• News
  • Spilled Ink
    • Complete List of Plays
    • 7 Ghosts
    • Cavalry
    • Chekhov in Hell
    • Dead Souls
    • Emily Rising
    • Here's What I Did With My Body One Day
    • Killer
    • Mile End
    • Negative Signs of Progress
    • My Life Is a Series of People Saying Goodbye
    • Restless Dreams
    • Slow Air
    • Slow Beasts
    • Static
    • Theatremorphosis
    • You & Me
    • Zola: Blood, Sex & Money
    • Complete List of Publications
    • 1956 and All That
    • Cambridge Companion to British Theatre since 1945
    • Contemporary European Playwrights
    • Contemporary European Theatre Directors
    • Modern British Playwriting 2000-2009
    • No Theatre Guild Attraction Are We
    • On Churchill's Influences
    • Paris Commune
    • Playwriting
    • Sarah Kane before Blasted
    • Sarah Kane Documentary
    • The Suspect Culture Book
    • Theatre &
    • Theatre & Globalization
    • When We Talk of Horses
    • Writ Large
  • Stage Directions
  • Wilding Audio
  • Links
  • About
  • Contact

Dan Rebellato

  • News
  • Spilled Ink
  • Plays
    • Complete List of Plays
    • 7 Ghosts
    • Cavalry
    • Chekhov in Hell
    • Dead Souls
    • Emily Rising
    • Here's What I Did With My Body One Day
    • Killer
    • Mile End
    • Negative Signs of Progress
    • My Life Is a Series of People Saying Goodbye
    • Restless Dreams
    • Slow Air
    • Slow Beasts
    • Static
    • Theatremorphosis
    • You & Me
    • Zola: Blood, Sex & Money
  • Books, etc.
    • Complete List of Publications
    • 1956 and All That
    • Cambridge Companion to British Theatre since 1945
    • Contemporary European Playwrights
    • Contemporary European Theatre Directors
    • Modern British Playwriting 2000-2009
    • No Theatre Guild Attraction Are We
    • On Churchill's Influences
    • Paris Commune
    • Playwriting
    • Sarah Kane before Blasted
    • Sarah Kane Documentary
    • The Suspect Culture Book
    • Theatre &
    • Theatre & Globalization
    • When We Talk of Horses
    • Writ Large
  • Stage Directions
  • Wilding Audio
  • Links
  • About
  • Contact

Donald Trump & General Boulanger

Doanld Trump, the property-magnate, serial business failure, and occasional game-show host, is standing to be the Republican Party's candidate for President of the United States. Remarkably, he's doing well in the polls, regularly getting figures of close to a third of the votes in the field, leaving his many rivals - Ted Cruz, Marco Rubio, Ben Carson, Carly Fiorentina, Jeb Bush and many more - trailing. Let's remember, of course, that when we say 'votes' we're only talking about people voting for the unappetising group of GOP candidates - there's no indication that he would get anything like that in a full Presidential head-to-head. And let's remember too that not a single actual vote has been cast yet. It's all polls and speculation.

But still, it's a remarkable position for him to be in, particularly because through his campaign he has regularly, on numerous occasions, said things that the conventional political wisdom tells us should end someone's political career, let alone their campaign.

  • He announced his candidacy with a rambling speech that included the pledge to build a wall along the 2000 mile US-Mexico border, which he would make Mexico pay for, designed to keep out Mexican immigrants, who, in the same speech, he denounced as criminals, drug-dealers, and rapists.
  • He mocked John McCain's claim to be a war hero. McCain was shot down in Vietnam in 1967 and spent two and a half years being tortured or in solitary confinement; The Donald, coevally, managed to avoid the draft entirely.
  • He claimed that he was getting tough questions from the Megan Kelly, Fox news presenter and debate moderator, because she was on her period.
  • He claimed to have seen Muslims in New Jersey cheering the destruction of the Twin Towers and when  a disabled journalist called him on it, he did a 'hilarious' mocking impression of a disabled person.
  • Shortly after the November 2015 attacks in France, without indicating how such a policy could possibly work, he declared that the US Government should impose a ban on Muslims entering the country.

Trump has always been, certainly from the relative safety of Britain, a comic character. But it's the last of these policies that suddenly seem to suggest that he is not just foolish, but dangerous.

He's not dangerous because he's going to win. It seems close to certain that if he were picked by the GOP voters, in a head-to-head with Hillary Clinton (or even Bernie Sanders) he would lose and lose badly. But he's dangerous because he is stirring up atavistic, misanthropic, fearful and hateful impulses among the voters, people whose livelihoods were hit in 2008 and have not fully recovered; people who perhaps do sense that white privilege on which they used unthinkingly to rely is now being challenged; people who are scared of terrorism even though they are personally untouched by it. 

And let's be clear, Trump is only doing this because he is an extreme narcissist. He doesn't want to be President. Why would he want that? He likes swanning about, playing golf, looking at pretty girls, shooting his mouth off. He has;'t got time for executive orders and budget strategies and diplomatic visits. He doesn't want to be President. What he does want is people to talk about him  all the time, to know who he is. The mockery and the praise, the think-pieces and the cartoons, the interviews and the debates, the ads and the rallies - they are not the means; they are the point.

Genuinely, I'm not sure he has any serious political beliefs. He's just saying and doing things to get attention. If saying something outrageously racist will get him airtime and column inches, he'll do that. If childishly insulting his opponents draws people's attention, he'll do that. They're all the same to him. As has been revealed recently (to no apparent effect on his supporters) he has changed his views on dozens of issues: drugs (he used to say legalise them, now he doesn't); abortion (he was pro-choice, now he's pro-life); gun (from gun controls to gun rights); Syrian refugees (from 'you have to accept them' to 'ban them all'); gay rights (he was in favour, now he's gone cold on that). He'll just say whatever he thinks will get him attention and he is so self-interested he doesn't care what cultural damage he leaves in his wake.

He is going to disappoint his followers because, I suspect, they aren't really hero-worshipping him; they are inspired by the thought that he might be able to do something, cut through the usual political compromises and do something. But he's not going to get into power and at some point this will be obvious. It might be that his fellow candidates decide to step down in favour of the one of them that they think can beat him - and he'll either give up petulantly or try running as an independent (both of which will annoy people). It may be that somehow he ends up on the ballot paper but when he loses he'll do so with bad grace and without any vision for how he can help the country. He doesn't want to be President; he is trolling the American people. He is literally wasting everyone's time. 

I'm struck by some similarities with the brief rise and fall of General Georges Boulanger in France of the 1880s. Boulanger was a popular, charismatic French General promoted to the Cabinet where he served as War Minister. His popularity derived from his hostility to Germany; in a France still reeling from their humiliation in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, his call for 'revanche' [revenge] struck a nerve and led to his popular nickname Général Revanche. His popularity (and his arrogant individualist manner) started to cause tensions in the Cabinet who were shocked when at an election for the prefecture of the Seine he gained 100,000 votes without even being on the ballot paper. As a result he was sacked and, in an attempt to neuter his influence, redeployed to the provinces. As he tried to board the train at the Gare de Lyon a huge crowd of thousands tried to stop him, insisting 'il reviendra!' [he will return].

Boulanger initially had the support of leftists and republicans, but soon started to gather Bonapartists and monarchists around him. Expelled from the army for political activities he ran in a number of seats in 1888. In the event, while his group were successful they were still a tiny minority in parliament and the Boulangistes made little impact - and Boulanger himself was revealed to be an orator of very limited appeal. So he resigned his seat in a sort of protest and stood again, this time as Deputy for Paris, which he won in January 1889 with a huge majority. His supporters were divided: the militarists urged him to mount a coup d'état, which concerned the monarchists who wanted him to restore the King. At the election, a crowd of 50,000 gathered to toast his victory at the Cafe Durand on the Place de la Madeleine (now a branch of Ralph Lauren, fact fans), ready to march on parliament. In the event, Boulanger seemed uncertain what to do and the moment was lost. He declared an intention to take power legally in the forthcoming elections, which created a pause in which his opponents acted, accusing him of subversion. Fearing arrest - and to the horror of his supporters - Boulanger fled to Brussels and then to London where he held court at the Hotel Bristol on Burlington Gardens in Piccadilly.

His candidates continued to rally and campaign, but the absence of the charismatic general pulled their punches and they were strongly defeated at the election of July 1889. support dwindled and his remaining supporters were subject to prosecutions for conspiracy. Two years later, in September 1891, Boulanger went to the Ixelles cemetery in Brussels and shot himself on the grave of his mistress.

There are some obvious parallels between Trump and Boulanger. Both men seemed to be somewhat without strong political beliefs of their own. At the start of his political career Boulanger was mistaken for a left-winger; by the end his support came entirely from the right. Boulanger's policy platform was the famous Revanche, Reforme, Restoration (Revenge [against Germany], Reform [of the constitution] and Restoration [of the monarchy]), at least two of which were extremely vague, as were the famous slogans 'Boulanger is the People' and his call for a 'True Republic' and an 'Honest Republic'. He was widely seen as embodying inchoately - in the words of a more recent commentator - the 'restoration of French national grandeur',* which we might rephrase as the slogan 'Make France Great Again'. It was easier to say what he was against: he was against the political system and against foreigners. He whipped up suspicion of religious groups who might be thought to be infiltrating the country - in Boulanger's time it was the Jews (just as now, a similar demagogue might choose to pick on Muslims). He was a clumsy orator a defect he made up for by a tireless appetite for self-advertisement. He had little patience or capacity for the hard work of political office, resigning when he wasn't sacked. Finally, when faced with a choice between the causes he supported or his own interests, he chose himself.

Boulangisme might have seemed like a blip in French history, a passing fad that left little trace in French politics and society. But I'm not sure that's true. While Boulanger's end was ignominious - committing suicide in self-imposed exile over his mistress's grave - Boulanger had an effect on French society, and not a good one. The Right during the nineteenth century had tended to rally around the various restorationist factions - the Orléanists, the Legitimists, the Bonapartists -   each of which favoured a different candidate to restore as ruler of France. These were mostly terrible bloody people and they held back democratic reforms and the growth of a truly successful Republic for many decades. There was a good deal of popular support for the Bonapartist cause, while the monarchist Organists and Legitimists tended to have more bourgeois and former-aristocrat support. 

But Boulanger messed with the alchemy of French politics. He killed off the monarchist groups by abandoning them just at the moment that they signed up to him. He whipped up enthusiasms that he was incapable of satisfying, fostering a contempt for the political establishment that outlasted him. Most particularly, he turned a blind eye, at the very least, to the anti-semitism of his allies (like Henri Rochefort), and Boulangisme was a gateway to overt far-right, anti-semitism for many others (like Maurice Barrès). Boulanger left the French royalist right in tatters, with a new cause in anti-semitism on the rise. The Boulanger Affair was, then, a stepping-stone on the way to the horrors of the Dreyfus Affair, in which the anti-semitism bubbling up in the late 1880s was given full expression.

This is why Donald Trump is not just a joke. The crude, narcissistic path that he is cutting through American political culture and discourse is absurd but, in the process, this stupid, ugly-hearted man is stirring up racial hatreds that will overshadow the small stain he otherwise will leave on history. The things he is saying about Muslims are ignorant lies but they are resonating in a scared culture and there are numerous examples of the vilest expressions of anti-Muslim hatred to be seen every day. Anyone with the slightest sense of responsibility would caution wisdom and intelligence and evidence, but Donald Trump doesn't care about these things. Wisdom and intelligence and evidence aren't going to get him talked about.

And so he continues to whip up blind hatred, hatred that will outlast him, even if, some time soon the news arrives that, on a golf course somewhere, clutching a picture of Ivana, he has taken his own miserable life.


NOTE

* Irvine, William D. Royalism, Boulangism, and the Origins of the Radical Right in France. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989, p. 4.

 

 

January 2, 2016 by Dan Rebellato.
  • January 2, 2016
  • Dan Rebellato
  • Post a comment
Comment

It's Christmas Time

BAND AID 2015

Verse 1

Paul Young:
IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME
THERE’S NO TIME BUT CHRISTMAS TIME
AT CHRISTMAS TIME
IT’S CHRISTMAS AND IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME

Boy George:
AND AT THIS TIME OF CHRISTMAS
LET US HAVE SOME CHRISTMAS TIME
CHRISTMAS TIME AROUND THE WORLD
AT CHRISTMAS TIME

George Michael:
BUT CHRISTMAS TIME
IT’S TIME FOR THE CHRISTMAS TIME
AT CHRISTMAS TIME

Simon Le Bon:
(ramatically) IT’S TIME! 
BUT WHEN IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME
THERE’S SOME CHRISTMAS TIME AT CHRISTMAS

Simon Le Bon & Sting:
AND IT’S THE TIME OF CHRISTMAS TIME

Tony Hadley joins in:
WHERE THE ONLY TIME OF CHRISTMAS

Close up on Sting:
IS THE CHRISTMAS CHRISTMAS TIME

Bring in Bono:
AND THE CHRISTMAS TIME OF CHRISTMAS
IS THE TIME OF CHRISTMAS TIME

Bono (solo)
(really roar this out) WELL TONIGHT IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME AT CHRISTMAS TIME!

Verse 2

Add in Paul Weller:
AND THERE WON’T BE TIME IN CHRISTMAS TIME
THIS CHRISTMAS TIME
THE GREATEST TIME AT CHRISTMAS TIME
IS TIME

Boy George:
OH-OOOH

Bono, George Michael, Paul Young and, surprisingly, Martyn Ware:
WHERE CHRISTMAS TIME IS TIME
AND THE TIME IS CHRISTMAS TIME
DO THEY KNOW IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME AT ALL?
 

Middle Eight

Martyn Ware and someone else
CHRISTMAS TIME!

Paul Young
CHRISTMAS TIME FOR EVERYONE!

Martyn Ware and someone else
CHRISTMAS TIME!

Paul Young
CHRISTMAS TIME AT CHRISTMAS TIME!
CHRISTMAS TIME AT CHRISTMAS, CHRISTMAS TIME


Chorus

Everybody
CHRIST-MAS TI-ME!
Ding dong ding dong ding ding ding dong
CHRIST-MAS TI-ME!
Ding dong ding dong ding ding ding dong
CHRIST-MAS TI-ME!
Ding dong ding dong ding ding ding dong
CHRIST-MAS TI-ME!
LET THEM KNOW IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME TIME
CHRIST-MAS TI-ME!
LET THEM KNOW IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME TIME

repeat to fade

 

 

December 25, 2015 by Dan Rebellato.
  • December 25, 2015
  • Dan Rebellato
  • Post a comment
Comment

Theatre Review of the Year: 2015

This was another terrific year, maybe not quite as thrilling as last year, but at its heights it was dizzyingly good. It seemed to me that we chose the epic and the tragic to make sense of our world. While last year I thought there were great things in all areas of theatre, looking back, this year I think the directors have it. There were some exciting plays, but nothing Pomona-like (well, apart from the return of Pomona) that made me feel I'd got a glimpse through the looking glass into a new world. In fact, new worlds weren't quite the thing this year; instead, we looked into our future by looking into our past. The Greeks, as I wrote earlier in the year, seemed to have the resources we needed to understand what our 'civilisation' is becoming. There was a great deal of bold popular theatre with a brain and a heart. Of the theatres, the Orange Tree was once again thrilling, with shows as different as Alice Birch's Little Light (directed by David Mercatali) and a captivatingly funny French Without Tears (directed by the AD Paul Miller). The Almeida continued to thrill with a vastly ambitious and on the whole brilliantly successful Greek season. I had two brilliant evenings at the Old Vic this tear and Matthew Warchus's artistic directorship looks like making the Vic an essential venue for new theatre.

New plays, though. I should say that I missed a couple of the shows which I suspect might have got into this list. debbie tucker green's hang I had tickets to but an emergency took me away. I didn't catch Hangmen and may even miss it in the West End. Elsewhere at the Court, I hugely enjoyed How to Hold Your Breath. I was slightly traumatised by Violence and Son and still am not sure if I loved it or hated it. Later in the year I found the plays a bit undercooked. At the Bush, I enjoyed Islands very much, and admired the idea of The Angry Brigade, though the production seemed a bit clumsy. The National's new plays didn't really grab me in the first half of the year, kicking off with Stoppard's stodgily undigested The Hard Problem; it won't end up in most people's end-of-year lists I suspect because there is something defiantly old-fashioned about it, but Patrick Marber's The Red Lion, in an exquisite production by Ian Rickson, was a fucking beauty, detailed, textured, truthful and with possibly the best cast of the year. Someone should force Ian Rickson to direct more. 

Whittling the list down to Top Ten has been unusually difficult because of the diversity of what has been good this year; diverse in style but all good in diverse ways. 

10. When the Terror Has Ended The Victims Will Dance (Platform Theatre)

Mark Ravenhill is one of the most tirelessly inventive writers we have and, you know what? I worry we take him for granted. He seems to try something radically different with everything he does; short plays, long plays, oratorios, sketches, monologues, adaptations, operas, and now this. This play was written for the acting students of the Drama Centre and is a large-scale, epic, pretty damn Brechtian piece about the (possibly mythical?) bals des victimes of the 1790s, in which, supposedly, aristocrats whose parents were guillotined during the Terror held ghoulish balls, recreating the lost dances, music and traditions of the ancien régime. Ravenhill has found in this something about victim culture and selfie culture, about narcissism and civilisation, and the thirst for revolution. Brilliantly choreographed and with original music, it was a staggering showcase for those acting students and a pretty great play in its own right.

9. People, Places & Things (National Theatre)

In Ravenhill's Shopping and Fucking, Mark goes into rehab and comes out with a ludicrous patter that pathologises some of the most positive human feelings. Duncan Macmillan's play follows a successful actress into rehab where she struggles with her contempt for the intellectual vacuousness of the therapy, the banal revelations, the coercive openness of the groups. At heart it's asking how do we know when are us and when we are not us? And how can we know? Perfectly, Macmillan does this by exploiting theatre itself as the metaphor and, like a lot of shows this year, it expresses a certain tiredness with the conventions of theatre as the springboard to go into something new. At moments, I had doubts about a certain mannerism in the dialogue - dialogue that is almost too good, too smart, too speakable - but you forget all that when you see that Macmillan has written a superb part for an actor, and what an actor they found. Denise Gough tears up the stage, intense, ferocious, spitting blood, sometimes raging with fury sometimes utterly lost in the world and herself. Gough has been around a while - as she's pointed out! - but this showed how corrosive her presence can be on the stage. In the white sterility of Bunny Christie's wonderful set, Gough burns like acid flung against a plastic wall. She honestly burns through this show. Catch it in the West End next year; you'll remember it always.

8. How to Hold Your Breath (Royal Court)

This got slaughtered by some of the critics. I'm not sure why, though it feels like there has been a concerted attempt by some to undermine Vicky Featherstone's leadership at the Court, Zinnie Harris's play is a kind of anti-Faust, in which the devil tries to do a deal with a reluctant earth woman. This sets the woman on picaresque journey across a decaying and crumbling Europe, ending up in the spectacle of refugees dying in their thousands in the Mediterranean. It was magical realism; it was bold and ambitious and messy and strange. Don't we want all theatre to be a bit like that?

7. High Society (Old Vic)

Okay maybe not all theatre. Sometimes the theatre achieves a kind of astonishing perfection that is entirely about itself. When I love musicals, it's not when they try to say something significant about the world but when they raise pure theatre to its highest power. I've not seen a huge number of musicals this year but I've been lucky with the ones I have. Anything Goes at the end of last year and Show Boat at the end of this one, both up at the Crucible, both directed by Daniel Evans with a perfect eye for balancing the musical's brilliant dumbness with concern for the characters and their fates. Gypsy in the West End has a magnificent performance at its heart and the thing zings along. But the one that gave me the most joy was High Society at the Old Vic; expertly re-madeby Maria Friedman, with a blistering dance and song break down at the start of the second half as they turned 'Let's Misbehave' into an extended number with tap dancing, piano duets, bluesy improvisations and it was just joy itself. The whole production was held together by the brilliant, intelligent, sparky, witty presence of Kate Fleetwood as Tracy Lord and again the balance, so important in a Cole Porter musical, between deep feeling and self-cancelling frivolity was done to perfection.

6. The Notebook (Forced Entertainment)

Am I right in thinking this is only the second time Forced Entertainment have performed a pre-existing text, the first being Sophie Calle's Exquisite Pain. The Notebook is more exquisite pain, this particular pain being the horrors of the second world war and the exquisiteness coming from a text apparently written by two Hungarian boys sent to live with their grandmother who numbly record everything they see around with a dispassion that makes the overworked stories of occupation and collaboration newly horrifying again. Standing and sitting on a stage with only two chairs and a couple of bottles of water, Richard Lowden and Robin Arthur, dressed identically, sometimes alternating, sometimes speaking in unison, speak a brilliantly filleted version of Ágota Kristóf's novel, with Forced Ents's characteristic flat, affectless clarity, unfolding an imaginative world of endless pain and trauma. It is sometimes funny, occasionally flintily graceful, but ultimately the evening has spiralled out in your mind into something completely, devastatingly shattering. The simplest of means with the maximum effect; it was theatre at its purest this year.

5. Here We Go (National Theatre)

It's been a terrific year for Churchill revivals, with a dazzling Light Shining in Buckinghamshire at the National, a bright and sharp A Number at the Old Vic and, by all accounts, a dazzling rediscovery of The Skriker at the Royal Exchange. But a new Caryl Churchill play is something else and this piece, barely 45 minutes in the playing confronts the unconfrontable: death. It's three scenes take us after and before death, both scenes pressing at the firmly closed door, showing us the banal patterings of a life remembered and the life nearing its end. In the middle we have death itself, thrown away in a gesture of representation defeated, a comic monologue about the afterlife. But the whole thing didn't feel as nihilistic as that sounded; as important was the desire to cherish life, alongside the acknowledgement that sometimes it is difficult to cherish a life, impossible to encompass it, that sometimes even living it is hard. It was the most moving and most profound 45 minutes I've spent in a theatre this year.

4. Carmen Disruption (Almeida)

Michael Longhurst directed the production of A Number at the Old Vic as well as Simon Stephens's remarkable moment-by-moment excavation of Bizet's Carmen. Stephens's text is an like intricate scaffolding placed around a venerated building that his since been destroyed leaving only the scaffold standing. Carmen is explored, investigated, reimagined in an unnamed city, bringing together a cast of opera singers, bankers, rent boys, and more to pass and collide as Europe dies around them. Images of a dying Europe were all over the theatre this year (more than half of this list has them) and it was never more bracingly caught than in the enormous gored bull dying at the centre of the Almeida stage. Longhurst's production rose to the challenge of Stephens's piece of lyric theatre writing, creating a whole landscape in which the fragments of European life trace their brutally meaningless journeys. But above the landscapes there remained an intense desire for contact, for touch, for those things that bind us together. It was a vision of a better theatre and a vision of a better life.

3. Lanark (Edinburgh International Festival)

David Greig is a good friend of mine and it's in deference to the delicate balance of a friendship that I can't bring myself to put two of his shows in my top ten, though last week I saw The Lorax which is completely bloody beautiful, a huge, joyful eco-musical that asks us all to speak for the trees, and does so with brilliant puppetry, giddily enjoyable songs, and the wittiest script of the year. There can be little higher praise to say that, even though I had a copy of The Lorax as a kid, in this show it was almost impossible to tell where Dr Seuss ended and David Greig begun. I also think it's a very characteristic dilemma that I should be weighing up whether to put Lanark or The Lorax into my top ten, one being a brightly coloured children's show, the other being a four-hour adaptation of an unstageable modern Scottish novel. Finally, I'm going with Lanark, if only because I've had four months to reflect on it and it's grown in my mind with every reflection. Lanark, by Alasdair Gray, is a magical-realist re-imagining of post-war Glasgow and Scotland. The book and the play takes us through the looking glass into Unthank, into the Institute, into a world where people turn into dragons, where plays turn against their authors. The novels multiple formal conceits were not rendered like-for-like but instead the whole adaptation (and the exquisite production by Graham Eatough) was filled with the brimming mischievous spirit of Gray's novel. Ceaselessly inventive, its chronologically disrupted acts each in quite different styles, all anchored by Sandy Grierson's sensational performance as Lanark. I hope something else happens with this; the Barbican's BITE seasons are all about showcasing the best of international theatre and London ought to see Lanark. 

2. The Oresteia (Almeida)
1. Iliad (National Theatre of Wales)

I can't really split these. I blogged earlier in the year about the Greeks and how they had come to dominate our theatrical imaginary this year. There were fine Medeas at the Gate and the Almeida. The Barbican brought Juliet Binoche in Antigone and there was a roaring Oresteia at the Glove. Thrillingly the Almeida produced full readings of The Odyssey and The Iliad, available to follow live and online, the videos of which you can still watch for a year. But the two greatest evocations of the Greeks and, so it seemed to me, of ourselves came with Robert Icke's reworking of The Oresteia at the Almeida and Mike Pearson & Mike Brookes's theatrical reimagining of The Iliad for the National Theatre of Wales. Robert Icke reworked the story, set it in a monochrome post-war world and as it began to unfold I thought, this will never work: a prime minister sacrificing his child to propitiate the Gods' favour? But it all did, the prime minister 's advisors taking him  through the cold electoral logic of murder, the medicalised 'painless' termination of Iphigenia's life, the cold conversations around the dinner table, the murders in a bath, the timestamps for every death, the remorseless countdowns that swept us along, and the beautiful austerity of the design (the best lighting of the year), this was unforgettable. And then, in Llanelli, we gathered in the Ffwrnes to see a four-part all-day staging of Christopher Logue's reworking of Homer's Iliad, courtesy of the National Theatre of Wales. The actors spoke the text, made and remade the stage around us, clashed and battled, while child Gods looked on from video screens. It was only lightly 'acted'; the performers had the text projected on screens around us, all dressed similarly in dark suits, made little attempt to inhabit character only to present character and relationship clearly and distinctly and seriously. As the siege of Troy concluded part one, with a long sequence in which (trust me on this) hundreds of white plastic garden chairs were thrown into a pile against a rear wall, my heart was racing until I thought it might burst. It felt extraordinarily thrilling and immense and terrible and extraordinary.  It's the best thing I saw this year. It might just be the best thing I've seen in a theatre. 

 

December 24, 2015 by Dan Rebellato.
  • December 24, 2015
  • Dan Rebellato
  • Post a comment
Comment

Polly Thomas

I nominated Polly Thomas for an Olwen Wymark Award. These awards were set up by the Writer's Guild of Great Britain to acknowledge people who have supported new writing and Polly has directed and produced almost all of my radio plays over the last sixteen years. She's an amazing force in my creative life and I'm delighted to say that the nomination was successful and today was the ceremony at the Royal Court Theatre to hand out the awards.

I was asked to say a few words and this is what I said.

****

All writers need a little luck and mine has been to work with Polly Thomas. When I was first trying to get into writing for radio, Sarah Frankcom, who had just directed a stage play of mine, told me that Polly had – just that month – taken up a new job as an in-house radio producer for BBC Manchester. I put a script and covering letter in the post (this was almost twenty years go) and got a call a week or so later saying she liked my ideas and would give it a go. And a month or two later I had my first radio commission.

If I’d known then that Polly Thomas would go on to become perhaps the finest, most creative, most demanding radio drama maker in this country, I don’t know if I’d have dared. But I’m glad a did because working with Polly since 1999 has been the key creative collaboration of my writing life. Polly and I started working in radio at the same time and it has I think been a shared journey of discovery, finding, in radio drama, that fusty and cosy corner of our narrative culture, a place for storytelling and experiment, for emotional intensity and panoramic reach. I sometimes feel like 16 years ago, I was brilliantly tricked into conducting an ongoing investigation into the limitlessness of sound and story.

What is so good about working with Polly is her openness: you can always take an idea for a walk in her wonderful company. She’ll support the journey, offering route adjustments, slowing and quickening the pace so we can admire the new surroundings; often we end up miles from where we expected to be, sometimes we turn back, but with Polly you never doubt the wisdom of setting out in the first place. I’ve brought many inchoate, formless and intuitive ideas to Polly – I sent her another one this week - and with her acute insights, sympathetic enthusiasms, testing questions, many of these have grown up to be proper ideas. Why don’t we adapt Gogol’s Dead Souls with Michael Palin as a really annoying narrator? Let’s do a fake-documentary about the four horseman of the apocalypse? Do you think I could write a play that is only people saying goodbye to each other? 
 
I think of the conversation when, over-excited by some reading I’ve been doing, I made the crazed suggestion that we try to pitch twenty Émile Zola novels to the BBC. Another, saner producer would have laughed in my face but Polly listened and added and thought and made it better and three years later the first season of Zola: Blood, Sex & Money has just gone out.* 

Polly supports her writers. She also protects her writers. The BBC is a great and glorious institution but it is also a snakepit of confusion, intrusion, rivalry, timidity and compromise. Or so am I told - by other writers who have the misfortune not to work with Polly Thomas. Polly shields her writers from pretty much all of that. Our collaboration is always about the work, the work, the work.

She has exquisite taste, offering clean, subtle, witty sound worlds, often in collaboration with brilliant sound designers like Steve Brooke and Eloise Whitmore. She favours and supports thoughtful and truthful actors; and she has other commitments too, for the last fifteen years every single radio project we’ve done has had a racially diverse cast because in radio, why the fuck wouldn’t you? Above all she has a liking for complex, challenging scripts. I would say that, wouldn’t I? But I look around at the other writers with whom Polly has worked - Sarah Daniels, Terence Davies, Alex Bulmer, Jack Thorne, Mark Ravenhill, April de Angelis, Laura Lomas, Mark Hadden, the incomparable Shelagh Delaney and more - I see that all of these extraordinary writers have produced some of their most extraordinary work with and for her.

Radio drama feels sometimes like an open secret. Everyone knows it; no one talks about it. If radio were theatre, Polly would be talked about in the hushed tones usually reserved for Katie Mitchell. All radio writers and producers moan about this from time to time but the advantage is you can hunker down, get on quietly with the work, and test your wildest ideas out on millions and millions of people, without anyone noticing. If radio is an open secret, Polly is my secret, maybe in fact my secret weapon. It’s a pleasure to share my secret with you today.

Thank you.


* FULL DISCLOSURE: Turned out I wasn’t the only person who thought we should do this.

December 4, 2015 by Dan Rebellato.
  • December 4, 2015
  • Dan Rebellato
  • Post a comment
Comment

Jolyon Coy in Little Eyolf Henrik Ibsen/Richard Eyre (Almeida Theatre). Photo: Hugo Glendinning

Little Eyolf

Jolyon Coy in Little Eyolf Henrik Ibsen/Richard Eyre (Almeida Theatre). Photo: Hugo Glendinning

Of the twelve great prose plays that Henrik Ibsen wrote between 1877 and 1899, perhaps the least-known and least-revived is Little Eyolf.* It's one of the last of Ibsen's plays and one of the structures you notice across his plays from The Pillars of the Community to When We Dead Awaken is the development of a ferocious realistic social criticism at the beginning, then an increasing interest in the symbolist, the metaphorical, the poetic (though without ever lapsing into poetic drama). While Pillars, A Doll's House, and Enemy of the People keep their symbols and metaphors pretty much under naturalist control, after that the images seem to overwhelm their purely materialist function. In Ghosts the metaphors and the social critique are in uneasy and fascinating tension. In The Wild Duck and Rosmersholm, characters kill themselves seemingly bidden to do so by the gravitational pull of the controlling metaphors in their lives. In The Lady from the Sea and The Master Builder, characters appear, possibly summoned by forces within the psyches of the protagonists. In Hedda Gabler and John Gabriel Borkman characters are led to their destruction by ideas themselves. Through all of the plays there is a slow movement upwards. While the early plays take place in the ground floors of solid bourgeois houses, The Wild Duck moves upwards into the attic of the Ekdal home; Solness in The Master Builder is lured to the top of the tower he has himself constructed; John Gabriel Borkman takes us from the ground floor to the first floor and then up a mountain, a move repeated by When We Dead Awaken.

Little Eyolf is right in the middle of these processes of metaphorisation and ascension. The story is, on the face of it, simple. Alfred has just returned from a writing retreat in the mountains. Rather than come back with a manuscript, however, he has come back with an idea: to help his disabled son Eyolf live a full and rich life of the mind. But Alfred's marriage with Rita is full of resentments and guilt: Eyolf is paralysed in one leg because of an accident when he was very young - as a baby he fell from a table unattended while his parents were having sex. Rita admits that sometimes she wishes he'd never been born. This confession finds a horrible echo when Eyolf drowns in the fjörd. Alfred and Rita tear their marriage apart in the aftermath. Towards the end, there is the very lightest of reconciliations as the two wonder if they might take in the orphan children from the edge of town and give them a better life.

This summary makes the play sound pretty naturalistic. And there are other elements of the play that place it squarely within that tradition. There is another character, Borgheim, an engineer, who has been building a road across the mountains and therefore stands for the fierce drive of nineteenth century progress and the march of modernity that drove so much naturalist confidence. Alfred's sister, Asta, is also in the play and, adding to Naturalism's fondness for tackling sexual taboos, we discover that she was adopted and not related, and a frisson of repressed incestuous desire between Alfred and Asta is allowed to ripple across the stage. Less sensationally, the relationship between Alfred and Rita, the tensions in a modern marriage, the way two people are capable of emotionally tearing each other apart and then finding reasons, desperate perhaps, unconvincing even, to stay together is just superbly observed. Troubled marriages were a staple of nineteenth-century theatre - so many French boulevard hits concern faithless husbands and wives - but Ibsen did something remarkable in deciding to take marriage seriously and expose it. And this play makes A Doll's House look rose-tinted.

But also, this is a play filled with poetic images, driven by them. Early in the play, the reunited family is visited by the Rat-Woman. If we're being really Naturalistic, I guess she's the town's pest control. Households with a rat problem hire her and her dog in to get rid of them. But her entrance is so evidently suggestive of something else that it's almost funny:

Begging pardon, but would the master and mistress be bothered by any things that bites and gnaws in the house? (p. 20)

Of course, it's the sexual guilt embodied in Eyolf's presence that bites and gnaws away at Alfred and Rita and it seems that she doesn't just lead rats away from a house, she can also lead problems. And because Eyolf and the guilt and mistrust between Alfred and Rita that he embodies is a problem in this marriage, she seems to be responsible for Eyolf being led to the shore, along the jetty and out into the deep sea water. But of course, not really. Or maybe really? In other words, the Rat-Woman is a character who seems to exist halfway between being in the diegetic fictional world and some non-diegetic metaphorical representation of psychological conflict (or even of primal cosmic forces that lead us to our doom). Which then also affects the death of Eyolf. Are we to take this death as real? Or is the whole play a sort of psychodrama that just externalises internal processes of desire, guilt and destruction. It would be easy to read the play as a kind of dream-like narativisation of Freud's 'primal scene' for example.

But it throws the play into confusion, because we are entitled to wonder how far the play is trying to evoke a real world at all. This play, more than any other, is poised precisely on the line between Naturalism and Symbolism. By these terms I mean something specific. Naturalism being a particular movement in theatre that begun being discussed and campaigned for in the mid-1860s.  It favoured unblinking attention to real life, exposure of social taboos, fierce social criticism, looking to scientific materialism as the presiding impulse of the work. It finally emerged as a fully theatrical movement - and not merely a trend in dramatic literature - twenty years later. By that time, Naturalism was widely thought to have run its course and the smart money was on Symbolism, Naturalism's opposite, a wholly immaterial, mystical, metaphysical theatre that thought the everyday was an illusion that masked the higher mysteries of the cosmos.

If Naturalism in the theatre can be properly dated from 1887 with the foundation of the Théâtre Libre in Paris, Symbolism in the theatre can be dated from the founding of the Théâtre d'Art in 1890, a mere three years later. The battle was engaged in theatre - as well as in painting and the novel - because both were radically discontented with theatre but for very different reasons. The Naturalists found the theatre unsatisfactory because of its conventions, its fakery, its illusions, it audience that bayed for entertainment, diversion and unreality. The Symbolists found the theatre unsatisfactory because of its prosaic realness, its foursquare materialism, its earthbound ordinariness, and its audience that entered only sceptically into any evocation of the Beyond.

And versions of the contest between the two spread right across Europe from Spain to Russia. They are certainly felt in this play, which feels like a play that undecidedly partakes of both movements. It is both here and there, real and fable, exterior reality and subjective intensity.

This is why the play is so difficult to produce. Any decision about the staging has to mediate between two opposing theatrical languages. To you emphasise the symbolic or the real? These choices ripple out right across the play, informing acting, design, language, light, costume and more. France was slow to take to Ibsen. Early productions of his plays were greeted with contempt; he was considered disagreeably gloomy, too Northern European. But for France in the 1880s, still reeling from their loss in the Franco-Prussian War, anything severely Germanic would have seemed disagreeable to them. It was really when the Symbolists started doing Ibsen that Paris took him to their heart. Little Eyolf was first produced in France by the Théâtre de l'Oeuvre (a successor to the Théâtre d'Art, and a much more successful Symbolist company), less than four months after its world premiere, the shortest gap between world and French premieres of any of Ibsen's plays. The Théâtre de l'Oeuvre's production stressed the play's foreboding, dreamlike qualities, its intimations of the celestial and the mythological, certainly to the detriment of the play's naturalistic or realistic aspects. The company's director Aurélien Lugné-Poe, who was (in)famous for his otherworldly spiritual performances (Jules Lemaître famously described his onstage persona as 'the sleeping clergyman') and this tone of reverential reverie may have affected his performance, as contemporary critics admitted to finding the play completely baffling in its elusive evocation of dark psychic and natural forces.

Richard Eyre for at the Almeida has done the opposite. His is a play primarily of real people, real relationships, and real grief. In his introduction, he says this explicitly, refusing to fall for the idea that the Rat-Woman, for instance, is anything other than a real figure from rural life. And he is onto something. Naturalism survived; Symbolism came and went. The play's heart is in a couple's evisceration of each other in the aftermath of two deaths: of their child and their love for each other. Some of the mysterious intimations of the story fall a little flat now. The naturalism of the play is probably right to stress, although it risks leaving some of the play's complexity dangling.

And much of it works. Lydia Leonard is really terrific as Rita. Smouldering and sexy and frustrated and modern. I found Jolyon a little more mannered, though to be fair to him his character is an idealist philosopher whose ideas lift him fatally above human responsibilities, so making him very grounded would be tricky. There's a decent subplot, a slightly awkward flirtation between the engineer and the sister, which zips by effectively. Eyre has Eileen Walsh play the Rat Woman as a local eccentric, somewhere close to Maddie Rooney from Beckett's All That Fall, and her earthiness squashes any hint of the supernatural, probably to the benefit of the play.

It's the pace of the thing that is striking, for good and bad. Little Eyolf is one of Ibsen's shortest plays, but his model for this is the brilliant 90-minute version of Ghosts that he did in 2013. Ghosts is a simpler play and its metaphorical moments (the title among other things) are held fairly firmly in the service of the naturalism. As a result, this quick-paced version had all the power of a classical tragedy as the family is led to its horrific destruction. This version is even shorter, not much more than 80 minutes long. The idea I guess is to let the play sweep Eyolf to his death and then let the horror and bitterness tumble out in the aftermath. It removes any hint of self-indulgence from the play and the incomprehension of the play's first audience is banished here. It's crisp and clear.

For me it was just all a bit too quick. The production doesn't allow the horror of things sit long enough to really weigh on us. Eyolf's death comes so quick, he's hardly had a chance to live for us (despite a completely delightful performance by Adam Greaves-Neal, Tim Hibberd or Billy Marlow [not sure which of the three played Eyolf on my night]). Rita's rejection of Alfred's high-minded plans for Eyolf in scene 1 seemed remarkably hasty, even casual. And the couple fall apart and make their tentative plans to try again with, really, indecent haste. It's not helped by some rather emotionally tin-eared rendering of the dialogue. In the middle scene which takes place only 28 hours after Eyolf's death, Asta tells her brother 'you've got to stop brooding' (p. 46) which seems implausibly insensitive. And given that their son was drowned in the fjörd, the undertow sweeping him out to sea, would Rita really say without blushing, 'now I'm completely at sea. I'm lost' (p. 55)? Where the text for Ghosts was taut but undemonstrative, this version struggles to capture the intensities of the feelings that Eyre wants to place at its heart.

Tim Hatley's design is strong. The scene is enclosed in a wooden frame suggestive of a porch overlooking the fjörd, behind it a backdrop of mountain, the whole thing capturing a sense of confinement and sublime magnificence. But that's pulling us more towards the Symbolist notes of the play, as, indeed, are the (to me over-literal) video projections that show us water and - see above - the dead child. The costumes were intended, I suspect, to be neutrally in period and yet plausibly still modern, though, actually, I found them too period and so the thing felt distant from us. Peter Mumford's lighting captures a range of moods and tones that worked strongly for me.

This is my third Eyolf. The most haunting was an RSC production in 1997 with Robert Glenister and Joanne Pearce in the Swan, the open stage, the boards, the light offering simplicity in which the plays mystery could hang in the air. There was a bold attempt by Samuel Adamson to relocate the play to 1950s Britain in his Mrs Affleck at the Cottesloe in 2009, directed by Marianne Elliott with Claire Skinner and Angus Wright. And this is the third. None of them seem to me to quite have found how to do this difficult difficult play. What Eyre does let us do, though, is tear apart the play to find its bruised and bleeding heart.


NOTE

* The exception is the last of those plays, When We Dead Awaken, which is the weirdest of them all and has a 'challenging' final stage direction that asks the director to conjure up an avalanche on stage. Mind you, Ibsen has form in this respect, since Brand also ends with an avalanche, though he didn't even mean that play to be stageable. After eleven highly stageable plays, Ibsen, at the end of his life, obviously wanted to piss directors off again.

December 3, 2015 by Dan Rebellato.
  • December 3, 2015
  • Dan Rebellato
  • Post a comment
Comment
Newer
Older

Dan Rebellato

playwright, teacher, academic

 

You may be here because you’ve come across a book, or play, or article of mine and you want to know more. Maybe you’re a student or a colleague or a friend or an acquaintance and you want to find out more about me. Maybe you are gathering ammunition for a vicious ad hominem attack that will expose me for the charlatan that I am.  

If so, you’ve come to the right place. Feel free to get in touch.

  • News
  • Spilled Ink
    • Complete List of Plays
    • 7 Ghosts
    • Cavalry
    • Chekhov in Hell
    • Dead Souls
    • Emily Rising
    • Here's What I Did With My Body One Day
    • Killer
    • Mile End
    • Negative Signs of Progress
    • My Life Is a Series of People Saying Goodbye
    • Restless Dreams
    • Slow Air
    • Slow Beasts
    • Static
    • Theatremorphosis
    • You & Me
    • Zola: Blood, Sex & Money
    • Complete List of Publications
    • 1956 and All That
    • Cambridge Companion to British Theatre since 1945
    • Contemporary European Playwrights
    • Contemporary European Theatre Directors
    • Modern British Playwriting 2000-2009
    • No Theatre Guild Attraction Are We
    • On Churchill's Influences
    • Paris Commune
    • Playwriting
    • Sarah Kane before Blasted
    • Sarah Kane Documentary
    • The Suspect Culture Book
    • Theatre &
    • Theatre & Globalization
    • When We Talk of Horses
    • Writ Large
  • Stage Directions
  • Wilding Audio
  • Links
  • About
  • Contact

image.jpg
0014-hwid-full.jpg
photo[1].jpg
shapeimage_1.png

twitter