FIRST NIGHT PINCHY MOMENTS OR BE KIND TO CELEBRITIES THEY ARE HUMAN TOO

There are some moments in life that, in our house, are referred to a ‘pinchy moments’. These are those tangible little highs that you get when you meet somebody, see something or get upgraded to First on your flight to Newquay (the last one was a lie). The younger generation probably call these OMG moments, but we kids of the 70s are sticking to the physical violence of a pinch. I have been fortunate to have experienced many of these, and hopefully will continue to do so. But this isn’t about the ‘pinchy moments’; this is about the daft ‘almost pinchy moments’ of first nights.

In my view, the under part of the arm is the most painful place to be pinched. There and the testicles.

As the husband of a commercial theatre wife who worked for a well known West End Producer for many years, it has been my pleasure to attend more first nights than Biggins (I know this to be fact because he wasn’t at all of the ones I was at, ergo I have put the time in where he has quite frankly slacked off).



There are 6 basic rules about being the spouse at your partner’s first night:
1. You are always on time (I try to be this – however it is quite tricky when your wife’s idea of on time is actually arriving in a different time zone. Remember Singapore @FiMagill? Six hours early at an airport will never be acceptable in my book, and this was before 9/11)

2. You are on best behaviour. (I can do this, but there is a cut off time when you can start to drink too much and steal Dawn French’s bottle of champagne. I didn’t do this)

3. You must sit with all the other spouses of the show down at the front of the stalls. (These seats are invariably the most cramped, as a 6’ 2” man this always means that my knees are troubling my ears. There would be considerably more smoothly executed births if maternity wards bought the front four rows of any auditorium)

4. You must give a standing ovation. (I hate this – I am not a stander. Also, I don’t wish hurt the feelings of any producer, writer, director or actor, but a standing ovation on a first night has as much value as trying to spend Lira in Italy. We stand to keep our partners in an occupation. I have stood at some of the worst theatrical guano I have ever seen. It is not a sincere act)

5. You must learn a whole raft of platitudes to get you out of the dreaded, ‘Well?’ question. (Some of the best ones are, ‘The staging was, well, you know.’ And ‘I was just saying to [insert name] the production values were, well you know.’ And ‘the characterisation, I said to [insert name] was, well you know.’)

6. LEARN THE NAMES AND THE FACES OF THE CAST AND CREATIVES. (I cannot stress this one enough. To be asked by the composer, ‘Did you enjoy it?’ and to respond, ‘I liked it, but I still think I prefer his earlier stuff’ is not acceptable, there is not enough egg in the world to cover your face after making that mistake)



I digress, back to the daft ‘almost pinchy moments’. These are the times when you see a celebrity at a first night, and they just seem so normal, or lovely, huggable and not in the least grand, due to one little humanising gesture or aspect of their appearance. Here are three of them.


My first and most enduring of these was to turn around at a first night party to see legendary song writer, guitarist and rock establishment foundation stone, Brian May, towering over me in his clogs sucking on a Kia-Ora through a straw. The drink was not available at the party so he must have brought his own. I like that he was considerate enough to bring his own drink to a free-bar. I like his clogs less so, but Kia-Ora trumps clogs so he is OK.

Brian May - note he is not wearing clogs in this picture

Too orangy for crows - but not Queen[s] it would appear

The original name for Queen's greatest hit was Clog Rhapsody

Secondly, Emily Maitlis, siren of Newsnight, looking as glamorously erudite as she possibly could, was chatting earnestly with her fellow social and media commentators about the intrinsic value of whatever we had just seen, only for us to notice that the hem had fallen slightly on her dress and it was being held up by a safety pin so large that it would have taken Vivienne Westwood, Malcolm McLaren and a small army of punks to lift it. I like Emily, I have never spoken to her, but in the spirit of trying to save her blushes a few of us gathered behind her to prevent the safety pin being quite so obvious. I have sort of blown this now, so sorry about that.

OK so it wasn't as big as this one.

Newsround wasn't the same after John Craven's sex change

Thirdly, the lost and solitary celebrity. You never ever imagine the species called ‘celebrity’ to ever find itself in a corner of a party with nobody to talk to, looking slightly forlorn, isolated by their own aura. This did happen briefly to a Hollywood A (possibly B as I haven’t seen a film starring him for a while) lister at his own first night do. I stress this wasn’t one of my wife’s, she is far too professional to ever let this happen, we were ‘rented’ for a friends night. I won’t name him, but you will have seen him in something. I went over to chat to him:

Me: Well done tonight, excellent performance, oh I am Simon by the way.
Him: Hey dude, yeah I’m on a bit of high.
Me (having run out of conversation already) the staging was, well, you know.
Him: Yeah, I do, incredible.
Me: (still nowhere to hide and regretting my bold conversational move) I was just saying to Chris the production values were, well you know.
Him: Well it’s what you expect of London’s West End. (I love the American way they talk about London’s West End – it is so…. villagy. It makes me think every city in the UK should have its own West End. Just imagine being able to say, ‘Yes, actually we have a transfer to Canterbury’s West End.’ The pride)
Me: Ah yes. And the characterisation, I said to Chris, was, well you know.
Him: Yeah, sure, thanks. We worked really hard on making it different from the movie. And the guys down the front seem to love it, they were on their feet at the end.
Me: A standing ovation on the first night, what more can you want?
Him: Hey, do you know how I can get a drink, I’d love a Kia-Ora.

OK the drink bit, a little stretch of the truth. But he was thoroughly lovely. Next time I might tell you what happened when I was locked in a Box Office with Grace Jones, the West End’s four gayest Box Office staff members and six bottles Piper-Heidsieck. Till then, go easy on any celebrity you might meet at a first night, their vanity is in your hands.