My Les Mis

Last night was the PBS broadcast of the 25th Anniversary Les Misérables concert.  Watching it brought back lots of memories, since it’s my favorite musical.

I saw Les Misérables for the first time in London on October 2, 1986.   It was still the original cast, with the exception of Patti LuPone as Fantine, who had already moved on.  I decided to go see the musical because everyone was talking about it, but I was skeptical.  I wasn’t at all familiar with the story.  I had no idea what to expect.  It was during the very first scene, when the prisoners trudge out singing “look down,” that I fell in love with the show.  I suppose it’s because of the epic story with a large cast of characters and all that melodrama.  The music is great too, of course.  I love how it goes from a single person on an empty stage pouring his or her heart out, to the big crowd scenes.  Oddly enough, I was pleased that there was almost no dancing.  The London production had strong dramatic lighting combined with dark corners you couldn’t quite make out.   It was a perfect remedy to all the cheerful, fluffy, dance-filled musicals I’d seen up to that point.  I was completely taken with Michael Ball as Marius, and I also loved Frances Ruffelle (Éponine) and Colm Wilkinson (Valjean).

Alfie Boe, Colm Wilkinson & Ramin Karimloo, in the Les Miserables concert

I liked Les Mis so much, I went back and saw it again the same week.  I probably would have continued going back, but my trip ended.  I did my best to meet the cast, standing at the stage door between a matinee and an evening performance.  I mostly wanted to meet Michael Ball, but he never came out.  Frances Ruffelle was the only person I remember meeting, and she was lovely.  I just told her she was great as she walked by, but she turned back and gave me a big smile and a thank you.  There was a small circle of other fans gathered by the stage door, and I hung back in the alley, watching who was going in as well as who was coming out.  Andrew Lloyd Webber and a woman who I believe was Sarah Brightman walked past me and went in.  I felt no desire to ask Lloyd Webber for an autograph, because I was young and arrogant enough to be unimpressed by him.   I flew home with a suitcase filled with souvenirs, including the cast CD (my very first CD ever!), a sweatshirt, and the unabridged Penguin edition of the book.  On the plane, I was seated next to a man who sat in the same row at the same performance of Les Mis, and we talked for the entire flight about our new obsession.

I was determined to read the entire 1000 page Les Misérables, so I set myself a goal of a hundred pages of day.  It worked, and I finished it on the tenth day.  The problem with reading an epic length novel is that nothing else satisfies after you’re done.   It feels like losing a best friend, and you go through a period of mourning.   Anyway, what I got from reading the book is that Les Mis is essentially a story about the Old Testament versus the New.  Javert’s philosophy is “an eye for an eye,” and his God doesn’t forgive.  He is too busy smiting his enemies.  Valjean undergoes a conversion after his encounter with the bishop, and his God is about love and grace and sacrifice for others.  Thénardier represents an existence without God or morals.  Javert destroys himself when his faith in his rigid concept of God is shaken by Valjean, and Valjean finds salvation and redemption.   One of the reasons I love the musical version is that it doesn’t secularize the story by removing the references to God.

My love affair with Les Mis continued over the years.  I was working as a tour guide at Sea World in the mid-80s, and one of the places we had to staff for hour-long stretches never got much traffic.  I would sing Les Mis songs to pass the time.  I needed a secluded spot well away from others, with my singing voice!  One year, two different friends gave me Les Mis beach towels. I saw the musical a total of five times in London at the Palace Theatre, usually in the same restricted-view box seat.   I liked to take my binoculars and find the microphones hidden on the actors.  I was delighted to discover that Javert’s microphone was disguised as the scar on his cheek.  One of the times I saw the show, I could clearly see that the actor playing Valjean and the little girl playing Cosette loathed each other.  When he picked her up and swung her around, she looked disgusted and he practically threw her down.  One of my biggest regrets was missing Mario Frangoulis play Marius by only a month.  He’s now one of my favorite singers.   A couple of summers ago, I finally saw a production of Les Mis here in the US, performed by the San Diego Junior Theatre.  Damn, those were some talented kids!  I was so impressed.

Ramin Karimloo and Robert Madge

So, 25 years later, we have the anniversary concert.  I particularly enjoyed Lea Salonga (Fantine), Matt Lucas (Thénardier), Ramin Karimloo (Enjolras), Hadley Fraser (Grantaire), and Robert Madge (Gavroche).  It was a shame that Gavroche’s dying scene was cut from the concert, because I would love to see Madge perform it.   I don’t automatically like the boys playing Gavroche, because they can be obnoxious, but Robert Madge had just the right amount of cheekiness.  Alfie Boe (Valjean) has a lovely voice, especially singing Bring Him Home.  I’m not sure so many extreme close-ups benefited him, because his voice is so much more expressive than his face.¹  The close-ups certainly didn’t help Nick Jonas (Marius).  I’m quite fond of the Jonas brothers, and I really wanted Nick to be a good Marius.  He seemed to be struggling with the vocal range, and his facial expressions often made him look constipated.  The song A Little Fall of Rain didn’t quite work with the actors standing up at microphones, instead of Éponine collapsing to die in Marius’s arms.  Still, I found the whole concert very moving, and it was so fun to see many of the original cast members come out at the end.  (Once again, Patti LuPone was missing!)   This concert confirms that Les Mis is still my favorite musical.

Robert Madge as Gavroche

If you want to check out more of Robert Madge, watch this video from Oliver! where he plays The Artful Dodger.

¹Note: My opinion of Alfie Boe’s expressiveness has altered since seeing videos of him singing with Matt Lucas and joking around in Lucas’ kitchen [recently removed from YouTube, unfortunately].   Maybe it was the beard.

Related posts:  Gavroche   Please Sir, I Want Some More   To the Barricade!   Ramin Karimloo   Grantaire   Enjolras & Grantaire   Thénardier Waltz   Gavroche: Liar!   Bring Him Home   Enjolras   Les Mis: The Originals   24601    Fantine   Cosette & Madame Thénardier   Les Mis: The Streets of Paris   First Look: Hadley Fraser’s Javert

Roadside Encounters in West Ireland

St Patrick’s Day is coming up, so it’s a good excuse to post more of my Ireland photos.  Here are some fellows in Galway and Donegal, taken from my car window.

Connemara, near one of the many loughs

Connemara, Co. Galway

Along the roadside in Donegal

Stage Door (3): Simon Trinder

The third in a series of stage door fan encounters.

This is my final post on the actors that I met during my trip to London in March, 2005.  (Don’t worry, there are plenty more stage door encounters coming from other trips!)  It’s a little different this time, because  it’s about an actor who isn’t well known in the United States.  You probably don’t know his name, but you should.  Seeing him perform, and meeting him at the stage door, thrilled me every bit as much as seeing James McAvoy and Richard Coyle.  His name is Simon Trinder.

I saw him first in The Dog in The Manger by Lope De Vega, one of three plays from the Spanish Golden Age performed in repertory by the RSC.  It was a surprisingly funny play featuring fickle aristocrats, scheming servants, shifting alliances, romantic trysts and wrenching betrayals.  Simon Trinder played Tristan, the wily servant to Teodoro, and he grabbed my attention with his energetic first entrance.  By curtain call, I was a fan.  He was short, bandy-legged, and bald—not the type of guy who usually steals my heart.  I loved his energy, and he was funny.  Reviewers agreed, including Steve Orme: “The show is almost stolen by Simon Trinder, Teodoro’s apparently duplicitous servant Tristan. Trinder was a big success with the RSC last year and is turning into a terrific comic actor. Expectations are always high when you see his name on a cast list.”

Simon Trinder and Joseph Millson in House of Desires

Wanting to see Trinder perform again, I looked into the other two plays of the season.  Unfortunately, House of Desires had no more performances during my trip dates.  Trinder got to dress in drag for that one, so I was sorry to miss that.  I did get to see Pedro, The Great Pretender by Cervantes.   Trinder was part of the ensemble, taking on lots of different roles.  What I remember most about the play was watching him feed grapes to another actor on the edge of stage, while the main action was happening elsewhere.   I suppose I should have been paying attention to the rest of show, but he was really hypnotizing me with those grapes.

As the end of my trip approached, I couldn’t help myself, so I got another ticket to The Dog in The Manger at the half-price ticket booth.  I didn’t regret it, because this particular performance wasn’t well-attended and needed a bigger audience.  I was already seated when Ian McKellen came down my row, looking for his seat.  I was too stunned to do anything except stare.  He ended up sitting a few rows over, out of my line of sight.  That was a good thing, because it would have been distracting.  During the intermission, I watched a young American woman approach McKellen to gush about Lord of The Rings.  He cringed and looked horrified.  He went outside with his group of friends, and then they left before the second half.  I felt bad for the actors, but I doubt that McKellen’s departure was a comment on the production.  Maybe he was just hungry.

Simon Trinder standing under his poster.

I went to the stage door to meet the cast after my first time seeing Manger.  Everyone was really friendly, and I asked Simon Trinder if I could photograph him under his poster on the side of the theatre.  He was agreeable, and he even asked me if I wanted to be in it.  I hate being in front of the camera, so I declined.  The last time I saw him perform, I gave Trinder a little bag of goodies.   It was nothing extravagant, just some chocolate and a couple of books, along with my card. 

 As soon as I got home, I set up a Google News Alert for him, so I could at least follow his career and read his reviews.  He’s been very busy over the years, playing a variety of interesting roles.  He even played the dog Snowy in a stage production of Tintin.  He’s been teaching, too.  I really want him to do more film and TV, so I can see him perform again.  He has done a few things, but so far his film work is not available in the United States.   At least there is an interview with him on YouTube, as well as a brief trailer from a stage production of Arabian Nights.

Trinder in Arabian Nights

 The best surprise came a year after my trip to London.   I probably shouldn’t even mention it, because I don’t want to make anyone envious.  Simon Trinder sent me a lovely letter.  He apologized for not writing sooner, and he thanked me for my little bag of goodies.  It’s a delightful note, written with the same enthusiasm and energy that he brings to the stage.

The Patriots Inn, Kilmainham, Dublin

On the last day of my first trip to Ireland, in October 1995, I missed the ferry in Dublin and had to wait until the evening one.  I used the day to visit historic Kilmainham Gaol, and then I dragged my suitcase and my weary self into the nearest pub.   It was called The Patriots Inn.  I had already plunked down before I took a good look around.  I was the only female in the place.  I was on the bar side instead of the lounge, where women usually have their drinks.  The adorable old fellows made me feel welcome, once they got over their surprise.   I got out my camera, and that’s when the fun began.  Here are my favorites:

Yeah, that’s a bar coaster on his forehead.

(Click on photos to see large versions.)

Stage Door (2): James McAvoy

I discovered James McAvoy in 2003 when he played Leto in Children of Dune, the son of Paul Atreides who transforms into a sand worm. A good friend in the UK recorded all the British TV he did in the next couple of years and mailed me the tapes, which included State of Play, Early Doors, and Shameless. When I went to London in March 2005,  I had no idea he was appearing in a new play at the Royal Court in the tiny Jerwood Theatre Upstairs. I almost missed the listing, so when I stumbled across it, I was falling over myself to get to the theatre. I was able to get the last seat at a special matinee for school groups, even though I hardly qualified.

I stood outside the theatre after getting my ticket at the box office, stunned at my good fortune and wondering how to pass the time until the play began. I saw a very familiar face headed toward the theatre, so I called out a friendly hello. It was McAvoy, clearly in a rush, but he stopped to meet me and give me a big smile. I’m sure he could see how excited I was, and I suppose having enthusiastic fans was still a novelty back then. He said he’d look for me at the stage door after the performance, and then he went inside. I went down the street to a card shop and bought some blank cards with envelopes for the autographs that I hoped to get.

People often say when they meet an actor that he looks shorter/taller/different than onscreen. McAvoy looked exactly the way you’d expect. We are the same height, so I was eye to eye with him. His Scottish accent is delightful, and it’s a shame that he rarely gets to use it in his movies. He usually adopts a British accent, which is fine, but I want more Scottish!

The play was Breathing Corpses by Laura Wade. It explores the way finding a dead body affects a series of people, and the first character to find a body ends up being the last corpse in a chain of deaths. McAvoy played a guy whose girlfriend is abusive to him, both verbally and physically, but he doesn’t fight back until his girlfriend abuses his dog. The other cast members included Tamzin Outhwaite, Paul Copley, and Niamh Cusack.

The Jerwood Theatre is an intimate studio space with only 85 seats, and I sat in the third row center. During the curtain call, McAvoy saw me and winked. There was a Q & A with the cast onstage after the performance. Unfortunately, Paul Copley couldn’t stay for it, so I missed meeting him at the stage door later. He appeared in one of my favorite miniseries, Horatio Hornblower, so I regret not getting the chance to talk to him.

I can’t complain, though, because McAvoy came out the stage door to find me. I had him all to myself, since none of the students stayed around. He signed several autographs for me and some of my friends who are also fans. He also posed for several photos. Too bad I didn’t have my good Nikon, just a cheap pocket camera, so that’s why my photos are rather poor. McAvoy was warm and open, and he told me he was going to Africa next to film The Last King of Scotland. He talked about Shameless and his recent vacation travels. Then he had to go meet his grandparents for a meal, so he said good-bye. I left the Royal Court feeling completely satisfied.

I don’t have to say that James McAvoy’s career has exploded since I met him. The Last King of Scotland, The Chronicles of Narnia, Becoming Jane, Atonement, and Wanted are just some of the major films that have kept him working hard over the years. This weekend Gnomeo & Juliet opens (he voices Gnomeo) and this summer he stars in X-Men: First Class, as a young Professor Xavier. I’ve read some recent interviews with him, and he’s become more guarded, which makes a lot of sense to me. Keeping your life private these days has got to be a challenge. McAvoy has earned his success, and I look forward to watching him in many more films. I hope to see him accepting an Oscar one of these days. It’s only a matter of time.

 

 

James McAvoy at the Royal Court stage door, 2005

McAvoy signing my autographs

My autograph

The ticket and program cover for Breathing Corpses

(Click on photos to scroll.)

The second in a series of stage door fan encounters.  See the first here.

All photos ©2005 The Ugly Bug Ball.  Please do not post to other sites without permission.

Feeling Sheepish

Sheep grazing rocky Connemara

Connemara, County Galway

County Wicklow, Ireland

I love to photograph sheep!  These are some characters I encountered in Ireland.  All images ©copyright M.S. Shaffer, 1995.

Stage Door (1): Richard Coyle

I love to go to the theatre and then meet the actors at the stage door after the show.  I’ve seen some great people perform here in San Francisco, where I live, and also on my trips to London and New York.  I’ve decided to blog about some of my encounters with favorite actors, both onstage and off.

In March 2005, during a trip to London, I decided to see Schiller’s Don Carlos because Derek Jacobi was in the cast.  How can you miss the opportunity to see Derek Jacobi act in a play, right?  It was actually a tough choice, because Patrick Stewart was appearing right next door, and my time and money were limited.  I’m not sure why March is such a charmed month for London theatre, but I think it’s because of the UK filming schedules.  Some of the biggest film stars often appear in West End plays during this month, when there aren’t many tourists and travel is cheaper.   The shows have short runs and the tickets are often sold out, but this time I got lucky.

I arrived at the theatre with barely enough time to find my seat, which was way up in the nosebleed section.  The seats were so steeply raked that it gave me vertigo.  I dug out my binoculars as the lights were dimming.  Unfortunately, I forgot to turn off my cell phone, and it started ringing during the opening scene.  Once I got over being hated by every single person in my section, I was able to enjoy the play.

Richard Coyle and Derek Jacobi in Don Carlos

It opened with Don Carlos sitting on the floor of a dark, gloomy set.  The actor was Richard Coyle, and I was immediately taken with his rich, resonant voice.   From my seat, I was pretty much looking down on the top of his curly head, so his voice was pretty crucial to my perception of his performance.  I liked him more and more as the play progressed.  Derek Jacobi and the rest of the cast were great, of course, but my attention was focused on Coyle.  The play was a tragedy, so it didn’t end well for poor Don Carlos.  I was disappointed when I looked up the historical Don Carlos later and found out that the Spanish prince was an inbred sociopath who probably deserved being imprisoned and poisoned, after he spent most of his young life beating girls and torturing animals.  Ah, royalty.

The great thing about stage doors in London is that they’re usually not too crowded with fans.  I waited at the stage door after Don Carlos with only a few other people, and they were hoping to meet Derek Jacobi.  Now, I would have been delighted to meet him, but I’ve learned that the biggest stars don’t usually come out the stage door.  This time my instincts were right.  I did get to meet Richard Coyle, though, and he was friendly and just as attractive up close.  He signed my program, and I told him I had just seen James McAvoy in a play.  (They were in the TV movie Lorna Doone together.)  Coyle said nice things about McAvoy and then dashed off.

Jeff Murdock in Coupling

When I returned home from my trip, I decided to see more of Richard Coyle’s work besides Lorna Doone.  He’s best known for the British TV show Coupling, where for three series he portrayed mad Jeff Murdock, a breast-obsessed Welshman.  The good news is that Netflix now has the entire series streaming, so I plan to watch it again.  Coyle also starred in the brilliant but short-lived series Strange, about a defrocked Anglican priest who battles demons.  I’m fortunate to have this series on a PAL video, sent to me by a generous British fellow, since it was never released on DVD.  (Thanks, Mark!)

Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time

Once I get interested in an actor, I’m pretty loyal about following his career.  Coyle was Prince Tus in Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time, and he’s completed a film called W.E. which sounds really interesting.  It’s about the affair between Edward VIII and Mrs. Simpson, as well as a contemporary romance about a married woman and a Russian security guard.  I’m waiting for the US to get Terry Pratchett’s Going Postal, a miniseries starring Coyle that has already aired in the UK.  Finally, I’m following the filming of Grabbers, a comedic horror movie currently being made in Donegal, Ireland.  It’s about a small island village being invaded by tentacled sea creatures.  The only way to stay alive is to stay drunk, because the creatures don’t like alcohol.   One of the other stars is Russell Tovey, who plays the werewolf in the UK’s Being Human.  Grabbers should be released in 2012, and I can’t wait!   From doomed Spanish royalty to drunk Irishmen battling sea monsters, I will follow Richard Coyle wherever his career takes him.

Update: …except maybe here.  Richard Coyle is now (March 2o11) shooting a horror movie in Scotland called Outpost: Black Sun.   I can handle funny horror, but I’m not sure about this one!

Want to know more?  Visit this wordpress blog!

My autographed program (click to see larger version)

County Mayo, Ireland

North of Mulranny, Co. Mayo

Keem Bay, Achill, Co. Mayo

Megalithic tomb, Achill, Co. Mayo

I’m still playing with my Epson scanner, resurrecting old photos from negatives.  Here are more of my favorite images of Ireland.

Remembering Simon Pettet

I met Simon Pettet in September, 1986. I was in London visiting my eccentric uncle, Dennis Severs, famous for his restored Georgian house in Spitalfields. On my previous visit to the house in 1980, Dennis was living alone with Whitechapel the cat (aka Maj, short for Majesty) and three kittens named Hackney, Stepney and Bethnal Green. Six years later, the kittens had grown up and moved out, Dominic the Footman was busy working about the house, and Simon Pettet was lodging on the top floor.

Simon was just returning to England after working at a summer camp, teaching art to a bunch of spoiled American teenagers. I arrived at 18 Folgate Street a few days before he came home, and Dennis couldn’t wait to tell me all about him. He was a 21-year-old artist who specialized in blue and white delft pottery. He had his studio nearby in the East End, and he would dash off to work on a series of “push-bikes” (never just a bike to Simon) that always gave him problems. Dennis described Simon as a true original. I didn’t need to be told that Simon was unique, because there weren’t many people who could live in that house with my uncle. Not only was there no central heating or electric lighting, but Simon’s bed was sitting under a leak in the roof. One night he knocked over the bucket balanced on the headboard and was drenched in icy water. Nights after a performance in the house, he would have to open his window and wait for the stench of rotting cabbage to clear before he could go to bed.

I knew what Dennis meant by “an original” as soon as Simon came through the door.  He wore heavy work boots, and he stomped across the floorboards, all elbows and knees and voice and energy. He burned bright,  and the words bubbled out of him. I loved him instantly. He told us how the American kids at the summer camp mocked him for calling erasers “rubbers,” and he was excited by the design on a can of American shaving cream. It was the only souvenir he brought back with him. He also had plaster gargoyles for the Dickens bedroom in his duffel bag, which my uncle asked him to pick up in New York. Dennis was so excited, we all rushed upstairs to put them around the Scrooge bed. Unfortunately, we didn’t secure them properly, and one of them fell on a visitor’s head the following night.

I could sit in my chair in the kitchen, with Maj on my knee, just watching Dennis and Simon all day. I would listen to them tell stories, usually about parties from the night before, as we made toast against the kitchen fire and drank coffee. One of Simon’s best stories was how he accidentally flipped a slice of gateau onto a white sofa at a fancy party, and he had to try to hide the frosting marks from the host. Simon also had a secret stash of objects he had broken in the house, hidden in his cupboard, waiting to be mended. Dennis knew all about them, but he pretended otherwise.

One of the best London nights I ever had was with Simon in the West End in 1988. I don’t even remember exactly what we did, probably just ate dinner and visited a few bars. It was his company and his conversation that entertained me. Even though I had known him for two years by then, I still had to explain to him that Dennis was my uncle and I was his niece, and how that was different from a cousin. Somehow he had never bothered to learn that stuff.

Another memorable outing we had together was in 1991, when Dennis took both of us to the National Theatre for my birthday. When we arrived at the theatre, I suddenly couldn’t remember if I had blown out the candle in my bedroom. I was horrified at the thought of burning down my uncle’s house. I started to fret, and I whispered my worries to Simon. We spent the evening giving each other panicked looks.  I even went to the pay phones at intermission, figuring that if the answering machine picked up, the house was probably still intact. After the play ended, Simon and I both urged Dennis to take us home. He wanted to get coffee and dessert, so we continued to suffer together. Of course, everything was fine when we arrived back at the house, or I wouldn’t be writing this. Dennis would have murdered me! Simon couldn’t help telling Dennis all about it later, though.

I was lucky enough to visit Simon at his pottery studio when he was painting a pair of delft shoes for the drawing room. They were meant to belong to Mrs. Jervis, and they were left by the fireplace in “The First Position.” Simon made many pieces for 18 Folgate Street, including the fireplace tiles in the master bedroom, depicting the neighbors who lived in Spitalfields. He made many obelisks, and there was also a series of mugs based on late 18th century semi-industrial ware. I have one of these mugs, brought to me by Dennis on his final trip to San Francisco.

The last time I saw Simon was in 1992. He was still burning bright, but he was dying of AIDS. He passed away on December 26, 1993, at the age of 28. Dennis died six years and one day later. Their work and my memories remain.

Photograph ©M. Stacey Shaffer 1991

Photographs of Simon’s fireplace tiles can be seen here.

New Beginnings

County Mayo, Ireland, 1996

One of my early Christmas presents was an Epson V300 scanner.  It does a brilliant job with prints, slides, and both color and B & W negatives.  I have been rediscovering favorite old photos, and discovering that images that didn’t turn out so well when I first developed them can be brought to new life with a little help from photoshop.  This photo was taken from the window of a rental car during a road trip along Ireland’s west coast.  We were just north of Achill Island in County Mayo.   It’s a good image to begin the new year—just pretend it’s a sunrise instead of a sunset.  I’m rarely awake early enough to capture the sunrise with my camera.  Maybe that should be a new resolution?

Happy Birthday, Uncle

Today is my uncle’s birthday, so let me tell you about him. Dennis Severs was born in 1948, just two days after Prince Charles, in Escondido, California. When he was in high school, he saved up his money and traveled to England. He loved it so much, he moved to London the minute he graduated. He was supposed to be studying law, but he was really collecting anecdotes, history, and furniture. He would use this collection to create a unique career and a lasting legacy.

Dennis had severe dyslexia, so reading and academics were a real challenge. In spite of this obstacle, or perhaps because of it, he became a brilliant storyteller, weaving together personal stories with historical facts and fascinating details about the way people once lived. He made dry history come alive. In the early 1970s, he bought a landau carriage and a horse, and he gave history tours through the back streets of Chelsea. Main thoroughfares change with the times, but he put together a route through streets that had remained relatively unchanged through the centuries. His tour was a journey through time, and he counted it a success when the tour ended with everyone in tears. The only other open landau in London belonged to the Queen, so they were often mistaken for each other. The carriage tour was a big success, but then Dennis lost the mews where he stabled his horse. Winter and bad weather meant that he couldn’t conduct his tours year round, so Dennis moved the tour inside, ensuring that he would always have a roof over his head.

Dennis bought a derelict Georgian house in Spitalfields, so named because it once adjoined the medieval St Mary’s Spittal, a hospital and priory. In the early 1980s, this East End neighborhood was being restored and revived, attracting artists, writers, and musicians who formed a thriving creative community. Dennis renovated the house at 18 Folgate Street on a shoestring budget, often using wood pallets from the nearby wholesale vegetable market. He told me that he found a fire laid on the top floor that had never been lit, with crumpled newspaper that was dated the day of his birth. (I didn’t know whether to believe him, since his motto was “if it isn’t true, it ought to be.”) He filled the house with all the furniture, silver, art, and other treasures that he’d collected over the years, which his friends had been keeping for him in attics all over England.

Each room reflected a different period from early Georgian to late Victorian, so a walk through the house was another journey through time. The only electricity in the house was for his sound system, so when you were in a room, you could hear horses clip clopping outside, the rise and fall of conversations in other rooms, spoons clinking against cups of tea. Each room had its own scent, too. The kitchen was cookies baking, the dining room was roast beef, the drawing room was lavender used to freshen the rug, the smoking room was tobacco, and the poor apprentice’s room on the top floor was rotting cabbage and stale urine.

There were no red velvet ropes, so visitors could enter the rooms, sit on the chairs, and, if they dared, they could pick up objects and examine them. If they did, they faced my uncle’s wrath. Opening cupboards to search for signs of modern life was also frowned upon. Dennis would say, these visitors have been invited into my home, and I expect them to behave like proper guests. If he didn’t like their behavior, he would simply toss them out. He wouldn’t collect any money until the end of a visit, so he felt free to eject anyone without having to give a refund. And woe to anyone who asked what an object was worth. These people had obviously missed the whole point of his life’s work, which was to create a series of atmospheres that allowed you to truly go back into the past. It wasn’t about expensive antiques, and the key to his technique was mixing valuable pieces with junk scrounged from the Brick Lane market.

When the house tours first began, Dennis would do the entire three hour performance live, but he wanted visitors to focus on the rooms and not on him. Eventually he would start off in each room talking, then leave his visitors on their own listening to recordings of his narration mixed with sound effects. The “tour” was a concoction of English history and social customs interwoven with the story of the Jervis family, prosperous Huguenot silk weavers who set up their looms in Spitalfields after fleeing religious persecution in France. (There really was a Jervis family in Spitalfields, but the story Dennis told sprang from his imagination.)  By the time the tour ended in the Victorian morning room, the last two Jervis boys were dead on the battlefields of Flanders, and spinster Isabel Jervis had died alone in the old family house. On nights when I assisted behind the scenes, I would sit in the kitchen below, listening to the tape by the fading fire, and it was impossible not to cry.

I was sixteen the first time I came to 18 Folgate Street, traveling alone without my parents. I was unprepared for 18th century life. I fell down the stairs, cut my thumb slicing bread, stumbled around by candlelight, and couldn’t light a fire to save my life. Dennis didn’t have a bath in those early days, so in between trips to the neighbor’s to wash, I was covered in soot. Dennis never let me forget that my first question upon entering the house was “are there bugs?”  He tolerated me, probably counting the days until my departure. Then he had to endure my numerous visits over the years until his death in 1999. He died surrounded by close friends, and me, and his funeral was held at Christ Church Spitalfields, just a few days into the new millennium.

(back) Dennis Severs & me, (front) Dominic O’Ceallaigh & Simon Pettet 1991

Dennis complained that I was more interested in the people the house attracted than the house itself, and he also said I was a “conversation magnet” who distracted him from his work. I certainly grew very fond of Dominic the Footman and Simon the Lodger. I would sit by the kitchen stove in “my” chair, observing the endless variety of characters who dropped in. Maj the cat (short for Majesty, but officially named Whitechapel) would sit on my knee, digging her claws in deep whenever I got too comfortable. Still, I took enough interest in the house to take some photographs. Some of these were eventually used for the book he wrote, published two years after his death by Chatto & Windus. Dennis left the house to the Spitalfields Trust, and it is maintained by loyal friends as a private museum. It doesn’t have quite the same lived-in feel now, since he’s no longer there inhabiting the rooms, entertaining guests and torturing uninvited relatives. Keeping the house open to the public was his dream, and it is where his spirit lives on.

“And, dear visitor, take this as the motto of the house:  AUT VISUM, AUT NON! (Oh, for God’s sake!)  You either see it or you don’t.”  — Dennis Severs, 18 Folgate Street