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Archive for the ‘idiots’ Category

What are we to do? It’s a golden age of London theatre. Is it? Sometimes I walk in and out of shows and am just knocked sideways by how slick and competent everything is. When it comes to product, we have got some top people and the public are lapping it up. And honestly, it doesn’t seem that a few months can go by without something really, genuinely good being on somewhere within the London postal area. Has it always been like this? Did I miss it before? Doesn’t it feel like the designs are more interesting, the writers and directors interested in difficult questions, probing the possibilities? the actors.. well, the actors are a bit variable. Perhaps the casting directors didn’t get the memo. But I do feel like it’s a healthy time

And yet, and yet.. Is it fuck. Aren’t we wallowing in self-congratulatory, unambitious mediocrity?

What could have been more depressing than the Young Vic’s Prayer for My Daughter?Bent Coppers Not least for the Vic itself, who presumably set out to pack the seats with hip young theatregoers who like the 70s, like sleazy cop drama, like retro, like Americana (if not America, necessarily), and ended up with a proper dud on their hands. Just a sloppily written, clumsily plotted feast of the predictable and obvious, a handsome but interest- and ideas-free production of a play-by-numbers, Prayer… didn’t seem to have any ambition at all. At least The Hour We Knew Nothing Of Each other had some – but how it squandered it on surely the most misconceived production of this script ever. How many people walked onto that stage in the NT’s lengthy rendition? I don’t think I believed in more than about three of them. The rest were sloppy physical caricatures, stagy comic turns no different from some sort of ultra-Fast Show. This vision of the play as a sort of surreal music-hall variety seemed confirmed by the direction of Jason Thorpe’s sneering clown – an indulgent routine that shared nothing with anyone. Thousands of people watching, and an opportunity firmly missed.

And yet.. part of me wants to be pleased that the Lyttelton audience see so much Katie Mitchell (some of it really good) and then got followed up with a modern wordless European classic. It’s just… What if you saw Attempts and found it a bit limited, and you saw Hour and found that it missed the point.. God, you’d be running for the amiable safety of your Nick Hytner Much Ado or Major Babs, wouldn’t you? And something seems to happen to these theoretically risky productions in the big houses – as if some damage limitation exercise has been wrought, they come out with the rough edges all chamfered clean. Any honesty and openness of their presentation has disappeared.

Smiles Mean Sales

I don’t think we’d mind them partially failing, if only they didn’t sit there looking so smug as if they thought they’d succeeded. I’m sure it’s to do with our new sales-friendly arts culture; in this age of competition and free market, none of the venues are allowed to admit that any of their shows have been anything less than a success – it’s not just looking for positives, it’s presenting an inane grin to the public, ACE and sponsors. Which is fine if you think the public are morons to be misled by your smile (as the ACE and sponsors will be). But if you give them any credit at all, you just look like you don’t know what you’re doing.

It’s consistently not good enough. Surely. I still want to applaud people for stepping in the right direction. And I know how hard it can be to get it right – goodness knows I don’t manage. So it’s thrilling to have seen, for example, the recent double at the Gate – I Am Falling and Press. Not for what they were as much as for what they tried to be – a really bold reinvention of the venue’s policy. I thought Falling was a lovely little piece of work – it was short, yes, but you could also say it didn’t outstay its welcome – and it unaffectedly did find a common ground between the open artifice of dance and the deliberately apparent artlessness of dialogue. Press was much less overwhelming even though it was technically a more extraordinary performance. I didn’t see any great dramatic coherence to the composition – and the last section with the video camera felt thrown in as a free gift – this was the much less interesting of the two pieces, much more like the circus exhibitionism of the most self-regarding dance.

random up at the Court is the Important Production of the month. But although the subject is closer to home, it’s miles from the urgent frisson you got from debbie tucker green’s previous Sacha Wares collaboration, generations. Nadine Marshall gives a brilliant performance, turning repeatedly on a sixpence to offer a beautifully observed set of roles, and no one puts a foot wrong – it’s tasteful, thoughtful and honest. So why did I nod off a few times? random was so fully inside my expectations of a one-woman dtg show about the pointless death of a teenager (as the publicity made it clear it would be) that it simply couldn’t grab hold. Seven rows behind me a young school group of mainly black kids whooped whenever they recognised a bit of characterisation or a turn of phrase, but they didn’t seem impressed by the narrative either. My feeling is that perhaps the brief (self-imposed or not, I’ve no idea) was too restrictive for dtg to be able to think about how she might hook the audience. This didn’t cement her reputation. She is the most unconventional and poetic playwright of her generation, certainly, but here for a moment the anti-capitalisation started to seem like an affectation.

Prescription may be our greatest enemy – especially when our arts overlords are so keen on good planning and management. Get me a knife-crime play. You can’t just prescribe something and then create it. On a download from his site, Chris Goode does some talking (densely of course – don’t you ever read it back and try to make it easier, Chris?) about ‘liminality’ and his aspirations for what theatre should aim to be. He talks about loads more than this. But of course, like a million writers and directors before him, he wants the event to resonate outside the rooms and the hours it takes place in. But it’s one thing to say”I want this to resonate” and another to actually sit down and make the work. All we can ask for is care and attention to what resonates instead of what looks cool. StampsIt doesn’t matter if your source material is Chekhov, a new play or a performance devised from a book of postage stamps – you’re just as likely to make something conventional. A culture of wanting to plan what impact your production is going to have combines badly with a culture of asking people to deliver things in the vein of the their previous work. Artists (and the visual artists do us no favours here) are expected to have a schtick nowand to plough their proven furrow. Shunt’s David Rosenberg is about to open his project at the Lyric, Contains Violence – I’m terrified that it’s just going to be a tired old set of noirish/pulp fiction/voyeuristic cliches with some aggressive ‘attitude’ and an air of the defiantly amateurish. Clips from Shunt shows you might have seen, taken across the road and watched through the windows. We used to toddle down to Shunt cabarets to be surprised (and, be fair, quite frequently disappointed), but never bored. I really hope Rosenberg has kept hold of his ability to pull the rug from under what you’re expecting. Goodness knows all the advice he’s been hearing will have been about providing a satisfying ending.

So we’re surrounded by ‘good’ pieces of theatre – target-hitting, slick,Excellence well-produced and performed work: like in what is undeniably an important production of random, not least because the school group had a good time. But the ‘good’ness can really stifle what might really be exciting in it. The Arts Council are scratching their collective heads about what excellence might be; it isn’t this. I’d prefer a time when companies didn’t have to lie to you about how good their work is, so they can have actual dialogue about how good they want it to be – and what they dream of it being.

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I had a little flippant nibble over on encore about the ‘Hytner vs critics’ debate that is exercising folk. I think that if theatre directors are willing to stick their heads above the parapet then those of us who are anonymous owe it to them to back them up bygloves are off exercising significantly less courage. Hytner has had lashings, massages, bouquets and backlashes for his own productions from all over since his tenure started, and it’s been pretty clear that they’ve been largely political statements on the part of the critics (who would like to be in favour of or against trends like Tom Hardy, celebrity casting, £10 ticket deals, revivals, new plays or whatever he’s doing) and rarely much to do with what the experience is actually like (frequently poor in my experience, but hats off to the man for his programming). This has certainly extended to productions by other directors at the NT – there have been plenty of reviews aimed at ‘Hytner’s NT’ rather than involving themselves with the specific production.

shadow of a boySusannah Clapp, not someone whose reviews I set my compass by, has written pretty well on this here in the Observer. She thinks the battlefield is to do with Billington and Spencer being left behind by the developing language of our theatre-makers. It’s surely true that stodgy writing, tedious, uninspiring characterisation and lengthy rhetoric is more tolerated by our literary-trained critics than is the odd flash of indulgent spectacle (that kneehigh, de la guarda or frantic assembly might be prone to). I’m interested in who the critics think they are and what they think they’re for. Obviously de Jongh writes with his obituary in mind, hoping to be remembered as the executioner of Shaftesbury Ave. Lyn Gardner writes as the champion of the promising newcomers – she has an amazing (and utterly excellent) capacity to put more and more faith in more and more youngsters, sending them on with glowing notices to the altar where Spencer, Billington and Nightingale will dismiss them as not yet fully formed (and send their overextended producers reaching for the overdraft facility).

And the critics have their own narrative presumably – waiting for productions to live up to the superb one in their head; or hoping to chart a moment of development; or standing guard over the old traditions and values. Someone pointed out that the critics, like your dad with his record collection, are stuck in their generation’s idea of what good theatre is – what they loved when they were 13 or 16 or 21 or whenever they fell in love with it. It’s true, I suppose, and they’d be right to say the same about the practitioners. Is it just me or do both Tom Morris and David Farr keep getting comments about how their work resembles the early-80s theatre-in-education and physical work that may very well have inspired them? Not much wrong with that either – genuine influence is how ideas germinate.

I’m loath to come down on Spencer for being unreconstructed in his attitude to physical theatre (if he is – I don’t read him much) – that’s his perspective and regular readers will know it. He’d be doing his job well if he acknowledged that it wasn’t his cup of tea and he may not be reviewing it well for those who like it. Sometimes critics do this but not nearly enough. I mean he shouldn’t be pretending to like things if he doesn’t. He should just be prepared to accept he’s unable to judge them on their own terms. The debate shouldn’t be about the age of the critics, nor the specifics of their gender bias. It should be about them being open about their bias. “I’m not a fan of Nick Hytner’s NT repertoire but I really liked this production of xxxxxx”, perhaps we should read. They can still build their personality-cults.

The other side of the debate is about the democratisation of criticism – Billington’s response has a rather pompous line about the independence of his voice, as if he was artistically inviolate. I rather liked the Guardian’s scheme of inviting butchers to see plays about butchers and so on – they are always a good read. the london paper and the independent sometimes do ‘you do the reviews’ slots which usually seem to have mates of the production raving about something – it seems very open to abuse. So I suppose the reviewing bloggers, with their own personalities (like West End Whingers), have a real role to play here. Especially if the theatre marketing departments and (perhaps?) the critics themselves start to take them seriously. The best reviewers are the ones about whom you know a bit more, so you can react to their opinions.

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chop chop

So, I’m one of the people who isn’t getting their grants for the arts money because of this cut.

It’s possible of course, given the mysterious round-table meetings that characterise the GFA process (“sorry, it was a busy week this time, so regardless of the quality of your application, tough shit”) that I wouldn’t have got it anyway, but let’s, having read the tea-leaves, assume that I was, and fell into the unfortunate 35% abruptly dropped without a parachute.

I can tell you that this has not made me work harder to create something I really care about, as the commentators who bizarrely think our arts were overfunded seem to suggest. In fact it has made me terrified and anxious about a project that previously seemed straightforward to manage. It’s meant that more hours are going into desperate fundraising than into working on making the art istelf. It means all sorts of shabby stalling and timewasting, fobbing off, concealing budgets, making vague promises, crossing fingers, cashflow panics and hoping things will come together. It means the work will suffer, my sleep will suffer, and the people I’m working with will get less out of me. The show will be fine, but there will be a sense of trepidation about its execution that I pray doesn’t communicate all the way down the line to the audience. In this case thankfully the GFA component wasn’t much of the overall budget – but all over the country you can hear the sounds of people who suddenly have no work for the summer. I daresay there will be some good deals going on Edinburgh venues at the last minute.
hand on our balls Lammy and Jowell are popping up here and there telling us that this isn’t core ACE funding – it’s just the lottery top-up, and it wasn’t permanent. Well, Tess, if you were funding it properly there would be no need to top it up out of the lottery, would there? What seems to be clear is that they (or rather their predecessors) have made a balancing act over the last ten years (in contravention of the constant rhetoric that lottery money does not replace tax spend) that has enabled the cultural growth that made some of us (briefly) optimistic and led to some of those nice public buildings that everyone can enjoy all over the country – a genuine legacy only if they’re full of activity. And the current DCMS team have misunderstood how this works, taken the so-called optional bit out, and are latterly realising that that was the brick at the bottom of the pile.

It’s not strictly speaking true to say that the Tate Modern and the Royal Opera House only exist because of my sterling efforts, but the fact remains: you created a (semi)-stable system, and if you are taking it apart, then you need to plan for it and have a think. Not just suddenly whip some of the cash away. This is not really about the Olympics. The Olympics exist and need funding (and are being badly managed). Ditto the regeneration of East London. The Arts exist and need funding and, because they are not monolithic, the badly-managed parts of them fall away in any case. So, let’s chop out some emergent shoots to make room for the car park?

Improve GFA please. It is quite a poor system. But don’t take the money away. And don’t try to avoid the subject of the discussion about arts funding by telling us about other nice things you are spending the money on.
Blogging just to let off steam? you bet.

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So I’ve been away (or busy maybe) for a bit and overwhelmed by the consistent requests for me to return to the blog. Not really, you’re all very discreet.

So I had a look around to see what’s rousing folk in the london theatre blog world. Goodness. Everyone loves/hates Attempts on Her Life, and quite a few people are excited by Anthony Neilson asking playwrights to be less boring and pretentious. Neilson is right to feel a bit I told you so about it, isn’t he? – he’s been being thrilling, imaginative and unpretentious for ages even when it wasn’t that fashionable. In fact his plays often seem a bit wilfully controversialist – it’s his determination not to let them be flabby that have saved them. I bet his old mucker Lisa Goldman wishes she had a few more like him to programme into Soho. I take a bit of an issue with his dislike of the pretentious though. You absolutely need to balance it and be tough on yourself, but pretentiousness has a lot to offer, in that it represents our urge to try out being something we’re not. Which has a good pedigree in the theatre community. So if I (or Chris Goode) pretend to the assurance of Robert Wilson in making a piece, it very likely benefits the assurance of the piece – Wilson is an awesome role model in that respect. If we copied his actual style it would be less successful. Shopping and Fucking is a pretentious play because Ravenhill’s pretention to be a voice for the commercialised generation blended well with his hard-working well-made play structuring. It’s not as amazing and pure a source of innovation as those that come from necessity (“the only way to make this show work is to do it underwater/in the air/spoken half in Uzbek”) but it’s undeniably part of the psychology of every theatre maker, who is always pretending/trying to be less like (say) David Hare and more like (say) Anthony Neilson. All our best playwrights and theatre-makers are a bit pretentious. And they’re good enough not to let it get out of hand.

Attempts on Her Life is really part of the same debate. It’s not boring. If you’ve got the balls (apparently unlike some of the walker-outers at the whatsonstage board) then you can fight the deluge of images and struggle to draw your conclusions from Crimp and Mitchell’s uncompromised circus of situations and angles. For what it’s worth, I thought that the permanent presence of the (thrilling) camera work gave it feet of clay. Crimp’s scenarios are about a lot of things, and there were times when the production seemed to filter all of the text’s potential through a limiting lens: I know that we use the media to shape lots of our understanding of life – but it’s not the only way I understand people. It was also hard not to feel that the camera action was clumsy set next to the overwhelmingly detailed (and beautiful) choreography of Waves. That said, I wasn’t much taken with the content of Waves – it was pretty much pure theatre to me – and am much more interested by the content in Attempts. The focus on media gave the text a fierce clarity of purpose which it might not have in some of the more catholic productions – and it seemed conscious of its status as not the only ever production. I think that’s what I like most about Mitchell’s shows now – this is her version and it’s not the end of the story. Clearly Hytner has made a good choice in continuing to invite her back to be a standard bearer for intelligent experiment in his programme. How great to be watching the rock band section thrash away in the bland old Lyttelton, with memories of the (equally effective but totally different) lush underscoring of Therese Raquin still in memory. I’m suspicious of encore’s effort to turn it into a polarised fight between the backward lithic critics and the fiery knights of progress – it’s only a show, it’s got problems – but I was much more appalled by the people who seem to be offended by it. Blimey, fogeys, it’s a national theatre, not just yours. I mean, sure, be offended by Jerry Springer if you don’t believe in freedom of speech and creativity (and expose yourself as a censor). But what’s to be offended by in a play that has a good go at discussing perception and reality, in a production that actually makes it easier to take something from? does your world not include rock and pop music, police progammes and late review and crappy films and adverts and all the rest? Discuss that some of the media satire was pretty limp (and Mitchell isn’t that assured as a film director..) engage with what’s in fornt of you. These people seem not to be interested in content – there’s plenty to get their (presumably gritted) teeth into in both staging and text, nor in theatre – theatricality – they would be having a lovely time. If they think theatre is just character acting and relationships then they probably need to be more selective when booking seats.

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Now usually I like to keep out of the real world on the blog but this one is just too much.
I can barely listen to an edition of the world at one without someone coming on and telling me there should be more local government (who is Tony Travers?). Well, the Wandsworth Council here in vibrant, cool, cultural, insightful London have decided that they need to cut their funding to what is as far as I can see their only professional theatre, BAC.

BAC, in case you aren’t up on the development of British theatre companies, is the place where you go if you’re not a playwright – or even if you are a playwright if you’ve come to London and got bored with the Royal Court Young Writer’s programme. Almost every theatre-maker of value has been involved in some way with the work there. We’re not talking about the tourist trade theatre you understand. You can read elsewhere on the web why it’s so good. Here, for example, or here. But seems to be happening is that the councillors of Wandsworth have no idea how good it is, and are acting in an incredibly blinkered, short-termist way.

Every local borough in the world has a few things that they have that are brilliant. It might be a park or a sports facility, or an old building. Wandsworth has a few, but less than most other parts of London if we’re honest. Sometimes (usually) they cost a bit of money but it’s worth it because that’s what that part of the world is about. BAC is a brilliant thing that needs to be kept alive – they should be bigging it up and splashing it across their own publicity, not choking it and stifling it in stages as their current plan seems to be. It looks like they have decided it would be OK if BAC slunk off quietly to die, so they’re cutting off the food and water.

People are saying this is the effect of the Olympics. The idea’s alright – the olympics is supposed to provide a focus for sport in the UK for the next 5 years (plus all that beautiful tourist money). But it’s only two weeks long. Can’t we cancel the Olympics, spend the extra money on community sport, and on making sure every london borough has the basis of arts and sport provision? Wandsworth should be investing in more arts, not less.

But I can’t expect them to succeed on my standards. Wandsworth is a Conservative-majority council who are mainly interested in the appearance of things, and keeping the council tax down. But what’s depressing is that they fail by their own standards: they’re failing to value and preserve the things they have. My (limited) experience of local councillors is that they’re self-important idiots, closed-eared party ideologues, single-issue activists or impotently parochial. This is how they behave.And we want to put them in charge of more services?

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