There will be many tributes to the great Sir Peter Hall. As his publisher it is only right that I add my own fond memories.
My association with Peter began in 2000 when his then agent, Mike Shaw of Curtis Brown, invited me to lunch at Bentley’s oyster bar in Piccadilly. The choice of a smart venue already told me that it was to be an important conversation. As Mike focussed his penetrating gaze on my every move, for about an hour the conversation seemed to meander around various topics until I asked “Mike you haven’t brought me here to talk about love, life, art and death. What is it?” ‘Peter Hall’, he said. Mike wanted Oberon to publish The Peter Hall Diaries and Peter’s autobiography Making an Exhibition of Myself. My first question was ‘How much?’, and I played cool when the answer came. But both books had already been published and allowed to go out of print. Not wanting Oberon to become a reprint house, I stuck my neck out and said ‘Would we get the next book?’
The swift answer was ‘That will be another £…..’ ‘Done,’ I replied, still acting cool. We shook hands on the deal and from then on Peter and I developed a warm and exciting working relationship.
It was a turning point in Oberon’s history. We were 15 years old and the list was a lot shorter than it is now. But Mike had persuaded the great man that we were going places. It was arranged that I meet Peter with his publicist Lynne Kirwin at a small seafood restaurant in Chelsea. The meeting went well and the restaurant (Le Suquet, now gone) became the hideaway where Peter and I would meet from time to time and discuss his new ideas for books in privacy.
The overnight turn-around in Oberon’s fortunes was like Manna from Heaven. The great Sir Peter had turned to this small publisher in Holloway, while we were still struggling for credibility and prominence in the theatre industry. The mood changed. ‘If they’re good enough for Peter Hall, then they’re good enough for me.’ So went the buzz round the Business, in particular literary agents who had mainly dealt with the big publishers.
So we surged ahead with the Diaries, the Autobiography and a new book, Exposed by the Mask, Peter’s Trinity Lectures on Beckett, Pinter, Mozart and Shakespeare.
‘The wisest and most stimulating short book about theatre since Peter Brook’s The Empty Space’ Charles Spencer, Sunday Telegraph.
Peter became ever more loyal and ever more meticulous about the preparation of his books. As they say, he liked to get the ink on his fingers. He missed nothing, and he taught me many things about my own job. How does a book on acting become a real and useful teaching tool? It was Peter who shaped the layout and typesetting of Shakespeare’s Advice to the Players making a complex guide look simple. Often criticised for being an ‘Iambic Fundamentalist’ when it comes to Shakespeare, Peter stuck to his guns. He didn’t like actors inserting pauses and line breaks where none were intended. It all had to come ‘trippingly on the tongue’ as Hamlet says to the Players. I understood what he meant when I once heard an excruciating recitation of a Sonnet by a student actor who inserted pauses you could drive a bus through. It broke the flow, we lost our focus, and it was an emasculated performance.
We launched Shakespeare’s Advice to the Players at the National Theatre. On the way I picked Peter up at a church hall in Clapham where had had been rehearsing all day. Arriving at the National just in time, Peter stepped out of the car, walked straight into the building to the vast stage of the Lyttelton, and delivered a thirty minute talk to a full house without using any notes. Afterwards, he patiently signed books for many fans waiting in a very long line.
Ever in awe of Peter I always topped my emails with his full title ‘Sir Peter Hall, CBE’ before the more familiar ‘Dear Peter’. I once asked him why he chose Oberon to publish his work. His response was unequivocal. ‘You publish new writers.’ That enthusiasm for new work ran through his career. He must have known that he was giving new writing a massive boost by joining Oberon.
I tried to return his loyalty whenever there was an opportunity. When Peter and his team were in Denver mounting Tantalus, the ten play cycle by John Barton, there was a dispute over cuts. So I rang his secretary at the Denver residence in case any cuts would be made to the text. It soon became clear that happiness among the team was in short supply. So I offered to take everyone to dinner to cheer them up. ‘But you’re in London!’ Well, it’s only a six hour flight and I was in Denver by the next day. For politeness’ sake the booking had been made for the coffee shop in a smart downtown hotel. A coffee shop? This would never do, so I rushed to the other end of the building to the hotel’s grander restaurant. Passing Peter and his secretary in the lobby I heard Peter say ‘He sussed that out in thirty seconds.’ But there was still an obstacle ahead. The Maître D said imperiously that the restaurant was fully booked. I despaired. I had just flown in from London to take eight people to dinner and no table. Only a bold gesture could help me now – the time honoured $100 bill quickly produced out of my back pocket. A table was promptly found.
At the start of dinner I studied the wine list with prices soaring to $4000 plus. Peter leaned over and whispered in my ear. ‘James, a $50 bottle will do.’
I still adore him.
– James Hogan, Publisher, Oberon Books