“Drawing attention to himself ... again ”
From the outside, Barry Humphries’ home in north west London is unassuming. Inside, every inch of wall is lined with gorgeous pre-Raphaelite paintings, bookcases heave with first editions. There are thousands of books. I wait for him in a pale blue sitting room with tones of hyacinth.
His wife Lizzie is there. She is tall and elegant and very funny. Barry is wearing a purple linen jacket, a green pullover and purple corduroy trousers but the corduroy is horizontal, in perfect keeping with the idea that Barry likes to blend in, seem normal but is actually completely the other way. Barry is the creator of many diverse personas – Dame Edna Everage, Sir Les Patterson and the ghost Sandy Stone. Often they could say things that Barry himself could not. He is a rare breed – a man who is altogether available and unavailable at once. He’s intimate, yet detached, kind and razor sharp, cutting. You wonder if it’s hard for Barry Humphries to be Barry Humphries. Last year he put on an intriguing show at London’s Barbican Theatre with the Australian chanteuse Meow Meow. It was a fascinating journey through songs from the Weimar Republic, composers who were banned by Hitler
