RIP Clive Barnes

My first memory of Clive Barnes is his big quote on the paperback edition of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead that was lying on the floor of Herxanthicles' bedroom one time when I went over for what is now referred to by parents as a "play date".  The play with its bizarre title (I had neither read nor seen Hamlet at this point) fascinated me and I was destined to- as all true dorks are- memorize large swaths of it to perform as a kind of coded ritual with friends as I reached into the upper echelons of high school and nerditry simultaneously.

When I got to New York, Barnes was at the Post instead of the Times, and I wasn't really following his writing. But I sort of assumed he was immortal, given that he was old enough to have reviewed R&G for the Times, but was still going strong as a theatre critic.  It turns out he wasn't immortal... he passed away recently from liver cancer.  A remembrance from Terry Teachout is here, and obit in the Times can be found here and in the Post here.

Comments

[Laura]

I worked an off-Broadway show once and heard a rumor backstage that he was in the audience and had fallen asleep during the show. It was a good commentary on the quality of the play.

I liked reading his reviews. I hate the passage of time.