The artistic director of the Rose Theatre in Kingston, Stephen Unwin, has written a blog for the Guardian, apparently asking “Do we stage too much Shakespeare?”.
Having tried to work out what he was trying to say, or ask, several times, I've resorted to offering an edited version of the above piece here in the hope that it'll make more sense.
In the below version, I've pruned the verbiage, the filler and the weasel-words in the hope of uncovering his argument or question.
I have left aside the headline and the standfirst as they are seldom the work of the author, and in this case directly contradict what he says in the piece.
So: (orig. para. breaks)
Is British theatre addicted to Shakespeare?
Let me try to call for fewer productions.
There are several intellectual flaws in the argument: "the plays are universal in their appeal,"
or that: "Shakespeare has something for everyone and every new production is an addition to the sum of what we know"
This places a huge pressure on directors and designers to come up with new ideas.
Critics need novelties to write about and capture their imagination.
Theatre managements want their productions to have a unique selling point.
The result is celebrity-led productions of a few of the most famous plays.
Without this packaging the plays might not survive the commercial rigours of the modern theatre.
But we should still ask: "what is it that these first-time audiences are being offered?"
Are we revealing the heart of the play to those among the audience who are experiencing these masterpieces for the first time?
A handful of plays have become so familiar that it can be hard to see them objectively.
We take the plays and the astonishing language in which they're written for granted.
Theatre's endless circling round a few well-known titles is making it hard for both audience and producers to engage in a direct relationship with the original material.
We should reassess our assumptions about Shakespeare's contemporary relevance.
My argument is for a more scrupulous engagement with the complex web of social, psychological and political realism that is the mark of his genius – and a greater scepticism about the claim that Shakespeare can be all things to all people.
A discussion about our addiction to a few popular titles and our priorities in staging them is overdue.
Especially when we are concerned with the enormous number of people who come to the plays for the first time every year.
_____________
[especially when] We are concerned with the enormous number of people who come to [Shakespeares's] plays for the first time every year.
A discussion about our addiction to a few popular titles and our priorities in staging them is overdue.
My argument is for a more scrupulous engagement with the complex web of social, psychological and political realism that is the mark of his genius – and a greater scepticism about the claim that Shakespeare can be all things to all people.
We should reassess our assumptions about Shakespeare's contemporary relevance.
Theatre's endless circling round a few well-known titles is making it hard for both audience and producers to engage in a direct relationship with the original material.
We take the plays and the astonishing language in which they're written for granted.
A handful of plays have become so familiar that it can be hard to see them objectively.
Are we revealing the heart of the play to those among the audience who are experiencing these masterpieces for the first time?
Without this packaging the plays might not survive the commercial rigours of the modern theatre.
The result is celebrity-led productions of a few of the most famous plays.
But we should still ask: "what is it that these first-time audiences are being offered?"
Theatre managements want their productions to have a unique selling point.
Critics need novelties to write about and capture their imagination.
This places a huge pressure that it places on directors and designers to come up with new ideas.
There are several intellectual flaws in the argument: "the plays are universal in their appeal,"
or: "Shakespeare has something for everyone and every new production is an addition to the sum of what we know"
Let me try to call for fewer productions.
Is British theatre addicted to Shakespeare?
___________
Arranged like this, we can see much more clearly where the argument falters and fails, what is extraneous, and where false jumps of logic are made.
Allow me to run it as a dialogue:
Stephen Unwin: I am concerned with the enormous number of people who come to [Shakespeare's] plays for the first time every year.
Postcards: Are you, Stephen? Why so?
SU: A discussion about our addiction to a few popular titles and our priorities in staging them is overdue.
Postcards: Ok.
SU: My argument is for a more scrupulous engagement with the complex web of social, psychological and political realism that is the mark of his genius – and a greater scepticism about the claim that Shakespeare can be all things to all people.
Postcards: Well, as long as you realise that asserting that “the complex web of social, psychological and political realism” is “the mark of his genius” makes the second bit, which would otherwise sound quite interesting, sound quite suspect.
SU: We should reassess our assumptions about Shakespeare's contemporary relevance.
Postcards: That's better. I'm all ears.
SU: Theatre's endless circling round a few well-known titles is making it hard for both audience and producers to engage in a direct relationship with the original material.
Postcards: Hang on, are we still “concerned with the enormous number of people who come to Shakespeare's plays for the first time every year”? And what do you mean by “a direct relationship with the original material”? What is the “original material”of Shakespeare's work aside from the words themselves on paper? An audience in a theatre really cannot possibly not have those words mediated before them. Otherwise you'd be proposing just having a book on a stage for people to read (a “direct relationship”). Or perhaps surtitles.
SU: We take the plays and the astonishing language in which they're written for granted.
Postcards: If we're not “the enormous number of people who come to the plays for the first time every year” (who I'm beginning to suspect are not, in fact, those with whom you're concerned. Nor, more importantly are they the easily identifiable constituency you appear to imagine with this glib catch-all term) then we know how they're written, yes. I'm not sure if that's “taking them for granted” though. Isn't it just “knowledge”? On the other hand, if I'd never heard of Shakespeare before, I'd now already have your entirely unverifiable assertion of his genius to go on. And isn't that kind of how nearly everyone – certainly in Britain – first comes to Shakespeare; with an assurance of National Genius and a dog-earred copy of R&J or Macbeth in the third or fourth year at secondary school? It is still, I believe, a legal requirement, for that to be the case, in fact. So when you say “people who come to the plays for the first time every year”, do you in fact mean "14-year-olds"? Or do you mean “seeing Shakespeare” (“live”, or, indeed, “mediated”?)?
SU: A handful of plays have become so familiar that it can be hard to see them objectively.
Postcards: Now what do you mean by objectively? I'm hoping that you mean “subjectively, but without the baggage of having seen lots of other productions of them”, because that really, truly is all anyone is ever going to see, Stephen. You don't hold the key to “objectively” understanding Shakespeare any more than Jan Kott, Rupert Goold or David Tennant do. (I'm giving you an easy time, by the way. I could have gone for “can be hard to” - when you know full well it is impossible to see anything objectively) (also, for whom, precisely is it hard?).
SU: Are we revealing the heart of the play to those among the audience who are experiencing these masterpieces for the first time?
Postcards: Now, let's assume plays do have a “heart”. What would that look like, and how would it manifest itself on a stage? Do you have an answer for that? What is “the heart” of William Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing?
I'm not a medical man, but my understanding is that hearts function much better when not “revealed”. Their function is to pump blood around the rest of the body and do so better when nestled happily behind layers of skin and flesh and the ribcage. It's also my understanding – and, look, you started this metaphor, so don't look at me like that – it's also my understanding that, over time, the heart's function can decrease with age. People (or, uh, plays) benefit from advances in medical science. Hearts can be operated upon. Improved. Put back to working order. Have pacemakers fitted. Yes, it's possible to look at an old heart pickled in a jar. You could even put that jar on public display, but that's not really the same thing as a working heart, is it?
SU: The result is celebrity-led productions of a few of the most famous plays. Without this packaging the plays might not survive the commercial rigours of the modern theatre.
Now, let's think about this for a moment. Is that actually true? I pruned your examples, but they were David Tennant and Patrick Stewart. Now, what are David Tennant and Patrick Stewart? That's right, they are actors. What's more, they're both actually rather good actors. David Tennant, especially, is great. I saw him in The Pillowman at the National years ago. Did you see that? He was great. So were Jim Broadbent and Adam Godley (who are also a bit famous).
Allow me to run it as a dialogue:
Stephen Unwin: I am concerned with the enormous number of people who come to [Shakespeare's] plays for the first time every year.
Postcards: Are you, Stephen? Why so?
SU: A discussion about our addiction to a few popular titles and our priorities in staging them is overdue.
Postcards: Ok.
SU: My argument is for a more scrupulous engagement with the complex web of social, psychological and political realism that is the mark of his genius – and a greater scepticism about the claim that Shakespeare can be all things to all people.
Postcards: Well, as long as you realise that asserting that “the complex web of social, psychological and political realism” is “the mark of his genius” makes the second bit, which would otherwise sound quite interesting, sound quite suspect.
SU: We should reassess our assumptions about Shakespeare's contemporary relevance.
Postcards: That's better. I'm all ears.
SU: Theatre's endless circling round a few well-known titles is making it hard for both audience and producers to engage in a direct relationship with the original material.
Postcards: Hang on, are we still “concerned with the enormous number of people who come to Shakespeare's plays for the first time every year”? And what do you mean by “a direct relationship with the original material”? What is the “original material”of Shakespeare's work aside from the words themselves on paper? An audience in a theatre really cannot possibly not have those words mediated before them. Otherwise you'd be proposing just having a book on a stage for people to read (a “direct relationship”). Or perhaps surtitles.
SU: We take the plays and the astonishing language in which they're written for granted.
Postcards: If we're not “the enormous number of people who come to the plays for the first time every year” (who I'm beginning to suspect are not, in fact, those with whom you're concerned. Nor, more importantly are they the easily identifiable constituency you appear to imagine with this glib catch-all term) then we know how they're written, yes. I'm not sure if that's “taking them for granted” though. Isn't it just “knowledge”? On the other hand, if I'd never heard of Shakespeare before, I'd now already have your entirely unverifiable assertion of his genius to go on. And isn't that kind of how nearly everyone – certainly in Britain – first comes to Shakespeare; with an assurance of National Genius and a dog-earred copy of R&J or Macbeth in the third or fourth year at secondary school? It is still, I believe, a legal requirement, for that to be the case, in fact. So when you say “people who come to the plays for the first time every year”, do you in fact mean "14-year-olds"? Or do you mean “seeing Shakespeare” (“live”, or, indeed, “mediated”?)?
SU: A handful of plays have become so familiar that it can be hard to see them objectively.
Postcards: Now what do you mean by objectively? I'm hoping that you mean “subjectively, but without the baggage of having seen lots of other productions of them”, because that really, truly is all anyone is ever going to see, Stephen. You don't hold the key to “objectively” understanding Shakespeare any more than Jan Kott, Rupert Goold or David Tennant do. (I'm giving you an easy time, by the way. I could have gone for “can be hard to” - when you know full well it is impossible to see anything objectively) (also, for whom, precisely is it hard?).
SU: Are we revealing the heart of the play to those among the audience who are experiencing these masterpieces for the first time?
Postcards: Now, let's assume plays do have a “heart”. What would that look like, and how would it manifest itself on a stage? Do you have an answer for that? What is “the heart” of William Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing?
I'm not a medical man, but my understanding is that hearts function much better when not “revealed”. Their function is to pump blood around the rest of the body and do so better when nestled happily behind layers of skin and flesh and the ribcage. It's also my understanding – and, look, you started this metaphor, so don't look at me like that – it's also my understanding that, over time, the heart's function can decrease with age. People (or, uh, plays) benefit from advances in medical science. Hearts can be operated upon. Improved. Put back to working order. Have pacemakers fitted. Yes, it's possible to look at an old heart pickled in a jar. You could even put that jar on public display, but that's not really the same thing as a working heart, is it?
SU: The result is celebrity-led productions of a few of the most famous plays. Without this packaging the plays might not survive the commercial rigours of the modern theatre.
Now, let's think about this for a moment. Is that actually true? I pruned your examples, but they were David Tennant and Patrick Stewart. Now, what are David Tennant and Patrick Stewart? That's right, they are actors. What's more, they're both actually rather good actors. David Tennant, especially, is great. I saw him in The Pillowman at the National years ago. Did you see that? He was great. So were Jim Broadbent and Adam Godley (who are also a bit famous).
Now, yes, since then he's been on telly in Dr Who; so more people know who he is; because Dr Who is quite popular. Which might also be down to the fact that David Tennant is a pretty good actor. So, yes he's famous, which, I suppose, sort-of makes him a “celebrity”. But he's hardly famous-for-being-famous. As soon as there's a Jedward-led revival of A Comedy of Errors, I'll be right there with you smelling a rat, but until that point, is this “celebrity-led” or is this “famous-excellent-actor-led”?
Was the first incarnation of the National Theatre “celebrity-led” because Lawrence Olivier was the first artistic director? Was it “celebrity casting” to have John Gielgud and Ralph Richardson in all those plays? Or were they famous because a lot of people all agreed that they very much liked watching them act? (Of course, your very use of the word “celebrity” mires the middle of this debate with so much unconscious class-contempt that I don't even want to start to get into it...)
SU: But we should still ask: "what is it that these first-time audiences are being offered?"
Postcards: Well, apparently it's: great actors in a really good production of a play by William Shakespeare according to all the reviews (including blogs). (x2 if you include the Globe, with its £5 tickets and its Eve Best off of The Shadowline in a bit of “celebrity casting”)
SU: Theatre managements want their productions to have a unique selling point.
Critics need novelties to write about and capture their imagination.
Postcards: Well, that's horseshit, isn't it? Theatre Critics need theatre to write about and capture their imaginations, sure. And you might well dispute the particular things happen to capture the imaginations of particular critics, but, “novelties”? Come on. You can do better than that. I mean, seriously, what strikes you as more true: “Britain's theatre critics, as a breed, are in the thrall to novelty”, or: “On the whole, Britain's theatre critics tend to have an instinctive mistrust of anything they perceive as novelty”?
SU: This places a huge pressure on directors and designers to come up with new ideas.
Postcards: It's tempting just to say “good” and leave it at that. But.
Well, it's even easier than that. The question is: what do you think would happen if there wasn't this “pressure” which you perceive being placed on directors and designers (apparently largely by novelty-hungry critics)? And are you seriously proposing that the sole driver of “new ideas” in the field of Shakespeare production is the novelty-needing British theatre-critical establishment?
Take the critics out of the equation. There are no critics. Imaginary scenario: you will get exactly the same audience – let's say you'll sell out – no matter what you do. Let's say you've sold out the entire run in advance. So, what do you do?
Do you see my point? You still have to do *something*. What do you really want to be doing? I know, I know. You want to “reveal the heart of the play”. Well, fine. But the actors still have to wear something (or not. Still a choice). And they'll have to stand on something. And they'll presumably have to be lit in some way or other – even if it's just the house lights, or a really clever trick of lighting design making it look like they really are right outside in the open air.
Let me put this as gently as I can: there is nothing you can do which isn't going to put you and your designer's vision of the play between the written text and the audience.
Of course you're welcome to argue for the primacy of your version of events. I think that's almost a crucial prerequisite of being an artist/director. Of course you can think it can only be done your way, and that is why you're doing it your way. I do think it's crass not to recognise that it is only your way, though. No matter how right you might believe you are.
SU: There are several intellectual flaws in the argument: "the plays are universal in their appeal,"
Postcards: Sure. Although, as we see above, we're all of us subject to the odd intellectual flaw. If that's not a rationale that works for you, ditch it. All I'd say is that it has clearly worked for other people (even though I'd agree and that I think it's “wrong” too). It's a bit like the fact that Katie Mitchell often seems to make this transcendent, arty work, while thinking she's strictly observing some sort of Stanislavskian method, even as her performers dance and look straight through the fourth wall – even from some really wonky theory, great productions can spring.
SU: [there are also several flaws in the argument that] "Shakespeare has something for everyone and every new production is an addition to the sum of what we know"
Postcards: Might it not be the case that people (directors) actually argue: “I want to do this play because it speaks to me (perhaps: “this is what I think its heart is”), and I'd like to make it speak to as many other people as possible”? And further people (the audience) argue: “well, crumbs, that certainly spoke to me and to the people I've spoken to about it. And, yes, it made me think about the play in a totally different way, for which I'm grateful”.
SU: Let me try to call for fewer productions [of plays by Shakespeare].
Postcards: Why? This seems to come from nowhere.
I wasn't going to bring this up, but, do you remember what you said in April?
Your application for Arts Council funding had just been unsuccessful, and you wrote a blog about it for the Guardian. The bit I'm thinking of in particular (you'll notice that I haven't dragged Dame Judi Dench into this for a bit of cheap point-scoring at all) is your conclusion:
What I find curious is that now you're not making a slightly contentious claim for south-west London's under-servédness in terms of theatres, you're saying that an “avalanche of Hamlets that engulfs us every other year”.
Now, as far as I'm aware, the Rose, Kingston, hasn't done a Hamlet yet (although you're hardly making much of a case for attendance of The Rose Youth Theatre's all-female (novelty!) production (set in the 1930s(!)) starring Grace Molony (Michael's daughter? “Celebrity”-by-proxy?!) on 7th & 9th July). And yet you're still content to allege that “we” are “engulfed” by an “avalanche” (3, plus Sheffield), even while the poor people of south-west London are underserved.
Come on. Buck up. Which is it?
Yes, you have a point about a local theatre being excellent for a community. And, yes, local is different to 20 minutes away by high-speed rail connection. But, really, who is being “engulfed” by the “avalanche”? “Local” aside, surely people can pick and choose which productions they want to go and see. Especially in London.
And again, yes, the fact there were three Hamlets in London in the past couple of years did mean that three other (possibly Shakespeare) plays weren't performed. On the other hand. All three Hamlets sold out. To the extent I didn't get to be engulfed in the avalanche of a single one of them. Nor did lots of other people. So where does that leave us?
Doesn't it suggest that there was sufficient public appetite for these productions to have run for longer, had there been the resources and had the cast been available? Moreover, where's this novelty you're scared of in these avalanchey Hamlets? Granted, I didn't see any of them (apart from the one I saw ont telly at Christmas), but weren't they actually all quite concerned with “doing the play”? Nothing I read about any of them suggested any significant degree of heart-obscuring.
In conclusion, I think your argument is flawed. It's flawed because you're being dishonest about what you want to say. What you seem to be edging toward asking is this:
SU: Is British theatre addicted to Shakespeare?
Postcards: This is a completely different question to the one that you discuss.
Good night.
SU: But we should still ask: "what is it that these first-time audiences are being offered?"
Postcards: Well, apparently it's: great actors in a really good production of a play by William Shakespeare according to all the reviews (including blogs). (x2 if you include the Globe, with its £5 tickets and its Eve Best off of The Shadowline in a bit of “celebrity casting”)
SU: Theatre managements want their productions to have a unique selling point.
Critics need novelties to write about and capture their imagination.
Postcards: Well, that's horseshit, isn't it? Theatre Critics need theatre to write about and capture their imaginations, sure. And you might well dispute the particular things happen to capture the imaginations of particular critics, but, “novelties”? Come on. You can do better than that. I mean, seriously, what strikes you as more true: “Britain's theatre critics, as a breed, are in the thrall to novelty”, or: “On the whole, Britain's theatre critics tend to have an instinctive mistrust of anything they perceive as novelty”?
SU: This places a huge pressure on directors and designers to come up with new ideas.
Postcards: It's tempting just to say “good” and leave it at that. But.
Well, it's even easier than that. The question is: what do you think would happen if there wasn't this “pressure” which you perceive being placed on directors and designers (apparently largely by novelty-hungry critics)? And are you seriously proposing that the sole driver of “new ideas” in the field of Shakespeare production is the novelty-needing British theatre-critical establishment?
Take the critics out of the equation. There are no critics. Imaginary scenario: you will get exactly the same audience – let's say you'll sell out – no matter what you do. Let's say you've sold out the entire run in advance. So, what do you do?
Do you see my point? You still have to do *something*. What do you really want to be doing? I know, I know. You want to “reveal the heart of the play”. Well, fine. But the actors still have to wear something (or not. Still a choice). And they'll have to stand on something. And they'll presumably have to be lit in some way or other – even if it's just the house lights, or a really clever trick of lighting design making it look like they really are right outside in the open air.
Let me put this as gently as I can: there is nothing you can do which isn't going to put you and your designer's vision of the play between the written text and the audience.
Of course you're welcome to argue for the primacy of your version of events. I think that's almost a crucial prerequisite of being an artist/director. Of course you can think it can only be done your way, and that is why you're doing it your way. I do think it's crass not to recognise that it is only your way, though. No matter how right you might believe you are.
SU: There are several intellectual flaws in the argument: "the plays are universal in their appeal,"
Postcards: Sure. Although, as we see above, we're all of us subject to the odd intellectual flaw. If that's not a rationale that works for you, ditch it. All I'd say is that it has clearly worked for other people (even though I'd agree and that I think it's “wrong” too). It's a bit like the fact that Katie Mitchell often seems to make this transcendent, arty work, while thinking she's strictly observing some sort of Stanislavskian method, even as her performers dance and look straight through the fourth wall – even from some really wonky theory, great productions can spring.
SU: [there are also several flaws in the argument that] "Shakespeare has something for everyone and every new production is an addition to the sum of what we know"
Postcards: Might it not be the case that people (directors) actually argue: “I want to do this play because it speaks to me (perhaps: “this is what I think its heart is”), and I'd like to make it speak to as many other people as possible”? And further people (the audience) argue: “well, crumbs, that certainly spoke to me and to the people I've spoken to about it. And, yes, it made me think about the play in a totally different way, for which I'm grateful”.
SU: Let me try to call for fewer productions [of plays by Shakespeare].
Postcards: Why? This seems to come from nowhere.
I wasn't going to bring this up, but, do you remember what you said in April?
Your application for Arts Council funding had just been unsuccessful, and you wrote a blog about it for the Guardian. The bit I'm thinking of in particular (you'll notice that I haven't dragged Dame Judi Dench into this for a bit of cheap point-scoring at all) is your conclusion:
“We wanted to become a theatrical centre for the huge number of people across south-west London, who for no fault of their own have been underserved. ACE's latest carve-up does nothing to redress that imbalance.”
Now, as far as I'm aware, the Rose, Kingston, hasn't done a Hamlet yet (although you're hardly making much of a case for attendance of The Rose Youth Theatre's all-female (novelty!) production (set in the 1930s(!)) starring Grace Molony (Michael's daughter? “Celebrity”-by-proxy?!) on 7th & 9th July). And yet you're still content to allege that “we” are “engulfed” by an “avalanche” (3, plus Sheffield), even while the poor people of south-west London are underserved.
Come on. Buck up. Which is it?
Yes, you have a point about a local theatre being excellent for a community. And, yes, local is different to 20 minutes away by high-speed rail connection. But, really, who is being “engulfed” by the “avalanche”? “Local” aside, surely people can pick and choose which productions they want to go and see. Especially in London.
And again, yes, the fact there were three Hamlets in London in the past couple of years did mean that three other (possibly Shakespeare) plays weren't performed. On the other hand. All three Hamlets sold out. To the extent I didn't get to be engulfed in the avalanche of a single one of them. Nor did lots of other people. So where does that leave us?
Doesn't it suggest that there was sufficient public appetite for these productions to have run for longer, had there been the resources and had the cast been available? Moreover, where's this novelty you're scared of in these avalanchey Hamlets? Granted, I didn't see any of them (apart from the one I saw ont telly at Christmas), but weren't they actually all quite concerned with “doing the play”? Nothing I read about any of them suggested any significant degree of heart-obscuring.
In conclusion, I think your argument is flawed. It's flawed because you're being dishonest about what you want to say. What you seem to be edging toward asking is this:
“Why should Shakespeare's plays ever be done differently to what I imagine to be “correctly” or “properly”? The only reason these directors do them differently to “how they're meant to be done” is that they're either pandering to the plebs, updating them to make them “relevant” (a concept which I don't understand) and chucking in people from the telly. Or else it's the critics, who are all so eaten up with ennui by the thought of seeing Shakespeare done exactly as it's meant to be done that they'd clearly much rather see Pete Postlethwaite with a big train set than King Lear done properly.
As a result, despite the fact only about 400 people a night can see any given performance of a play, I propose we stop doing all the plays I've seen hundred of times before, until the critics and the public come to their senses and pay my revolutionarily pure stagings the respect that I'm certain they deserve.”
SU: Is British theatre addicted to Shakespeare?
Postcards: This is a completely different question to the one that you discuss.
Good night.
