Mondays Are Dark

A story of theatrical love, sex, and death.

In 1968, a group of British and American actors formed a theatre company. Although they didn't realize it, they were riding the crest of a cultural tsunami. The musical world was exploding with new rock and jazz. Visual artists were exploring the fraught landscape of post-modernism. Writers were pushing boundaries of societal comfort with explicit sex. TV was changing how people lived day-to-day lives. Political, economic, and religious norms were in upheaval, as the WWII generation was confronted with its own progeny coming of age and demanding change in every aspect of their world.

In keeping with their turbulent times, these actors wanted to challenge conventional ideas. They wanted to create something new and different, a theatre company that would be provocative and discomforting. It would take audiences to a place they had never been, integrating new kinds of design, embracing new music, and brushing aside Victorian morays about sexuality.

They called themselves "The Bird Theatre," because 1) they loved Charlie Parker; 2) they loved the pun on The Bard; and 3) they thought they were flipping "the bird" to the established theatrical world. Their first production was called "Harold and the Winter Chill," which they staged in a small theatre off-West-End (before it was known as such). Among several original songs, it also featured the (unauthorized) jazz of Charlie Parker and the (highly unauthorized) rock of The Rolling Stones, with set pieces based on the art of Andy Warhol, and a plot that was essentially a knock-off of the then-most-popular television show, "Till Death Us Do Part." It featured frontal nudity and frank discussion of sex, including homosexual and lesbian partnerships. In short, it was everything that the actors wanted it to be -- new, provocative, and discomforting. It was also, briefly, a hit.

But three things caused "Harold and the Winter Chill" to close prematurely, and ultimately caused the members of company to disband, never to perform together again. One, a lawyer for The Rolling Stones demanded that the band's songs not be used without compensation. (He hinted that for a thousand pounds cash he might be able to overlook the transgression for a while, but that's another story.) Second, a company member was suddenly pregnant, and not by her husband, who was also a company member. Finally, and some might argue decisively, one company member died under mysterious circumstances. Because he was the "Harold" of the title, it was the final straw, the ultimate blow that the fledgling Bird Theatre could not withstand.

Despite a calamitous ending, or perhaps because of it, "Harold and the Winter Chill" survived as a topic of cult legend among theatre cognoscenti in London and New York. More than survive, its cult grew in size until, decades later, thousands of people claimed to have attended one of the nine sold-out performances of "Harold and the Winter Chill" in its cozy 55-seat theatre. A programme from the show was auctioned on eBay for £4,000 pounds sterling. A poster from the show -- one of only two hand-made for the exterior of The Bird itself -- was auctioned by Sotheby's for nearly £25,000 pounds. A prominent London theatre critic began to consider the status of "Harold" in the grand landscape of the times, declaring it was among the most important productions ever staged in England. It was proven by photograph that Warhol himself was there for a performance. There was anecdotal evidence that Mick Jagger had attended, and that the 1968 Beggar's Banquet song "Factory Girl" was inspired by Mick's experience meeting the lead actress in "Harold," Claire Spalding, who was working in a garment factory in London at the same time she was starring as Henrietta, the wife of Harold.

It's worth mentioning one of the reasons that The Bird Theatre was famous long after its demise: star power. The young Lorne Drainie, soon to become a film actor superstar, was featured in a small role in "Harold." A year after, he was starring on Broadway, and a year after that, in big Hollywood films. Today, he's still a gigantic star, although he's more involved directing films than acting in them.

Some of the other people involved at The Bird -- perhaps a disproportionate percentage from such a small company -- also went on to successful careers in entertainment. (This was partly why Dennis Fontainebleu, the London Times drama critic, was so keen to make the case that The Bird and "Harold" were huge influences on both English and American theatre scenes.) Buster Mitchell, the writer of "Harold," later wrote plays for Joan Littlewood and Peter Hall in England, as well as Harold Prince in New York. Elaine Frenke, the ingenue of "Harold," went on to an extraordinary career on the stages of London, Berlin, and New York. Nancy Cooke-Lipton became the star of "Flaming Hay Farms," the popular '70s BBC show. L.C. Edwards later worked in Warhol's films before becoming a major figure in seminal gay pornographic films during the late '70s and early '80s. The composer of the original songs for "Harold," Jean Ignatewski, had several number-ones in England and famously feuded with Noddy Holder of Slade over who wore that bloody silly hat first.

Beyond star power and celebrity names, there was of course the spectacular flame-out of The Bird -- a hotly contested pregnancy, a mysterious death, allegations of drug-dealing, and disputed connections to an old-money British aristocratic family, among other tabloid items. But that was all in 1968, and the world has since moved on.

Or has it? Alongside Dennis Fontainebleu and the rabid cult fans of The Bird Theatre, a BBC documentary crew is now putting together a film about The Bird and "Harold" for a series called "Famous for 15 Minutes," a sort of one-hit wonder show that covers all aspects of pop culture. As they dive into the world of The Bird, they are getting more than they bargained for: it seems that the echoes of The Bird are still being heard, and that many of these echoes are mysterious. For one, nobody is able to provide a copy of the script for "Harold." Every copy seems to have been systematically acquired by an unknown person. For another, both mother and child -- the disastrously pregnant actress Esme Parkins and her baby (son? daughter?) disappeared in 1968, shortly after the baby was born. Meanwhile, the wife of Wygan Smythson, the actor who died in his dressing room while "Harold"'s audience was getting ready for its tenth performance, is claiming that Wygan did not die at all, but rather faked his death and high-tailed it for France, where he continues to live today.

Given all this, we must apologize for telling this story in bits and pieces, and for bouncing back and forth between 1968 and the present day. But we think you'll enjoy the tale. It begins with the opening curtain of the first performance of "Harold and the Winter Chill." At rise, spot-lit and floating in the middle of a black stage, we see a naked woman curled in foetal position, floating, floating in the air...

home writer producer director

Mondays Are Dark Tamzina Films The Green Dream The Accidental Activist