One steamy night in late July of 2014 I was in one of the uncomfortably tight seats in Wyndham’s Theater to see a revival of David Hare’s “Skylight.” During the first act the woman to my right kept pushing her bulky handbag against my arm, and at one point took out a hand-held, battery-operated fan to cool herself. (London theaters can be stifling in summertime, even those with “air cooling” systems.) She was so irritating that I prepared a few words in my head as Bill Nighy worked up a sweat (literally) on stage. When the interval arrived and the lights went up, I turned to her — and it was Helena Bonham Carter. I completely wimped out and joked about the heat; she widened those beautiful saucer eyes of hers with mock exasperation and made my night.