A SIMPLE WORD, A SPECIAL MAN

By Keith Newbery - Friday, March 28, 2008

Anthony Minghella at the screening of his film, Breaking And Entering, at Newport's Medina Theatre in 2006.

THIS ISLAND LIFE
IT IS ironic that a man who cherished the English language, and caressed it with almost everything he said or wrote, should be universally described by one of its most mundane adjectives.
Anthony Minghella, everyone said, was a nice man.
There were other descriptions, of course. Genial, inspirational, compassionate, wonderful, erudite, warm-hearted, sweet, bright, funny and charismatic were just some of the words used to describe the Oscar-winning director when news of his death was announced.
The literati and glitterati, who loved him as a person, were also unstinting in their regard for him as a writer, director and producer. People who didn’t know him, but still felt as if they had lost a friend, were quick to express their admiration for what he did and what he had become.
He deserved all those fond words and they are, I suspect, the ones his grieving family will cling to as they seek to make some sense of a loss that does not become any more believable with the passing of the days.
If they don’t mind, I’d like to add my four penn’orth.
As Islanders, we all bathed in the reflected glory of his achievements.
He did, after all, make a point of sharing them with us and I challenge any true Caulkhead to deny the surge of pride they felt when he held his Oscar aloft on that March evening in Los Angeles and said: “This is a great day for the Isle of Wight.”
He didn’t have to say it but you got the feeling he couldn’t help himself. It was his way of telling us how he felt about the place in which he grew up and which he never ceased to embrace until the day he died.
It was not some arm’s-length affectation. He returned here as often as he could, he supported charities and he provided hope and inspiration for every Island kid who dared to dream. If he could make the journey from selling ice-creams in the Commodore cinema to becoming the finest film director of his generation, then such achievements were not beyond them.
The extraordinary thing about Anthony Minghella was that he never allowed that remarkable ascent to change him. I cannot think of anyone else I know, or have heard of, who could have coped with that sudden tumult of admiration, adoration and influence without allowing just a bit of it to go to their head.
Not this man. He remained self-effacing and gracious with everyone he met. He greeted everybody with that slightly amused, gentle smile and those exquisitely modulated tones.
I once attended a Pompey match with him and he even managed to make fanatical devotion to his football team sound gracious and serene.
I first met Anthony when, with a bunch of 14-year-old mates, I used to foregather in the old Mayfayre cafe in Ryde High Street every Friday evening, which was run by Eddie and Gloria Minghella. We used to buy a mug of hot blackcurrant and a pasty from the lovely Nance Cass behind the counter before trooping off to the cinema.
Flitting around the tables, and making a nuisance of himself in the way that eight-year-olds find so effortless, was the kid destined to grow up to become one of this country’s greatest cultural talents.
Like so many other Islanders, I monitored his progress with a vicarious sense of pride. It was fulfilment by association I suppose.
One day, back in the 80s when I was working for the Portsmouth evening newspaper, he called to ask if I could arrange a couple of tickets for him and a friend to attend an important match at Fratton Park.
Then came an unexpected request. Could I also fix it for him to be introduced to Mike Neasom, the journalist who had covered Pompey matches in The News for many years and whose words Anthony had grown to depend upon as he followed his club from afar?
The meeting was duly arranged and Anthony’s delight at shaking hands with Neasom was evident. When I later asked the dour old scribe what he thought of his new friend, the answer was inevitable. “What a nice man,” he said.
The thing that distinguished Anthony Minghella, and placed him above those who were merely good at what they did, was his eye and ear for beauty. Whether it be music, staging, lighting, cinematography or phraseology, he knew instinctively what would leave a lasting impression on the senses.
In the moving tribute to his brother, published in the Telegraph, Dominic Minghella wrote: “His specialness predated his artistry, and it’s his personality that everyone is so painfully missing now ... I for one would trade his legacy, his works of sheer bloody genius, for one more second with him.”
So how will the Island’s most distinguished son be remembered? For all the obvious reasons, of course. He has left a body of work that will outlive all of us and a reputation as a man that will be discussed in kindly tones for as long as his name is mentioned.
But to me — and I suspect many other people who will always appreciate what he did for a beautiful but often under-regarded part of the country — he will always be ‘Anthony Minghella — Islander.’

A SIMPLE WORD, A SPECIAL MAN

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