As requested, see below! I'm moving house soon and putting a whole bunch of stuff into storage, so thought I'd dig out the books before I did so!
From Kenneth Williams,
Just Williams: An Autobiography (London: J.M. Dent and Sons, 1985), pp. 61-4:
Even before Saint Joan finished its run on the 28th of May 1955, I was already rehearsing for another production. I had read for Orson Welles who was staging his adaptation of Melville's Moby Dick. 'I could use someone of your versatility in my company,' he told me, making me feel very pleased with myself. I was to play Elijah, the carpenter, the old Bedford sailor, and several other parts, including a look-out who had to keep shouting excitedly, 'She blows! A great white spout!'
It was during these rehearsals that I met Gordon Jackson who played Ishmael. He says that during the morning break I went up to him with outstretched hand, and said 'I'm Kenneth Williams, the only one in the cast worth knowing, let's go and have coffee together,' but for the life of me I can't remember // such vainglory! My diary does record my instant liking for Gordon and his work. His opening line was 'Call me Ishmael...' and Orson shouted from the stalls, 'And if a man answers, hang up'. But Gordon struggled on, repressing his giggles, and we have been friends ever since.
Moby Dick was an open-stage production with no scenery, consequently the actors were seen as soon as they entered the stage door. Orson achieved his effect by lighting and stage grouping. In the chapel sequence, where he played Father Mapple, he stood holding a chair back for the pulpit with a multi-coloured spotlight casting the glow of a stained-glass window over the scene. It was economical and practical. When Orson spoke the lines 'O Lord, I have striven to be thine,' he was both vulnerable and moving. He used the stage area for the deck of the whaling ship Pequod and the auditorium was the sea. We lowered a rostrum as a symbolic boat into the front stalls when it came to the encounter with the whale. Orson was playing Captain Ahab and told me, 'You will be Fool to my Lear; kneel in the prow and I can tell my playing positions by standing above you for the harpoon throwing.' This was where he cried out 'That whale - i'll have his blood!' It was alright rehearsing such a scene in an empty theatre, but on the night, with a packed house, it was a different matter. Sailors were clambering into the stalls trying to lower the boat into the central gangway while the well-dressed spectators shrank in their seats from the proximity of burly perspiration. One lady's box of chocolates got squashed on her lap, and she protested loudly; and the spectators in the circle completely lost sight of the cast. They rose in their seats to extend their view, provoking cries of 'Sit down' from those seated behind. Orson, with his hand raised for the harpoon, was roaring 'Shut up' to the audience between his vengeful curses to the whale, and we eventually returned to the stage amidst considerable confusion.
In the interval I used to lie full-length on the dressing-room floor. The unaccustomed exercise had exhausted me and the continuity of the play was baffling because Orson frequently changed the scenes. One night I was playing the carpenter and during a long speech about carving Ahab a false leg made from ivory, orson suddenly leant over my kneeling figure and muttered 'Get off'. I rose amid a lame ad lib, 'God bless you, Captain', and backed away into the wings with the scene // unfinished. As there was no set, we had been instructed that when we exited, we were to stand still at the side of the stage, and I was frozen in this position next to Joan Plowright was was playing Pip the cabin boy. 'What happened?' she whispered and out of the side of my mouth I replied 'He told me to get off'. She whispered heavenward 'What about your speech?' 'It's cut', i whispered. At this point she realized it was her scene which followed the now absent carpenter episode. She rushed on saying her line, 'O Captain put thy hand in mine, the black and white together...' with such incoherent haste that Orson was quite taken aback, but Joan rattled on with the speed of a gatling gun about white being black and black becoming white, till it sounded like a high-speed detergent commercial.
Afterwards I went to Orson's dressing room and asked why he had cut the dialogue so drastically. 'You bored me', he said shortly, and if there's a snappy answer to that I haven't found it. He was just as unpredictable to those outside the cast. i remember seeing a young man who bore an uncanny resemblance to a famous film star on the stage one day. I asked him if he was Dirk Bogarde and he replied, 'No, I'm his brother Gareth.' He went on to explain that he'd been appointed personal assistant to Orson. 'Then don't stay here,' I warned him, 'the last one left after only a week, and the one before that wasn't much longer.' Gareth was assuring me he knew how to handle temperament when Orson appeared expostulating, 'Why haven't you found me somewhere to live?' and dismissed him before he had time to reply. Gareth went the way of all others.
Orson could change in a moment from thunderous denunciation to a humourous chhuckle over a remembered incident, and his anecdotes always enlivened rehearsals. i remember him once making the comparison between the generosity of American pronunciation and what he called the pinched, snobbish vowel sounds of the English. I argued with him about this, citing the example of Gielgud, and he admitted that I had chosen a notable exception. Later on at rehearsals i was arguing with him again, this time about positions, when he suddenly roared: 'Not since Ruth Chatterton left high-society drama has anyone in the theatre been so damned difficult as you!' At which point I collapsed laughing and so did everyone else.
Moby Dick finished its run at the Duke of York's Theatre on // 9th July and I went to the isle of Wight and stayed with John Hussey's mother, Nell, for a holiday in Shanklin. I was on the beach there, paddling in the water one day when frenzied calling from the promenade informed me of an important telephone call, and I ran back to the house. It was Peter Eade [Williams's agent] on the line. 'Orson Welles wants you back in London for this film he's making of Moby Dick.' There had been talk of such a project but I'd never believed anything would come of it. i asked where he was filming it and received the improbable answer, 'Hackney Empire [Theatre]'.
Within hours I was on the train back to Waterloo and the next day I started work on the film with, among others, Gordon Jackson again and Christopher Lee. It was to be a film of the play and from the outset Orson was at loggerheads with the lighting cameraman who vainly protested that theatrical arclamps were insufficient for filming. 'You're not Rembrandt painting with light,' he was told. 'Shoot the scene'. When the rushes revealed stygian gloom, it had to be filmed all over again. The reels are still stored in Orson's archives.
And the relevant excerpts from Russell Davies (ed.),
The Kenneth Williams Diaries (London: HarperCollins, 1993):
Saturday 7 May [1955]
Did the reading for Orson Welles, and cued myself. He said afterwards, 'I could certainly use someone of your versatility in the company...' and we have to meet the next day to discuss it further... I was rather pleased with myself I must say. [p. 113.]
Sunday 22 May
I shall take the Orson Welles offer of Moby Dick, because there has been no definite offer from Sherek in America. [p. 114.]
Saturday 28 May
Rehearsed morning Moby Dick. Last 2 shows of Saint Joan and glad to see the end of it all. [p. 114.]
Monday 30 May
Rehearsed Moby Dick in the morning. Did Hancock show [Hancock's Half Hour on the radio] from 2 o'c. to 7.30. Rehearsed Moby Dick from 8.30 to midnight. [p. 114.]
Wednesday, 1 June
Peter Whitbread, playing juvenile lead, is replaced by Gordon Jackson. [p. 114.]
Wednesday 8 June
I wish to God I had never seen this rotten play, and Orson Welles, and the whole tribe of sycophantic bastards connected with this bogus rubbish. More theatre is achieved in weekly Rep. than in London. Ever. [p. 114.]
Friday 10 June
The latest madness from the Welles-Chappell-Edwards trio [EDITOR'S FOOTNOTE: William Chappell was Associate Producer. Hilton Edwards not credited.] is rocking the cast. We have to play all the scenes staggering at regular intervals! to suggest the motion of a ship. The result is an effective impression of intoxication! Hours and hours are wasted on this kind of nonsense. Everyone is embarrassed by such stupidity. [p. 114.]
Saturday 11 June
Orson Welles may be a brilliant 'personality' but he knows nothing about producing a play. His lack of ability is bitterly apparent. The only difference between him & the other bogus English directors is this swank personality, and New York wisecracks. [p. 115.]
Thursday 16 June
Rehearsed from 11 o'c. this morning until 2 o''c. Then back after a lunch break, and on until 6.30. Break. Then we opened for the first night. Peter Eade sent me a bottle of champagne and I drank it all during the performance. I know that I have no objective criticism to offer regarding this production. There is too much about it that I dislike & disapprove of, for me to be at all unbiased. All I know is that the thing is messy, badly rehearsed, acted & lit. And the sooner it is over, the better. [EDITOR'S FOOTNOTE: On the whole, it was well received, if only as a symptom of Welles's challenging megalomania. KW's distaste may have proceeded from that Welles, as Ahab, indulged in much ad-libbing at the expense of the cast, who, he later said, had been 'young and solemn.'] [p. 115.]
Saturday 18 June
An admirer of Welles was discussing him with Rita Hayworth in America and she remarked 'Oh! Orson - yeah, he's clever all right...' and added thoughtfully: 'The morning after we were married, I woke up, and I could tell by the expression on his face, he was just waiting for the applause...' [p. 115.]
Tuesday 28 June
Orson called me into his room and asked me to do 2 films with him, and said 'Don't do the musical play...' [The Buccaneer, which Williams had auditioned for the day before] I said I'd think about it. I have no desire to work with him any more. [p. 115.]
Saturday 2 July
2 shows of Moby Dick. Drear. [p. 116.]
Saturday 9 July
Last 2 shows of this ghastly play. Party after, on stage. Awful drear. [p. 116.]
Wednesday 13 July. Shanklin, Isle of Wight
No holiday is really enjoyable when one is alone. I was very lonely really.
Friday 15 July
Filming Moby Dick Rehearsed at Hackney Empire from 8.30 to 6.10. [p. 116.]
Thursday 21 July
Filming from 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. Every day I become more convinced of my desire to leave this profession & get some sort of a guest house. [p. 116.]
That's the last of the references to Moby Dick Rehearsed, although there are several more intriguing references to Welles: In August 1964, Welles called Williams's agent to ask if he was available in October, and Williams 'Told her to say yes & ask for details'. (This tallies with Chimes at Midnight, which started shooting in October 1964, after Welles finalised the budget in July - though it' also possible he was calling about Treasure Island, which was meant to be shooting back-to-back with Chimes at Midnight on the same sets.) In May 1965, Welles called again, asking if he could come to Paris for some dubbing work (again, presumably for Chimes, which was in post-production then) - Williams was appalled at the thought of travelling so far and declined, much to the anger of his agent, since he was being offered a £75 fee.
Finally, there are some oddly positive comments towards the end of Williams's diary, given his scathing comments on Welles in the 1950s, although it also underlines that they can't have been in touch for at least the last 15 years of Welles's life:
Tuesday 10 October 1985
The death of Yul Brynner was announced at 6 o'c. and on the 9 o'c. news they announced the death of Orson Welles! Talk about the end of an era! I felt quite a pang about O.W. 'cos he was v. good to me & I always felt he was a presence, there in Paris. Surprised to learn that he died 'at his home in Hollywood' so he must have gone back, knowing it was final. [p. 726]
Friday 20 October 1987
Read the rest of the Higham biography of Orson. It reads more like a logistic/social report than anything else. He is certainly not equal to his subject. Orson was a paradoxical creature, a poetic visionary & a mendacious con-man magician. His mercurial nature oscillating between rancorous rudeness and humorous charm. You can't pin him down with Higham 'journalism', it needs an [Richard] Ellmann or a [Michael] Holroyd to do him justice. [p. 772]