Hampstead hails Star of David
All the girls in the bar at Hampstead Theatre’s after-show party, and most of the chaps, too, were agreed: Stephen Hagan who plays the quarryman nude model for the Michelangelo David in Antony Sher’s new play is completely gorgeous.
One gaggle, from the leading ICM agency, were lamenting their executives’ failure to sign Stephen up. The Belfast boy has just left drama school and joined Conway van Gelder. As Nicky van Gelder is a neighbour of mine, I should easily be able to arrange a fan club outing when Stephen pops round for a cup of tea. Leave it with me, girls.
My guest, the exotic actress Bernice Stegers (married to film director Mike Newell) was telling me about a friend of hers who has lunch every Wednesday with Edmundo Ros, the Latin American dance band leader. Edmundo’s 97 years old now and still going fairly strong. At which point, Simon Callow pushed past and said, “I want to go to lunch with Edmundo.” But he was really on his way to see Stephen.
Like me, Simon thought Edmundo was dead. But for our generation, the very name conjures samba on Sundays on the wireless. When I had a big birthday party a few years ago, Baz Bamigboye turned up in a yellow silk jacket. Gyles Brandreth made a speech and said: “I had no idea this was a fancy dress party. Baz has come along as Edmundo Ros.” Lord, how we roared.
It was a very big and rather glitzy crowd at Hampstead. I congratulated Tim Pigott-Smith on the news that we shall see his Henry Higgins in Pygmalion at the Old Vic next spring. Was he by any chance doing a pantomime before then? “Nothing at all,” he replied with a pained expression. “I can’t get arrested at the moment.”
Who’d be an actor, eh? Quite a few people, judging by the performances in the foyer. Even Blanche Marvin was being ruthlessly upstaged by the baying mob. Thelma Holt looked stunning, as usual, in a shimmering creation by Issey Miyake (no great suprise there, then) and Michael Pennington, who’s on the Hampstead board, was working the room with his usual acidulated charm, saving his energy for next week’s solo turn at the Arcola Theatre.
The designer Bill Dudley looked, as he always does at his own first nights, as if he hadn’t slept for a fortnight. And he probably hasn’t. The only flaw in his astonishing design is that when the marble slab is chipped at with a hammer, it makes the sound of squidgy hardboard. And I bet he’s still trying to find a way of solving that one.
The wine was drinkable and there were some very nice calamari nibbles. But I slipped away quietly as Bernice was engulfed in yet another crowd of colleagues and first-nighters. They were still plotting on how to snare Stephen, who was schmoozing modestly in the corner. I look forward to meeting him, and Simon, and Edmundo Ros, at Bernice’s always fabulous Christmas party.