|
By Sharon
February 1998
When I tell Doctor Who fans (especially males of the species)
that I'm a mber of the Paul McGann
Estrogen Brigade (PMEB), the confession is usually met with
at best amusent and at worst the kind of condescension that makes
me wonder if my IQ has suddenly dropped to the level of Jo Grant
or Peri Brown. In truth, while the PMEB mailing list does its fair
share of drooling, we also enter into deep discussions of philosophy,
religion, politics and current events — all with nary a harsh
word much less a flame in the two years that I've been a mber.
Oh, we also discuss Doctor Who — all of the Doctors,
not just the 8th — and Paul McGann's non-Whovian work, with
the detail, insight and nitpickiness that you'd expect from a university
English lit class.
Paul McGann has had a varied career both before and since the
1996 Who movie. Although it was a love of his portrayal of the
Doctor that brought me into Who fandom, it's the power of Paul's
other performances — particularly in Withnail & I and The
Monocled Mutineer — that makes me unashamedly call myself
a Paul McGann fangirl. And the same is true for most mbers of the
PMEB.
So when one of our British mbers posted an announcent that Paul
would be headlining a play at Shepherds Bush — a fringe theatre
in London — during February and March of 1998, several PMEBers
suddenly decided that it was time for a vacation in Ye Olde England.
As for me, I was in the middle of a rigorous term in Sheridan
College's Systs Analyst Program and wringing my hands with a desire
to go to England to attend a Highlander con that was hosting
actor Peter Wingfield (Methos), the poor object of my other obsession.
The news about Paul starring in Sabina finally pushed me
over the edge. I had to go to England. I had to go into debt. This
was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that couldn't be missed. It
was madness — but I wasn't alone.
The Sabina program
My partner in crime was Dianne, a Paul McGann and Peter Wingfield
fan who contacted me by e-mail after reading a letter of mine that
got published in Doctor Who Magazine. Like me, Dianne couldn't
really afford to go to England, so naturally we were sure this
was going to be a grand adventure.
Several PMEB mbers and Peter Wingfield fans visited London over
the run of the play. I arrived on the night of Monday, March 2.
Dianne arrived a couple nights before me. Some PMEB mbers had come,
saw and gone home to North America before I arrived; and others
would landing in Heathrow after I had returned home to Toronto.
My arrival in London was not heralded with good omens. Unable
to get an airport shuttle to my Euston-area hotel (all tickets
were sold out), I had to fork over £35 for a cab. When I arrived
at the hotel, my roommates Janet and Jukie, and three other mbers
of our group, Kelly, Gina and Renee, greeted me with an anxious
question: "Did you check your e-mail before you left?"
"Not exactly." I paused, already dreading what was
coming — I didn't know what they were talking about, but I
had my suspicions. "I downloaded mail to clear out my mailboxes,
but I didn't read it."
"Peter Wingfield cancelled Chronicles '98!" Near hysteria.
The cancelation was still a rumor. One of th had read the brief
announcent just before leaving for London. Now these poor souls
were stranded in London with no Internet access, and no recourse
except to quiz every new arrival on whether they had heard anything
more about The News.
Dianne wasn't there. She and some others had gone to see Sabina and
hopefully meet Paul backstage as the PMEB visitors before us had
already done. (Dianne would also be seeing the play again when
I went the next night.)
The hotel room, which would be sleeping five that night, was too
crowded with luggage to pace in. So we went to the bar. Closed.
Back to the room. Then into the hallway. Pace. Pace. Pace.
Dianne returned to the hotel with two other mbers of our travelling
group — sisters Marion and Vicki from Ottawa — and a
long face. Paul didn't hang out in the Fringe & Firkin Pub
below the theatre as he did on previous nights. Right after the
play, he took off to parts unknown.
More pacing. Did the PMEB come on too strong? Was the notoriously
shy Paul overwhelmed by the constant series of fale fans grabbing
front-row seats every night? (There was no reserved seating — first
in line got first pick of seats. This was London fringe theatre
indeed.) Was he frightened that several of those fans had come
to see the play two, three, four and more times?
In the midst of this guilt, Gina finally found a friend with Internet
access who confirmed that yes, Peter really had cancelled his appearance
at the Highlander convention.
We stayed up late that night. No one felt much like talking. Or
sleeping.
Tuesday dawned with rain and overcast skies. "London looks
just like Vancouver," Dianne said, watching the rain and business
people in long dark coats and umbrellas, staring at the sidewalk
as they scurried to work. "London looks a lot like Toronto," I
said, noticing the blend of old-world architecture next to modern
steel-and-glass in the area around Euston Station where we were
staying. We laughed and tried not to think about the events of
the night before. I was in LONDON! This was my first-ever trip
overseas. Nothing was going to dampen my excitent, I vowed.
We spent the morning strolling in Camden Town, the setting for
the opening scenes of Withnail & I, and a popular shopping
area. Camden High Street could give Toronto's Queen Street a run
for its money by the sheer number of colourful, odd and unusual
little shops and cafes that dot its length.
That afternoon Dianne and I did the poor man's tour of London
with Janet — a Canadian who moved to England several years
ago — as our tour guide. We took pictures on a bridge spanning
the Thames. We walked by Parliament, Big Ben and Wesminister Abbey.
We fed pigeons in Trafalgar Square. We shopped in Covent Garden
marketplace and I bought a velvet dress to wear to the play that
night for only six pounds.
We also discovered The Maple Leaf, a pub owned by Molson Brewery
that served only Canadian beer. The walls of the pub had glass
cases with jerseys of the Leafs, the Blue Jays, the Canadiens,
the Oilers, and other famous Canadian sports teams. There was also,
of course, a stereotypical moose head hung over a faux fireplace
in a corner. We told the bartender we were real Canadians so could
we please have free beer? The bartender declined — he was
from Canada too!
At 4 p.m. we headed back to our hotel to change for the evening's
entertainment and Paul came to mind once again — would we
get to meet him tonight? It was Dianne's last chance and my only
chance as the next day our informal tour group was heading to Cardiff,
Wales (hometown of Peter and PMEB mber Alryssa who would be joining
us at the theatre that night), then on to the Highlander con
in Manchester on Thursday.
As much as everything had gone wrong the night before, everything
went right Tuesday night. Our not-so-modest group of 14 managed
to take second place in the lineup to get into the theatre behind
a couple who kept giving us strange looks.
A display outside the Bush Theatre
showing scenes from the play.
The theatre was a tiny 100-person box with risers along two of
its walls. There was no stage. Rather the play area was the floor.
Paul was literally going to be "reach out and touch" distance
away. I took my seat, gripping the progam with excitent, trying
to see if there was any movent in a darkened doorway along another
of the room's walls that was serving as both stage entrance and
exit. The 15-minute wait for the play to begin seed interminable,
but finally the room's lights dimmed.
Snoo Wilson's play Sabina tells the story of the rival
relationship between Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud and their interest
in a disturbed young woman named Sabina who was first Jung's patient,
then his lover. Paul played Carl Jung.
And that's where its resblence to reality ended. Despite its subject
matter, Sabina's probably best described as a dark comedy that
bordered on surreal. The play was fast-paced, philosophical, hilariously
funny, and invited audience participation in the form of Philon,
a chorus-like character and figment of Jung's imagination who spoke
directly to the audience at several points in the play. (I later
found out these lines were completely ad-libbed and differed widely
each night of the play depending on what mood the actor was sensing
from the audience.) At the end of the play, the rest of the cast
got into the act and handed out glasses of wine and bite-sized
chunks of bread to several mbers of the audience. Paul walked right
up to Marion, who was sitting next to me, and handed her a piece
of bread with a wink — he rbered her from previous nights.
Hanging out in the pub under the Bush:
(L-R) Janet, Dianne, Marion (behind Dianne),
?, Alryssa, Vicki and Jukie.
After the play, we filed downstairs to the Firkin Pub. One by
one every castmber but Paul entered, greeting and chatting with
the PMEB mbers they recognized. Dianne and I introduced ourselves
to several castmbers, got our programs signed, told th how much
we enjoyed the play. Mark Long, who played Philon, asked us who
we were and I explained we were fans of Paul who had met on the
Internet and in most cases were meeting face-to-face for the first
time in London. Many of us had travelled all the way from North
America just to see the play. "Extraordinary!" Mark exclaimed,
and kept repeating the rest of the evening, shaking his head in
disbelief.
At last Paul entered the pub. He grinned when he saw us: "You're
back!" I'm proud to say that there wasn't a mad rush to surround
him. Instead, by unspoken consent, we approached Paul in groups
of four to six. PMEB list mom Steph bought him a drink. Paul apologized
for leaving so abruptly the previous night, explaining that a family
ergency had called him away. (Paul lives a few hours' drive from
London in the port town of Bristol.) He was back tonight, however,
and in high spirits. Paul signed autographs, laughed and chatted
with us for almost an hour, showing none of the shyness I was expecting
after reading other fans' reports of meeting him during the filming
of the Who movie.
Sabina was the first time Paul took to the stage after suffering
debilitating stage fright 13 years ago. (He literally forgot all
his lines on stage.) So, we asked Paul, now that you're facing
audiences again, we'd love you to come visit us at the Visions
convention in Chicago. No way, Paul replied. Sabina marked the
last time he would be getting on stage. He said it with a laugh,
but I realized how difficult Sabina must be for him, and that he
probably only did it to prove that he could, to come full-circle
after his bout of stage fright.
Several fans had brought gifts for Paul — everything from
cards, artwork that they had done, a jug of Canadian maple syrup,
and even what looked like a jar of pickles. (Well... he is a vegetarian....)
Paul accepted th all graciously, and with delight. He said his
wife was beginning to ask about us after seeing the stuffed bags
Paul was bringing home every night.
Suddenly, Paul told us to wait a moment and headed to a corner
of the pub where he had stashed his belongings. He returned with
a large brown paper bag. He said that after accepting all of our
gifts, he wanted to give something back to us. He took out a matted
and framed Doctor Who cover that the Radio Times (the
British version of TV Guide) did when the movie priered.
Apparently the Radio Times awards all its "cover models" with
the artwork from their cover. Paul turned the frame over and showed
us the inscription on the back - "To all the PMEB with all
my love, Paul x" — then gave it to Steph who accepted
on behalf of all of us.
It was already nearing 11 p.m. and we were told the bar would
be closing. Dismay — several of us had brought cameras and
were hoping for pictures. Paul insisted to the bartender that we
wouldn't be long, and suggested we retire to a small foyer at the
foot of the stairway leading up to the theatre. We assbled there,
first for group photos then for individual shots. Paul kept chatting
away the entire time. I can hardly recall anything that was said — all
I rber is a feeling of euphoria!
In the hall with Paul. (L-R) Marion, Paul,
Stephanie,
Dianne, Janet and me. (Kneeling) Alryssa,
Jukie.
We're in a small foyer with stairs that lead up to the
theatre. There's a fake fireplace at left. When
we first
entered, Paul leaned casually against the fireplace
and said (paraphrase), "I'm an English actor.
We know how to lean on fireplaces."
Alryssa and Paul and me. When Janet asked
about one
of the pins on his jacket (for an anti-hunting group),
Paul took it off and gave it to her! "No, no, I couldn't,"
Janet protested while her hand was held out in anticipation.
I guess none of us could think straight —
notice the glazed look on my face....
All too soon, it was time to say our goodbyes. Paul said again
how much he enjoyed seeing us at the play each night. He hugged
and kissed each of us (some more than once!). I returned Paul's
kiss, and ended up leaving bright red lipstick on his cheek, but
was too shy to tell him. (Wonder what his wife said when he returned
home that particular evening....) Then Paul hefted his knapsack
over his shoulder, picked up the bags of gifts, said goodbye once
more to some of us, and "see you tomorrow" to those who
would be returning. And he left.
When we reentered the pub, we found it pty except for the bartender
and one patron, apparently a regular. We thanked the bartender,
Andrew, profusely for his patience with us and generosity in keeping
the bar open late so we could take our photos. The patron asked
who we were and we briefly explained what had brought us all to
London. Someone made the mistake of giggling about a scene in Sabina where
Paul wore nothing but boxer shorts. The man, who was quite drunk,
proceeded to tell us about his own underwear then promptly mooned
us. Needless to say, with the vague sense of disbelief we were
now feeling — our evening with Paul had surpassed our wildest
hopes — none of us batted an eye. Being mooned was anticlimactic,
yet strangely appropriate for the unreality that pervaded the whole
trip — we were walking in dreamtime.
Me, Janet and Kelly with Andrew the bartender —
Yes! We met Paul McGann!
The voyage back to our hotel was spent alternating between bursts
of excited chatter and moments of silent contplation. We dropped
by a late-night grocery next to the hotel for some drinks and sandwiches
since many of us had skipped dinner in order to go early to the
theatre. We entered the hotel lobby and promptly rearranged the
chairs there for easier conversation. We talked long into the night.
When someone mentioned the Highlander convention again,
all I said was "Peter who?"
So ends the tale of meeting Paul in London. But the saga isn't
over yet.
The week before I arrived in London, Lynn Gavigan, president of
British Mercury, a Paul McGann fan club, had visited England. She
and PMEB list mom Steph had met with Paul and got his unhesitating
approval for both fan groups to carry his name officially.
The week after I returned from England, the Bush Theatre held
its final performance of Sabina and all PMEB mbers who attended
were invited to the casts' private wrap party afterwards.
Two months later, in the middle of May, Lynn received an e-mail
from Paul's wife Annie. Annie mentioned that she and Paul had visited
all of the PMEB mbers' websites: "We have been watching you
all the time!!!!!!! Spooky!!!!!!!! :-) " She and Paul enjoyed
viewing all our photos of the trip, and decided they would like
to rain in contact with us via Lynn. Annie promised to fill us
in on all of Paul's new projects and said if we had any questions
for Paul, feel free to ask away!
Since then, Annie has kept to her word, giving us news about Paul,
often before it has appeared anywhere else (e.g. a few days after
Visions announced inviting Paul, Annie told us there was no way
Paul would do a con, even though Sylvester McCoy kept ringing Paul
up trying to convince him to change his mind), and filling us with
anecdotes about McGann family life (e.g. the news that their budgie
Day-oh had passed away, what Paul eats on his cereal for breakfast).
What are my impressions of Paul McGann? He shies away from large
gatherings where he is the centre of attention, but shines in small
informal groups where conversation can flow naturally. He is personable,
excitable, extrely chatty, witty and intelligent — at one
point Alryssa was talking about poetry and Paul reached into his
knapsack and pulled out a battered paperback of T.S. Eliot's pos
that hasn't left his side since his school days. Paul is warm and
genuine — he really enjoyed meeting us all, and treated us
as equals and old friends, not as strangers he had just met. The
unspoken distance between celebrity and fan didn't exist. Paul
even invited us to come visit him at home, saying that he lived
in Bristol. "We know," we all chorused in unplanned unison,
but luckily that didn't scare Paul!
Paul autographs some Sabina programs.
Why was our encounter with Paul so different from other fans'?
I think it was in part because we were on his turf at the theatre,
and in part because while most fans who met Paul only seed interested
in his Doctor Who role (at least that's the impresion I
got from reading their reports), we enjoyed and appreciated Paul's
other work as well. In fact, after reading what Paul has most recently
said about Doctor Who in the press, we took pains not to
mention the Doctor at all. It was Paul who brought up the subject — he
reiterated what a wonderful and morable time he had making the
telefilm. And though we were now sheepish and a bit barrassed about
having "Estrogen Brigade" as the moniker of our group,
Paul took it with a sense of humour, recognizing the spirit of
fun in how the name came about.
What does Paul's autograph look like? Just like
this!
I think Paul has put the 8th Doctor behind him in the sense that
he is moving on with his career and not dwelling on whether or
not the series will be revived. However, I got the impression that
he would consider wearing the frock coat again, if the right person
asked him under the right circumstances.
Paul's performance is often hailed as the best thing about the
flawed TV movie. But he still has critics — fans who think
his Doctor is too lightweight, or too pretty. To those fans I say,
make the effort to track down some of Paul's other work (his British
work, not the cameos he played in a few American movies) and you
will find a versatile actor who can exude quiet power as well as
vicious indifference, who can rivet you to the screen with a powerful
speech or make you break out in laughter watching some visual comedy,
who can play a romantic hero or an ugly criminal.
There is much that Paul could bring to the role of the Doctor,
if given the chance. I hope that someday, somewhere, somewhen,
he gets that chance again.
[ Back to top ]
|
