Tag Archives: James Gandolfini

A Perfect Peach at Stratford-upon-Avon

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Some years ago, I found myself with a lot of Frequent Flyer miles that were about to expire.  No one was free to travel with me.  So I treated myself to a solo trip to England.  I decided to see as much live theater as I possibly could. In the course of two weeks, I saw 18 plays.  Some days I doubled up and took in a matinee plus an evening performance.  I saw plays at grand theaters, in the London equivalent of “Off-Broadway,” and in tiny rooms above pubs.

At that time, to get to Stratford-upon-Avon, I had to take a train from London, then transfer to a bus.  (Now, there is a convenient train that goes all the way to Stratford).  I had dreamed for years of seeing the Royal Shakespeare Company in their home theater, the Swan. One evening, I saw a very fine production of a Shakespeare play with the actors in modern dress.  Which play, you might ask?  I think it was Romeo and Juliet, but I can’t be sure. (On the train, I met a woman who had saved the program from every theater performance she had ever attended.  Although she was a theater professor, I thought that was a little obsessive.  Now I wouldn’t mind having all my programs).

The next morning, I went to the bus stop for the trip back to London.  Just outside The Dirty Duck, the pub still frequented by theater folk and tourists alike, I spotted an actor I had seen the evening before.  I stopped and complimented him on his performance.  He seemed delighted to be recognized; he had only a medium-sized part.  I’m thinking maybe he played Juliet’s father. I know how much talent and hard work it takes for any actor to get even a spear-carrying part in the Royal Shakespeare Company. I did remember his performance, I thought he stood out in the character, and told him so.  He thanked me graciously.  Just then, the bus pulled up and I got on.

The bus was about to pull away from the curb when the actor jumped up the steps with a great theatrical flourish. He stood beside the driver, peering down the aisle at all the passengers.  “I am looking for a LADY,” he intoned, in his best Shakespearean elocution.  He spotted me and moved up the aisle toward me.  He took my hand, got me to stand, kissed my hand, and made a great show of presenting me with a perfectly ripened peach.  Everyone on the bus applauded, he took a very grand bow, and he was off with a jaunty wave.

Peach

Like all artists, actors pursue their passion even though they know they are very unlikely to gain riches or fame. Very few of them reach the heights of, say, the late James Gandolfini. I wish I could remember the name of this actor, who shared a magical personal moment with me and went out of his way to entertain a busload of non-paying strangers.  Did all this happen 26 years ago?  Yes, it did.  Travel memories are lifelong!

Join me next time for more explorations into the art, history and literature of Europe and the British Isles.

Tony Soprano, Gone Home to Rest

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I already was missing Tony Soprano, and now that he’s gone I have to miss the fine actor James Gandolfini too.  The first time I saw James Gandolfini playing the part that turned him from a character actor into a star, I happened to be in England.  I had resisted watching a show about New Jersey gangsters, plus I didn’t have HBO anyway at the time.  But there the show was, on the screen of the little TV in my hotel room.  I was in Winchcombe, visiting Sudely–a house where Queen Elizabeth I once lived, in the days of turmoil following the death of her father, King Henry VIII.  Elizabeth could very well have ended up executed instead of sitting on the throne of England. The Sopranos explored similar power struggles in a completely different age and place.  Characters and locations change, but life’s dangers and challenges remain the same.

I don’t remember which episode of The Sopranos I happened to catch, but I was hooked.  I never did like the violence of the show.  (I don’t like the violence of the series The Tudors either, but I’ve watched it compulsively.  Good thing we have fast-forward). To me, the genius of The Sopranos was in its humanity.  Over the six seasons, there was a Shakespearean sweep to it–every aspect of the many characters’ lives was explored as they made their way through a chaotic world, always trying to impose some kind of order.

I’ve been thinking about historic dream homes like Tyntesfield. I suppose each of us has a different dream of domestic bliss. Tony Soprano’s dream home actually exists–people go to the house in New Jersey to have their pictures taken in the driveway, where Tony appeared in his bathrobe every morning to pick up his paper.  Tony loved his pool, his pool house, and his kitchen, where he was forever grabbing snacks on his way out to do who knows what.

The house was almost another character on the show.  The writers used it to make points about the characters.  I remember one scene where a designer tried to interest Carmela Soprano in some antiques for her house.  “But my home is TRADITIONAL,” she said, with that innocent blank-eyed stare she used to such great effect.  The writers said so much with those few words.  Carmela had no notion of where “traditional” style might have come from.  What tradition? Whose tradition? The less-than-tasteful aspects of the house rarely received any comment in the scripts, but the house  always spoke volumes about the characters, their backgrounds, and their aspirations.

I remember a great episode where Tony’s daughter Meadow, in rebellion, was living with her boyfriend in a miserable city apartment with no air conditioning.  At the end of a long exhausting night of bitter arguing about where they would spend the summer, the boyfriend wearily said, “Well, we could get married.”  Meadow had learned lessons in manipulation from the best–her own family.  She immediately brightened and called her parents to announce the great news, not only getting what she wanted but setting in motion a new family drama.

I looked forward to seeing James Gandolfini in whatever part he took.  He could be funny, sad, menacing, self-mocking–he had a really endless range as an actor. Now he is gone.  I hope he’s found a peaceful home.