The last time I was close to Anna Friel was in the Groucho Club, a London West End luvvies' hangout. I was there as a member of Stephen Fry's party; he didn't know it, but someone who had been invited had asked me along too. Anna was seated at a piano, singing a great song written by my proxy host, Kate Rusby.
The other night found me in row E, which means fifth from the front, for Anna's excellent performance in Breakfast at Tiffany's at the superb Theatre Royal in Haymarket. I thought at first she and others in the cast were struggling a little with American accents, but found myself utterly won over in the second part; she also sings two or three of songs, accompanying herself on guitar, by way of a bonus.
Much had been made of Anna Friel's nude scene. Now, she is a beautiful woman and few men would turn away from such a sight. I am no prude, but decided against standing up, the only way I could have witnessed it.
For directly in front of me was the largest, widest head I have sat behind in decades of theatre and cinema attendance. I couldn't just move my own head slightly to the left or right, hoping not to inconvenience someone behind. I would have had to place it cheek-by-jowl with my neighbour.
So the nude scene essentially came and went. If Miss Friel's modesty was preserved in only one part of this lovely theatre, it was preserved in the view from row E, seat four. I'd need to locate, all over again, a prurient piece in the Daily Mail to see what I missed.
And please do not ask me to feel grateful that when Miss Friel's male co-star, Joseph Cross, also appeared in the buff, I had a much better view thanks to the different portion of the stage where he could, in all his glory, be seen.
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