Loitering with Intent: The Apprentice Analysis

Peter O’Toole

Loitering with Intent

(Literary Masterpieces, Critical Compilation)

While far from being a dry historical document, Peter O’Toole’s second volume of memoirs, offering vivid accounts of his early education in the legendary “Old Vic” Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, will primarily interest readers who share his craft, those interested in classical dramatic training, and particularly those wanting an insider’s peek into London’s “Old Vic” in the 1950’s. Other readers will likely be less satisfied with O’Toole’s extremely stylized, extravagant narrative, which tries hard to be more than Polaroid snapshots of bygone years. Unfortunately, O’Toole simply does not quite meet the high mark he sets for himself.

Ironically, O’Toole’s surprising difficulty in reaching a wider audience has less to do with his well-established and acknowledged storytelling abilities than with the stories that he has to tell from this brief period of his life. Autobiographies are, almost by definition, more substance than style. Best-selling, tell-all Hollywood accounts of scandals, romances, and facile opinions concerning people and film projects are notorious for being framed in self-justification and self-aggrandizement. Such formulas are what O’Toole deliberately sets out to reverse, turning most well-trodden expectations about actors’ memoirs on their heads. Instead, the actor takes an original road with an elegant, if overdone, descriptive panorama of anecdotes, incidents, accidents, and asides told with a dry, rambling wit that promises more than it delivers.

For example, in one characteristic and offbeat passage, O’Toole recounts one incident in which he admits difficulty explaining his subject, so he instead tries to capture a moment of street-corner hawking in cryptic colors typical of his impressionistic style:

“The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. You know, my associates Justice Wrottesley, Bob the Liar and the Flea were only the other day asking me what exactly it was that you studied there and by Jesus would you believe I scarce had the ghost of a notion what to tell them? These are Royal Academy balloons, are they? And the Dramatic Art lies in the selling of the little hoors, does it?”

“Pop. I’m skint. And I’m only trying to knock out a few shillings.”

“I’m fair flush, son.”

“Thanks, Daddy, but I don’t want to be always cadging.”

“No, you wouldn’t, Peter, you wouldn’t. Give us a kiss. Now. Shove over. Mark them up to a dollar the eight. Your last chance, ladies and gentlemen, to buy these red white blue and yellow Royal Academy balloons! We’re practically giving away these dramatic Royal Academy balloons at a mere dollar for eight. Don’t miss your Royal Academy balloons!”

“Royal Academy balloons!”

“Two for a florin or a dollar will give you eight. Dramatic balloons!”

“Academic balloons!”

“Artistic balloons!”

“Royal balloons!”

This scene captures the essence of O’Toole’s use of language, flavorful and likely true to his memory, but his sketchiness obscures his subject matter. O’Toole’s wordplay forces readers—if they are so inclined—either to reread lengthy passages or to take each paragraph slowly, connecting the dots for themselves. Like the first volume in O’Toole’s series of memoirs, Loitering with Intent: The Child (1992), the emphasis on clever, imaginative style is clearly by design, stretching out material most writers would ordinarily confine to chapters rather than full-length books.

In this second volume, covering only the first year at the “Old Vic” academy, O’Toole does succeed in capturing the flavor of his times, writing with an urbane and literate voice. In this period of his life, he seemingly wants to...

(The entire section is 1559 words.)

Loitering with Intent

(Critical Survey of Contemporary Fiction)

The bare facts of Peter O’Toole’s existence are reasonably well known and quite unexceptional. Born in England in the depths of the Depression, he passed from infancy to youth amid the turmoil and moral certainty of World War II. Then came an occasional career in journalism, obligatory national service (in his case the navy), and, finally, a turn at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. Although successful on the stage, he is best known for memorable film characterizations in LAWRENCE OF ARABIA, THE NIGHT OF THE GENERALS, THE LION IN WINTER, and MY FAVORITE YEAR. In short, O’Toole is of a piece with that host of young men who swarmed out of the genteel poverty, political and economic, which was postwar England and laid claim to a new trans-Atlantic empire in literature and art.

Although, as a group, they exemplified the English upper class to countless audiences, few of them could lay legitimate claim to that status. O’Toole, for example, was the loving and loved child of an itinerant gambler and bookie, Patrick O’Toole, and the orphaned Constance Jane Eliot Ferguson, who gravitated into nursing. Patrick O’Toole was constantly in search of the pot of rainbow gold, while his patient wife gradually accustomed herself to the recognition that she would never have the comfortable life she sought in her youth.

But for all of that, it is obvious from LOITERING WITH INTENT, that O’Toole appreciated his parents to the fullest, and would not have had it any other way. It is impossible to conceive that anyone but the happiest and most secure of children could produce such an explosion of a book. O’Toole does not steal quietly into the reader’s mind, he wrenches the brain out of the cranium and pummels it madly.

Sources for Further Study

Booklist. XCIII, December 1, 1996, p. 619.

Boston Globe. February 7, 1997, p. D12.

Chicago Tribune. February 16, 1997, XIV, p. 8.

Los Angeles Times Book Review. February 16, 1997, p. 14.

The New York Times Book Review. CII, February 23, 1997, p. 26.

People. XLVII, February 24, 1997, p. 31.

Publishers Weekly. CCXLIII, December 9, 1996, p. 53.

Sight and Sound. VI, November, 1996, p. 35.

The Spectator. CCLXXVII, July 6, 1996, p. 37.

The Times Literary Supplement. July 12, 1996, p. 13.

Vanity Fair. February, 1997, p. 80.

The Washington Post Book World. XXVII, February 2, 1997, p. 3.