And disorder feeds on the belly of order
And order requires the blood of disorder
And "freedom" and ordure and other
disordures
Need the odour of order to sweeten their murders
These are a few lines from the poem Order, delivered by the actor Julian Sands who has for the best part of an hour kept me and the audience in his grip, spellbound by the sharpness and relevance of Harold Pinter's words. They were written years ago, but could have been written last week about the riots that gripped England.
When I think of Julian Sands, it’s not his screen roles that first come to mind, it’s his handshake. The one time I met him, many moons ago, he was very polite, terribly charming and when he shook my hand did so with such a vice like Terminator-esque grip that my fingers stayed welded together for some time.
It was a delightful irony then that during this captivating monologue, he mentioned someone who was afraid of shaking Harold Pinter’s hand for fear of him never letting go and via some osmosis, receiving some of Pinter’s dark spirit through human contact. At least that’s how I interpreted it.
And an interpretation of words and of a personality as well as a celebration of talent is what this is about. Sands is the right man for the job - he’s passionate about Pinter and as it transpires, knew him well.
The lights dim just a little and he strolls on in a dapper suit, slightly spotlit against a sea of blackout. By his side a lectern with a couple of books and some notes. Otherwise it’s an empty stage. There’s to be no razzle dazzle here, this is the minimalist memory of a man stripped bare.
Sands begins with a brief overview of Pinter’s career, chiefly his stage and screen credits, then reads an extract from the acceptance speech for his Nobel Prize for Literature, given at a ceremony he couldn’t attend. Already some of Pinter’s darkness, wit and social conscience begins to shine through as well as his gift for threading words together in a stark but poetic manner.
Sands moves on to discuss how Pinter regarded the all-important gaps between words when performed. There’s a beat, there’s a pause and there’s silence. In Pinter’s world they’re three different things. ‘This is a beat’ he says, barely pausing between sentences. ‘This is a pause’ he explains, lengthening the gap, ‘and this…..(Sands mimics dragging on a cigarette, stubbing it out and wiping some ash from his jacket) ….is a silence!’.
Sands has a remarkable stillness within a commanding stage presence and a conviction that what he’s saying is important. That we need to have Harold Pinter in our lives and I believed him. Not overly familiar with his oeuvre bar a few well-known screenplays (such as The Servant and The Comfort of Strangers) I felt a strong urge to go out and buy his work.
Perhaps Sands should’ve been performing at this year’s Book Festival instead. But as educational and fascinating as it is, it’s a performance from an actor who’s perhaps found his niche. There’s a paradoxical mix of fragility and strength combined with the sense of an intimately shared experience. Is this Julian Sands I wonder? Am I projecting or is it Malkovich’s direction? I suspect all three. He’s aided and abetted by a rich voice that occasionally had a Richard Burton tang to it.
There are a few brief explosive renderings that shake you into alertness and during his reading of the poem Death, I felt an involuntary shiver course through me.
The performance is a cross between a lecture, an informal chat and brief moments of acting out. One is never quite sure where Malkovich’s directing ends and Sands personality begins but the blurring between these boundaries means it has been expertly crafted despite its apparent simplicity.
I sensed a little of Malkovich’s quirky skill being revealed as well as a little of Pinter’s soul. Sands couldn’t be more apt, articulate or personable and provides an enriching and rewarding experience.