by Julius Green
I find, to my dismay, that Dorothy and Campbell Christie have written a play [Carrington VC] all about a court martial. I don’t know if there is any similarity, but I am getting a script over the weekend, and if there is it might be necessary to go into rehearsal at the beginning of May for an immediate production.
This would mean that there would be no time to get your approval for the cast, other than the major parts, and I wonder if this would worry you.
I hope very much that it will not be necessary to rush this play on, as I really aim for a late autumn production.
I am eagerly awaiting your reaction to my Sir Wilfrid suggestions.
Kind Regards,
Yours Sincerely,
Peter Saunders
Christie to Saunders: 14 April 1953
Dear Peter,
A very handsome list of Sir Wilfrids! Not a woman Q.C. definitely. It would remove reality. I know there are women barristers but one always feels that they are rather a joke. Besides a bit of man woman sex antagonism between R. and Sir W. would be good. I’ll give you my list of priority – but would prefer you to follow your own. Some of my likes and dislikes are prejudices – and I’ve no real objection to any of them.
1) Richardson – Because he would be a draw and is a good actor. I can’t imagine him as it, because I’ve always thought him best at unassuming everyday men, but his queer face might look rather arresting under a wig.
2) Laughton – Has great attack and temperament, and is rather ‘lucky for me’ I think. Haven’t seen him for years, however. Don’t know how popular he is or what he’s like now. [Laughton would later play the role in the 1957 film of Witness for the Prosecution. Richardson would play it in the 1982 television film.]
3) Roger Livesey – I like him very much as an actor. Any plays he’s been in I always remember the character he played. A lot of people don’t like him, though. That funny voice of his might be effective.
4) Felix Aylmer – Best as a Bishop, but wonderful in his irony. A different kind of Sir Wilfrid – but effective. But isn’t he much too old?
5) Claude Rains/Robert Donat – Never seen either of them on stage. Know nothing and can’t judge. Obviously a great many peoples’ dream?!
6) Portman – Probably good. Does he overact a bit? Probably wouldn’t matter for Sir W. On reflection might be very good.
7) John Mills – Can’t imagine him in a part. Always visualise him as gentle and romantic character.
8) Cecil Parker – I’ve never liked him in anything I’ve seen him in – but lots of people think he’s very good.
9) Clive Brook – Nice but deadly dull. I think you want somebody who can be a personality – even an odd one.
10) Basil Sydney – Not seen him for years. Always thought him bad.
I don’t suppose any of these remarks will be at all helpful to you. You just go ahead and have whoever you fancy. You’re very quiet about Romaine? What are you up to?
Yours in haste,
Agatha
Just got script – but I’m sending this off.
If you want to [go] into rehearsal beginning of May, go ahead. You’re very sound on casting and I do feel this is Saunders’ Fun.
We shall be here until about May 3rd, I should think. Then a few days in Kurdistan, perhaps, and to Baghdad by the 7th or 8th. Flying home May 12th.
A.M. [Agatha Mallowan]
What about Jean Cadell as the housekeeper? Or is she dead? [The Scottish actress was by no means dead, though at sixty-nine would arguably have been too old for the role.] No hope of Irene Worth for Romaine I suppose?
As well as casting, the issue of its scale was at the forefront of concerns about Witness for the Prosecution’s potential right from the start. On the one hand, its widely advertised Old Bailey setting was one of its biggest selling points, but on the other it made the piece expensive and difficult to create and run. Christie’s original dramatis personae of fifteen had expanded to thirty by the time the production opened, in order to include court officials, additional barristers and some members of the jury; although the play was widely promoted as having an actual cast of thirty it was, in fact, twenty-eight, including two doubles. Aware of the importance of her work to the repertory market, Christie herself offers some introductory notes in the acting edition, explaining how less well-resourced companies might approach the piece. There are a large number of non-speaking roles which exist largely for the purposes of courtroom authenticity, and her preferred option is to use amateur supernumeraries for some of these or, indeed, to bring members of the audience onto the stage: ‘I believe this would be greatly to the benefit of the play rather than lose a lot of people in the court scene.’ Failing that, she suggests how the piece could be performed by ten men and five women through the doubling and cutting of roles. Sensitive to the fact that disguise is a central feature of the story, she specifies two small female roles that should not be doubled ‘as the audience will think it is “plot” – which, of course, it isn’t’.15
And it wasn’t just the cast that was unusually big. Michael Weight’s set, although not an entirely accurate recreation of the Old Bailey, was an impressive representation of it. The problem lay in the fact that there are two locations in the play, and this necessitated large trucking units to effect the scene changes from Robarts’ chambers into the courtroom. Built by Jack Brunskill and painted by Harkers, leaders in their respective fields, these were impressive items. Saunders’ loyal lieutenant Verity Hudson, credited in the programme in bold type as ‘Stage Director and Business Manager’, was proud that her team were able to achieve the first scene change, which reveals the Old Bailey, in twenty-eight seconds.16
The issue of the jury is particularly interesting in terms of both cast numbers and the physicality of the set. Integral to the conceit of any courtroom drama is the fact that the audience is, in effect, the jury. Instead of struggling to second-guess a maverick detective as they unravel a mystery through a combination of homespun forensic techniques, psychological analysis and eccentric intuition, much of which would be inadmissible in court, the audience is asked to make an assessment based on the evidence as it is presented, supported by sometimes complex and often impassioned legal argument. The system itself, of course, is not infallible, so the audience must keep their wits about them; and with the character accused of murder facing the gallows if convicted, the stakes in 1953 were that much higher. Saunders and Christie exchanged notes on whether the jury should be physically represented on stage or whether the defence and the prosecution should simply address the audience. The problem with the jury being featured on stage, as well as the obvious issue of increasing the payroll by twelve people, was the practical one of where to seat them, without pulling focus from the important characters and while remaining relatively faithful to the Old Bailey’s layout. Having actors playing the jury also to an extent disenfranchises the audience, who want to inhabit their own role as jurors. In the end, the set was designed so that only three jurors were visible, effectively minimising their on-stage impact and giving the audience the opportunity to make up the numbers.
Saunders’ problems were not limited to the production’s large, non-star cast and its outsize set. Despite the success of The Hollow and The Mousetrap (or maybe because of it), ‘the Group’ was still not opening its doors to him and, once again, he found himself struggling to secure a West End theatre. The only one available was the independently owned Winter Garden, which Saunders had wisely turned down for The Mousetrap and which, according to him, was ‘the worst of all the white elephant theatres and an enormous sixteen hundred and forty seater . . . By this time all my capital had gone. I found I had underestimated the enormous cost of this production and I would be responsible for any excess. I was so scared of the Winter Garden that I would only agree to go there provided I could give one week’s notice at any time within the first five days of the run.’17 His contract with the Winter Garden confirms this unusual arrangement, and the fact that the th
eatre was prepared to offer such terms is indicative of how desperate they were to secure a production.18
In order to help take the curse off the Winter Garden, Saunders engaged a ten-piece ‘entr’acte orchestra’ to play before the performance and during the interval, having first obtained an agreement with the Musicians’ Union that the musicians would be retained only so long as business permitted,19 after which they would be replaced with the more usual Hammond organ. The leaflet advertising the production also boasts, ‘This theatre has now been entirely re-seated, with more leg room and wider and more comfortable seats for patrons. Clean towels and soap are provided in all cloakrooms – without charge of course.’20
Even booking theatres for the short pre-West End tour proved problematic, particularly when Howard & Wyndham suddenly and inexplicably cancelled an engagement at one of their theatres. Following what Saunders believes to have been the personal intervention of Howard & Wyndham boss Prince Littler,21 the booking was replaced with one at the Empire Theatre, Edinburgh, a variety theatre controlled by Moss Empires. Hardly ideal, but better than nothing; Saunders was grateful to Littler for getting involved, and where the Group was concerned there was nothing to be gained by arguing.
The tour opened on 28 September in Nottingham, where The Hollow and The Mousetrap had both started out, before moving on to Glasgow, Edinburgh and Sheffield. Notices were ‘mixed’, even in Nottingham, while business, particularly at Sheffield, was not sufficient to sustain the size of the production. Saunders was clearly becoming nervous that he should have heeded Christie’s ‘gipsy warning’ and that the whole enterprise was indeed about to prove to be ‘Saunders’ Folly’.
He needn’t have worried. When Witness for the Prosecution opened at the Winter Garden on 28 October, its first night was, by all accounts, an unqualified triumph, magnified by the sheer size of the audience. Saunders writes:
If I had to choose my supreme moment in my theatre life this was it, and I shall never forget it as long as I live . . . Everything went perfectly. After innumerable curtain calls . . . the cast turned to the upper box where Agatha was sitting, and the entire company bowed. There was pandemonium in the theatre. Not only clapping and shouting, but people standing and waving. I have never in my life been at any theatre and heard such a reception. Dickie Attenborough had rushed round from The Mousetrap to be there at the end. John Mills was there, too, standing at the back of our box, clapping and cheering, and shouting as loudly as anyone. And Agatha Christie, completely stunned by the reception, was beaming and waving at the audience . . . as she left, she whispered to me the understatement of all time, ‘it’s rather fun, isn’t it?22
Max Mallowan recalls, ‘This is the only occasion on which I have known Agatha to enjoy the agony of a first night: from the opening it was clear that this was a winner, and at the end the cast bowed in unison to the authoress. Peter Saunders, who produced a wonderful scenario and who has never stinted any production said that he had never seen the like of this finale in which one and all displayed their sincere admiration.’23
Malcolm MacDougall, a business contact of Saunders, had persuaded his client, a Mrs Duke, to invest £500 in the production, and wrote to Saunders to congratulate him and thank him for the first night tickets for his wife and himself. Saunders replied, ‘You mention my courage in taking this big theatre for this very big show, but I in turn would like to congratulate you on your courage in advising a client to put money into a show with a person that you know only slightly. I am certain that it will show a substantial profit.’ Rather alarmingly, he continues, ‘I am terribly sorry about Gwenda’s dress. I saw it from my box, and was about to come down and see if I could do anything when I saw the flames had been extinguished. I really think Mrs Duke should buy her a new dress.’24 The mind boggles.
In a week in which the Old Vic Company were presenting King John, the Sunday Express ran the headline ‘AGATHA TOPPLES THE BARD OFF HIS PEDESTAL’ above a review that declared, ‘This is a rattling good play, Agatha Christie has the stuff of playwriting in her. Her paradox is that her characters are unreal, and yet she makes them live. Witness For the Prosecution, as a matter of fact, is a much better play than King John, which is also by a British author. Yes, the Old Vic is right to give us Shakespeare’s failures as well as his successes . . . At any rate, it was Agatha Christie’s week in the theatre, and not even Shakespeare can deprive her of that honour.’25
The Daily Telegraph remarked:
Of late there have been unhappy signs that the Winter Garden might be lost before long in the trackless hinterland of unexplored London, as happens to theatres when they go out of fashion. But the production there last night of Agatha Christie’s exciting murder trial Witness for the Prosecution puts it fairly back on the map again; this play might run for a century. Once more the Christie conjuring trick has come off. Once more in the plain sight of the audience the pea has been insinuated under the wrong thimble. Once more we have been led down the garden path – or at least I have . . . Apart from being a clever puzzle, this is an extremely actable play. Trial scenes are proverbially effective, and this one is jam for a number of players. Patricia Jessel in particular, as the German woman, gets a big chance and takes it in a big way. She gives a beautifully judged and controlled performance, and has a great share in the play’s success.26
And the Daily Express reported the rapturous reception of the audience: ‘They cheered, they stamped, they shouted “Author!” All thirty of the cast bowed solemnly to a stage-box. But Agatha Christie, 62, sat alone in the dark, looking like Queen Victoria, smiling . . . “If you dare shine a light on me,” she had told her backer, Peter Saunders, “you’ll never have another play of mine.” He kept faith . . . I salute Patricia Jessel for a brilliant impersonation as the wife. D.A. Clarke-Smith is an iron prosecuting attorney. And Mrs Christie is the most infuriating darling of them all.’27
The Daily Mail reported, ‘This is not only Agatha Christie’s biggest play (it has a cast of thirty) but her best; an ingenious and absorbing murder thriller with more than the usual share of comedy . . . We have had court scenes often enough before, and impoverished young men accused of killing rich elderly women are no novelty but Miss Christie stirs these familiar ingredients into an evening of crisp excitement.’28 And the Daily Mirror joined it in applauding the playwright’s successful experiment with the courtroom drama genre: ‘Agatha Christie must be happy this morning. While one thriller, The Mousetrap, is packing them in at the Ambassadors Theatre, another play of hers called Witness for the Prosecution opened with great success last night at the Winter Garden Theatre. The Old Bailey murder trial is a good theatrical bet, but the way Miss Christie treats this one makes it outstanding . . .’29
One fascinating press analysis of the Christie theatrical phenomenon came the following August in an article in the New York Herald Tribune headlined ‘Second-Rate London Plays Have Rewarding Virtues’. In it, Walter F. Kerr compared the Broadway and West End theatregoing experiences, from the American perspective:
One of the nicest things about the London theatre is that you can go to a second-rate play on purpose.
You wouldn’t do that in New York. You may, indeed, find yourself staring at second-rate stuff on Broadway with alarming frequency – but never because you meant to. If you wind up at a routine domestic comedy hereabouts it is only because someone has told you that it is really much more than a routine domestic comedy – that it is, in fact, first rate.
Or you may conceivably settle for an inferior entertainment out of sheer desperation, because you’ve got out of town friends on your hands and you can’t get into anything you know to be better. The tacit understanding in the American theater is that every theater-going adventure is going to be – and had darn well better be – of the highest quality. An understandable bitterness is often the result.
The British theater is a great deal more candid and a great deal more relaxed about the matter. It offers, with no apologies at all, at least
two flatly and imperturbably opposed levels of playgoing. During the current summer in London it is possible to satisfy one’s presumably better higher tastes by traipsing off to the Haymarket, where John Gielgud, Ralph Richardson and Irene Worth are giving superb performances in a quasi-Chekhovian cameo called ‘A Day by the Sea’ . . .
But it is also possible – in London – to turn squarely about and march off to an Agatha Christie thriller that doesn’t pretend to be anything more than an Agatha Christie thriller.
Going to one of these straight-faced, but unmistakenly genial, entertainments is, in fact, an experience exactly comparable to settling down for the evening with any detective novel you happen to fancy. As theater it is depressurized – casual, undemanding, irresponsible, amiable.
You drop in, let’s say, on Miss Christie’s ‘Witness for the Prosecution.’ You notice at once that the hushed and slightly frigid atmosphere that pursues the ‘best’ in theater is missing. The audience certainly hasn’t dressed – what’s good enough at noon around the house is good enough here. Nor has the tempo of the day undergone any solemn change for the worse: the playgoers are flushed, busy, noisy, pleasantly knockabout.
Even the ushers are at their chattiest and most companionable, the starch all gone from their uniform and manners. The actors are by no means embarrassed by the relatively primitive work they are called upon to do; they love it, are loved in return and are never above glancing directly at the audience for approval after a particularly good riposte.
When the evening is over, no one is in a hurry to go home. And no one hates himself for having come. He knew exactly what he was getting into . . .
The London theater is lucky I think. By refusing to be on its very best behaviour all the time, it has left room for the idler, the family outing and the lowbrow. (We have more or less effectively discouraged the lowbrow from bothering with Broadway.)
And the virtue of this amiable conspiracy isn’t just that it keeps so many actors and writers at work. It has the good grace to invite a much larger segment of the public into the playhouse. It helps form a habit.30