Simon Brett - Star Trap

Charles tried one. ‘Yes.’

‘Then I won’t, thanks.’

There was a long pause. Charles, who had the feeling he was there for a purpose, did not like to initiate a topic of conversation. Christopher Milton broke the silence. ‘Well, how do you think it’s going?’

‘The show? Oh, not too bad. A lot of work still to be done.’ Cliches seemed safer than detailed opinions.

‘Yes. This is the ugliest part.’ Christopher Milton paced the room to use up some of his nervous energy. ‘This is where the real work has to happen.’ He stopped suddenly. ‘What do you think of the cuts?’

‘Cuts were needed.’

‘That tells me nothing. We both know cuts were needed. I’m asking what you thought of the cuts that were made.’

‘Well, it depends. If you’re thinking of how much sense we’re now making of Goldsmith’s play — ’

‘We’re not. We’re thinking of the audience. That’s what theatre’s about — the people who watch the stuff, not the people who write it.’

‘I agree with you up to a point, but — ’

‘What you’re trying to say is that the cuts could have been spread more evenly, that I myself got off pretty lightly. Is that it?’

‘To an extent, yes.’ Asked a direct question, Charles felt bound to give his real opinion.

‘I thought you’d think that. I bet they all think that, that it’s me just indulging my oversized ego.’ Charles didn’t confirm or deny. ‘Go on. That’s what they think. That’s what you think, isn’t it?’

The sudden realisation came that all the star wanted that evening was someone to whom he could justify himself. The fact that it was Charles Paris was irrelevant. Christopher Milton was aware of the bad feeling in the cast and he wanted to explain his actions to someone, to make him feel better. Obviously he had more sensitivity to atmosphere than Charles had given him credit for. ‘All right,’ Charles owned up, ‘I did think other cuts would have been fairer.’

Christopher Milton seemed relieved that he’d now got a point of view against which to deliver his prepared arguments. ‘Yes, and I bet every member of the cast is sitting in his digs tonight saying what a bastard I am. Well, let me tell you, all I think is whether or not this show is going to be a success, and I’m going to do my damnedest to see that it is. That’s my responsibility.

‘You see, Lumpkin! just wouldn’t be on if I weren’t in it. She Stoops to Conquer’s been around for years. No commercial management’s likely to revive it unless they suddenly get an all-star cast lined up. I suppose the National or the RSC might do a definitive version for the A-level trade, but basically there’s no particular reason to do it now. But I said I was interested in the project and the whole band-wagon started.

‘Now we come to the point that I know you’re thinking — that we’re buggering up a fine old English play. No, don’t deny it, you’re a kind of intellectual, you’re the sort who likes literature for its own sake. What I’m trying to tell you, to tell everyone, is to forget what the play was. We’re doing a show for an audience in 1975. And that, in your terms, is probably a debased audience, an audience force-fed on television. Their ideal night out at the theatre would probably be to see ‘live’ some soap opera which they see twice a week in the privacy of their sitting-rooms. Okay, that’s the situation. I’m not saying it’s a good situation, it’s just the way things are, and that’s the audience I’m aiming for.

‘Because of television, I’m one of the people they want to see. And they want to see a lot of me. They don’t give a bugger about the twists and turns of Goldsmith’s quaint old plot They want to see Lionel Wilkins of Straight Up, Guv, simply because he’s something familiar. I’ve only realised this since we started playing the show in front of audiences. That’s why I stopped playing Lumpkin rustic — oh, yes, I saw the expression of disapproval on your face when I did that. But I am right. Give the audience what they want.’

‘All right, I agree they want to see you, but surely they’d be even more impressed if they saw your range of abilities, if they saw that you could play a very funny rustic as well as Lionel Wilkins.’

‘No, there you’re wrong. They want what they recognise. Popular entertainment has got to be familiar. This is a mistake that a lot of young comedians make. They think the audience wants to hear new jokes. Not true, the average audience wants to hear jokes it recognises. No, in this show they see sufficient variety in me, they see me sing and dance — most of them probably didn’t know I could do that — but they never lose sight of Lionel Wilkins, and it’s him they came for. And it’s my business to give them Lionel Wilkins.

‘So, when I said to Mark Spelthorne this morning that I felt responsible for the entire company, I meant it. It’s up to me to hold this company together and if that looks like just ego-tripping, well, I’m sorry.’

Charles couldn’t think of anything to say. He had been surprised to hear such a cogently reasoned justification and, although he could not agree with all the arguments, he could respect it as a point of view. Christopher Milton himself obviously believed passionately in what he said. He broke from the unnatural stillness he had maintained throughout his exposition and started his restless pacing again. He stopped by a sofa and began rearranging the cushions. ‘And it’s the same reason, my duty to the audience, which makes me so concerned about my public image. I just can’t afford to do anything that lowers me in their estimation.

‘Oh, don’t look so innocent, as if you don’t know why I’ve moved on to this subject. People think I’m blind, but I see all the little looks, the raised eyebrows, the remarks about me putting on the charm. Listen, my talent, wherever it came from, is all I’ve got. It’s a commodity and, like any other commodity, it has to be attractively packaged. I have to be what the public wants me to be.’

‘Even if at times that means not being yourself?’

‘Even if that means most of the time not being myself. That’s the way of life I’ve chosen.’

‘It must put you under incredible strain.’

‘It does, but it’s what I’ve elected to do and so I must do it.’ This messianic conviction seemed almost laughable when related to the triviality of Lumpkin! but it was clear that this was what made Christopher Milton tick. And though the strength of his conviction might easily overrule conventional morality, he was never going to commit any crime whose discovery might alienate the precious audience whom he saw, almost obsessively, as the arbiters of his every action.

Charles left the Holiday Inn, slightly unsteady from the whisky, but with the beginnings of an understanding of Christopher Milton.

The lights were still on in Julian’s flat when Charles got back there, though it was two o’clock in the morning. Julian himself was in the front room, marooned wretchedly on an island of bottles, glasses and ash-trays. ‘Oh, Charles, thank God you’ve come back. I need someone to talk to. It’s started.’

‘Started?’

‘The baby.’

‘Oh yes.’ He nearly added ‘I’d completely forgotten’, but decided that might show an unwelcome sense of priorities.

‘Waters broke, or whatever it is they do, about nine. I took her down to the hospital, they said nothing’d happen overnight, suggested I came back to get some sleep. Sleep, huh!’

‘She’ll be okay.’

‘Yes, I’m sure she will, but that doesn’t make the time till I know she is any easier. It’s like quoting the statistics of normal childbirths, it doesn’t make you any more convinced that yours is going to be one.’