A hero for our time

The airwaves have been heavy with unstinted praise for Alan Bates since his untimely death at the London Clinic at the weekend. All the tributes were more than justified for one of the great actors ever to grace the screen and stage. I'll admit that the "Angry Young Man of the Sixties" tag puzzled me somewhat. Perhaps some people are confusing the roles he played with the man himself. For if Alan was a giant, as undoubtedly he was, then in my experience he was a gentle giant.

Although I was only fortunate to work with him once - not for want of asking - on Women In Love, I followed his career closely. I saw most of his films and a number of his plays, and never ceased to be impressed by the total conviction with which he invested his roles - comedy, drama and everything in between.

Who can forget his rare beauty in Whistle Down the Wind, The Caretaker, Georgy Girl, An Unmarried Woman or King of Hearts? His ability to make you care about the disillusioned Butley in Simon Gray's play? The dignity of his scene in Gosford Park in front of the mirror? Anyone who was lucky enough to catch him in Yasmina Reza's An Unexpected Man, in New York two years ago, will remember the sexual tension he was able to arouse simply by putting his hand on the back of Eileen Atkins's seat on the train, inspiring an audible intake of breath from the audience.

I recall him playing Kuzoukin in Turgenev's Fortune's Fool on Broadway last year. His ability to hold the stage was typified in a long monologue which was a symphony of dance, gesture and intonation, revealing every nuance of the complex Kuzoukin - it deservedly won him every prize that the New York theatre gives out for an outstanding actor. Yet for all the kudos from the audiences, what Alan most wanted to know was if I'd noticed what an excellent actor his son, Ben, was, sharing the stage with his illustrious dad.

Women in Love: Alan and Glenda and Olly and Jennie. Sparking the role of Birkin with his mercurial gifts, Alan - always alert to discovering the truth of a character - grew a beard to enhance his resemblance to the author DH Lawrence, whose mouthpiece he would be in the story. It may not have disguised his own handsomeness, but he nonetheless gave us a hero for modern times which, ironically, emerged from a character who lived in the early 1920s. Real people. Alan made it so. His sprightly step. That speech to the fig at table. Running naked through a wheat field at dawn ... Who can forget the indelible impressions of vigour and intellect combined that became his signature?

And although it's close to 40 years since that nude wrestling match with Oliver Reed, I remember vividly the untiring effort Alan put into it. Oliver, a fine physical specimen, thought the less muscular Alan would be a pushover. Filled with confidence, Olly spent most of his evenings prior to the scene in more or less party mood, while Alan, after a hard day's filming, would suffer several hours of hands-on professional wrestling instruction. The result was that when the time came to shoot it, Alan was more than a match for Oliver. For that he gained Oliver's total respect - which was never easily won.

I last saw Alan in America, just over a year ago, at the Philadelphia Film Festival, where he was accepting an award on someone else's behalf. The someone else was the director John Schlesinger, who had recently suffered a stroke and was too ill to accept the Lifetime Achievement Award that he so richly deserved.

Alan and I had a long chat covering half a lifetime of missed opportunities and possible plans for the future. I remember thinking that I had seen him looking better - but one hardly looks relaxed on these occasions. If he was unwell then, he had overcome his personal discomfort to do justice to an artist he had worked with and respected, ignoring selfish considerations to deliver his appreciation. It was one of the finest and most sensitive tributes I have ever heard.

I only learned of Alan's illness a few days ago, and immediately rang the London Clinic in the hope of having a few words. Alas, he was sleeping at the time, but his son, Ben, who took the call, promised to convey my best wishes. I hope he was able to do so at what must have been a difficult time. I have to trust that Alan knows that of the many actors I have worked with, he is one of the three I truly came to love and respect. Like Ursula in Women In Love, I come to the void he has left with empty hands, except to say quietly: "Look what a flower I've brought you."

Meanwhile, they are showing yet another repeat of the nude wrestling scene. Who knows whether Alan and Oliver are once again stripping off for a celestial remake of that memorable encounter in that big film studio in the sky.