Williamstown Theatre Festival Memories of Peter H. Hunt

30 years ago, I was working for Peter H. Hunt, first in New York City, then in Williamstown, Massachusetts, for the Williamstown Theatre Festival. It was one of the best six months of my life.

In March or so of 1990, I left Hartford Stage in Connecticut, where I had worked for two glorious seasons, to be publicity director at WTF (don't think for a second that the other meaning of that acronym was ever lost on any member of the company). I had been at Williamstown for the 1988 season, fresh out of Western Kentucky University and before Hartford Stage: that first season, I was the publicity assistant, in an unpaid internship, working for a publicity director who made my life hell, in a season that would turn out to be the last for Nikos Psacharopoulos (if he called the office for my boss and I said she wasn't there, he would hang up without another word). Were it not for some wonderful other interns and very kind and/or colorful celebrities, I would have quit mid-season. When that summer was over, I vowed I would never go back.

But you always go back to Williamstown. It's a joke among everyone that works there - one summer is never enough. And so I went back for the first season that Peter H. Hunt was the sole Artistic Director, first to New York City, for the annual benefit, and then to the Berkshires for the summer season.

Peter was best known for winning a Tony award for the Broadway musical 1776 back in 1970 or so. He directed the movie as well. I have no idea how many things he directed on stage and screens big and small - a lot. That first summer when I had been at WTF, Peter had directed Bertolt Brecht's The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui and it had knocked EVERYONE out of their shoes: one of the critics who regularly poo poo'd all things Williamstown asked me after she saw it, in all seriousness, "When is this moving to Broadway?" It remains one of the best productions of anything I have EVER seen. When I heard that Peter had been named sole artistic director for 1990, after sharing duties the summer before with two others, I thought, damn, if every production is half as good as Arturo Ui, my job as publicity director will be awesome.

It was awesome. But never easy.

Peter would walk into a room like a boisterous Hemingway, commanding everyone, dominating the space. I was terrified of him at first, but I quickly grew to adore him. I will never forget my first "moment" with him: the Williamstown season had just been announced with A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum opening the main stage and a very controversial play, No Orchards for Miss Blandish, opening what was then called The Other Stage. The latter had a rape scene and a LOT of other violence, and we were having a senior staff meeting to discuss whether or not we should put a warning in the lobby or in advertisements about the graphic nature of the play. I had a look on my face that, somehow, betrayed my thoughts, because Peter looked right at me and laughed and said, "Yeah, you're right, what we should have is a warning in the lobby of 'Forum' about the rampant dated sexism in it!"

Peter directed Death Takes a Holiday in August of that season. What a cast - it included Maria Tucci, Blythe Danner, Christopher Reeve, and a newcomer, Calista Flockhart. It was a gorgeous production of a play that, on paper, seemed like a silly and dated melodrama, but at Williamstown, under Peter's direction, it was magical, mysterious and otherworldly. I remember when the designer brought in a sketch of a concept for the poster for the play, and we loved it so much we chose the concept art over his "finished" product. And when I say "we", I mean WE - Peter and I. Because Peter included me, little oh-my-god-do-I-know-what-I'm-doing? me. He wanted to know my thoughts, and it was okay if I disagreed or tried to steer him in another direction when it came to publicity - he listened.

I still have the poster for Death Takes a Holiday in my home office. It is oh-so-precious to me.

Peter lost his voice just before we opened that first production, so I showed him how to say "Eat Shit and Die" in sign language. He was delighted.

At one point early in the season, a dog showed up, wandering around the festival grounds, and he became my dog, as well as the dog of the entire festival. His name was Buster. He followed me EVERYWHERE. I had to go to Peter's office about twice-a-week for a one-on-one. I went into the office, closed the door, and as Peter issued his orders for the week, Buster barked outside the door. And barked again. "Is that Buster?!" Peter almost roared. "Yes..." I said, meekly. "Let him in!" So I opened the door and let Buster in, and that little tramp pranced right by me and over to Peter's side, as though to say, "I know who is in charge." Peter sat there petting Buster and continued to issue orders. After that, when I went into the theater during rehearsals to ask Peter something, Buster would come right in too and prance down the aisle over to Peter, who would keep directing while leaning over to give Buster a pet on the head.

And then there was the aftermath of the July 4th Pittsfield Independence Day parade. The parade organizers had called Williamstown every summer, hoping for a celebrity to be in the parade, and every year, all the "stars" said no. I told Peter the organizers really, REALLY wanted someone this year, and that Williamstown really needed a "we love this community" moment. He said, "I bet Tony Edwards will do it. Want me to ask him?" He knew that if he asked Tony, rather than me, he'd probably do it. Anthony Edwards was in rehearsals for Harvey on the mainstage, and was super duper nice. He was also known to most folks as Goose in Top Gun. Tony said yes, and the stage manager of Harvey, Scott LaFeber, said he would find and dress up in a rabbit suit and sit next to Tony for the parade. I offered to go to the parade with them, to troubleshoot, but they assured me I wasn't needed. Well, parade-goers EXPLODED when "Goose" from Top Gun was announced by the MC, to the point that a crowd almost rushed the car as it went down the avenue. When they came back and told me about the madness, they were laughing, and I laughed right along. They went and told Peter the same story, and Peter thought I'd dropped the ball and not taken care of "my people", and he called to ball me out and let me know it. I hung up the phone and just sat there, horrified. Scott walked in and thought I'd just gotten news that someone had died. I told him about the reprimand and apologized for not being there. Scott marched out, grabbed Tony, told him what happened, and they went right to Peter to say he'd been unfair, that they had refused my offer to tag along, that there was nothing I could have done, and on and on. It was the first time, and one of the only times, someone has defended me professionally. Peter called me as soon as they left and apologized, sincerely. I have never forgotten that apology. Most people aren't big enough to do something like that - Peter was.

At one point that summer, someone in the company tried to blame me for a profound misstep with a member of the press. I walked over to Peter's office in the evening, knowing he would still be there, and told him exactly what had happened, and exactly how I had NOT been involved. And he believed me. And he stuck up for me. And that pretty much sealed the deal for how I felt about Peter Hunt.

When the festival was over, I took a job on the West Coast at a theater where I could work year-round. A few weeks after I took the job, Peter called the theater, looking for me, and when I got on the phone, demanded to know if I was going to come back the next season, saying he absolutely needed me. To this day, I regret not telling him yes. That job I had taken on the West Coast turned out to be a disaster, and in the spring of 1992, I reached out to the Williamstown Theater Festival and asked if they wanted me back. They did - but I backed out before I signed the contract, right after getting offered my first well-paid position ever, in the HR office of a hard drive company. I couldn't take the hit financially of moving again, just to be out of a job again at the end of the summer. It was my last chance to work with Peter, and it was gone. And I never worked in theatre again.

All these years later, I don't know if Peter H. Hunt would have remembered me. But I remember him. I know not everyone liked him. Not everyone likes me. He remains one of my favorite people that I have ever worked for. He trusted me, he recognized me, he valued me - and I would have gone through fire for him.

Peter has died. He was 81.

I have more stories... like when he tossed his Tony medallion to me (at me?), but I'll save those for friends. We'll get together, drink wine, and share war stories of working for Peter H. Hunt.

Rest in peace, sir.

Alan Rickman

I knew who Alan Rickman was before I had ever seen his face or heard his voice.

It was Spring 1987, I was a junior at Western Kentucky University, and the theater and dance students were all abuzz about the shows on far away Broadway - productions we would very likely never see, because we had no money for the trip, let alone for the tickets. We had no Internet, yet we knew about so many of the shows - who was in them, who directed them, why they were successful or why they wouldn't last long, and on and on. We knew people who had seen the shows. Or knew people that knew people.

And the non-musical play I heard about most of all was Les Liaisons Dangereuses, starring Alan Rickman. Yes, even in Bowling Green, Kentucky, people were abuzz about Alan Rickman on Broadway, someone none of us had ever seen or heard - but, oh, the stories we'd heard about his performance. He was the primary reason I watched the Tony Awards that year - to see and hear him, at last, even for just a few seconds. When I got the opportunity to go to London in the Fall of 1988 for two weeks with the WKU theater and dance department, getting to see nine theatre productions, including Les Liaisons Dangereuses, I was beside myself - I knew Alan Rickman was long gone from the production but, hey, he had been on THAT stage, speaking THOSE lines. Good enough for me. Jonathan Hyde was excellent in the role of Valmont - no disrespect. But when I re-read the play - and I do, every other year or so - its Rickman I hear and see in my head.

In the summers, I'd go to the Henderson Public Library and look through a book that had photos and summaries of Broadway productions for the previous season. It was the closest I could get to Broadway. I would stare at the photos and try to imagine the live performances. I did it with Les Liaisons Dangereuses, and there was Alan Rickman. In Henderson. At least on paper.

I may never have said I was a fan of David Bowie, even though I was, but anyone who really knows me knows that I am a HUGE fan of Alan Rickman. Massive. That his brilliance could translate to film was what all us oh-so-deprived Kentucky theater fans were dying for. He was so obviously, overwhelmingly awesome in the first shot scenes of Die Hard that an extra scene with his character and Bruce Willis' meeting face-to-face was written in while shooting was still happening. Watching him steal Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves was hysterical. Years after they were released in theaters in the USA, I finally tracked down Truly Madly Deeply, which is the role he's known most for among his most diehard fans, and Bob Roberts, which gave me a hint of his political leanings. Sense and Sensibility, Dogma and Galaxy Quest are my favorites of his films - I own all of them. In fact, I have more movies in my own library featuring Alan Rickman than any other actor - even Harrison Ford. By far.

I'll never forget watching Sense and Sensibility yet again, this time with my dear Spanish / Catalan / Swedish / global tribal friend, Alexandra. She was tired through most of the movie, and almost dozed a few times. But when Colonel Brandon came out at the end of the movie in his British uniform after his wedding, she almost flew off the couch. "Stop it, stop it now, rewind the movie, look at him, oh, so handsome, why didn't you tell me he would wear this?!?" We rewatched that scene three times, and the next day, she found a photo from that scene and made it the background of her computer screen at work.

Part of the reason I became so endeared to Benedict Cumberbatch was because his imitations of Alan Rickman are absolutely hysterical. I loved that Stephen Colbert took a few moments out of one of his show to acknowledge Rickman's death and contributions to film - it's not like Rickman was a household name, but Colbert is so obviously a fan. How could anyone not be?!? I'm so sorry I didn't hear what Jimmy Fallon said during his show - I'm sure he said something, because he was absolutely giddy whenever he was around him and about him.

Oh, the missed opportunities to see him live... when I moved to Germany in February 2001, I didn't know he was in the London West End in a revival of Private Lives, and didn't hear about the production until it had moved to Broadway. When I would go to London, I would always be on the lookout - is that him over there? Or there? Or there?!? And when he did Seminar on Broadway in 2012, I didn't fly to New York City - Stefan and I were hoping to buy a house (and we did!), and I was trying to be a grownup. BTW, my biggest regrets in life are over what I didn't do, when I chose being a grown up over doing something crazy and wonderful and expensive... I thought my time would come, another, better opportunity would happen, and I would somehow see Alan Rickman live, in-person, on stage. Somehow. It would happen.

It didn't happen. And now, it never will.

Alan Rickman died the day before my 50th birthday. My sister was with me when it was announced, and she knew before she turned and saw the look of horror on my face what the news would do to me. She's probably never seen an Alan Rickman movie in her life, but she knows me. And oh how I cried. I had a wonderful time celebrating my birthday, but, honestly - every now and again, amid all the joy, I would remember: Alan Rickman is gone. And it would hold me back just a little, just a bit.

The Voice is silent. Too soon.

NPR remembers.