Curtain up. The crowd hushes. Lights up.
We see a small, dark-haired, keen-eyed boy riding his horse to school. He sings, plays piano, wins a singing competition, grows, dreams, and joins an opera company.
He joins the New Zealand Players, and the path is laid for his fiery journey.
It’s sobering to attend a funeral for someone who changed the aesthetic of New Zealand professional theatre, and to realise that your colleagues, whom he trained, are approaching their own final chorus and eventual curtain. The grey heads, walking canes and wrinkles are testament to years of glorious experience, but also emotive reminders that we ourselves are a passing generation.
It lends unexpected weight and depth to the poignancy of Raymond Hawthorne’s death aged 88.
Raymond was a titan of the theatre scene, arguably birthing the profession of actor in Auckland and Aotearoa. He was one of a handful who won a grant to study at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (Rada) in London, and who returned bearing world-class skills, like water to the parched.
Born in Pakipaki, near Hastings, Ray was one of three vigorous boys. He led an outdoors life, riding his bicycle 10km to piano and singing lessons. He joined the New Zealand Players in 1953, studied at Rada, and performed for some years in the UK until returning home to nurse his ailing mother before she died. One night, stargazing in Hawke’s Bay, he realised he wanted to stay. His soul was tethered to New Zealand, the land, its cultures and people, Māori and Pākehā.
Ray used his professionalism and training to build a dedicated theatre scene here, aiming to develop an actor’s company and, incidentally, the industry surrounding it – set makers, painters, voice tutors, lighting and sound – to which writers naturally gravitated; people like Robert Lord, making original Kiwi work.
He found a space upstairs at 464a Karangahape Rd, next to a “knocking shop”, as famed former student Jennifer Ward-Lealand noted in her eulogy – “the second-oldest profession next to the oldest” – and began teaching there in 1972. This period of intense training and work forged an original gathering of actors, many of whom remained at the forefront of the profession for decades.
With a 1976 move to Galatos St, the newly-minted company of passionate, inspired young thespians became Theatre Corporate. They set to, refashioning the space to become the country’s most exciting and innovative theatre.
Ray was tireless ‒ teaching, directing and managing. He taught the values and the work ethic from his own learning, pushing and driving all to be honest, brave, open, and committed to delivering work of the highest integrity. It set a bar of excellence that became a magnet for actors and creatives throughout the country.
Hard taskmaster
Though Ray was a powerhouse, he could also be a hard taskmaster, a bloody martinet at times, and many an actor has stories of expletives spat out of the darkened auditorium during rehearsal or at a notes session.
Ray had a fearsome reputation, but he could also be supportive, visionary and inspirational, at times bordering on the spiritual, as his passion for the work loosened the poetry of his tongue and lifted tired spirits toward rapture. Always in service of The Work.
He was gifted with a wealth of knowledge in art, music, history and his beloved Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde. Ray spent seven years with Corporate, but he also ran the National Opera of New Zealand from 1982, before taking over the Mercury in 1985, running it until its closure in 1992. He started the Actors Space and then ran the actors training programme at Unitec for some years. Hundreds of actors, dancers and singers owe their dedication and love for the craft to being tutored, trained and directed by Ray. All will say their experience with Ray was second to none, acknowledging their debt of gratitude and respect.
Ray gave of himself to everyone, and was equally attractive and magnetic to men and women. He married Elizabeth, with whom he had two daughters, Sophia and Emmeline. Emmeline related a blissful, magical childhood filled with lights and stars and imagination, and populated by loud, larger-than-life characters.
Home life with creatives could be turbulent, but things settled a little when the marriage ended. The family suffered grievously when Sophia died in February 2016.
At Ray’s funeral, Emmeline spoke of the good times and days off – of extended family get-togethers with food, wine, picnics and summer laughter, dozing on blankets under trees in somnolent heat. The vibrantly clear remembrances painted a Chekhovian idyll, a touch wistful and, like Ray himself, charming.
Ray loved being outdoors, always, and was generous with food, wine, cigarettes, wit and anecdotes.
The funeral itself was testament to his teaching, with alumni regaling a full house. Paul Gittins had the chapel rocking with laughter using Ray’s salty language. Michael Hurst and Ward-Lealand also spoke, with emotion threatening the voices, but Ray’s imperative carried the day: “Let the audience come to tears, not you.”
Raymond Hawthorne influenced nearly every actor in New Zealand for decades. His passion for excellence, for the discipline and sheer hard work required was legendary, and to win Ray’s praise was to transcend the heights. When Ray grabbed you and mouthed in your ear, “I heard every word,” or, “You were sublime tonight, darling,” you walked on air for days afterwards. When Ray respected your work, it meant something; it was a true accolade.
His legacy will remain, at least for a time yet, for what Ray taught has been imparted to several further generations. His work survives and thrives.
“He was a man, take him for all in all. [We] shall not look upon his like again.”
Exeunt. Curtain. Vale.
