On the surface of it, Richard of Bordeaux does not sound like a hit play. It was written by a former games teacher and novelist, who lived in Inverness and called herself Gordon Daviot (she later wrote thrillers under a second pseudonym, Josephine Tey). It was set in 1385 and, somewhat hubristically, covered much of the same ground as Shakespeare's Richard II. Yet the 27-year-old John Gielgud thought the play "a gift from heaven" - the star vehicle that would make his name.
It opened at the New Theatre, London, on February 2 1933. Gielgud was hoarse and exhausted from the strain of producing as well as playing the lead. He had invited his mother to the dress rehearsal for moral support, but she had commented only that the fruit bowl was anachronistic: "Pineapples only came in with Queen Anne."
The critics, however, loved it. Punch's critic praised the "startling vividness" of the writing, which gave "the illusion of taking a peep into a past which is made to come alive". Theatre World's critic was impressed that the "characters speak and behave neither like fustian puppets nor bright young imbeciles, but like real flesh-and-blood creations". In the Daily Telegraph, Sydney W Carroll recorded his "satisfaction that a woman dramatist can exhibit such a masterly insight into male characterisation" and critic after critic praised her use of contemporary dialogue; as Ivor Brown put it in the West End Review, it was "Richard yes-or-no, not yea-or-nay". Generally pleased by its realism, he had one quibble: "Most of the characters would seem to have washed themselves, which, I take it, was not a popular practice in the court of Richard II."
Not everyone was convinced by Gwen Ffrangcon-Davies, playing Richard II's hapless queen. The New Statesman's critic felt she was a victim of bad writing - "what an empty little part it is!" - and the Sketch's otherwise ecstatic reviewer found her performance to be "somewhat etherealised". If her performance wasn't realistic, it wasn't for lack of trying; she was so committed to getting into the character of the medieval queen that she always wore a train for rehearsals.
But the critics were unanimous in falling for Gielgud. He had had good reviews before, but none like these. The New Statesman praised his "attractive and arresting acting", his "morbid, feline elegance". Taking his cue from the "ecstatic roars" of the audience, the Daily Express crowned Gielgud "the supreme idol of the pit and the gallery, where most of the intelligent playgoers sit". Carroll put it all down to "this Terry blood" (Gielgud's great-aunt was Ellen Terry), concluding that "the true master of the theatre can only be produced by the theatre itself".
The play became a sell-out. From his window, Gielgud could see "queues coiled like serpents round the theatre". He was besieged by giggling fans and received white harts (Richard II's emblem) "in every shape and form, embroidered on handkerchiefs, stamped on cigarette-boxes". Alec Guinness watched the play more than a dozen times, struck by Gielgud's "fabulous voice ... like a silver trumpet muffled in silk".
Even the costumes proved inspirational: the Sketch devoted a whole page to a photoshoot of puppets dolled up as Gielgud and Ffrangcon-Davies and manipulated into poses from the play, and also produced a faux-medieval fashion spread with Ffrangcon-Davies modelling a hennin (a two-horned headdress). Her frocks attracted general commendation and even Time and Tide, a magazine closely associated with the suffragette movement, wondered: "Were late-14th-century fashions ever worn with a more convincing air?"
Richard of Bordeaux played on for more than 14 months (and 472 performances), including a regional tour. After the last performance in a theatre in Golders Green, the police had to be called to keep back the crowd who surged against the stage door. It had become, as Gielgud wrote in his autobiography, "what the Americans call a 'smash hit'". And it had established him as a star.