William Hutt’s lesson about our need to be creative
I’m not a big theatre buff. I only go to a couple productions a year. I also couldn’t care less about celebrity culture. But I always read Gary Smith’s profiles of the stars of the stage — past and present.
They’ve included Ginger Rogers, Judi Dench, Chita Rivera, Christopher Plummer, James Earl Jones and many more. Over the past three years, these profiles have connected me to the productions, performances and people that have spent their lives creating theatre magic, all during a time when so many theatres and other cultural venues were closed because of COVID-19.
Smith’s fond memories of these actors, all of whom he has met and interviewed, are delightful reads. I especially enjoyed a recent profile of the great Shakespearean actor William Hutt (Feb. 6).
I was lucky enough to see Hutt in a production of Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot” in 2004, just three years before he died at the age of 87. I was also lucky enough to be sitting a stone’s throw away from him at an Italian restaurant near the theatre on Toronto’s harbourfront. Wayne, my partner, asked if I was going to say hello. “No,” I panicked. First, he’s probably preparing for what would be a demanding two-hour performance in a play that is essentially about nothing — or is it?
That’s always the question about this play, isn’t it. Second, I just didn’t know enough about Hutt and his career to even feign an intelligent conversation. So, I left the man in peace and finished my pizza.
His performance as an older Vladimir, one of his last, was fantastic. He and Estragon, the two tramps, make idle and absurdist chit chat as they wait for Godot, someone they don’t know, have never met, but who they believe will offer them salvation. Many readers of the play believe Godot represents God. Unfortunately for Vladimir and Estragon, Godot never appears despite their long, hopeful wait.
In Hutt’s profile in The Spec, Smith talks to him about religion. Hutt says he’s not a churchgoer, but is spiritual: “The one thing I do know, I’m absolutely convinced that element in man that is closest to God is the desire to create. Knowing that you may be able to understand God and be in his service is perfect surrender. It’s about coming to that moment when you know what surrender truly means.”
I’m not a churchgoer either, and I struggle with the concept of God. But Hutt’s take on it makes sense to me. I spend a considerable amount of my time creating — writing stories and making music. These are my moments of perfect surrender. Not always so perfect, but surrender nonetheless.
My spouse Wayne is also a creative, and is most happy when writing and recording his original music. Most of our friends are creators, too, whether in the kitchen, workshop, art, music or writing studios. They are makers of things — quilts, prosciutto, paintings, stories, back decks, CDs and more. It is their desire to create that makes them who they are, and it is their experience creating that gives them so much empathy for and interest in the creations of others.
In the words of writer Kurt Vonnegut, “The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practising an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.”
Smith’s piece on Hutt reminded me of how important this desire to create — this “perfect surrender” — is to our humanity. How we do make our lives more bearable through it.
Oh, and about Smith’s celebrity profiles in this newspaper: As usual, I was glad I read another one. Always a good investment of time.