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.