Slattery Will Get You Everywhere
(A real adapted slogan badge I made for my friend's school blazer)
I had Hugh Laurie, so I wasn’t allowed Tony Slattery - my best friend Simone had him. But Hugh was always more of a husband; Tony was an impish bit of extra-curricular. Looking at all the photos from the 90s doing the rounds since his tragic death last week, gave me a little familiar buzz. So handsome, so cute, so naughty, SO funny.
Aged 15, my friends and I went to see The Comedy Store Player. We had tiny lycra skirts and play-it-cool attitudes which we hoped hid our stupid underageness. It worked and we got settled in our seats. We had studied the form (Time Out) and knew who was playing that night. No Tony, but we could live with that. We were hardcore Whose Line fans and seeing any of them, drinking from the source; was heaven enough. But then he casually walked into the bar. I grabbed my friends and squealed so loudly a bouncer approached and sneeringly asked when my birthday was. I gulped.
“Twenty-fifth July, Nineteen Seventyyyyy…” - luckily he wandered off before I had to calculate the end of the sentence. He was presumably worried that if he did throw me out, there would be “a scene”. That was the closest I got to teenage mania. The next year I went to get a book of comedy sketches signed by him and a couple of others (it’s called Amassed Hysteria, in case you’re interested). I got to witness a girl of about my age meet him and proceed to have a fully fledged sobbing fit. It was rare for me to feel superior. I remember watching him nervously glance over at her in a sympathetic, helpless way as she was comforted by a friend and a Virgin Megastore staffer. It must be so strange, having that effect on someone when you don’t even know them.
Slattery’s fragile mental health was well documented in his later years, but early on, he seemed invincible. He was the first performer I ever saw slated in the press for being over-exposed. It was the early 90s so I can’t find any evidence but I remember at least one piece complaining that he was everywhere - panel shows, sketch shows, ads, you name it. I remember thinking it might be a bit true, but I still loved him. Now that I’m actually in the business, I feel even more sympathy. Surely a lot of the criticism can be laid at the door of the unimaginative bookers. It must feel very hurtful. You go from being a struggling, hungry performer to being hugely popular and lauded, so of course you take advantage. I don’t know if I’d have had the even-head to start being picky about projects in order to avoid criticism. The very nature of performers means that they’re (we’re) needy with fragile egos. I shudder at some of the terrible auditions I accepted.
Tony went to the boys’ version of my school (a Catholic state school in west London rather than a fancy public school) and he was invited, at the height of his powers, to go and address the school. It says something about him that he chickened out and ended up hiding in the VI form common room, playing pool with some of my friends instead. That doesn’t strike me as the behaviour of someone whose fame had gone to his head. I imagine when his press backlash occurred (as it inevitably does in the UK when our stars shine a little too brightly) it was just all a bit too much for someone who was presumably already struggling with internalised homophobia and PTSD from being abused by a priest when he was a child. He fell into the arms of a crippling addiction to alcohol and drugs and retreated from public life.
It made me think about how disorientating it must be to have a large number of people (fans and critics alike) feel so confident of who you are, when you’re not anywhere near knowing it yourself.
He was, by all accounts a lovely man, who had an even lovelier partner who supported him through all the painful and bleak penniless wilderness years. I’ve heard more than one person saying his was a talent that just burned too brightly. It was almost like the weight of the attention and adoration was too much for him to bear. I can’t help but feel a bit responsible* I’ve also heard someone say “I hope he knew how loved he was” and I think he definitely didn’t. I hope he wasn’t tormented any more. So long Tony, and thanks/apologies for all the good times.
*as a friend once said to me “your guilt is pretty arrogant you know”.
I'm a little bit younger than you and had parents who were very strict about what we watched on TV as kids, so I had no idea who he was until one of your guests brought him up. I did look him up after that and read a Guardian article about him and his struggles, so was sad to hear he had passed away. Lovely write-up Margaret 🙂
Even some of my friends who are a tiny bit famous in quite small spheres struggle with the thing you describe of other people being absolutely sure of who they are, when they're not actually sure themselves. I can't really imagine how disorienting that must be when you're as famous as Tony Slattery was in the 90s - added to the whole homophobia and PTSD tangle.
Weirdly for someone who fancied lots of comedians, he was one of the ones I just liked in a "we'd probably be friends if we knew each other [and I wasn't 20 years younger than him]" sort of way.
Thank you for such a thoughtful piece of writing.