He was sitting in front of his dressing room mirror after a tiring performance of “Camelot,” removing his make-up for the who knows how many thousandth time. Paler, with the greasepaint cleansed from the famous face, he managed to look, simultaneously, handsome, vibrant and worn.
“Richard has been entertaining the idea of doing your show, Mr. Cavett,” a man who appeared to be both valet and companion said.
“And letting the idea entertain him,” the Welshman intoned in that unmistakable voice.
In fact, Richard Burton was still pondering whether to do my show, and it was thought that my visiting him backstage informally might help.
I tried to imagine what fears or hesitations Burton might have about appearing with me. Could he be afraid that the rich voice, those rugged good looks, the manly erotic charm, the hypnotic blue eyes, the articulacy, the fine wit and the ready storehouse of classical and modern literary quotations and allusions were not quite enough to qualify him for sitting next to Cavett? (Did anyone think, just now, that I was describing myself?)
Could he really think that maybe a boy from Nebraska — who had only been to Yale and not, as he had, Oxford — might outshine all those charms? As my Aunt Eva would say, “The very idea!”
Hoping for the effect of light humor, I said, “I hope I don’t frighten you, Mr. Burton.”
“No, Mr. Cavett, you do not. I do that to myself.”
I liked him immensely.
Even under regression hypnosis, Richard would probably not have recalled how we had briefly met about a quarter of a century earlier when only one of us had a familiar name, but more of that anon.
Memories of that night backstage: Richard’s expertly flipping a single, long Marlboro — the mendaciously advertised “light” version — from its box, contemplating it for a moment in a manner that brought to mind an actor holding Yorick’s skull, and saying, as if a little embarrassed to be lighting up, “Looks like these lethal goddamn things will be with me to the end of my days.”
“And hastening them,” I decided not to say. Later, with us knowing each other better, he wouldn’t have minded and would have had a wry response.
Then came the best thing.
Leaving the theater by the stage door required crossing the wide New York State Theater stage. The “Camelot’ sets had been struck for the night and the house and stage were dark; dark except for the murky bulb in a cage on a stand downstage center — the thing known in the theater world as “the ghost light,” an aptly named light that somehow manages to make a vast, dark space seem darker and spookier than it would with no light at all.
What happened next was in the too-good-to-be-true category. Burton stopped near the light, his coat draped over one shoulder, gazed out at the empty house, tilted his head back and, with the famous, full chiming resonance, began, “O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend / The brightest heaven of invention . . . ” — and went right on through that ringing prologue to “Henry the Fifth” (known to actors as “Hank Cinq”).
Goose flesh manifested.
He was standing no more than a yard from me, and I thought, “Talk about front-row seats!” Unforgettable.
Maybe our meeting did the trick. A day or two later, Burton agreed to do the show. But, sadly, requested that there be no studio audience. I felt sorry for a bunch of strangers I would never meet who would never know what they missed.
You can do a good show without an audience, but I knew from experience that audiences sometimes buoyed guests who at first feared them.
“What if I made a deal with you?” I dared. “Since they already have their tickets, why don’t we start with them and if you feel uncomfortable we’ll tell them there’s a technical problem and we have to stop for that day and see them out?”
This gambit could accomplish one of two things: (a) he would feel sorry for the disappointed folks and relent, or (b) I would learn how to say “bugger off” in Welsh.
He accepted the offer.I introduced him with a glowing quote from a prominent British critic about a past performance, never dreaming — since I didn’t know that Richard had disciplined himself to shun all reviews, good or bad — that I was bringing it to him for the first time. He confessed to enjoying it.
At his entrance — which, you’ll see, he artfully delayed for just a few anticipatory seconds — my usually sedate PBS studio audience went nuts. The mikes didn’t truly report the intense burst of applause. (Happily, this was taped before the later craze of piercing, high-pitched cries and shrieks from talk show audiences that have replaced applause as we knew it. Today, when a guest — of whatever high or low consequence — steps out, the air is ripped with screaming. Why? Who started this?)
I love to watch audiences when famous figures appear. Burton’s charisma radiated. At the moment of his entrance, I watched a highly respectable looking lady in the audience slap her hands to her cheeks, let her purse slip to the floor and slide down in her seat. A staff member reported seeing a woman grab for smelling salts.
I once had a guest hate the audience, lean over to me and whisper, “Let’s dump the creeps out front.” I knew Burton still might opt for that, although in somewhat classier terms; probably whispering something more like, “Richard Cavett, I’m experiencing a modicum of discomfort. Let us enforce our gentlemen’s agreement and politely dispense with the assembled onlookers.”
It didn’t happen. When he got that all-important first laugh, every muscle in the Burton face relaxed visibly and I knew we were in for a good half-hour.
Don’t be surprised if the show seems to go by too fast, leaving you wanting more. The man who wasn’t sure he’d do the show at all agreed to do a second one. At the end of that one, I asked if he thought he had one more in him. He did. And, definitely pushing my luck (and in some sense yours), I snagged a fourth.
Sadly, I was too chicken to ask for the one that would have made a full week. Downing his sixth diet soda, Burton talked away a fifth show backstage in the green room. I owe you one.
There’s a lot more to say about this man, but I’m electing to withdraw for now and release you to some real viewing pleasure.
arrgghhh...!!%(^$&
i'm very affraiddd !!!