I was not about to take these out of the album, since I do believe they are the only copies I have left - but that’s 18 year old me, talking to Alan Rickman after seeing him perform Noel Coward’s play Private Lives.
He was unbelievably kind and sweet and gracious and I just can’t say enough good things about this man. I gave him a portrait I had done of him.
Actually, it’s kind of an interesting story. After graduation, my friend and I went to NYC for a weekend to see him in this play. It was a limited run, having been standing room only in London for like 6 months or so, and as difficult as it was to get tickets, I was fucking determined. So, don’t even ask me how, my friend and I managed to get forth row tickets and made our way to New York (neither of us wanted to leave, alas). After the show, I couldn’t walk because I was so blown away by how good he was - my legs just wouldn’t cooperate. The theatre had almost cleared out by the time we left and when we went outside, there was a crowd waiting around the stage door. Of course, I knew this was pretty standard procedure and it had been my plan the whole time. LOL. I made my way towards the front of the crowd, my friend right behind me with a disposable camera. The actors start trickling out and right when I thought we must have missed him while dallying in the theatre, Alan comes out… And he’s signing autographs and playbills for like 30 seconds and he goes to get in a car. Well, he must have FELT my distress because out of the blue he turns back around, comes directly over to me, points to the portrait in my hand (which was rolled up) and says, “Is that for me then?” And it was. And I gave it to him and asked him for career advice, as it was my ambition to be an actress and director at the time. He chatted with me for several minutes, gave me some advice, and was just all around lovely. I didn’t ask for an autograph or a photo, but I did shake his hand. My friend, fortunately, got a few snapshots while we were talking. He got in the car without talking to anyone else.
I think we made it about half a block (heading back to the hotel) before I had to just lean against a building for five minutes, just breathing. My friend was like, “don’t cry, don’t cry” and I didn’t, but I’ll never, ever forget it.
I can not tell you, I can’t find the words to express the enormous kindness of this man. It wasn’t any one thing he did or said. It was visceral. It just came off of him in waves.
I often wonder if these artists, these influential people we admire so much, if they know just how significant an impact these small acts of kindness have on us? Just a word, a smile - it stays with us. It’s something we cherish. I’m not talking about idolizing or obsessing about people, but when you truly admire a person’s gift or something they’ve accomplished, when you look to them and they reflect one of your own passions or goals… I’m not sure what exactly I’m trying to say, but I hope they understand. I hope they know how much it means.
I cried a lot the day Alan Rickman died, which felt kind of strange considering he was just a stranger. But I mourned the loss of such a magnificent talent, and such a genuinely kind person. Someone I didn’t know, but who meant a great deal to me nonetheless. It’s the only time I’ve gotten a tattoo on impulse - but I had to do it. I owed him that.
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