PS
The week’s run played to an average audience of 90% - which means that about 3250 people saw the show.
We got a couple of rave reviews that used such words as ‘stunning’, ‘outstanding’ and ‘excellent’. (Plus one bad review: a curmudgeonly – and somewhat bizarre - whinge that began by bemoaning the fact that Wilde’s plays weren’t written by American sitcom scriptwriters...)
The actors were all agreed that they’d had a hugely enjoyable time both during the rehearsal period and the run itself.
And, personally, it was one of the most satisfying productions I’ve ever directed.
Whichever way you look at it, Lady Windermere’s Fan has to count as a success.for the Guild.
However, in the way of theatre everywhere, we now have an instant shift of focus. With Colin McNee’s production of The Tempest only three months away, Wilde gives way to Shakespeare, and the Playhouse gives way to the great outdoors.
Theatre. Don’t you just love it?

Week 13
It’s WYSIWYG time: What You See Is What You Get. We’ve had our last off-site rehearsal, a complete run-through. We’ve had the Tech – essential and painstaking for the technical crew, initially fascinating for the actors as they sit on real period furniture instead of church hall chairs, then intensely boring as they stand around for hours being Objects To Be Lit. And we’ve had the Dress, a full-on performance in an empty theatre. So, no matter how brilliant my last-minute ideas may be, it’s too late to include them. (Anyway, if they’re that brilliant, why didn’t I think of them earlier...?)
Everything is in place now, apart from one ingredient. The actors have climbed inside the skins of the characters Oscar created, and have taken on their personas. They’ve used all their technique and experience to make sure the story is told clearly and convincingly. Wardrobe has transported their appearance back to a different era, and our Designer and his team have completed the transformation with an Art Nouveau set. The Lighting Designer – usually so underrated (theatre cliché: if you notice the lighting, the designer’s got it wrong) - has woven the appropriate atmosphere into each scene.
The illusion is complete. But it’s like Sleeping Beauty: it still needs that magic kiss to bring it alive. The magic kiss of an Opening Night audience – and the adrenalin that comes with it.
I love opening nights – especially when, like tonight, we’ll be playing to a full house. All the hard work, all the experimentation, all the fine-tuning finally crystallised into a gift-wrapped offering. And the flutter of anticipation: will they like it? Will they hate it? Will they (worst of all) say ‘Yeah, that was all right, I suppose...’
Tonight, the verdict of the audience. Tomorrow, the verdict of the press. But that’s a different matter altogether...

Week 12
As we get towards the end of the rehearsal period, we get to ‘the runs’. No, that’s not the panic-stricken actors’ response to an impending opening night, but to a period when we start putting everything together, rather like a jigsaw puzzle.
For the last three months we’ve been working at fleshing out the characters, building convincing relationships between them, tracing their emotional journeys from beginning to end of the play, shaping the story, making sure the climaxes come at the right time.. Now it’s time to draw all those threads together, to see the picture as a whole.
Many actors – and even more directors – seem to forget what a play is actually there for. It’s not there to make the actor look good, or to feed the director’s ego: it’s there to entertain the audience. And, in order to do that, you have to draw them into your world, to make them believe what they’re seeing on the stage.
Think of it. There you are, sitting surrounded by other people, looking at a stage. You can see some of the stage lighting. You know that the pillars flanking the ballroom are actually made of polystyrene. You recognise the aristocratic Lord at the centre of the action: you were down the pub with him last weekend..
But, somehow, we’ve got to make you see a 19th Century ballroom, with a real-life drama being acted out in it. A marriage about to fail, a young woman about to destroy her life, a despised woman acting nobly, young bloods being oh so witty. Most of all, we’ve got to make you care what happens.
When kids in a pantomime audience shout out ‘Behind you!’, it’s because they care. They genuinely want to warn the hero/heroine that they’re in danger. It’s not so easy once those kids have grown up.
But that’s what we’ve got to achieve. We’ve got to spin a web and lure the audience into it. We’ve got to create an illusion. And the slightest error will destroy that illusion.
So, for the last two weeks, rehearsals are conducted under performance conditions. No prompts, no stoppages – and no excuses.
Yes, it’ll be all right on the night. Because we’ve made sure it’s already all right two weeks before we open.

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Week 11
When casting any play, the director has to balance several factors. Talent, of course, has to be a given. Physical appearance and age have to be taken into account. And then there’s the matter of experience.
Jon, playing Lord Darlington, came to acting only about five years ago. So does he lack experience? Felicity, playing the hugely demanding role of Lady Windermere, is still only 19 – and my own daughter played the role when she was only 16. So does her apparent lack of experience count against her?
Not at all. As Dumby says in LWF, “Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes.” But the trick is to learn from those mistakes.
Jon puts it from his point of view. ‘Lord Darlington is teaching me a great deal. He is a much more complex character than would at first appear. On the surface, he’s very similar to Lord Illingworth in A Woman Of No Importance – whom I played a couple of years ago – but I feel he has perhaps even greater depths to discover. Lord I’s character swung from ladies’ man via arrogant bully to spoilt child, but Lord D is altogether more pleasant – he has a genuine love for Lady W, but holds it in check until he feels that her husband has behaved so badly that he is justified in declaring his intent to rescue her. The light-hearted beginning to the play, the powerful declarations of love during the ballroom scene, and the deeply emotional parting thereafter require a great deal of work to put across effectively without tipping over into melodrama, and are presenting a most enjoyable challenge. Peter’s knowledge of the play is remarkable, and his insight and guidance are proving invaluable to me in coming to know the many layers of this fascinating character.’
(Note: if a director doesn’t know the play better than all his actors put together, then he’s failing in his job.)
‘What a gem of a rôle! It gives me an opportunity to flirt outrageously in public with the most charming ladies – using some of the best chat-up lines ever written – without the risk of being thrown out of pubs and getting beaten up by incensed partners. What man could possibly ask for more?’