Remembering David Damant

David Cyril Damant, who died suddenly this week, at the age of 83, was a figure straight out of a Moliere play, with the girth to match. Born in Rhyl, North Wales, on 15 March 1937, he shed all traces of Welshness, graduating from Cambridge University with a 2:1 in Logic. He did his National Service with the Royal Air Force (1955-1957) and liked to be thought of as pukka. His style was grandiose, accompanied by broad gestures, but behind the posh facade was a kindly and at times insecure figure, who towards the end of his life was certainly,living beyond his means. You would not realise that on meeting him, however, with his rich tales of working in Russia, hobnobbing with oligarchs, of extravagant meals and foreign trips. A keen European, he was a generous host, most especially to younger admirers from all corners of the former British Empire. Although he adopted the pose of an arch-reactionary, decrying Britain’s adoption of universal suffrage, among other things, in fact he was a liberal at heart, not least on social issues. His financial credentials were real. He was a Fellow of the Institute of Investment Management and Research, a member of its council 1964-1983, and Chairman 1980-1982. He went on to join the European Federation of Finance Analysts Societies, assuming its presidency in 1995. Subsequently, he operated as an Independent Accounting Professional, though one fears he never took his own advice. For a while he had a blog, though in recent years he rarely posted. Instead, he would regularly add comments to other people’s, including my own, usually as a caricature of a fuddy duddy  stick-in-the-mud. But his real personality was anything but. He was flamboyant and not afraid of being known as a member of the Gay Professional Network. He had a deep interest in music and helped organise entertainments at that den of thespians, the Garrick Club. Even when he had to flee expensive London for genteel but cheaper Bath he remained an avid member of the Garrick, the Beefsteak, the Royal Air Force Club and the City of London Club. Though he was sometimes the subject of ribald comments at some of these, he was much loved and will be missed.

Dangerous Liaisons (1988) ****

Gossip and flirting were major occupations for French aristocracy in the 18th century, but in the case of the Marquise de Merteuil (Glenn Close) and the Vicomte de Valmont (John Malkovich) — erstwhile lovers who enjoy playing the field and recounting their exploits — ennui is temporarily banished by a wicked wager about whether the Vicomte will succeed in seducing a respectable, religious married woman, the prize being that the Marquise will allow him back into her own bed if he manages it. With chilling callousness they play with other people’s lives and emotions, seemingly heartless and yet both vulnerable to the pains of love behind their chilling facades. This unsettling tale from a novel by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, exquisitely dramatised by playwright Christopher Hampton (who also wrote the screenplay for the film), is set in the salons of some of France’s most exquisite chateaux, much of it by candlelight. Director Stephen Frears really gorges on the beauty of it all, including the main characters’ wonderful and ever-changing wardrobes, in stark contrast to the tawdriness of their morals. This makes Dangerous Liaisons (available on BBC iPlayer till the end of the month) a visual feast, with a lovely and appropriate musical soundtrack. One senses that things can only end badly, but not before the mischievous couple have created mayhem. Once one has got over the shock of hearing French aristocrats speak with American accents and cadence (particularly unnerving in the case of John Malkovich), one can surrender to the power of a wicked story, beautifully told. The action occurs just before the French Revolution, which is never mentioned — but one feels it cannot come a moment too soon.