Having met the production people, however, who were both helpful and inspiring, and some of the actors–ditto–I accepted the commission and duly wrote Sarcophagus. And I have to say, once I got over my initial timidity, the script flowed, and indeed very little was altered for production. My intention from the start was to attempt to focus, in turn, on each of the characters (a possibility of my doing more scripts was mooted quite early). I aimed, at least slightly, to unravel two of the main characters in that first story: Cally, the telepath widowed of her people, and the devilish, clearly also messed-up Avon. I wanted to open them both out on the screen, and more than aided by the powerful acting of the cast, I think I managed it somewhat. (My second episode, Sand, took on Servalan–a damaged psychopathic fiend held in an exquisite form–for my money Jacqueline Pearce was and is one of the most beautiful women in the world. Long before Servalan, I had seen her act in classical roles, as well as the extraordinary (again cult) horror films The Reptile and Plague of the Zombies. I believe she is one of our great actors, mysteriously recently underused. It goes without saying she also brought the second script to vivid life.)
Actors are probably the people that I am most fascinated by, and certainly rank high for me among those I respect. Having met the cast of Blake’s Seven, then seen them at work, and got to know some of them at least a little (Jacqueline remains, I am honoured to report, a friend), it was perhaps inevitable that at least one or two of them might get into future writing of mine.
I have to say, both before and since, I have often ‘employed’, as it were, actors in roles in my novels and short stories. To name but a few: Vivien Leigh (many, many times), Elizabeth Taylor, Gillian Anderson, Rutger Hauer, Oliver Cotton, and Dennis Franz. How lucky I am to see (for when I write I do see everything very clearly) these glamorous and brilliant people acting the roles I have visualized them into. Unpaid as well. But then I suppose they didn’t have to learn the lines, or travel to the frequently remote and/or perilous places they inhabit, while the book is in progress. My gratitude for the truly sublime, and sometimes electrifying motivation they have unknowingly given me, aside from my utter joy when watching them act out in the so-called Real world, is far beyond thanks. But I do thank them all, so much.
Paul Darrow then, unwitting at the time, stepped into the role of the main male character in Kill the Dead. A description of Parl Dro (a clue, too, is in the invented name—this is occasionally also obvious with other actors I have ‘written in’) reveals Mr. Darrow at the stage and era he then occupied. But here I must stress, for this is the erroneous myth which somehow attached itself to this novel, it is not Avon I am writing about. Indeed, to have done that would have been not only an infringement of strict copyright, but also a bloody cheek. Although I had much enjoyed examining Avon’s character a little, inside the legitimate bounds of Blake’s Seven, I would not have dreamed of trying to reproduce him elsewhere. So, it is Paul Darrow the actor, who is acting Dro in these pages. A man damaged both physically and mentally by his bizarre and tortured trade, a man who, frankly would have, I think, earned both Avon’s contempt, and Avon’s complete horror. And in addition, to be quite fair, even Paul Darrow’s handsome appearance and manner of interpreting character underwent, during the book, endless changes. That usually happens. I think actually only Vivien Leigh, Elizabeth Taylor, and Jacqueline Pearce remained exactly physically like themselves throughout those several Lee novels they have adorned.
Meanwhile, I did write a play for Paul Darrow–my fourth for BBC–The Silver Sky. I even got my photo in the Radio Times for that one! The other part was for lovely Elizabeth Bell. Again, I was enormously lucky that they both agreed to do it. Their performances are gems, especially Elizabeth’s blend of courageous and sexy, tender femaleness, and Paul’s faultless rendition of that last, very demanding, monologue. (As ever, there was a great supporting cast, and glorious director—Kay Patrick.)
Incidentally, when I later told Paul Darrow (at a Blake’s Seven party) that I had had the sauce to recruit him to act Parl Dro, he was very nice about it, and laughed with some amusement. The few actors I have told have never been unkind. They laugh, or even seem interested.