Drinking Man's Actor

Sweating, burbling, belching, he shouts his anguish to the world as the curtain rises. It is the beginning of a breathtaking performance that lasts longer than Hamlet and is as taxing as Lear. It is Nicol Williamson playing the lead in John Osborne's Inadmissible Evidence (TIME, Dec. 10) the most bravura performance by a newcomer that Broadway has seen in over a decade.

Reports of Williamson's skyrocketing fame and fiery behavior preceded him. In England, he became notorious for demanding his audience's complete and rapt attention; when latecomers interrupted the play, he had the curtain lowered and began again. Rehearsing the London hit in Philadelphia, he learned that Producer David Merrick had summarily dismissed British Director Anthony Page (who directed Williamson in more than 20 of the 60-odd plays he performed in repertory). In a rage, Williamson confronted Merrick backstage, threw a glass of beer in his face, then flattened him with a right to the jaw. Williamson later apologized, but the play opened with Page still prominently listed as director.

Anguish & Passion. As the angriest of the angry young men, Williamson would seem made to order to play Osborne's Look-Ahead-in-Anger. The fact that Williamson is only 28 and Osborne's hero is a disillusioned 39 presented no problems; Williamson simply aged a decade on the spot. "I felt I could portray a middle-aged man just from seeing my father and friends go through the same phases of life." So perfectly does he capture the anguish, passion and humor of Osborne's spent hero on the verge of a breakdown that critics have been tempted to put it down as a feat of perfect typecasting. Ironically, it is a criticism that has repeatedly plagued Williamson throughout his career. In London, he was applauded for his performance in The Ginger Man while critics wondered aloud how he could do anything else. When he appeared in a production of Sweeney Agonistes, playgoers found it impossible to believe that T. S. Eliot created the hilarious Apeneck Sweeney before Williamson was born.

Gut Work. Versatility is a fault that Williamson has worked hard to acquire. Born near Glasgow, he studied at a Birmingham dramatic school ("absolutely nonsensical"), served in the paratroopers ("Two more pounds a week, and that can buy a lot of booze"), then hit the long repertory road.

Now at the top, he finds neither the view nor his fellow actors inspiring. "England is a failing nation, a dying race," he declares. "Writers are expressing anguish and self-destruction, always interesting to watch." As for himself, Williamson fancies the role of drinking man's actor, insisting that brainwork is for authors and directors, gut work for performers. Shying away from thought, intensely hypochondriacal, he insists: "Booze, that's the really important thing. It keeps you from thinking too much, bless it."

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