I got to see him in five plays. Prospero in the Park in The Tempest, The Caretaker, Waiting for Godot and No Man's Land in rep with Sir Ian (went on a Wednesday and did the double header), and his one man A Christmas Carol.
All were remarkable performances and have wonderful stories, but I'll tell Christmas Carol. A bunch of us were waiting in the bitter cold at stage door to meet him afterwards. They were having a party in his dressing room and we knew it could be a while but we toughed it out. After a while we started singing Christmas carols as much to keep warm as anything else. Since it was an actor-heavy crowd, the singing was actually pretty good. Eventually he and all his friends came out and he stood on the step and in that big beautiful voice said, "The singing was WONDERFUL! I can't believe you stayed all this time!" Even though it was freezing I stuffed my gloves in my pocket so I'd actually shake his hand. I thanked him for the performance. He thanked me for the singing. We held hands and smiled at each other for a second and, obviously, I was plenty warm.
I'm going to go dig up him doing Prospero's final soliloquy where he gives up his art. There's bound to be a pro-shot or a pirated video somewhere - he did it more than once. Until I find one I'll just keep reading it, and I think I'll hear his voice in my head.
Now my charms are all o’erthrown,
And what strength I have’s mine own,
Which is most faint. Now, ’tis true
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got
And pardoned the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands.
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
Now my charms are all o’erthrown,
And what strength I have’s mine own,
Which is most faint: now, ’tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got,
And pardon’d the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands:
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so, that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon’d be,
Let your indulgence set me free.