When I heard Diana Rigg was going to be Martha in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? at the Almeida I was on the phone to my agent like a shot. They usually cast Martha first and then try to find a George. I was desperate to play him – and had been ever since I’d queued for hours to see Ben Gazzara in the role on Broadway, opposite Colleen Dewhurst’s Martha, in 1976.
The Almeida’s revival was to be directed by Howard Davies. Fortunately, I’d worked with Howard at the Royal Shakespeare Company in the 70s, and I also knew Jonathan Kent – who was now running the Almeida – from his acting days. They were on my side, but they had to pass it by Edward Albee. He had final approval. Howard and Jonathan had to convince him that, first and foremost, I was a theatre actor who had happened to get a lucky break on television as Poirot. I’d done many years of repertory theatre before doing any TV, and I’d just appeared in David Mamet’s Oleanna at the Royal Court, directed by Harold Pinter, which I think swayed it. Edward said yes.
The first read-through with the producers was one of the most terrifying of my life. I went away and thought: I don’t know how I’m going to do this. It was a major London production and everyone was hoping it would move straight into the West End.
The more I studied the role, the more I got a handle on George. I realised that he does what he does because he is desperately in love with his wife. He wants to save his marriage. Terrible things are said and done throughout the play – there are awful arguments and fights – but I came to see it all as a love story. Diana made a very vulnerable Martha, which worked well alongside my interpretation. Although George plies everyone else with drinks, I think he fills his own glass just once. I suddenly realised that he’s a puppeteer, getting everyone else hammered.
It’s a long, draining play – it runs to around three hours, and we did it with two intervals. That was the first time I had to say to a producer that I couldn’t do a midweek matinee and a Saturday one. I didn’t think I’d have the voice for it.
Edward came to rehearsals and confessed to me that he was angry and sad that he’d be remembered for this play and not all the others. After watching our version, he told me: “I never knew I wrote so much humour for George. I like it!” But Edward must have been the quietest writer I’ve ever seen in rehearsals. During the first few days, he hardly said a word, just watched us and then talked to Howard. At one of the final run-throughs, he looked at me and said: “David Suchet, I want a word with you.” I thought: Oh my gosh. What is this?
He took me right to the far corner of the rehearsal room. “Why are you playing George like that?” he asked, not looking at me. I stammered the reasons. I said: “I believe you’ve written a love story. However cruel George is being, he’s trying to save his marriage.” There was a huge pause. Then he looked at me and said: “That’s what I wrote.”
And off he walked.
