Letters Live: like being read a uniquely witty bedtime story by the stars

Jarvis Cocker, Tom Hollander and Matt Berry were among the famous faces who read out archive letters of note

Jarvis Cocker performs at Letters Live, London, 10 March 2016 (James Gourley/REX)

Jarvis Cocker read out a letter to the late David Bowie at Letters Live, London (James Gourley/REX)

Ronald Reagan’s words of advice to his son on the eve of his wedding (“You’ll never get in trouble if you say ‘I love you’ at least once a day.”), South Park creator Matt Stone’s response to the film ratings board (“We did cut the word ‘hole’ from ‘asshole’”) and Dr Mark Taubert’s note to David Bowie the day after he died (“We wondered who may have been around you when you took your last breath and whether anyone was holding your hand.”) These were among the letters that were performed at the first of a new run of Letters Live.

Shaun Usher’s Letters project has bloomed from a website, Letters of Note, where he posts an archive letter a day by a noteworthy person, into two handsome coffee table books, published by Canongate, and now a star-studded “live celebration of the power of literary correspondence”, also run by the publisher. Jarvis Cocker, Gillian Anderson, Matt Berry and Tom Hollander were among a bumper bill of readers on the first night, with Benedict Cumberbatch, Olivia Colman, Russell Brand, Bob Geldof and more slated for the subsequent six performances.

The cast for each event remains a secret until they walk out on stage, so the audience gets lovely surprises like Hollander playing Monty Python and tussling with the censor over the use “I fart in your general direction”, Anderson – star of a hit Streetcar Named Desire last year – drawling Tennessee Williams’ snitty letter to the censors about why the rape scene is integral and Riz Ahmed performing Norman Mailer’s memo to his gambling father (“It is time you grew up”).

The Mercury Prize winner Benjamin Clementine opened proceedings with a haunting rendition of “Bothering Heights” then Berry, and his comically booming voice, was first up with a barely credible letter from Elvis Presley to Richard Nixon, in which he begged to be made a federal agent. He was followed by Gillian Anderson, whose touching rendition of Helen Keller’s thank you note to the New York Symphony Orchestra, in which she related how she “heard” the roll of drums through her fingertips, was an early highlight.

Over the course of two hours, there were comical letters – Geraldine James reading a gossipy note from Madame de Sevigne was a joy, as was the to-and-fro between R.G Ingersoll and Rev Dr JM Buckley over a bottle of whisky (performed by a droll Hollander and Cocker). There were touching letters - Samantha Bond performing Karin Cook’s essay to her dead mother was a pindrop moment. And there were revelations: Carl Jung’s note to James Joyce on Ulysses (performed by an Eeyore-ish Will Self) – “I shall probably never be quite sure whether I did enjoy it, because it meant too much grinding of nerves and of grey matter” – drew groans of recognition. Cellist Natalie Clein and singer Emiliana provided musical interludes in a slickly produced evening that zipped along with variety and vim.

The second act was lighter in tone with a batch of irreverent letters from artists - the Monty Python and South Park creators, among them - to their censors and a snide rejection letter sent to Gertrude Stein by her publisher. Cocker was accorded the honour of deliverig the final, poignant letter, written by a palliative care doctor to Bowie in praise of his dignified death.

Some readers dressed down, some dressed up; some adopted accents, some didn’t. Despite the opulent setting, it felt intimate, like being read a particularly elegant or witty series of bedtime stories. Letters are intimate, of course, but they are also a performative act, and in Letters Live these archive gems have found a new way to shine.

In a world of frantic emails, texts and tweets, there is a peculiar, still joy in sitting back and listening to carefully written words. A first class evening.