Antaeus Company Musically Adapts Coward’s Peace in Our Time
by Steve Julian, October 19, 2011
Barry Creyton is possibly the best person to adapt a Noël Coward work that hasn’t seen the light of day in Los Angeles in 60 years. “I met Noël Coward socially in 1970,” he says. “It was like meeting God, except that Noël Coward had a better sense of construction.”
Creyton grew up in Australia, worked in television in the 1960s and moved on to TV work in London, where he happened to have the same physician as Marlene Dietrich, John Gielgud and Coward. “He was everybody’s doctor and a very good friend of mine.”
It was at his doctor’s 50th birthday bash that Creyton — a playwright, singer and an actor (Antaeus Company’s Cousin Bette) with a formidable classical theater baritone — met the man whom he idolized. “When I was a working actor in London I had access to a wonderful library near my house, and I read as an exercise all of Coward’s plays back to back. His sense of construction is ideal in all of them, whether the plays are good or bad. They are constructed brilliantly.”
Reading them all, Creyton believes, was a great lesson for a writer, certainly for an actor, to see how each would play out. “I think some of them have fallen by the wayside but some have gone on forever: Private Lives, Hay Fever, Present Laughter, Blithe Spirit – they all go on, still performed. There is so little known about Peace in Our Time because it related only to the Second World War and it’s a ‘what-if’ play, so it was a joy to research.”
Coward, who died in 1973, embarked on this work, first published in 1947, to answer the question: Is it tougher to be blitzed as Londoners were in World War II and lose so many lives, or to be occupied by the invading army? “He felt it was more dispiriting to a population to be occupied, as the French were in Paris,” says Creyton. “I think he makes that point very clearly in this play.”
The project came to Creyton, who moved to Los Angeles 20 years ago to pen a TV movie for Hearst Television, from former Antaeus artistic director Jeanie Hackett. “She asked if I would like to do an adaptation of this play and perhaps put a few songs into it, so I ran with it. I thought ‘put a few songs in it’ wasn’t good enough, so I tweezed about 40 minutes of dialogue out of the play and 12 characters. I chose nine of Coward’s lesser known songs and integrated them into the text.”
It was difficult, he admits. “I was at the desk from about 9 to 5 everyday for three solid weeks choosing lines that I thought were no longer relevant or no longer important. Certainly a lot of the political polemic went because it no longer means much – and certainly didn’t mean much in America anyway. The essence of the play is still the same, and I don’t think I destroyed anything Coward intended.”
The Coward Foundation, with which Creyton says he worked closely, generally would not permit the use of well-known songs. “They had to fit into the scenes very carefully, otherwise they would appear gratuitous. The obvious ones, Don’t Let’s Be Beastly to the Germans and Could You Please Oblige Us With A Bren Gun are certainly World War II songs, but London Pride is the only really well-known song in there. It’s rather like an anthem because it’s a fiercely patriotic play.”
Among the lesser-known songs are Come, the Wild, Wild Weather. Creyton says, “It is a very sweet song and one of the characters is a cabaret performer. It’s a perfect opportunity for her to do that at a poignant moment in the play.”
A 1950 Los Angeles Times review of the play, as performed at the Pasadena Playhouse, alludes to a cast of 40 – and no music. Creyton pared it down to fewer than two dozen characters.
Antaeus is not known as a musical theater troupe, but Creyton says he found some astonishing singers. And, admittedly, a few who sound appropriately inebriated as they wail their songs. “Most pubs when I was a kid had an upright piano they banged away on,” remembers Creyton. “I’ve tried to integrate the songs so they make sense on the piano. It’s not musical theater; it’s a play with music. The owner of the pub sings, the landlord sings, some of the customers sing, just as they would around a piano.”
Creyton reminisces about the birthday party at which he met Noël Coward. “I felt as if I should have been intimidated, but I found him to be very warm, very generous. We talked about our mutual friends and we talked about his numbers, the songs of his I had done in cabaret. We talked about his plays that I had done. You instantly feel inferior in the company of someone like this, talking about his own work.”
Creyton recalls mentioning a song of Coward’s he had most often performed in cabaret. “Poor Uncle Harry, which was a jolly 6/8 number about a missionary. I mentioned, as just something to say, that I always had trouble remembering the second refrain, and he said ‘So did I’, which I thought was extremely generous of him.
Another “what if” question comes to mind: What if Creyton had yet another opportunity to visit with Noël Coward? “Well, first, I think I would apologize for taking liberties with his work. But I would still compliment him on his astonishing construction. Everything that should happen happens in exactly the right place.”
Creyton grew up in Australia, worked in television in the 1960s and moved on to TV work in London, where he happened to have the same physician as Marlene Dietrich, John Gielgud and Coward. “He was everybody’s doctor and a very good friend of mine.”
It was at his doctor’s 50th birthday bash that Creyton — a playwright, singer and an actor (Antaeus Company’s Cousin Bette) with a formidable classical theater baritone — met the man whom he idolized. “When I was a working actor in London I had access to a wonderful library near my house, and I read as an exercise all of Coward’s plays back to back. His sense of construction is ideal in all of them, whether the plays are good or bad. They are constructed brilliantly.”
Reading them all, Creyton believes, was a great lesson for a writer, certainly for an actor, to see how each would play out. “I think some of them have fallen by the wayside but some have gone on forever: Private Lives, Hay Fever, Present Laughter, Blithe Spirit – they all go on, still performed. There is so little known about Peace in Our Time because it related only to the Second World War and it’s a ‘what-if’ play, so it was a joy to research.”
Coward, who died in 1973, embarked on this work, first published in 1947, to answer the question: Is it tougher to be blitzed as Londoners were in World War II and lose so many lives, or to be occupied by the invading army? “He felt it was more dispiriting to a population to be occupied, as the French were in Paris,” says Creyton. “I think he makes that point very clearly in this play.”
The project came to Creyton, who moved to Los Angeles 20 years ago to pen a TV movie for Hearst Television, from former Antaeus artistic director Jeanie Hackett. “She asked if I would like to do an adaptation of this play and perhaps put a few songs into it, so I ran with it. I thought ‘put a few songs in it’ wasn’t good enough, so I tweezed about 40 minutes of dialogue out of the play and 12 characters. I chose nine of Coward’s lesser known songs and integrated them into the text.”
It was difficult, he admits. “I was at the desk from about 9 to 5 everyday for three solid weeks choosing lines that I thought were no longer relevant or no longer important. Certainly a lot of the political polemic went because it no longer means much – and certainly didn’t mean much in America anyway. The essence of the play is still the same, and I don’t think I destroyed anything Coward intended.”
The Coward Foundation, with which Creyton says he worked closely, generally would not permit the use of well-known songs. “They had to fit into the scenes very carefully, otherwise they would appear gratuitous. The obvious ones, Don’t Let’s Be Beastly to the Germans and Could You Please Oblige Us With A Bren Gun are certainly World War II songs, but London Pride is the only really well-known song in there. It’s rather like an anthem because it’s a fiercely patriotic play.”
Among the lesser-known songs are Come, the Wild, Wild Weather. Creyton says, “It is a very sweet song and one of the characters is a cabaret performer. It’s a perfect opportunity for her to do that at a poignant moment in the play.”
A 1950 Los Angeles Times review of the play, as performed at the Pasadena Playhouse, alludes to a cast of 40 – and no music. Creyton pared it down to fewer than two dozen characters.
Antaeus is not known as a musical theater troupe, but Creyton says he found some astonishing singers. And, admittedly, a few who sound appropriately inebriated as they wail their songs. “Most pubs when I was a kid had an upright piano they banged away on,” remembers Creyton. “I’ve tried to integrate the songs so they make sense on the piano. It’s not musical theater; it’s a play with music. The owner of the pub sings, the landlord sings, some of the customers sing, just as they would around a piano.”
Creyton reminisces about the birthday party at which he met Noël Coward. “I felt as if I should have been intimidated, but I found him to be very warm, very generous. We talked about our mutual friends and we talked about his numbers, the songs of his I had done in cabaret. We talked about his plays that I had done. You instantly feel inferior in the company of someone like this, talking about his own work.”
Creyton recalls mentioning a song of Coward’s he had most often performed in cabaret. “Poor Uncle Harry, which was a jolly 6/8 number about a missionary. I mentioned, as just something to say, that I always had trouble remembering the second refrain, and he said ‘So did I’, which I thought was extremely generous of him.
Another “what if” question comes to mind: What if Creyton had yet another opportunity to visit with Noël Coward? “Well, first, I think I would apologize for taking liberties with his work. But I would still compliment him on his astonishing construction. Everything that should happen happens in exactly the right place.”