Read Online Alan Rickman by Maureen Paton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maureen Paton
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âSpy stories were very much in vogue then, and this was a riotously involved spy-spoof sketch. Alan infiltrated the sultanâs harem as a spy, disguised as one of his wives,â he remembers.
A review in
The Latymerian
school magazine for Winter 1962 records that Alan took the role of âa sultry spy from Roedean â a sort of do-it-yourself (Eartha) Kitt â played with a vocal edge that enabled him to bring the house down with a monosyllable.â That sounds like the Alan Rickman we all know.
âHe was always laconic, wonderful at ensemble playing and tremendously popular with boys and staff. One could see he had tremendous talent,â adds Ted Stead.
âWhen he did
The Alchemist
in the Upper Sixth, it ran for over three hours. A schoolboy Alchemist is a recipe for disaster, but Alan had this panache in the role of Sir Epicure Mammon. He was very imposing indeed, but he didnât upset the ensemble. He was a very good verse-speaker even in 1964. Jonson is almost intractable, but he managed it.
âHe always had a wonderful barbed wit, but it was never unkind. There was always a twinkle in his eyes; he never meant to hurt people. Really, he was a very reliable model pupil.
âLatymer was a very competitive school, and Alan wasnât a leader. He was just somebody who was popular, made people laugh. But he was university material, no question of it. In fact, Alan would have made a good teacher.
âBut at that stage, art was his chosen career. He was so clear that he was going to Chelsea College of Art, so we didnât think of him in the theatre at that stage. The voice was there when I first met him: it made him unique.â
Chris Hammond, a chemistry teacher and the current Head of Middle School, came to Latymer Upper in 1966 two years after Alan had left with a mighty reputation. âIn Latymer terms, he was a household name because of his performances in the Jantaculum. He brought the house down; the audiences cried with laughter.
âThe Gild doesnât really exist now in the old way. There are drama productions, but not with the staff and pupils acting together. There are no more Jantaculum cabarets: they called them light entertainments in those days. Thereâs a new view that we ought to be doing proper drama. The great cabaret tradition is no longer there.
âWhen Alan came back to the school after Jim McCabeâs requiem mass, he said that satire was very difficult these days. Thatâs why the satire has gone from the Gild. Because itâs all been done before, satire would border on the obscene these days. It has taken off in a strange direction.â
The school still displays a photograph of Rickman in a 1962 production, alongside examples of the early thespian endeavours of rugby captain Mel Smith and cricketer Hugh Grant, all looking absurdly plump-cheeked and misleadingly cherubic. For as Robert Cushman recalls, âThere was so much jealousy and competitiveness over theatre. I remember one contemporary, Michael Newby, who went on to York University. He was a marvellous natural actor, but he became very disillusioned.â
Newby figured in that
Ali Baba And The Seven Dwarfs
review from the Winter of 1962: âThis was a spy story, vaguely post-Fleming, and was handled with his customary skill and incisiveness by Michael Newby as a deadpan James Bond. His crisp timing did a great deal to hold the story together and he was given two excellent foils: John Ray, possibly the most original comic personality the Gild possesses, was marvellously funny in an all-too-brief appearance as a cringing British agent; Alan Rickman . . .â You know the rest.
Cushman, now based in Canada, has stayed friends with Rickman ever since their time at Latymer. âMy wife points out that Alan always helped with the washing-up . . . mind you, that was before he went to Hollywood,â he jokes.
Although Rickman still revisits
A review in
The Latymerian
school magazine for Winter 1962 records that Alan took the role of âa sultry spy from Roedean â a sort of do-it-yourself (Eartha) Kitt â played with a vocal edge that enabled him to bring the house down with a monosyllable.â That sounds like the Alan Rickman we all know.
âHe was always laconic, wonderful at ensemble playing and tremendously popular with boys and staff. One could see he had tremendous talent,â adds Ted Stead.
âWhen he did
The Alchemist
in the Upper Sixth, it ran for over three hours. A schoolboy Alchemist is a recipe for disaster, but Alan had this panache in the role of Sir Epicure Mammon. He was very imposing indeed, but he didnât upset the ensemble. He was a very good verse-speaker even in 1964. Jonson is almost intractable, but he managed it.
âHe always had a wonderful barbed wit, but it was never unkind. There was always a twinkle in his eyes; he never meant to hurt people. Really, he was a very reliable model pupil.
âLatymer was a very competitive school, and Alan wasnât a leader. He was just somebody who was popular, made people laugh. But he was university material, no question of it. In fact, Alan would have made a good teacher.
âBut at that stage, art was his chosen career. He was so clear that he was going to Chelsea College of Art, so we didnât think of him in the theatre at that stage. The voice was there when I first met him: it made him unique.â
Chris Hammond, a chemistry teacher and the current Head of Middle School, came to Latymer Upper in 1966 two years after Alan had left with a mighty reputation. âIn Latymer terms, he was a household name because of his performances in the Jantaculum. He brought the house down; the audiences cried with laughter.
âThe Gild doesnât really exist now in the old way. There are drama productions, but not with the staff and pupils acting together. There are no more Jantaculum cabarets: they called them light entertainments in those days. Thereâs a new view that we ought to be doing proper drama. The great cabaret tradition is no longer there.
âWhen Alan came back to the school after Jim McCabeâs requiem mass, he said that satire was very difficult these days. Thatâs why the satire has gone from the Gild. Because itâs all been done before, satire would border on the obscene these days. It has taken off in a strange direction.â
The school still displays a photograph of Rickman in a 1962 production, alongside examples of the early thespian endeavours of rugby captain Mel Smith and cricketer Hugh Grant, all looking absurdly plump-cheeked and misleadingly cherubic. For as Robert Cushman recalls, âThere was so much jealousy and competitiveness over theatre. I remember one contemporary, Michael Newby, who went on to York University. He was a marvellous natural actor, but he became very disillusioned.â
Newby figured in that
Ali Baba And The Seven Dwarfs
review from the Winter of 1962: âThis was a spy story, vaguely post-Fleming, and was handled with his customary skill and incisiveness by Michael Newby as a deadpan James Bond. His crisp timing did a great deal to hold the story together and he was given two excellent foils: John Ray, possibly the most original comic personality the Gild possesses, was marvellously funny in an all-too-brief appearance as a cringing British agent; Alan Rickman . . .â You know the rest.
Cushman, now based in Canada, has stayed friends with Rickman ever since their time at Latymer. âMy wife points out that Alan always helped with the washing-up . . . mind you, that was before he went to Hollywood,â he jokes.
Although Rickman still revisits
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