playing the truth. It's not being worried about: 'Oh, I'm in a comedy here and I've got to keep them buoyant.' Hopefully, if you play the comedy right, it gives you the licence, and then the room to give them that. And I think that's even more powerful. It's great.
RG: The thing that always affects us in life – and it's the same in the theatre – is when you see courage within somebody. Coming from this New Zealand farming stock, Dickie wasn't allowed to have feelings. When you see somebody who has every right to break down and they don't…
AG: …it can actually be even more moving.
Andrew Grainger at Takapuna Beach. Photo / Supplied
On a lighter note, the ATC production is apparently 'a love letter to Auckland'. It's possibly less so in Christchurch.
RG: Dickie talks about Auckland being the one place in New Zealand I swore I would never live, and we are hooking into that, because there's a rule of comedy that says, 'put your characters where they don't want to be'.
So my role is slightly different to Andrew's. I have to convince Cantabrians that it would be a good idea to retire to Auckland … there's a lot of comedy where Dickie puts the boot into Auckland and I think that'll play for us.
Given that this character has had previous iterations and that he dates back nearly 30 years, he's got quite a legacy. Does that affect your approach?
AG: It's a bit like James Bond, isn't it? [Laughing] I did see Gavin in the play down in Wellington. It was great but I'm different, and Ross is going to be different. There are different things in it that I see and that's what you play to, your strengths.
RG: If anything, knowing that you're stepping into Grant Tilly's shoes – and let's face it, if he were still alive, he would be playing it – that gives you a huge sense of respect. Somewhere in your bones, I think, it makes you work a bit harder. It makes you dig a bit deeper, and you just want to respect the legacy of the actors that have taken this on.
I've got a beautiful Grant Tilly story in this role. When he played Dickie Hart in C'mon Black they did huge business all over the country, and then they go to Westport and they play in a pub to 12 people. Tilly comes out afterwards, full of Grant Tilly-ness, and says to this wizened old West Coast guy who's at the pub, 'What's going on? We've played this play up and down the country to full houses, and we come here to Westport, we get 12 people.' And the guy he's talking to says, 'Well, if you were any good, you wouldn't be here, would you?'
End of Summer Time by Roger Hall, Auckland Theatre Company, ASB Theatre, June 17 to July 5; The Court Theatre, Christchurch, June 21 to August 16.

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Understanding Sir Roger Hall, the most successful playwright in New Zealand
Understanding Sir Roger Hall, the most successful playwright in New Zealand

The Spinoff

time9 hours ago

  • The Spinoff

Understanding Sir Roger Hall, the most successful playwright in New Zealand

His name sits above the title of most of his plays. It might even sit above the phrase 'New Zealand theatre'. Sam Brooks speaks to Sir Roger Hall about paving the way for an entire artform. The country's most successful playwright cuts an unassuming figure. He is unostentatiously dressed, peers at me through spectacles, and has a freshly printed list of his plays, all 47 of them, in front of him. Within those 47 plays are ones that have gone to the West End, plays that are performed regularly throughout New Zealand and plays that have kept both venues and theatre companies open through honest-to-god grassroots popularity. The plays on those two pages represent one of the load-bearing pillars of New Zealand theatre, alongside Creative New Zealand (financially) and Bruce Mason (artistically). The most recent of these plays, End of the Summer Time, has already had two sold-out seasons in Wellington, and the Auckland premiere is on track to do the same. But who is the most successful playwright in New Zealand's theatre history? And what is his legacy? Roger Hall was born in 1939 in Essex, the only child of an insurance official father and schoolteacher mother. He attended college there and avoided the National Service due to 'not being officer material' before emigrating to New Zealand when he was 19 because it was 'more English' than Australia; and it is a fascinating tension to parse that someone who seems as core to New Zealand's storytelling voice as Hall, is a British immigrant. In a punchline that he would probably cut from any draft of one of his comedies as being too obvious, the boat he came over was called The Captain Cook. There was no clear pathway for playwriting in the 1950s but Hall had an early affinity for writing. 'I always wanted to be a writer, but I never thought of being a playwright,' he says in a gentle, low voice with that slight British lilt that has followed many of his generation across the globe. 'English was my best subject, and even when I was at school I got a story published in a national magazine. And that was the only subject I really worked at. Everything else I was bored with, and I really didn't make much effort.' The first character description Hall wrote in his first play Glide Time back in 1976 could describe himself pretty accurately: 'Works hard and efficiently at his job, though pretends not to. Quite well educated, well spoken and with a quick wit. Usually wears quite a good suit.' Shortly after arriving in New Zealand, Hall worked in insurance while performing in amateur theatre, taking on small roles in The Taming of the Shrew and Romeo & Juliet, before attending Wellington's Teacher College in the early 60s. While studying, he wrote and performed in late night sketch shows at Downstage (RIP, but the space it occupied is now called the Hannah Playhouse), continued to perform in plays with the Drama Society and would send in television reviews to The Listener. 'I was, of course, writing letters to my parents,' he says. 'At least one a week, maybe more – and also to my friends. I count the letter writing as part of my writing apprenticeship. Because writing a good letter is still skillful.' After graduating, Hall taught at Berhampore School, and wrote for his students what would technically be his first ever play, The Enormous Christmas Cracker. Meanwhile he was determined to get a sitcom picked up by the BBC back in England. He performed in the Victoria University Revue in the early 70s with the likes of John Clarke (who famously went on to create Fred Dagg, and be one of the grandfathers of New Zealand comedy), Helene Wong and Cathy Downes. He practiced his craft by writing more sketch shows, revues and television plays – all more or less lost forms today. Wong remembers Hall, and co-writer Dave Smith, bringing a strong satirical flavour to the writing, especially in regards to targeting politicians through 'brilliant impersonations'. While political comedy is commonplace now – comedians throw softball questions at politicians on 7 Days at the regular – this wasn't the done thing back then. Politicians were people to be respected, not lampooned, and this style of comedy, extremely British in origin, was only just seeping through. 'They got a rapturous response from audiences who were now used to seeing and hearing those politicians on television,' she says. 'So [they] got laughs from the recognition factor as well as for the sharpness of the writing.' 'It felt like the revue had gone to the next level.' The turning point for Hall was the mid-70s, when he received an Arts Council (the contemporary equivalent of Creative New Zealand) grant to study television writing for six months in New York. He was invited by Robert Lord, New Zealand's first professional playwright, to go to the Eugene O'Neill Playwrights' Workshop – the same year a post-Julliard, pre-Oscar Meryl Streep was there. 'That was for stage plays – the standard was such that Broadway producers were hanging around looking for plays to put on,' he recalls. 'Every play was rehearsed for two days and you could sit and watch, and at night they rehearsed the final reading.' Hall recalls the American audience praising the readings, whether they were good or not. 'I thought, actually, it's not that good… it's just okay, and then I thought, 'Oh, I can do that!' He went up to the workshop's library, began writing a few pages of dialogue set in an office – where Hall was working back in New Zealand at the time – and when he came home from the workshop he wrote Glide Time. 'It changed my life,' he says. It also changed New Zealand theatre. Theatre in 1976 didn't look like it does now. Many of our professional companies were barely a decade old, including the Downstage in Wellington (RIP), the Mercury Theatre in Auckland (RIP), the Fortune Theatre in Dunedin (RIP), and the Court Theatre in Christchurch (still alive!). Circa Theatre, now Wellington's premiere mainstage, was formed as an artist-led response to New Zealand's administration-heavy professional scene, dominated very much by overseas work. 'Apart from Bruce Mason there were virtually no New Zealand plays being presented here,' Hall points out. 'Then you had the community theatres which used to be amateur theatres called the British Drama League, so they didn't do New Zealand plays.' Industry scuttlebutt states that Glide Time was the play that opened Circa Theatre, when in actual fact, the play that opened the theatre was more reminiscent of the theatre scene at the time: Kennedy's Children, an Off-Broadway hit about five people mourning the death of John F. Kennedy. Nobody remembers Kennedy's Children. People remember Glide Time. Glide Time follows the staff of a nameless office bickering, squabbling and generally not doing very well at their jobs. Many have compared it to The Office, but I'd argue the tone sits closer to Ianucci's The Thick of It, or even Veep. Many New Zealanders are probably more familiar with the TV adaptation, Gliding On, which Hall recalls 'everybody', and emphasises 'everybody' watching. It was a sensation back when it premiered at Circa Theatre in 1976, selling out two seasons and then transferring to the Opera House. The waitlist, notoriously, was over 1,000. The cast, and Hall, became overnight celebrities. Glide Time was the first time that Alison Quigan saw a Roger Hall play, when she was working as a typist at Massey University. 'Because the play was about working in an office I was sure he had been a fly on the wall in our office,' she says. 'It was scarily accurate, and I laughed until the tears ran down my face. Seeing that play, I wanted to be an actor.' Quigan went on to be one of Hall's key collaborators, programming many of his shows during her tenure as the Artistic Director of Palmerston North's Centrepoint Theatre, and going on to work on 20 productions, including the upcoming Auckland Theatre Company season of End of the Summer Time. In the aftermath of Glide Time's success, Hall recalls friends saying that they could hear desk drawers being pulled open, dusty scripts being unearthed and typewriters firing away. 'It was a big change in the atmosphere of New Zealand theatre,' he says. 'It was a big incentive because up until then it was thought, by and large, success could only be achieved overseas. 'But here, we realised that the public quite liked us. They found that for New Zealand plays, there was an audience.' For Hall, the success was like winning Lotto. He was 37 at the time, and making a modest living from writing gigs here and there. 'A lot of money came pouring in and suddenly I went from being unknown to known.' His next play, Middle-Age Spread, had a similar level of success in 1977, and the script was picked up by a producer on the West End, where it went on the win the Laurence Olivier Award for Comedy, the only time a play written by a New Zealander has ever won that prize (essentially the British version of the Tonys, the theatre version of the Oscars). From there, the success has barely let up, and he continues to be programmed prolifically across the country, and even abroad in Australia. When asked if he was worried about following up that early success, he says. 'You know they said to Joseph Heller after Catch-22, 'You never wrote another one like that!' and he said, 'nor has anyone else!'' 'I made a lot of money and I was made after that,' he reflects, matter of factly. 'Plays that were quite major productions. The big thing was, if I wrote a play, it would get read at the theatre, which isn't always the case.' (As a fellow playwright, I can fact check that and confirm in the affirmative.) 'Success' is a nebulous word to apply to a form like playwriting. The most well-known playwrights in the country are not necessarily the most prolific, the highest-selling, or frankly, even the best. Those who are popular with the public might be side-eyed by the industry, and those who are beloved by the industry might not even be able to get programmed, let alone sell out shows. So let's put it into numbers. Playwrights make money in one of two ways: commissions and royalties. Commissions involve being paid up front by a company to write a play, and royalties are what the playwright collects after a production – traditionally 10% of the production's total box office. In New Zealand, playwrights are represented by our only playwriting agency, Playmarket, which also acts as an advocate for those same writers and the artform in general. Between 1999 and 2019, eight of the top 10 plays that Playmarket collected royalties on were written by Hall – and the other two plays are not too dissimilar from Hall plays. Without getting into the weeds, that isn't just one production selling extremely well. That is multiple productions selling extremely well. Companies want to produce plays that make money, plays that make money generally build an audience for both playwright and company, and it's a ball that keeps rolling. His most recent show, End of the Summer Time, which has its Auckland premiere later this month, sold out a return season at Wellington's Circa Theatre before it even opened. That sort of financial success has enabled Hall's philanthropy, not just for the arts – he funds an award each year for the Arts Foundation through the Roger Hall Theatre Trust – but for organisations like Forest and Bird. Or let's put it into letters. As in, the letters before and after his name. 'Sir', 'KNZM', 'QSO'. Success by a colonial metric, but success nonetheless. Or just… simple recognition. If you ask someone to name a playwright, they'll probably say 'Shakespeare'. Name another? Probably Roger Hall. That's a lot for one playwright – and one man – to carry. But what is a Roger Hall play? A modern audience would probably assume that a Roger Hall play is a broad comedy with a wink-wink title, focussed on middle-aged, middle-classed Pākeha, with a tight structure that wraps up every loose end and guarantees a pleasant time at the theatre. The fourth wall remains very much intact, and the punchlines prod at their targets rather than skewer them. For those under the age of 40, Hall's work is more of a vague concept, than a lived reality. They might have seen one of his pantomimes as a child, or gone with their elders to see one of his comedies. Despite being around the scene for about fifteen years, I've only ever seen one Roger Hall in full, A Shortcut to Happiness, about a Russian immigrant who teaches dance classes for the elderly. I enjoyed it, while acknowledging that I was not the target audience. Other shows that have premiered since I've been seeing theatre, such as Easy Money (about scammers living in a fancy Viaduct apartment) and Last Legs (set in a retirement home) seemed too familiar for me to bother. Like too many of my compatriots, I assumed there was one Roger Hall play. The reality is, however, that there isn't. There are 47, although there are sequels littered throughout. His most successful plays – Glide Time, Middle Aged Spread, Four Flat Whites in Italy, Social Climbers – fit the assumed tropes outlined above. However, there are experimental shows within his 47. He has written a play entirely from Hansard transcripts, co-written a musical-comedy lampooning Mills and Boone novels, and, in what many people I spoke to consider to be his best, most underrated work, an epic family drama spanning the 20th century called A Way of Life. That production is a fascinating outlier for Hall; a drama, a massive cast, and only having one professional outing. It is, for my money, one of the best family dramas I've ever read to come out of this country. You could point to many reasons that it hasn't become instilled as a New Zealand classic – the demise of the New Zealand Actor's Company, the fact that it hasn't had a production in a major centre, the subject matter being assertively rural and not urban – but the quality definitely isn't one of them. Although Hall works within a form that is conservative, his politics remain pretty left-leaning. His characters are generally middle-class workers, generally anti-corporation and anti-wealth hoarding. This is someone who wrote an anti-Muldoon screed, The Rose, while Muldoon was still prime minister. (It is an unintentional quirk of his success that Hall is probably more financially secure than many of the characters that populate his work.) Playwright, screenwriter and novelist Duncan Sarkies was one of Hall's students back in the 90s – industry lore also says that Hall is the only playwright who can afford to just be a playwright, but he taught at Otago for a number of years – and believes that Hall has a strong sensibility, especially in regards to his specific audience. 'He represented a middle class who might have been ambivalent to theatre and brought them into these spaces in large numbers, held a mirror to them, and made them laugh at themselves,' Sarkies says. 'Regardless of whether his oeuvre is to your taste or not, Roger Hall has had a huge impact on New Zealand theatre, an incredibly positive presence.' 'Roger's plays are mostly comedies with serious intent,' Quigan says. 'To me, comedy is tragedy – but with better timing. The truth must always be present to make people laugh and therefore to relate to the situation. All of Roger's plays are deceptively complex. Many people, when they first read them, see a simple story well told. A light comedy. But, without fail, once we start rehearsing there are many levels that are revealed.' Some of the social politics in his work remain of a time gone by. Women are described quite a bit by their physical attributes, men are notably not. People of colour are not absent, but not necessarily foregrounded. The people in his modern work are middle class in the most idealised (and now unrealistic) version of the middle class – the kind of middle class people who have mortgages, not landlords. But do we need to struggle with the politics in his work? In our conversation in that cafe, Hall points something out about modern theatre when prompted. 'It seems that this generation of plays want to use the stage as a pulpit,' he says. 'Come along and you'll be better informed and your opinion will change on whatever issue it is.' 'That's not necessarily what it's for – or entertaining!' There also hangs the umbrella that his success has not been replicated since. You can point to a few things. There is his sheer prolificity – very few people have written more plays than he has, and that's before you even consider how many of those plays have been programmed. The state of New Zealand theatre is also a very different place now than it was when he started writing; there are more playwrights, fewer theatres, and much less funding available for both. It's competitive, and not just among compatriots; theatres that programme plays are also programming musicals, comedies, dance works, and often commercial bookings just to stay alive. Crucially, Hall also writes for audiences that are often not catered to by our local playwrights: people outside urban centres, people working in amateur dramatic societies, and people who simply want to have a good time at the theatre. His work is not free of politics, not even close, but his politics are hidden beneath an accessible form and guaranteed punchlines. (It is perhaps the only cruel irony of his career that his best play, A Way of Life – which is one of his most political, and incisive, speaking to the struggles of rural life in particular – has still only been put on once.) The main factor, however, is that he also writes for an older audience that already exists. He writes for people who already go to see theatre, the people who have grown up with him, and the people who trust him to show them, gently, who they are and what they think. It's what he's been doing for 50 years, and there is an undeniable amount of trust built there. The only others who come close are, frankly, no longer with us. Helene Wong, one of his first collaborators, sums it up succinctly: 'I think the huge body of work also reflects the fact that he's lived his long life basically documenting his experience of all its stages. 'Write what you know, they say – and he has.' There is a popular myth in playwriting circles. It goes that there are three sections in the Playmarket archive – A-R, Roger Hall and S-Z. Playmarket's director Murray Lynch debunks this, and corrects it. It's a story that illustrates volume as much as it does prestige and importance. 'Each playwright has their own named file. In the A-Z, Roger is highlighted in a different colour,' he says. Every playwright has a file, Sir Roger gets an entire colour. Hall has been generous with his time with me. He's been extremely prompt with confirming interviews, setting up a time, even though after our chat he is rushing off to a meeting of the Devonport branch of the U3A, short for University of the Third Age, a group that focuses on people in the 'third stage of life' who want to keep their minds active and connect with others in their community. (It'd make a great setting for a play, really.) This generosity is something that many people I spoke to emphasised, almost as much as how important his work is to New Zealand. It is evident, financially, with his philanthropy, but his moral support is also noted. 'Roger was very kind, very attentive,' says Sarkies. 'He shared a lot of the dark arts of writing, like planting a seed that will have a payoff later, rules of threes, that kind of thing. He understood tension in writing, which may or may not surprise people. 'He was very, very supportive of me and gave me a lot of confidence. This meant a lot to me and I remain very grateful.' Towards the end of our interview, I point out that End of the Summer Time features, both in Auckland and Wellington, his name literally and metaphorically over the title. It wasn't End of the Summer Time by Roger Hall, it was Roger Hall's End of the Summer Time. He's perhaps the only playwright in the country who can do that (even though it's a marketing ploy rather than an ego play). His response? 'That's possibly true. You're saying it is true?' He appears humbled by it, but not necessarily surprised. I ask him more pointedly about how he feels about where he sits in the theatre scene – playwright, philanthropist, man with letters before and after his name. His answer is simple, structured and frankly, factual.

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