Casual notes on show-biz books, memoirs and studies, dust gatherers, and hot off the presses.
Book Reviews by Samuel L. Leiter . . .
Alan Rickman. Madly, Deeply: The Diaries of Alan Rickman (New York: Henry Holt and Co., 2022) 469pp.
29th Edition
Diaries come in all sizes and formats. At one extreme, like those I kept for a couple of years at several points in my life, they’re garrulous accounts of everything one remembers happening that day. At the other, they can be composed of succinct, even enigmatic sentences, sometimes—perhaps to keep things from prying eyes—using coding (like initials) so as not to openly, or continually, identify those named. The latter approach is taken by the late, esteemed British actor and director, Alan Rickman, who died of pancreatic cancer in 2016. His diaries from 1993 to 2015 have been edited by Alan Taylor from over a million words to fill a still bulky volume, called Madly, Deeply (a reference to Rickman’s popular 1990 film, Truly, Madly, Deeply).
Rickman, born in Acton, a working-class section of London, in 1946, was originally a stage actor, which included a spell with the Royal Shakespeare Company. He gained critical approval in the theater well before 1988, when he made his big breakthrough in film, playing the silky villain, Hans Gruber, in the Bruce Willis action blockbuster, Die Hard. Known for his velvety voice, languid speech, and aristocratic look and manner, he continued doing both classical and modern theater while acting in numerous movies all over the world, sometimes up to three in a single year.
Movie experiences described in his diary include, for example, Mesmer (1994), An Awfully Big Adventure (1995), Sense and Sensibility (1995), Michael Collins (1996), Dark Harbor (1996), Dogma (1999), Galaxy Quest (1999), Sweeney Todd (2007), Bottle Shock (2008), Gambit (2012), The Butler (2012), CBGG (2013), and, of course, the role of Severus Snape in all eight Harry Potter (2007-2011) movies. He also directed two films: Winter Guest (1997) and A Little Chaos (2014).
His major stage work is mentioned as well, including a Royal National Theatre production of Antony and Cleopatra (1998), co-starring Helen Mirren; Private Lives (2001-2002); and Seminar (2011-2012), which he premiered on Broadway. Of especial interest is a highly controversial one-woman play about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict he co-wrote and directed, My Name is Rachel Corrie (2006). The play, about a pro-Palestinian, American activist killed by the Israelis, was eventually done at Off Broadway’s Minetta Lane Theatre after being canceled by the New York Theatre Workshop. Naturally, Rickman’s contributions to TV drama were similarly substantial.
Although there’s clearly much of interest buried here, you must pick frequently through the detritus of often elliptical, telegraphically brief entries, to find them. The notion of following the daily, private thoughts and experiences of a major British star has a built-in interest, of course, but Rickman’s diary is not consistently the best place to satisfy such curiosity. You do, however, get many insights into his personality, learn tidbits of gossip about the celebrities in his life, and get intriguing flashes of what an actor of his caliber goes through when navigating a career or making a film or play.
Generally, the entries, not written for publication, are like private notes meant to jog the writer’s memory at some time in the future. They’re largely snippets of thought, too often lacking context; however, regardless of the luminaries noted, far too many names belong to people most readers will never have heard of, intriguing as some of their comments may be.
When such persons are known to the editor, he briefly identifies them in footnotes, offering their nationality, profession, and dates; just as many never receive that privilege. And when these people are later referred to by only their first names, it’s not always easy to recall to whom the references are being made. There are some, but far too few, notes explaining the context of matters discussed in the entries; diligent readers, though, may have to rack their brains, or go on the Internet (which doesn’t always help), to figure out what the hell the diarist is talking about.
Entries are often just one or two sentences: “16 October: Splat! Face down in the mud. Refreshing in an odd kind of way.” That’s it. Nothing else provided. Fancy restaurant visits (the Ivy, River Café, Orso, and the like) are recorded, and those present duly listed. Hints of what they talked about are less common than what they ate and drank. Rickman loved his wine, and hangovers recur with notable frequency.
Certain household names reappear regularly, like Lindsay Duncan, Emma Thompson, Ian McKellen, Ruby Wax, Juliet Stevenson, Fiona (Fifi) Shaw, Isabelle Huppert, and his longtime companion and, finally, wife (in 2012), politician Rima Horton. At the end, Horton provides a touching description of Rickman’s last days, reminiscent of the similar, but much more extended passages in Martin Short’s memoir, posted here last week, and Richard E. Grant’s, scheduled for next. With the reader knowing the outcome, reading the actor’s own medically-related entries is depressing enough without the details she provides, however well intended.
Each year from 1993 to 2015 gets a chapter. As Rickman’s physical condition deteriorates in 2015, and the content of his entries essentially dries up, the poignancy is evident. Otherwise, the entry pattern rarely varies from the first chapter, “1993,” dominated by Rickman’s work on Roger Spottiswood’s period film Mesmer, in which he played the title role. Although there are, occasionally, extended paragraphs, the only sustained content of over a page comes from the foreword (a fond remembrance from Emma Thompson), and editor Taylor’s four-page introduction to Rickman’s life.
Accounts of reading scripts (and constantly saying no, sometimes to his regret), traveling to film sites, taking vacations, attending memorials and eulogizing at funerals, catching flights, riding taxis and trains, speaking to students, sightseeing, giving interviews, going to screenings, knocking critics, and so on, make up the stuff of Rickman’s life. We’re also told of things like home renovations, home purchases, and home repairs. Family visits, not to mention the lives and deaths of dear relatives (especially his mother), get their due attention.
And, of course, Rickman duly alludes to the annoyances of his profession, i.e., early waking times, insomnia, accidents and illnesses, unpredictable audiences, jet lag, tiredness, and artistic disagreements with directors and co-stars. Active in leftwing politics, he makes constant references to contemporary British (and American) leaders and issues. In The Butler, he played Ronald Reagan, although he barely touches on what that was like!
Rickman’s wittily crafted swipes—cynical and not—at famous colleagues’ quirks is one reason to keep reading. For example, after dinner at the Savoy Grill, he writes that Emma Thompson “says ‘fuck’ a lot.” He often notes his dreams: “Why was I dreaming about having got myself a Saturday job at Woolworths?” Important news of the day helps locate us in time. He sees many plays, movies, concerts, museum exhibitions, and TV shows, usually summing up his reactions in terse, well-turned sentences or paragraphs.
His opinions on cinematic and theatrical affairs are similarly condensed. For example, “Authors should not direct their own work in the theatre.” Or, on awards shows, which are a diary constant: “Apes picking fleas from one another.” While pleased to win awards and honors, he holds a wry attitude toward them, even going so far as to turn down an offer to be honored with a CBE. Noting Sir Ben Kingsley’s hauteur regarding his knighthood, he wonders, “What makes someone so obsessed by all that stuff?”
It’s not clear if the days missing from this published version of the diary were eliminated by the editor or skipped by the diarist, but there’s often a jumpy quality to the text as we move from one entry to the other, making it sometimes difficult to follow a thread. Here and there, Rickman will be talking about working on a project for pages before you realize what it is. Film actors, however, will appreciate entries like this: “8 APRIL: My shot of the day. Walk up a few steps. Stop. Turn. Look. Look away. The simplest tasks can make you feel like an unoiled robot.”
Early on, disturbed by some of the problems I outlined above, I considered abandoning the book. I shoved on, however, and eventually found myself sufficiently engrossed to continue to the end. The problems never went away but the overall impact of living in Alan Rickman’s turning and twisting, often sleepless, always questing mind was of sufficient force to keep me reading. I’m glad I did.
Coming up: Richard E. Grant. A Pocketful of Happiness.
Leiter Looks at Books welcomes inquiries from publishers and authors interested in having their theater/show business-related books reviewed.
