Gielgud: A Theatrical Life

What we have here is probably the definitive biography (at least thus far) of one of the greatest actors of the 20th century who, unlike others of comparable talent and stature (e.g. Olivier) was also a thoroughly decent person. I consider it ironic and (yes) unfair that Gielgud is best-known for his role in the movie, Arthur. What if he had made no movies at all? Would anyone write a 580-page biography of him? Even in that event, would anyone read it, much less review it? The subtitle is especially apt, given Gielgud's comment "My work is my life [italics] and I have no other interests." Of course that is somewhat (but not much) of an overstatement by someone who, on or off the stage or screen, was so essentially theatrical. Croall guides his reader through the length of Gielgud's career, focusing almost entirely on him rather than, for example, correlating biographical information within a narrative about the society and the performing arts in which Gielgud was so involved. Croall necessarily discusses Gielgud's homosexuality and does so with intelligence and sensitivity. This dimension of his private life is of interest to me, frankly, only insofar as it helps me to gain a better understanding and appreciation of an actor so compelling on stage or screen. It remains for Croall and others better qualified than I am to suggest to what extent Gielgud's homosexuality guided and nourished his talent. Of all that Croall reveals about Gielgud, the qualities I found most appealing are his kindness, generosity, and moral courage. There are dozens of examples of each. I was also amazed to learn the nature and extent of his career which began in 1921 and continued almost until his death in 2000 at the age of 96. Croall interviewed more than 100 of those who knew Gielgud best. It is worth noting that most of his co-workers were among his closest and most devoted personal friends. True to character, he endured criticism and betrayal by others with uncommon style and grace. Even after his beloved companion John Perry left him for the producer Binkie Beaumont, for example, Gielgud continued to assist Perry's career, directing and acting in plays he had written. In comparable circumstances, few others would have been so forgiving, much less so supportive. Gielgud's life does indeed illustrate both theatricality and humanity of the very highest quality.

This is unquestionably the best study of Gielgud's life ever written, and should surely rank among the finest theatrical memoirs. Croall uses Gielgud's homosexuality (including his 1953 arrest for solicitatio) and his life-long rivalry with Laurence Olivier to spin a fascinating dramatic web, while at the same time providing intriguing insight into not only Gielgud's life and work, but of the evolution of English theater in the twentieth century.What I appreciated most about Croall's book was that he doesn't accept much of the Gielgud legend at face value, but looks at it logically and sometimes ponders the accuracy of many famous stories. The most stunning example of this is the famous swapping of the roles of Romeo and Mercutio by Olivier and Gielgud in the famous New Theater production of 1936. Legend has it that this swap was intended as a way of showing off the King of Shakespearean Tragedy (Gielgud) and the Heir Apparent (Olivier). Croall points out that this is probably hindsight talking: that in fact Olivier had no significant classical experience at that point in his career, and that the swap was probably intended by Gielgud and producer Binkie Beaumont as a means of insuring the production against failure if Olivier's reviews were poor (they were). The narrative is studded with such interesting and well-thought theorizing, while at the same time laying out Gielgud's life with intricate and accurate detail.Croall paints Olivier as a fascinating antagonist in the narrative, but he also provides so many interesting details of Gielgud's professional and personal life that the reader finishes the book feeling that he has lived one of the most distinguished theatrical lives in history along with the book's topic. Croall's work is a fascinating study of a fascinating man.

A formidably well-researched monument of a book, which captures the elegance and eloquence of one of the 20th century's most illustrious actors -- indefatigably immersed in his craft, witty and sometimes tactless, unfailingly generous.Gielgud's early career was, of course, spent on the stage; he balked at making films with any regularity until he was about 50 years old. His performance of "Hamlet" at the Old Vic is legendary, and he was justly lionized. We learn more than we ever knew about some of the figures in those early days: Mrs Patrick Campbell, Edith Evans, Sybil Thorndike, Gwen Ffrangcon-Davies. Of course, the legacy of his mother's side of the family, the Terrys, was continued in Sir John (his great-aunt Ellen Terry was the actress of her age, & recipient of many tributes from, among others, Oscar Wilde). We learn that the family name "Gielgud" is Polish, and was originally "Gielgaudski."There is the expected contrasting of Sir John with Laurence, Lord Olivier; and in Croall's book, Olivier does not come off very well, intensely competitive to the point of being resentful, brash to the point of arrogance.We learn of Gielgud as director for many stage productions, and the ideas that bubbled forth from him with an ebullient profusion that proved vexing to many actors, bewildered by many changes suggested and usually retracted; but none (or very few) of the actors who worked with him in this capacity doubted his good intentions, or his dedication.We learn of Gielgud's arrest in 1953, shortly after his knighthood, for "the importuning of male persons for immoral purposes." We need not be ardently progressive to deplore the atmosphere in England and elsewhere during that time; and we cannot help but admire the grace & the humility with which Gielgud, supported by many friends in the theatre, handled the distressing episode.We learn of Gielgud's frequent collaborations with Sir Ralph Richardson, a partnership that lasted until Richardson's death in 1983, and encompassed material from Shakespeare to Harold Pinter; we see Gielgud working with Alec Guinness and Richard Burton in the early stages of both men's careers; we are witness to the Gielgud/Burton collaboration on a production of "Hamlet," Burton as Hamlet and Gielgud as director, and the almost uncritical admiration that the younger man had for the older.We learn of Gielgud's innumerable -- mostly unmalicious -- conversational gaffes, usually generated by his forgetting who was in the room or who he was talking to. Sir John became known as "the London Brick Factory" for dropping so many conversational "bricks." Once when dining with a friend named Eddie Knoblock, Sir John was spotted by someone in another part of the restaurant; this "someone" waved hello, and sat down. Gielgud turned to his dining companion and said, "Thank God he didn't join us; he's a bigger bore than Eddie Knoblock."Mostly, we are reminded of John Gielgud's formidable accomplishments in Shakespeare, and