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... Mondays Are Dark Tamzina Films The Green Dream The Accidental Activist
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