I was a working-class kid who’d failed my exams and done a series of nothing jobs before I discovered Shakespeare in my 20s. I was bored out of my head most of the time, working nights in a bank as a computer operator, watching tapes going round. A respite came three times a year when my girlfriend at the time, Sandra, and I would drive from our rented flat in Ealing to Stratford-upon-Avon and queue at the RSC for cheap returns or standing tickets. The plays were so good it made life bearable.
In June 1978, we went to see Jonathan Pryce as Petruchio in The Taming of the Shrew, with David Suchet. The sunny Saturday matinee coincided with Scotland playing in the World Cup and as the audience made its way into the Royal Shakespeare Theatre foyer, a Scottish supporter with a six-pack of lager was getting rowdy and rude, singing football songs outside. He grabbed me, saying, “Have a drink with me, brother”, and did a double-take as if he recognised me. I turned away, feeling I’d die of embarrassment in this posh and genteel crowd focused on the business of being civilised and arty.
As we entered, he continued shouting abuse, putting his fingers up and telling us where we should go stick our English, stuffy-nose, Shakey bollocks. No sooner was he ushered out and we’d taken our seats than he burst back in, got on to the stage and knocked down the whole set to horrified shouts. We were gobsmacked; the show ruined by a moronic football fan. Actors tried to stop the damage until, suddenly, with one final shout of: “Why don’t ye all fuck off?” he collapsed.
Then, very slowly, the house lights dimmed, a spotlight fell on the drunk and it dawned on us all that it was him: Jonathan Pryce, as Christopher Sly, a character in Taming of the Shrew’s lesser done prologue. It was a magical moment, shocking and breathtaking. I was captivated. The play was brilliant and I turned to Sandra frequently, whispering: “I want to do this.” “You can,” she said. I saw my future in front of me.
After the production, I enrolled in an arts degree with the Open University, left the bank and started running creative arts projects in prisons, working with lifers in Wormwood Scrubs. Just as the Shrew confronted me with the transformative power of theatre, this work made the invisible visible, even in unexpected places. I did similar work with disadvantaged teenagers in New York, took acting evening classes and finally went to a proper drama school in London. I set up my own theatre company, mainly for people who could not go to conventional drama school, and taught and directed in community theatre for 32 years.
I have put on so many shows – all, I’m sure, influenced on some level by Pryce and that incredible matinee. I’ve used that framing device many times and when I directed Trevor Griffiths’s play Comedians 10 years ago, in which Pryce once famously starred, I cast an actor who reminded me of him on that Saturday afternoon when theatre changed the world a little bit.
In the years since, I’ve thought about why he might have done a double-take. People often commented that we looked alike. My daughters first noticed it in Pirates of the Caribbean and message when he’s in Slow Horses with “Dad, you’re on TV”.
In December, I attended a British Film Institute screening of Comedians introduced by Pryce. As he finished, I walked up the aisle and told him how he changed my life. “I feel like you woke me up,” I said. “I’m so delighted,” he replied.
