Latest news with #TheManWhoCametoDinner
Budapest Times
29-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Budapest Times
Son recalls a Dad like few others
Robert Morley was a singular personality. Few actors could rival him for a good solid dose of peculiarly English eccentricity – when he appeared on screen (and no doubt on stage too) you pretty much knew exactly what you were going to get as he dominated proceedings, a blustering, pompous and overbearing character but lovable nonetheless. For us, the bushy-browed, fleshy-jowled and rotund Morley ranked alongside other mid-20th century British thespians who when they went into their particular acts were similarly offbeat – James Robertson Justice, John Le Mesurier, Wilfred Hyde-White and Alastair Sim come to mind; always fun, always individualistic, with no need to resort to clownishness. A scene-stealer supreme, could anyone possibly out-talk the quick-witted and very properly spoken gentleman Morley? What could he possibly have been like at home, off-screen, off-stage, as Dad? His eldest child, Sheridan Morley, tells us in this book, first issued in 1993. Father Robert was born in Semley, Wiltshire, United Kingdom, on May 26, 1908 and died in Reading, UK, on June 3, 1992 aged 84 years, three days after a stroke from which he did not regain consciousness. Son Sheridan was born on December 5, 1941 and died on February 16, 2007, having been an author, biographer, dramatic critic and broadcaster. He was the official biographer of Sir John Gielgud and wrote an authorised life story of this British actor that was published in 2001. Sheridan also produced some 18 other biographies of actors, including Noël Coward, David Niven, James Mason, Ingrid Bergman, Gene Kelly and Elizabeth Taylor. The son was named after being born on the first night of his father's role as Sheridan Whiteside in 'The Man Who Came to Dinner' at the Savoy Theatre in London's West End on December 1941. Later, Sheridan recounts, his father was asked in the Garrick Club in London what it was like having a critic for a son. 'Like being head of the Israeli army', Robert responded, 'and waking up to find your son is an Arab.' That was a typical rejoinder, witty and droll. In his twilight years he would become master of the television chat show, a venerable actor in the grand manner, overwhelming the host and any other guests. Rentaquote, as Sheridan calls him, a beacon of overweight oddness, a raconteur guaranteed to entertain and beloved of the studio audience and viewers. Robert was flamboyant, theatrical, larger than life. In 1975 he was engaged as a celebrity by a Yorkshire country-house hotel to tell stories to the diners and engage in light conversation. 'Is this the sort of thing you want, dears?' he asked the audience after telling a story about Greta Garbo. 'Would you like to ask some questions, perhaps?' 'Why are your flies undone?' a man in the front row asked. 'I had rather hoped', Robert replied, calmly adjusting his dress, 'that it added to the general air of informality.' What did he think of Yorkshire? 'The important thing', he replied 'is what Yorkshire thinks of me.' What did he think of media figure Malcolm Muggeridge? 'It is inconceivable that he would not bore God.' How did he get on with young directors? 'I usually give them a week to find out if they know more than I do, and if not I take over myself.' Did he enjoy entertaining people? 'As long as I am entertaining myself. I love hearing my own opinions, even if I don't always agree with them.' What about British tax exiles? 'I was born a pauper and I shall almost certainly die a pauper. If a man is fool enough to want to go to live in Jersey and take it all with him, then in my view he deserves everything he gets there.' Sheridan was the eldest of the five grandchildren of Dame Gladys Cooper, an illustrious British actress of the 20th century, and he also wrote a biography of her that came out in 1979. Dame Gladys, born in Hither Green, London, on December 18, 1888 was a great beauty of her day and in demand in both Britain and Hollywood. She died in Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire, on November 17, 1971, and had married three times, first to Captain Herbert Buckmaster from 1908 to 1921. They had two children, one of whom, Joan (1910-2005), married Robert Adolph Wilton Morley in 1940. Sheridan was the eldest of their three children, and thus the third generation of this eminent theatrical family. Bare facts don't do justice to this life story, and Sheridan fully delivers in this telling of the over-the-top personality who was his father. Robert's own father 'was a man of many careers, mostly disastrous. A compulsive gambler, he lived a life of regular crisis and constant financial adventure, bequeathing to his only son a passion for roulette and the rare ability… to live on the financial edge without serious loss of sleep or nerve'. Robert's father's constant and rapid escapes from creditors bred in Robert a love of adventure and a passion for touring ideally suited to the prewar demands of a struggling actor. The boy appeared in a school pageant in Folkestone when five years old and it was after seeing English thespian Esme Percy (1887-1957) in 1921 on a tour of 'The Doctor's Dilemma' by George Bernard Shaw that he decided to act, coming to believe that theatre as an art not only reflected life but extended and exaggerated it into the areas of magic. At school Robert was tortured by military and physical activities, and didn't do much better in the classroom, leaving with a deep lifelong horror of any sort of orthodox teaching. These were some of his unhappiest years. In 1926 aged 18 he was accepted into the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, the best of London's theatre schools, more by good luck than talent, but he quit in July 1927 to start making his living as an actor in the real world of the theatre. His distinctive physical characteristics, portly and plummy, limited somewhat the characters he could portray, and for nine long years he toured the land in a series of regional tours, hardly any of which reached London. But he relished the life and he learned, despite a six-month gap as a travelling door-to-door salesman. He began to write his own first play. Robert first gained acclaim on the London stage for his title role in 'Oscar Wilde', then successfully reprised the part on Broadway in 1938, leading to an invitation to Hollywood and an Oscar-nominated film debut as Louis XVI in 'Marie Antoinette' (1938). For 20 years after the war he was in semi-permanent residence in West End of London theatres 'in plays which only he managed to turn into two-year hits', Sheridan notes. His first great success as an actor/author was his own 'Edward, My Son' in 1947, and 'he built up a special affinity with his customers almost akin to that achieved by a great head waiter or hotel manager'. Robert was nominated for an Academy Award as Best Supporting Actor for his first American film, 'Marie Antoinette' (1938) playing the doomed Louis XVI against John Barrymore, Norma Shearer and many of Hollywood's best character actors. Sheridan begs to differ with those critical colleagues who said his father was only good at playing versions of himself in essentially lightweight material. If he rejected playing Shakespeare's Falstaff, for instance, it was not out of fear or laziness but simply because, Sheridan believed, he knew he would not enjoy it, and thus how could his audience? There came almost 100 films for the big screen and television, 30-plus plays, tours down under, a sideline as a playwright and journalist, popular advertisements for British Airways and a Commander of the Order of the British Empire (CBE). He declined a knighthood. Robert was a good husband and father, albeit unusual, and great material for a marvellously entertaining biography that, even though presented by his son, maintains its objectivity.
Chicago Tribune
13-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Chicago Tribune
Review: ‘Call Me Izzy' on Broadway stars Jean Smart as a working-class woman with dreams
NEW YORK — Jean Smart hasn't been on Broadway for 25 years. The last time, she played a glittering, glamorous and ruthless actress in George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart's 'The Man Who Came to Dinner,' a powerful siren who enjoyed breaking up marriages for sport. This time, she's an abused woman from small-town Louisiana who makes her first appearance on stage in the bathroom of a mobile home in a Louisiana trailer park. It's likely quite the jolt for fans of a much-awarded actress familiar for her work on 'Hacks,' 'Designing Women' and 'Mare of Easttown,' a contrast intensified by playwright Jamie Wax's 'Call Me Izzy' opening in the slipstream of the Tony Awards. As the Broadway glitterati walked by Studio 54 over these last few nights, Smart was inside, slipping disinfectant into a toilet bowl for her bemused fans. 'My husband, Fred, he hates the blue cleaner I put into the toilet almost as much as he hates my writing,' Smart's titular character says to the audience at the start of 'Call Me Izzy,' as she flushes and marvels at the various shades of swirling azure. Uh oh, you'll surely think, right off the bat. This Izzy sounds like a working-class writer trapped in a marriage with an oafish, one-syllable Southern man who won't understand such matters as artistic freedom, artistic expression, and the desire to escape said trailer park for a more examined life. The kind of scared little dude who might well resort to violence to keep his wife in line. You would of course be right. That's exactly the scenario in 'Call Me Izzy,' a solo show about the power of poetry and its ability to lift working-class writers out of their difficult lives, but only if they can find room to express themselves, avoid those who would block their progress and align themselves with the kind of mentor who will take an interest. For those of us who've been around a while, 'Call Me Izzy' starts to recall the plot of Willy Russell's 'Shirley Valentine,' another play about the power of humanistic education, albeit set in Liverpool in the U.K. rather than Mansfield, Louisiana. In both plays, the lovable central character finds herself in the thrall of a charismatic teacher who clearly represents a means of escape from those with no understanding, but might also just be a distraction from what is typically venerated in plays like this, which is finding your own way with words and ideas. Those are noble sentiments and there are only so many stories under the sun. Moreover, stories about white, working-class characters from Louisiana are as rare on Broadway as dramas about blue-collar poets; I'd venture that no toilet has ever played so prominent a role at Studio 54, at least not since that venue's days as a nightclub. All that is to say 'Call Me Izzy' is not a total bust, especially given Smart's formidable acting chops. Monologic shows like this with no explicit person being addressed require deeply conversational kinds of performance, as if the audiences were all your best friend who just happens to be outside the bathroom door. Smart is skilled and experienced enough to forge such a bond. I believed her entirely as a woman from small-town Louisiana capable of both great stoicism (often a feature of those in abusive relationships) and profound artistic yearning. Her performance is somewhat under-scaled and under-vocalized for so large a Broadway house (and why are we here in so huge a space, one wonders), but then it has been 20 years and the deeply honest Smart is clearly immersed in her character, with nary a note of condescension. But you still always know where 'Call Me Izzy' is ultimately going, even if the piece is a tad confusing as to its chronology; that's another frequent risk with long monologues recounting a story that may have happened in the past, may still be happening, may go wrong in the future. The audience needs more signposts from a director, and heftier moment-by-moment tension, than director Sarna Lapine here provides us. 'Call Me Izzy' is simply one character's point of view and you can't help contrast it with the complexity of 'The Picture of Dorian Gray,' which uses one live actress to create an entire Victorian world. In the case of 'Izzy,' one might as well be reading the narrative on the page. Except of course for the chance to see Smart, which is why most people will be there. The biggest challenge she faces here is to overcome the fundamental familiarity of a moralistic script that gives us a clearly sympathetic character battling against a brute we never see and wants us to be surprised by the outcome. Wax is so in love with his central character, he finds it hard to give her anything truly substantial to fight against as she rolls down her personal runway. Smart does her considerable best to find it for him, but she didn't write the play.
