Richard Burton once described him as the most underrated actor in the country, but Victor Spinetti is still familiar to most people for his roles in the Beatles films, writes NICK UTECHIN

"I thought he was dead!" someone said when I told him I was to talk to Victor Spinetti. Obviously not. He was 76 last month, is on a nationwide ‘raconteur tour’ (which is due, amazingly, to travel to New York early next year) and still — he doesn’t mind — is mostly remembered for appearing in three Beatles films in the 1960s. But there is a hinterland, and a professional life that might have veered in other directions.

Spinetti — of Welsh-Italian parentage — grew up in the Wales of the 1930s, and it was a tough time.

"The till in my father’s fish and chip shop was full of IOUs — for tuppence and thruppence. I remember people used to pawn cooking implements. I first wanted to be a teacher, but I was also a member of the local amateur dramatic society, which was a big thing in Wales."

Valleys competed against valleys, he said, with plays by Strindberg and Shakespeare and Ben Johnson, and the winner was celebrated in the streets of the villages as if they had scored a winning try in rugby.

He came to London in the late 1950s, after touring in a production of South Pacific that was also a first outing for one Sean Connery, and ended up in a little theatre in Soho, "a strip club where the “Nudes can Move!” So I would come on and do some splendid revue numbers and then the tabs would close to absolute silence, open again and one of the girls would gently shake her bosom to huge applause; we did five shows a day and four on Sundays!".

Spinetti, eventually spotted, was launched on a serious acting career by Joan Littlewood, in Fings Ain’t What They Used To Be and Oh, What A Lovely War!, for which he won a Broadway Tony award in 1965. But a year earlier, he’d been picked up for an extraordinary film debut. My question began, lamely: "It must be boring for you, but . . ." and he cut in immediately. "Don’t get me wrong, I was a fan anyway and I still am. They created a reservoir of poetry and melody which we are still dipping into now. "It was the first time in our recorded history that the young spoke directly to the young. When we went on the road, the kids were Beatles fans, and secondly Israeli or Palestinian or whatever."

Victor Spinetti was the gloriously panicking TV director in A Hard Day’s Night and a mad scientist in Help; he also appeared in Magical Mystery Tour and was counted as a member of the inner circle. He even wrote a play based on John Lennon’s two books of fantastic prose and poetry.

"I took it to the National Theatre, and I remember Olivier saying 'I’ve never met Johnny Lennon', and when they all arrived, wearing big hats, glasses and hair down to their waists, he said: 'Which one is which? I cannot tell them apart.'"

In another, more self-serving, memory, Spinetti told me that when he was with the group on one occasion, and joints were being rolled, Lennon said: "Don’t bother passing one to Vic: he’s permanently stoned on life."

Four decades on from the halcyon days, Spinetti now travels with his stories of those times and the extraordinary people he met: Dietrich, Burton, Taylor, Sinatra, Gielgud. Oh, and Orson Welles. The show was originally conceived for the Edinburgh Fringe in the 1980s, honed and directed by Ned Sherrin and entitled A Very Private Diary.

"I’m the butt of the jokes. I was lucky enough to have been there and met or worked with these people. I think they trusted me; I never asked anything of them, like asking to have a photograph taken with any of them."

Which begs the question: why dabble now in the gossip and the personal memories about those stars? I didn’t ask. There are many more shallow people on the performance circuit, and he is probably permitted to let loose in his eighth decade whatever anecdotes he has of those he has met.

Three years ago, Spinetti appeared on a London stage as Albert Einstein. It was in the world premiere of the play Albert’s Boy and opened on the day of the London bombings. In the days that followed, the critics eventually arrived and gave him plaudits. I put to him the words of one, that this was "a serious part for this serious actor who is cast mostly as a campy comic, losing out on the wealth of this fine actor’s range of talent".

Would he have liked to have done more serious work of this sort during his career?

The perfect performer’s answer came: "I remember Richard Burton was on the Parkinson show and said that the most underrated actor in this country is Victor Spinetti. I blame me. It’s my fault. I did things and followed certain paths — I had to earn some money. I suppose the “campy comic” is the part that one plays."

That Welsh-Italian voice sounded just a touch wistful.

 Victor Spinetti's A Very Private Diary is at the Oxford Playhouse on Friday, October 24. Box office: 01865 305305.