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Olivier : The Authorised Biography

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Laurence Olivier would be a finalist in anyone's listing of the Greatest-Actor-of-All-Time category. He was nominated for 13 Oscars as director/producer/actor. He would receive two honorary Oscars to go with his two wins as the producer/actor for "Hamlet" (1948). Certainly Mr. Olivier was driven to become the Greatest Actor of his generation and such drive made him a genius in his chosen profession. However his personal life was a disaster and would not win him any accolades as Father/Husband of the year.

Mr. Coleman had access to the private papers of Mr. Olivier and has created a thorough, if not a bit dense, biography of his life. In 500+ pages of text and appendences (plus nearly 100 pages of notes), he chronicles his times & times, his brilliance and his flaws (neglectful as a parent and a womanizer). This is a very readable account of a creative actor who lived for his craft, whether it was on the stage, on film or in televison. After finishing this book, the reader is encouraged to view his films, especially "Richard III" and "King Lear."

In the 1950s, other girls had crushes on Tab Hunter, Troy Donahue and James Dean. My crush was Laurence Olivier --- maybe it was because my father taught Shakespeare, but really I think it was his beautiful voice, sensitive mouth, brooding Heathcliffian eyes...you get the picture. I kept a scrapbook; I even wrote to him, and he replied --- well, sort of: a blue aerogramme thanking me for my kind letter and signed "L. Olivier." I wish I still had it.

So you can see that I was disposed to be fascinated by OLIVIER, the new biography by journalist Terry Coleman. Actually, this is the first and only biography to be sanctioned by Sir Laurence's widow, actress Joan Plowright, and the Olivier estate. The advantage of "official" works, of course, is that the author gets access to all sorts of formerly unavailable personal papers. The downside is that he tends to be weighed down by the need to document endlessly, explain copiously, and set the record straight. This is not a fast-moving book. But it is a compelling and sometimes touching one that lets us glimpse the private side of an honest-to-God genius.

The view isn't always edifying. Olivier is revealed as self-absorbed, vulnerable, flirtatious, excessive, sometimes embarrassingly silly (in his letters to Vivien Leigh, his second wife and grand passion) and surprisingly shrewd about business (I remember being a bit shocked when Sir Laurence did American TV ads for Polaroid, but it turns out that years earlier he had made a deal for the production of Olivier cigarettes, giving him a lot of free smokes and a hefty percentage of the take). A self-described "liar," he isn't the easiest subject for a biographer to decipher, though Coleman does his best to sort out the facts from the embroidery.

Olivier could also be generous and devoted: The sad story of his deteriorating relationship to the mentally unstable Leigh (she was a victim of bipolar, also known as "manic," depression) often shows him to be remarkably forbearing. The demise of the marriage took years; it's not clear why --- loyalty, public relations? --- but the circumstances were not made public at the time. I remember being distressed by the breakup and blaming him (he had already moved on to Plowright), but the truth is, Leigh had affairs as well (a long one with actor Peter Finch) and they seem to have inflicted equal-opportunity suffering.

The issue of sexuality is a principal one for Coleman. A less respectful 1991 Olivier biography by Donald Spoto got a lot of play for its "revelation" that the actor was bisexual and had a long relationship with comedian Danny Kaye. In a seven-page Author's Note, Coleman acknowledges the probability of a fleeting early affair with a man (not Kaye) and observes that Olivier's on-stage, on-screen appeal had an element of androgyny, but he devotes most of the space to emphatic denials of Spoto's assertions. Indeed, Olivier's bedroom prowess (extensive, on the evidence; he was unfaithful to all three wives) appears to have been overwhelmingly hetero. Although Coleman seems to me to protest a bit too much, his evidence is persuasive --- and anyway, who cares? As Shakespeare wrote in Henry V (and Sir Laurence spoke so eloquently in his film of the play), "Nice customs curtsy to great kings," and Olivier certainly achieved almost the status of royalty.

What OLIVIER doesn't really do is explore how the complex, flawed man got to be a great actor (some would say the great actor) of stage and film. In the '80s Sir Laurence did write his own books on the subject (CONFESSIONS OF AN ACTOR and ON ACTING), neither of which I've read; perhaps Coleman felt that his main brief was to venture into the less charted territory of Olivier's intimate life. Still, it's a pity not to have had more on the meat of his profession. A hint of his far-sightedness: Although Olivier did not care for Look Back in Anger, the subversive play by the "angry young man" of British theatre, John Osborne, in 1956 he nonetheless asked Osborne to write him something. The result was The Entertainer, a signal departure for Olivier and one of his greatest triumphs. There are glimpses in the book, too, of his physical audacity; his perfectionism; his acuteness and courage not only as an actor but as a director and artistic administrator.

Olivier really did do everything in the theatre short of toting flats and sewing costumes; he was a key player in the development of Britain's National Theatre (one of the houses in the complex now located on the South Bank of the Thames is named after him). But Coleman spends far too long on the NT's protracted and highly political struggle to be born; unless you're a true aficionado, it unbalances the book.

More successful is his moving account of the last 20-odd years of Olivier's life: I had no idea (nor did most of the world) that he'd had a series of illnesses, many of them grave; that he suddenly began to suffer from stage fright and memory loss; that his stunning cameos (many in mediocre films) and full-scale late roles (I'm thinking particularly of the TV films King Lear and Brideshead Revisited, though he may be better known in the U.S. as the sadistic Nazi dentist in Marathon Man) had been managed despite these handicaps, with gallantry and reliable brilliance. Even his address to Queen Elizabeth II (and the assembled throng) at the opening of the Olivier Theatre was a masterpiece.

Olivier died in 1989. He would have been "tickled pink," as his son Richard noted, to have known that Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's --- London's foremost Anglican institutions --- were competing over who would get the glory of hosting his memorial service and housing his ashes. His final exit, too, was terrific theatre.

--- Reviewed by Kathy Weissman

Before his death in 1989, Laurence Olivier wrote one of the more entertaining autobiographies on being a master thespian, 1985's "Confessions of an Actor". There was a pervasive modesty in his tone that came across at times as rather disingenuous. Now sixteen years after his death, we are finally provided the authorized biography of the world's leading Shakespearean actor. Whether he was the greatest actor of the last century is more debatable and one that author Terry Coleman doesn't really address in terms of the actor's gallery of performances. Instead, culling from Olivier's personal papers, Coleman paints an exhaustive portrait of an impersonal, driven man who was ruthlessly determined to become the greatest actor who ever lived.

Born the son of a clergyman in 1907, Olivier had an unhappy childhood and became passionate about acting in school. He did not touch Shakespeare until fellow actor John Gielgud asked him to trade roles with him in an Old Vic production of "Romeo and Juliet". This was his turning point and by 1937, Olivier was doing Hamlet, Henry V and Twelfth Night at the Old Vic. He was also wildly in love with the 24-year-old Vivien Leigh, and their two-plus-decade relationship is the stuff of legend. Coleman meticulously examines all the dynamics between the condescending Olivier and the mercurial, self-destructive Leigh, even though Coleman obviously has no love reserved for Leigh. Despite her legendary successes as Scarlett O'Hara and Blanche DuBois, Olivier was far more of an actor, and their professional competitiveness - actually more on his side than hers - was the crux of their marriage.

To the end of her days, Leigh had a narrow range, while Olivier knew no challenge beyond him. She, however, was arguably the greater star, and bitterness and jealously seeped into their relationship, especially when they worked together onstage in the 1950's, and he tortured her with his perfectionism. Olivier left Leigh for actress Joan Plowright in 1960, and while this provided some stability in his life with three children, Coleman is quick to point out that Olivier was not significantly changed temperamentally. What did change were Olivier's priorities - he established the National Theater in England and started accepting parts in putrid movies like "The Betsy" and "Inchon" to support his children. Toward the end of his life, he focused his legacy on the stage even though he developed debilitating stage fright.

Coleman's book is fascinating, but the one drawback is that he doesn't provide a career retrospective worthy of his subject. Personal insights aside (and he does get into Oliver's purported bisexuality), the author doesn't really capture the greatness of the actor in his journalistic-style writing. Writing about such a flamboyant figure like Olivier seems like a radical departure for Coleman, who has written books on Horatio Nelson and English emigration to America. He has even seen Olivier onstage but surprisingly does not share his impressions in the book. For someone like me who has enjoyed Olivier's performances in films such as "Wuthering Heights", "Rebecca" and "Sleuth", it's a bit of a disappointment. Regardless, there are plenty of penetrating insights into this complex man, and it's well worth reading for those alone.

Sir Laurence Olivier (1907-1989) is arguably the greatest English speaking actor of the twentieth century. Among his immortal Shakespearean portayals on stage and screen are:
Hamlet; King Lear; Richard III; Romeo: Macbeth and all the major Shakespearean roles; several great films such as Rebecca, Pride and Prejudice; Wuthering Heights Henry V and Richard III.
He wed three times: (all were actresses) Jill Esmond; the troubled but brilliant Vivian Leigh (the immortal Scarlet O'Hara in Gone With the Wind and Blanch Dubois in Tennessee Williams'
classic "A Streetcar Named Desire"). and Joan Plowright.
Terry Coleman is a veteran British reporter and author. He has been designated by the Olivier family as the official biographer.
He portrays Sir Larry warts and all! Olivier was egocentric, high living and often profane. His tempestuous marriage to
the mentally ill Vivian Leigh is one of the classic love tales of the acting world.
Coleman gives us all the facts of Olivier's life but the reader still feels that Olivier was an enigma to himself and to the millions enthralled by his acting. Like most human beings he could be warm and caring and also aloof and cruel. His philandering is less than commendable. He comes across as a fairly shallow fellow concerned with his own glory and career. His directorship of the National Theatre was difficult and cost him
his health. Olivier is to be commended about the way he worked in films during his last years to enable his wife Joan Plowright and children to have financial security following his death.
Sir Larry along with Sir Ralph Richardson and Sir John Gieguld were the greatest thespians on the stage during their lives. Olivier was more of a natural actor and was an athletic and powerful force of nature.
All in all we shall not see his like again. Olivier was a high Tory who was conservative in his belief although his religous commitment seems weak (his father with whom he did not get along was an Anglican clergyman)
This is the one book on Laurence Olivier you want to read to know the story of a great actor! Well recommended!

I'm a college junior who was introduced to Olivier in a Shakespeare on Film class. After reading Confessions of an Actor and his autobiography, I was disappointed and bored to tears. Luckily I found this book on the library shelf. It is slow paced, incredibly interesting, and well researched to say the least. I wish I had read this book first. I think it would have helped me decipher to secret crypto Olivier used in his own books to "edit out" the less glittery (or more glittery?) parts of his life (like his homosexual relationships and several other things). If you are new to Olivier fandom, this is the best place to start.

This is a memorable rendering of the life of a great, and complicated actor. Read it along with a biography of Vivien Leigh, and you have a great story.

People were aghast that Olivier could leave Vivien Leigh, one of the world's most beautiful woman, for Joan Plowright, whom even her mother said was plainer than a shaving brush, and they wondered what sort of man was Olivier anyhow, and this perhaps is what led rise to the suspicion that he was gay, and so when Spoto's book came out with the undocumented story that Olivier had had a happy affair with showman Danny Kaye, the only shock it provided was to the four people in the world who thought Danny Kaye was a straight man.

And now from what I understand, a forthcoming biography of Kaye will indeed set the record "straight" about him for once and for all. Terry Coleman is always gallant towards Joan Plowright in this book, but the truth is that, no matter how impossible Olivier must have been to live with, she was no picnic either. It wasn't that she was so fertile that he loved her, nor for her titanic talent on stage, no, I think he thought her lack of glamor denoted an authenticity that, whatever her other virtues, Leigh lacked at bottom.

It was a time of terrible stress for Olivier, what with founding the National Theater with Kenneth Tynan as his right hand man and dramaturge, and sleeping with Sarah Miles as sort of a sherbet between courses of Plowright's pregnancies, and beginning the long slide into films of the utmost inconsequence, so that moviegoers all over the world would pick up their movie guides and go, oh good, Olivier's made another picture, let's go, it will be two hours of silly popcorn trash! And then, at the very end, he made his finest film in forty years, Derek Jarman's incomparable WAR REQUIEM, which Coleman goes out of his way for some reason to denigrate, perhaps as part of his general anti-gay policy.

So for whatever reason, perhaps because Jill Esmond and Vivien Leigh are incredibly more interesting figures to read about than, oh, I don't know, Joan Plowright, the first half of Terry Coleman's book is lively and brisk, and then, perhaps after he meets John Osborne and John Dexter, the book slides into a slowdive which makes you long for Olivier's death, which is a shame. She--Vivien Leigh--was so much a better screen actor than Olivier was--that this book seems written by someone from Mars who has no idea about screen presence nor star quality. However, do buy this book, it's worth if just for the one 1930s RKO photo of Olivier bulking up while standing on his head, bare bottom gleaming out of a jockstrap, while nearby a muscular blond does some special coaching arrayed in a dazzlingly tight pair of fruit of the looms. The world's tiniest bar-bells lie scattered over the gym floor like dead flies, as though ignored in passion. Yowzer!

It claims the film The Jazz Singer was made in 1929. WRONG! It was made in 1927 by Warner Bros. As for the rest of the book. Well, is Olivier a homosexual or bi-sexual if he was married to Vivien and went briefly with a man? Sinful either way!