I read that Frank Tovey died not so long ago; I had been blanching at the idea that he seemed to be making a self-parody-style "comeback", and was saddened to hear he'd passed away. I really liked him, though some of that could be because I thought of him as having a real integrity, even when he seemed a bit bratty. When I read about him doing the fake-blood and (unfortunately) real pubic-hair stage things again after so many years, especially to audiences who, by accounts, seemed to think it was GREAT now, it seemed so pathetic that I walked around in a bit of an incredulous daze for hours afterward. I guess this could fit in the "authenticity" vs. "artifice" category, or maybe it just came from an idealized version of someone I didn't know very much about.
― Tom (a different one, but self-similar), Friday, 20 December 2002 18:36 (twenty-two years ago)