Penelope Keith as Lady Bracknell
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Penelope Keith seems, shall we say, to the manner born to play Oscar Wilde's Lady Bracknell, as one might expect not just from the 67-year-old star of TV's
To the Manor Born but from a stage veteran whose career has encompassed Shakespeare and Rattigan, Noel Coward and, indeed,
The Importance of Being Earnest once previously (that last in a U.K. tour during the 1980s that the actress has put out of her mind). Something of a TV legend in Britain, Keith will be eternally associated with two series—not just as Audrey in
To the Manor Born, which had a one-off comeback airing over Christmas but as the deliberately humourless Margo in
The Good Life (known in the U.S. as
Good Neighbours)—a "good life" being something of which Keith seemed in full, firm possession when she very agreeably chatted to Broadway.com one recent lunchtime from her home in the country, southwest of London.
Congratulations on being in a West End hit. I saw a Thursday matinee a week or so ago and it was absolutely packed.
Yes, I mean, they're coming in the evening, as well, which is lovely, and a lot of young people, too, which pleases me. By young, I mean in their 20s and 30s—when you get to my age, young is that. And I think [Earnest] is a book on the syllabus, which helps hugely.
Lady Bracknell must be fascinating to act for so many reasons, not least that people are forever talking about her in her absence, which poses a challenge for how you choose to portray her when she does show up.
I have a theory about acting: you don't have to act what people say about you; that's not the interesting bit.
Yes, for instance, it's reported that she has a "Wagnerian" way of ringing the bell.
And I don't think Lady Bracknell rings the bell.
Penelope Keith in
The Importance of Being Earnest
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And then there's the description of her as "a monster without being a myth." And you don't play her mythically; your Lady B. comes across as deeply pragmatic.
Well, she's a woman with a purpose, of course, which is to get Gwendolen married off, and she is, as we know, terribly witty. If you're that witty anyhow, I don't think you need to shout and scream and put your foot down. As for being a monster and not a myth, the fact is Lady Bracknell has won every single battle in that conversation, bearing in mind that she's a woman talking to a man. I don't think men of that period liked being put down verbally by ladies.
That's interesting. So you gave particular thought to the attitudes and customs of the period?
One has to think what it must have been like. I think the sister died soon after Algy was born—she most probably died in childbirth—and to lose a child in any age and not know where it went is absolutely dreadful. So you must believe Lady Bracknell does care about it; she's not a heartless woman.
She's so effortlessly in command of language that one wonders whether ordinary speech seems diminished by comparison. Do you find yourself wishing you could speak in Wildean epigrams?
It is wonderful to have that rapier wit—to immediately come back and say, "35 is a very attractive age." [The line goes on: "London society is full of women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained 35 for years."] Quite often, yes, one wishes one had that. If I analyse it, one of the things I like about being an actress is the fact that one is able to use beautiful language. I throw countless tomes at the wireless in the morning when I hear those dreadful made-up words—verbs made out of nouns, and the like. When you play Shaw and Coward, you see how masters of their art use the English language.
Penelope Keith and Rebecca Night in
The Importance of Being Earnest
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And yet, you and the cast make it sound natural and human, which isn't always easy with this play. The result is rather touching, too.
You're the second person who's said that, and I do think that's terribly important. If one has to speak language like that, one must imagine that it's not just happening in the theatre but that that is how Lady Bracknell lives; that's the way she always talks. One makes it seem as if it's newly minted and then it comes out of her mouth quite naturally. I've been lucky enough to have been around a few witty people, and when you're that witty, you don't need to bang it home. It helped that we had a week with Peter [the director Peter Gill] where we spoke about the history of what was happening around that time—the manners and the mores of the period. Peter was terribly keen on us getting a feel of a time when people in society obviously knew everyone in society. These weren't people who make witty quips; this is how they speak to each other. It's a domestic comedy about the family, as of course all great drama is.
You've played Lady Bracknell before, but not in London. Do you have a wish list of roles or give thought to parts you might want to try again?
People say, "What do you want to do next?" which I don't think is a good idea, for the same reason that when I approach a part, I don' t have any fixed ideas. What I find interesting is when people phone up and say, "Would you like to do this?" and I think, “Gosh, I wouldn't have thought of me doing that!” Like when I played Mistress Ford at Chichester in The Merry Wives of Windsor. I wouldn't have thought of me doing that, but I said, “Yes, I'll do it.” With Lady Bracknell, I thought, “That would be a nice part to revisit, how lovely.” The idea had been sitting somewhere in the back of my mind.
And you get to wear not one but two gorgeous outfits.
Yes, one wears a corset, which of course makes it easier. They are absolutely beautiful designs: they flow and sort of move with you, which is lovely, and the hats are just divine; they keep your chin up all the time.
Penelope Keith in
The Importance of Being Earnest
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Are you the sort of performer who is anxious when you're not working, or are you quite happy leading a life away from TV or the stage?
I enjoy working, but it's not my entire life; I have another life apart from it. I always try to say that to young people: Please try to keep a life going that isn't centred around the theatre because that can't be totally satisfying. For a while I was totally wrapped up in it, but I married 30 years ago and my husband [Rodney Timson] has nothing to do with the theatre; he could take it or leave it.
Presumably, time away from the theatre then informs your work when you return to it.
That's exactly what I say to young people: if it informs your work, so much the better. When I look at the obituaries in the paper—which one does just to make sure one's not there—I see a lot of actors now who have died who were of course soldiers in the Second World War or, indeed, National Service, and that experience informed their work and made them more of a complete person. Heavens, you'll learn far more from walking the streets of Guildford than you will from always being on stage; I really do believe that. I've actually played three actresses on stage, including in Hay Fever and Star Quality, but most of the people you play have nothing to do with the theatre.
We'd be remiss if we didn't sign off by talking about Lady Bracknell's first-act "handbag" line—one of the landmines in all of drama. I love the way you breeze right through it, getting the laughs several remarks later.
The line is a monkey on your shoulder—it really is. Even people who don't know the play or Wilde will say, "Is that the handbag play?" It is a hurdle that you have to get over. But I think the shocking thing is that the bag was left at Victoria Station: not that he was in a handbag but that it was left at a public station. After all, when Lady Bracknell talks to Jack, she doesn't say, "Was Miss Cardew born in a handbag?" she says, "Was Miss Cardew connected with any of the larger railway stations in London?" That's the remark she comments upon. To my mind, you can put babies in lots of things, especially since they didn't have papooses at the time, but to leave it at Victoria Station? That's the shocking thing.