claytoncast

     Twenty five years ago this Christmas and I was giving my Alderman Fitz-Warren for the reopening of the Arts Theatre Cambridge. During this time, I met a young man who was part of the Stage crew team. Twenty five years later, he is still part of my life. He’s older, wiser, more successful, and is the person who has given me the best twenty five years of my life. We are planning a rather special celebration for the 23rd of December this year and we were planning to have it in a faraway location. Recent events over the last couple of days may have snatched that from us.  As an actor, loss of possibility and missed opportunity should be something I am well prepared for. It's not included in any drama school training. A few sessions in resilience might be of much more use than the afternoons spent trying to be a zoo animal. I'd prefer to be on a beach to celebrate such a special event, but if circumstances are to take that from us, then the way forward is gratitude for what I s

So, there have been several enigmatic blog posts during the year about a project that has kept me occupied since January and which only recently came to fruition.   Well now, I can tell you all.   Last week in Birmingham at the NEC, I was privileged to lead a team who staged the event "Together 2021” for McDonald's Uk and Ireland. An integral part of the event was the showing of a feature film “As Good As All Of Us” which we shot during the summer. My first foray behind the camera and a project which has brought me a great deal of joy throughout the year.   To see a film one has created in glowing colour on a screen the size of an Imax in front of an audience of nearly three thousand people is a wondrous thing. A little frightening and yet awe-inspiring. Mercifully, as director my face wasn’t raised to such great heights, but I had the pleasure of sitting with some actors in the piece who had never seen their features in such gigantic proportions.   And as well as the story of

 So exactly 4 months to the day after the cameras rolled on the feature film project I've been working on this year, I sat in a rather wonderful cinema in a West End hotel with 40 or more of the cast and crew to watch the end results.  The film has already been approved by those who need to approve it, but sharing it with the people who made it is a special night. The role of director gave me a heightened insight to the contribution of everybody on a film set and I was as delighted to see boom operators, and make up artists as I was to see the wonderful guest stars and main cast who came along to share the evening. So often  cast and crew screenings are at 10 AM on a Sunday morning when one just has time for a quick coffee and a bacon roll after getting off the tube. The luxury of a screening at 7 PM on a Friday night in the centre of town after glasses of Prosecco and canapés was a real treat. And then to press the button and set the film rolling in front of those people who were

I can’t help feeling that my list of possible lunch dates has slowly diminished during lockdown.    Never knowingly short of a girlfriend, or friend who is a boy, for lunch. I now find I’m scrabbling around on the mercifully few days I’m free to find a lunch companion.   One of the greatest things to come out of lockdown was our wonderful What’s App group “Les Quizerables”. A random group of friends and acquaintances who responded to an open message regarding a Thursday evening quiz night in the second week of lockdown and who stayed together for over a year. There were the extra hours of meetings when allowed, and we’ve had lunch parties. We’ve had a wedding, and unfortunately, a loss, but the group continue to chat and help each other out over the inter-waves and in person.   We have dinner booked with two, and five for lunch a few days later.   So, what am I moaning on about, then?   Just that it was hard to keep up with many friends. Zoom calls for work dominated, and the telephone

I can just about remember the first morning of my professional theatre career. Walking into a busy rehearsal room in Warwick Avenue; a room already a buzz with the sound of greetings and cries of “Hail Fellow well met” in Shakespearean tones. It was daunting and exciting beyond belief. Throughout that first rehearsal period, I remember the moments of learning. Watching experienced older actors for whom this was now just a job, executing it with deft touches I had never even imagined during my three years of hardened training. The little tips I learned by watching them, and the advice I gained from them over post rehearsal glasses of wine and long coach journeys between venues on a European tour have long stayed with me. It was a wonderful way to learn. I never imagined that I would be in a position whereby my knowledge of the profession would be of worth, but during my tenure as chairman of the Actors Centre, I was lucky enough to be involved with the Alan Bates award. For some five or

Lurking among my record collection in 1971 was a song entitled “Freedom Come Freedom Go” by The Fortunes. A perky little tune to which I knew all the words and would often dance around the living room, hairbrush in hand, giving it my all. It seems an apt message for today. On the slew of Sunday morning political programmes gracing our screen, Freedom Day has been much to the fore. What is most alarming is that there doesn’t seem to be anybody saying that this is a good idea, other than the undersized uncharismatic and unqualified yes men of Boris’s gang. I have just watched Robert Jenrick, the sort of man who thinks that charisma is December 25, lie his way through back-to-back interviews on Sky and The Andrew Marr Show. His modus operandi was typical of what we receive from our government. He refused to answer any question. One suspects that some people in the Cabinet are not stupid enough to believe that this government’s response has been faultless. Yet that is the line they pursue.

So now I am at the other end of the tunnel. Except that it wasn’t a tunnel other than in terms of tiredness. The three weeks of filming I have just been through with my director’s hat on has to be one of the most joyous experiences of a long career. From calling action on our first slate in a school in Wandsworth to picture wrap on the upper floor of a restaurant in Gillingham, the entire experience was a joy. First and foremost, the weather blessed us.After the horrendous weather of May, the bank holiday allowed the sun to shine,and it continued to bake down on us for the entire shoot. We had one drizzly Friday when mercifully we were shooting indoors, but for the rest of the time as a unit we bought shares in Ambre Solaire, and Panama hats. Lucky to have an army of runners keen to hold several umbrellas whenever necessary. I remember one afternoon taking to thestreets of Forest Hill to film our leading man walking up a steep incline andtalking to camera. This involves a large frame b

I can remember my excitement the first time I saw my name on a television call sheet. I was lucky enough for that to happen while I was still at drama school. In the 1970s there was a healthy relationship between the Manchester Polytechnic School of Theatre and Granada TV.  Quite often the casting department would call one of our tutors. His wife happened to be a very senior producer at Granada. They would ask for a couple of students who already had equity cards to come in for an interview for these small parts. Having gained my Equity card in my first year at drama school as a walk on for the London Festival Ballet as Rudolph Nureyev’s guard (That’s another story), I was keen and eligible. So, I would often hop onto a bus into town to the Granada offices on Quay street That first call sheet on which my name appeared, probably alongside an artist number somewhere in the hundreds, was for a thriller called “The XYY Man”. I was pushing the casting envelope by playing a choreographer. Fo

Slowly the regulations are disappearing and we are being allowed more and more freedoms. Who would have thought that planning a train trip into the centre of town would be such a brilliant adventure? Perhaps that's what we should take away from the past eighteen months. That the little things are worth even more.  Getting back into the swing of things is harder than I thought. Last week I took the train and tube to go for a long awaited walk with a very old and dear friend. We had the most beautiful day with brisk sunshine and coffee and cake in a park and a good couple of hours walking and talking and catching up.  The next day I went into Spotlight for that rare occurrence-an afternoon of live auditions. We saw six or seven people and everyone seemed to be incredibly grateful for the opportunity to be in a room together and to talk. The actual acting seemed to become the least important part of the day. Yet  by the time I woke up on Wednesday morning I was more than ready for a d

Normality, or what can pass for it, now seems is seeping back into our lives. Two weeks ago we had a little Tuesday night gin party of six people to celebrate that we can meet up out of doors. It was a delight, although by the time we’d chatted to people for a couple of hours- something with which we have become unfamiliar, we were both exhausted, and flopped in front of the television. I had a bit of a medical MOT this week trying to fit in the dental hygienist, a blood test, and the visit for a hearing test all before the shops open tomorrow. We can all crowd into Primark tomorrow, but we have to stay outside in a pub garden and can’t even pop inside to pay. I know. Don’t tell me. We are following the science. Although one has to ask “What science?” The television seems overburdened with scientists. From Lorraine to Pointless, every programme seems to have their pet expert. Bungling Boris and his band of inept outlaws can listen to whichever one lets them do what they want to do - or

I wondered how many songs mentioning ages were in any way relevant to my life. I think I’d better own up to Dancing Queen at seventeen.  Even though I was still at school, I was aware of which direction my longings were pulling me. I’m not convinced if I was “tragically hip” at 38, and I’m pretty convinced that I had no need for a death cab for cutie at 60. One song that’s haunted me for years is the classic “When I’m 64” from the Beatles, and tomorrow I will reach that milestone. So, it’s time to take a look at those lyrics and see just how I have fared.  I have lost a little hair with a classic bald patch starting to show through in the middle, but at the moment lockdown has more than taken care of that, giving me a full head of tonsorial pleasure. I did get a Valentine, and I’ve already had birthday greetings, and people who know me well remember that I gave up bottles of wine 22 years ago. I think there’s little chance with the current restrictions that I’ll be out until 2:45am, an

My recent article in The Stage hinted that 2021 might not have been all that we were expecting it to be, given the number of U-turns we’ve already experienced, and how for many of us, this lockdown has been the hardest. Starting with days ending at four in the afternoon, it’s been very difficult to find a reason to push forward and get up every day. I was facing a week like that last week with days looming empty on my schedule screen. Luckily, late last Monday afternoon, the first completed edit of my new novel “The Hoax” arrived back from my publishers. With the title all about a prank, the logical publication date has always seemed like April 1, and now we are racing against time to make sure that the book is available. That meant suddenly my week had a purpose and breaking the word count down into easily achievable chunks, the last five days have been taken up with refining, clarifying, emphasising, and hopefully improving the text. Karen, the editor for the publisher, and my lovely

Lockdown. Day 217. Actually, I do not know if that’s correct. I've lost all count of everything this time round. The good thing is that today I have had a sod it morning. After doing my exercises, ten kilometres on the bike and physio exercises with my rubber bands, I’ve taken to a scented bath for an hour. A large cup of coffee and my thoughts. I can’t even take the morning paper in there with me. It’s too full of the real world.  It’s just one of those days when I have lost the will to live. I’ve been very lucky. I’ve had work throughout the lockdown unlike many of my peers and colleagues, but it hasn’t made it any easier. In our business, they say you should never appear in a sequel. Let’s face it. “Lockdown 1” was a global hit. The Blitz spirit, the touching scenes of everyone on their balconies and in their gardens, clapping and banging saucepans for the brave boys and girls of the NHS. The orderly queues at the supermarkets Lidl notwithstanding. That was the lockdown to be in

Lockdown. Day 217. Actually, I do not know if that’s correct. I lost all count everything this time round. The good thing is that today I have had a soggy morning. After doing my exercises, ten kilometres on the bike and physio exercises with my rubber bands, I’ve taken to a scented bath for an hour. A large cup of coffee and my thoughts. I can’t even take the morning paper in there with me. It’s too full of the real world. It’s just one of those days when I have lost the will to live. I’ve been very lucky. I’ve had work throughout the lockdown unlike many of my peers and colleagues, but it hasn’t made it any easier. In our business, they say you should never appear in a sequel. Let’s face it. “Lockdown 1” was a global hit. The Blitz spirit, the touching scenes of everyone on their balconies and in their gardens, clapping and banging saucepans for the brave boys and girls of the NHS. The orderly queues at the supermarkets Lidl notwithstanding. That was the lockdown to be in. Rousing, p