Literary / Arts
On Shakespeare, Robin Williams and A Stage Far Away…
David Jure
Volume 28 Issue 7, 8 & 9 | Posted: September 19, 2014
It was a perfect theatrical moment. The first act had been a bit ragged and uneven, I had payed way too much at the concession up the hill… my bum was sore from sitting on cushions on the ground… for God’s sake let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings.
The demise of comedian Robin Williams had just come over the media that afternoon and the cast, being thespians, was probably stunned. Suddenly, or of apparent suddenness, the sun was down, the stage lights had come on, the mosquitos had relented and King Harry was along on stage.
Friend Julian Cervello was on stage in his mother’s womb and is what I call “a born actor” and I’ve explained to him many many times that my mandate is to keep him away from the mad house and me away from the poor house.
It was a perfect theatrical moment. The first act had been a bit ragged and uneven, I had payed way too much at the concession up the hill… my bum was sore from sitting on cushions on the ground… for God’s sake let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings.
The demise of comedian Robin Williams had just come over the media that afternoon and the cast, being thespians, was probably stunned. Suddenly, or of apparent suddenness, the sun was down, the stage lights had come on, the mosquitos had relented and King Harry was along on stage.
Friend Julian Cervello was on stage in his mother’s womb and is what I call “a born actor” and I’ve explained to him many many times that my mandate is to keep him away from the mad house and me away from the poor house.
We talk every day and he was often unhappy through the summer with the way the play was going. Once more unto the breach had been badly directly, bass ackwards and about halfway through the opening scene of the second act he nailed it. He had the king by the short and curlies. Gods of battle steel my soldiers’ hearts. Ye few ye happy few, ye band of brothers. Time honoured words from the mouth of a king I never got to play.
I started the Shakespeare ball rolling again in a cover article in Monday magazine in 1979 only to see my crown stolen by Clayton Jevne, the director ten years later. There’s a lot of usurping in the Shakespeare business and Clayton has since worked his fingers past the bone to make a success of his festival in different locations around the city. Considering he started in the tiny Theatre Inconnu in Market Square, he should be proud. There were about ninety people in attendance that night and among the players was my dear friend Dennis playing a number of the older parts. Old school to a tee, not quite tearing a passion to tatters.
Suddenly I was transported back in time to Montreal in October of 1971. I was playing Lear and Dennis was playing Edmund and I found myself travelling in time, watching two people and being two people myself and I almost found myself standing up to shout something out loud.
The supporting cast was excellent that night, mastering French and Welsh accents with apparent ease, coming and going like wraiths from the bushes surrounding the small stage beneath the oak trees. The costumes were excellent and what I took away from the play was a hardened zeal in future rallies against the poverty and isolation and hopelessness and apathy that I often encounter in my travels in my inner city core, for this is my London… Vancouver Island my Britain and the theatre community in Vancouver the court of the Dauphin. I send challenges to Bard on the Beach de temps a temp. Sometimes they write back.
David Jure