The Naked Civil Servant - on TV (1975)
I received a message from Messrs. Jonathan Cape. They wished to know if the movie rights in The Naked Civil Servant were for sale. I thought the question must be a joke. When told that the inquiry came from a Mr. Haggarty, my amazement and amusement increased a hundred-fold.
During the war Mr. Haggarty was an airman but his feet were surprisingly often on the ground of Fitsrovia where he enjoyed the status of an honorary hooligan. . . he sat at the same tables in the cafes as the rest of us.
Twenty years later, when I telephoned him to ask if his inquiry about my life story was serious, he assured me that it was. Into this conversation he introduced the fair name of Philip Mackie. . . He lives in Buckingham Street and, . . it was in his flat there that the three of us used to meet.
In spite of what world authorities have since judged to be the excellence of his work, Mr. Mackie was compelled to run hatless through the streets of London for four long dark years trying to raise sufficient funds to make a movie of his script.
After a few months I forgot about the entire project and went back to the humble task of completing my book about style. (How To Have A Lifestyle) It was finished, I think, in 1972 but this too turned out to be a bomb with a very long fuse. It did not see the light of day for another three years.
The television rights in The Naked Civil Servant were sold for 350. . . I do not remember exactly how I received the news that Thames Television had brought Mr. Mackie's script but I do recall that, when it was arranged that I should meet the director of the play, I was taken all the way to Teddington by taxi. . . At Teddington Studios, besides Mr. Gold, the director, I was introduced to Mr. Hurt who was soon to become my representative on Earth.
This occasion, social, pleasant, informal, was in fact the turning point in the tide against which I had been swimming for more than sixty years. I was on my way back to becoming a virgin.
When the play was flashed before the unsuspecting eyes of the public, I saw it with some friends. In a calmer mood by then, I tried to judge it purely as entertainment. . . In spite of this I was well aware of what an excellent play had been produced.
During the war Mr. Haggarty was an airman but his feet were surprisingly often on the ground of Fitsrovia where he enjoyed the status of an honorary hooligan. . . he sat at the same tables in the cafes as the rest of us.
Twenty years later, when I telephoned him to ask if his inquiry about my life story was serious, he assured me that it was. Into this conversation he introduced the fair name of Philip Mackie. . . He lives in Buckingham Street and, . . it was in his flat there that the three of us used to meet.
In spite of what world authorities have since judged to be the excellence of his work, Mr. Mackie was compelled to run hatless through the streets of London for four long dark years trying to raise sufficient funds to make a movie of his script.
After a few months I forgot about the entire project and went back to the humble task of completing my book about style. (How To Have A Lifestyle) It was finished, I think, in 1972 but this too turned out to be a bomb with a very long fuse. It did not see the light of day for another three years.
The television rights in The Naked Civil Servant were sold for 350. . . I do not remember exactly how I received the news that Thames Television had brought Mr. Mackie's script but I do recall that, when it was arranged that I should meet the director of the play, I was taken all the way to Teddington by taxi. . . At Teddington Studios, besides Mr. Gold, the director, I was introduced to Mr. Hurt who was soon to become my representative on Earth.
This occasion, social, pleasant, informal, was in fact the turning point in the tide against which I had been swimming for more than sixty years. I was on my way back to becoming a virgin.
When the play was flashed before the unsuspecting eyes of the public, I saw it with some friends. In a calmer mood by then, I tried to judge it purely as entertainment. . . In spite of this I was well aware of what an excellent play had been produced.