Magazine article The Spectator

A Good Life

Magazine article The Spectator

A Good Life

Article excerpt

As she prepares for the role of Mrs Malaprop, Penelope Keith talks to Lloyd Evans, who finds her decisive, cheerful, pragmatic and modest, with a tendency to break into fits of unexpected giggles

A winter off. That's what Penelope Keith had planned for this year. But when an opportunity arrived to play Mrs Malaprop in Sheridan's The Rivals she couldn't turn it down. 'It's one of the great women's parts so I thought I must have a bash at that.'

We meet in a compact, slightly unloved dressing-room in the Theatre Royal, Brighton, where she sits in light-brown slacks and a soft-pink cardigan with her back to a bright mirror festooned with good luck cards. An assistant brings me a cup of coffee and Keith instantly spots that I have nowhere to put it.

She grabs a red plastic bucket and upends it in front of me. 'There!' She's decisive, pragmatic and instinctively cheerful but there's a marked degree of modesty about her, too, probably ingrained during her post-war childhood and strengthened by personal disposition.

'The only interesting thing about me is my work, ' she says, and adds, 'if that's interesting. I don't enjoy the current culture of exposure of everything - one's heart, one's soul, one's body, I don't do that.'

The Rivals, directed by Peter Hall, has finished a national tour and has arrived for a 16-week run at the Theatre Royal Haymarket, one of the West End's larger houses. The recession hasn't damaged people's appetite for classic revivals?

'Fortunately not but we've been living on fool's gold, ' she says in that luxuriantly steely voice. 'And it's the wages of sin we're all having to pay for now. It's awful for a lot of people who are going to lose their jobs, ghastly, ghastly, but you know I was brought up to believe that you didn't buy what you couldn't afford. You saved. And debt was a dirty word.'

Though she comes across as a textbook head girl, Penelope Keith has huge stores of enthusiasm for her work and a tendency to break into fits of giggles unexpectedly. And she treats certain vowels to a sensuous elongation. When she refers to queues of young people crowding into Brighton's nightclubs, she pronounces 'queueueueueueues' like the chime of a bell in a long glissando from high soprano to tenor. 'Queueueeueueueues of young'. What concerns her is that they're saddling themselves with a life of endless debt.

Not that this is random carping. She's quietly active in numerous charities and helped launch a group called Debt Cred, which lobbies for personal finance to be taught in schools. 'It governs everyone's lives, whether they're dukes or dustmen, but there's no financial education in schools, which I find shocking.'

I ask about her preparation before each show. 'Do you get into a special space?' She responds with full-strength vehemence. 'Oh, no, no, no, no, no. It's called acting. Although of course . . . ' - and her modesty takes over to eliminate any hint of superiority about her reply - 'a lot of actors do get into special spaces. And if that works for them, fine.

I don't. I know exactly what I'm going to do.

Because once you're on stage absolutely annnnnnnnything can happen. I went to do a move the other day and someone - I have a very lonnnnnnnng frock - someone was standing on my frock. And I thought, now, do I pull it from under the foot, or stay here until they move? …

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