It was all thanks to the colossal impact of John Hurt’s compelling acting and dark, syrup-laden vocal cords that, in 1975, the extraordinary life and times of Quentin Crisp were boldly presented to the public at large in the hugely successful TV film, The Naked Civil Servant, based on Crisp’s own 1968 autobiography. Born Denis Pratt in 1908, Crisp quickly realised he was gay, but with homosexuality illegal until 1967 and widely, most violently reviled, generally the only means of self-preservation was to keep deeply hidden in the closet. Quentin, though, needed to be – and simply couldn’t help being – just himself. Since it was impossible for him to hide his effeminate demeanour, which so many already saw as a total abomination, he decided to accentuate it instead, standing out, uniquely prominent in the 1930s as a bright, flamboyant male figure with lipstick, mascara and bright, bouncing red hair.
Written and acted by Mark Farrelly, the one-man show Naked Hope tells Crisp’s story again but this time travels into further decades. Employing Crisp bodily postures, Crisp quotations and long silences, Farrelly, as Crisp, addresses his audience directly just as Quentin did. A huge hit at the Edinburgh Fringe in 2014 and in the West End, the show has been touring far and wide through the ten years since, along with Farrelly’s other plays.
Onstage at the start is middle-aged Quentin, who, after a profound silence, proceeds to relate, with wit, humour and long-suffering, dignified charm (plus occasional, drawn-out, rising squeals of intonation), the course of his miserable life so far, the life of an effeminate homosexual who just wants to be, but whom no one else will allow just to be. A chair, overflowing waste-bin and old telephone on which to receive abusive phone calls and death threats represent Crisp’s lonely, neglected bed-sit in Chelsea, where his wise brain realises dust doesn’t get any worse after the first four years. From here, assisted by lighting changes and sounds of footsteps, cars, sirens and such, Farrelly, not overly flamboyantly dressed or made up, takes Quentin out into scenes on the streets of Soho, into streets full of wartime GIs, onto a bus he’s thrown off, into court, into rejection at an army recruitment office, into a full, musical dance sequence, demonstrating the poses used in his work as an artist’s model, and into humiliating beatings, abuse, degradation and failure in the world at large. But on he goes, his vain quest for the true, true love of a great, dark man abandoned as he wades on reluctant, never militant or demanding yet steadfast, through the never-ending mire of a life that, surely, he thinks – and hopes – is limping to its wearisome end.
But then, in 1975, The Naked Civil Servant is screened. John Hurt, Crisp quipped, the man with a face to match his name, made a more successful job of being Quentin Crisp than he ever did himself and also fitted the extended agony of his life into a, thankfully, much shorter time. Famous overnight, infamous forever, he now began a new, exhilarating phase of life, and though he remained alone, much success and fulfilment were his. Suddenly, the reviled, abused nobody that was Crisp is not only accepted by the public but adored. As “one of the great stately homos of England” he is now a revered treasure, a legend, embraced worldwide by those amused by his every wise and witty word.
Before the lit mirror of a theatre dressing-room, Farelly changes clothes and wig onstage to the strains of An Englishman in New York, written for and about Crisp by Sting and for the rest of his 75-minute play he is Quentin Crisp, octogenarian. Having moved to a more accepting New York in 1981, the established actor, writer, witty raconteur, chat show sensation and senile delinquent is now portrayed entertaining in his one-man show An Evening with Quentin Crisp. Humorous anecdote, witty wisdom, advice and philosophical musings on the likes of freedom, style, God (him up there), life, death, love, marriage, loneliness, happiness, hope, homosexuality and the internet all feature, while added interest and variety come from audience member Mark (II) who assists onstage with reading the Qs in the Q&A section and engaging in a little badinage with Crisp/Farrelly.
Twenty-five years on from Quentin’s death at 90, Farrelly makes Crisp’s message crystal clear – be true to yourself no matter how tough the going gets: keep wading through dark, hopeless, painful times for maybe something brighter lies just ahead – you never know. It’s a sentiment movingly echoed by Farrelly himself who’s also seen dark times. We must, as Churchill put it, keep “buggering on” through adversity without ever losing that little spark of hope that will eventually rekindle our underlying passion for life, laughter and fellow humans. Sound advice for anyone and everyone.
An excellent play, full of fine Crisp flavour (crinkle-cut, of course).
Eileen Caiger Gray
