John Hartley - on Praise

John Hartley was a big man in every sense of the word.  A man with a big appetite for life, lunch, booze and cigarettes.  He was my acting tutor at drama school in the early nineties.  John would sit, chain-smoking in the rehearsal room at East 15 watching our attempts at Chekhov with an expression both intense and inscrutable.  On one occasion one of us fluffed a line and John exclaimed exultantly:

"At last something f*****g interesting's happened.  Just for a moment I actually got the impression that you weren't reading from a f*****g script!"

John could be a harsh critic, although I think he saw it as being kind.  Acting is a brutal profession and if you can't embrace criticism and carry on in the face of near constant rejection you are dead.  He was especially eloquent on the subject of praise:

"Praise f***ks you up darlings."  (Pause to take a deep drag on cigarette and exhale filling the room  with a yellow smog).  "Criticism you can use, but praise is like poison.  I had a mate who got a fantastic review in 'the Times'.  It said his performance was remarkable for the quality of his "silent pauses".  (Pause for dramatic effect and another deep drag on cigarette, more yellow smog).  You know for the next six f*****ing years all the poor bastard could play were silent f*****ing pauses.  Destroyed his f*****ing career."

Surfing the internet recently I learnt that John died in 2002 of a heart attack.  I hope he was having a good time, sat in front of an enormous curry, surrounded by friends and admirers, a beaker of wine in one hand and a fag in the other.

What Next?

If the Hilton hotels chain needed to send an executive into exile they would almost certainly chose Batang Ai.  This massive Longhouse Resort on the edge of a reservoir in the middle of nowhere is slowly dying on its feet.  It was built for hundreds of guests, but usually accommodates only a handful.  The fact that you have to get a ferry across the reservoir to reach it adds to the sense of sleepy isolation. It has however become a kind of country club for British Council mentors in need of peace, quiet, club sandwiches and an "international" buffet.

For local people the idea of going to Batang Ai is insane, why go to a fake longhouse when you can get the real thing for literally a fraction of the cost?  But for mentors it's the tourist ambiance that is so attractive, because it makes no demands and can make you feel for a while that you are one with the pink kneed, camera bejewelled holidaymakers that roll up from time to time.

Last weekend we went there to celebrate some birthdays with a crowd of mentors.  It was fun, everyone did a lot of talking and drinking and lounging by the pool.  And, for the first time since I've been here there was a lot of talk of home and "what next?"  The project now has less than a year to go and so people are thinking "this is the last time" I do this or that.  The end of school atmosphere is reinforced by the fact that some mentors are already leaving and a large tranche have contracts which expire at the end of January.

Teaching English is a nomadic, low-paid and insecure life and for some, really big questions loom.  Questions like "should I retire?"  "Where shall I live?"  "Where is home?"  "Should I carry on with this life?"  Being a nomad in your twenties is fine, but when you reach your thirties and forties it can begin to feel like you're pushing your luck.  Also, many mentors came to Borneo on the run from something, I suspect, and so now they must decide whether to turn and face their demons or just keep on running.



There are worse places to reflect on these things than sat in a lounge chair on the deck at Batang Ai watching the Sun set spectacularly over the reservoir, as it always seems to do.