Remember that incident w/ the critic who snored through Cause Celebre? It's been making the rounds again on Twitter. Here AA Gill reports what he saw that night (he was sitting right behind James and the critic) before he reviews the play. The initital reports painted James as "furious." This eyewitness has a slightly less hysterical view of the situation:

Angry thesps and snoring critics attend a gripping Rattigan revival.

It's the first night of Cause Célèbre at the Old Vic and sitting in front of me is James McAvoy, whose wife, Anne-Marie Duff, is starring. A nervous moment for a husband and thespian. The theatre is full of critics and actors. I sometimes think that the main reason for having so many drama schools is to provide an audience for serious plays. One seat away from McAvoy is Paul Taylor, theatre critic for the Independent. As the house lights faded for the second act, so did the rheumy-eyed reviewer. Gently, he fell into the arms of Morpheus, like a man sliding into warm quicksand. His head, with its distinctive Yuletide aureole of festive hair, sagged on the seat in front of him and he purred a sonorous accompaniment to the drama. It was what is known in the critics' circle as "doing a Sherry", after Sheridan Morley, most of whose long life in theatre seemed to have passed as a marvellous dream. When it was announced sadly that he'd died, someone - it might have been me - unkindly enquired how one could tell.

The snores grew in volume and Paul's neighbour shook him awake. He rose with that startled "Where the fuck am I?" expression to discover that it wasn't a nightmare, after all. When, at last, the cast came to the curtain call and McAvoy hallooed his missus, and the critics, as they do, picked up their Oddbins carrier bags and scuttled for the exit, McAvoy leaned across to share stern words.

I couldn't hear the exchange but their body language bellowed. Paul had the embarrassed, righteous fury of a man in ladies' underwear who's been caught with his trousers down, desperately trying to pull up his dignity. McAvoy was incandescent. The critic dropped his pen; the actor picked it up and, with a sarcastic, Shakespearean flourish, handed it back. This was a moment - the baton of power, the wand of career advancement or damnation, dropped by the old critic, handed back by the thrusting young actor. The Independent's man exited stage left, dejected, pursued by demons.

MORE: http://www.newstatesman.c...gan-critics-mcavoy-cause