One of the skills advantageous in being
a critic is spotting a coming trend. But let’s not claim credit
where none is due. When I lambasted Lisa Forrell’s husband for
trotting out the “Our show was misunderstood… how dare they rush to
moral judgement” defence in respect of
Rue Magique, little did I suspect
that exactly the same line would be taken shortly afterwards on the
early closure of Imagine This. Producer Beth Trachtenberg
declared, ““Night after night we have seen audiences stirred to the
depths of their emotions by this show. Fundamentally I do not
think the critics should be making a moral judgment over the subject
matter and moreover that they are generally not prepared to embrace
musicals. I’ve witnessed the public’s response to the show that
is directly opposed to a narrow-minded critical belief that musicals
are limited in their emotional impact and ability to deal with
meaningful subject matter in a powerful and sensitive manner.”
Without going over too much of the same ground again – as you can see
in the reviews printed in this issue, virtually no-one said that a
subject as sensitive as the Warsaw Ghetto should not be dealt with in a
musical; what they said was that it needed to be handled skilfully, and
wasn’t – it’s worth noting the phenomenal amount of spin being served
by Trachtenberg. Yes, of course she saw audiences stirred by the
material; it was very stirring… fulsomely so, in fact. The show
was downright manipulative, having no room for any emotional response
other than the specifics desired from moment to moment. In
general, we may expect a fairly specific intellectual and emotional
response to the Holocaust (i.e. we’re against it), but to find that
response transmuted into well-shepherded sentimentality is
unpalatable. Quentin Letts, provocative as ever, puts his finger
on it: the show, he says, contains “sugar in industrial quantities”.
Desperate
In fact, the problem was that the writers and producers found a
richness and complexity of response which they hadn’t expected and
weren’t equipped for. They come from a particular branch of
American televisual culture… now, this isn’t snobbery, just a
recognition that the values of a nice, warm TV series such as
Touched By An Angel (which writer
Glenn Berenbeim produced) are not those of a West End theatre
audience. They were in an unfamiliar medium, in an unfamiliar
country (the old epigram about “two nations divided by a common
language” seems apt here), and simply did not know what they were
letting themselves in for. Rashly, they attempted to remake the
values of this sector in an image they were more accustomed to.
But it didn’t work. Trachtenberg may well have witnessed a
heartening public response to the show, but how much of a public?
During the run of the show she appeared on the BBC’s
Today radio news programme to
confront Norman Lebrecht of the
Evening
Standard, whose response to the show (of which he had seen only
a part, and in rehearsal only) was indeed everything that her
subsequent statement deplores. (Perhaps she found herself, later,
mixing Lebrecht up with reviewers who had actually seen the
thing…) Trachtenberg scored a wonderful publicity coup by
offering, live on air, 800 free tickets to that evening’s performance
so that listeners could make up their own minds. It was a
brilliant move, but also indicative of how poorly the production must
have been selling: even on the assumption that only a fraction of those
800 tickets would be claimed, that’s quite a lot of empty
seating. I saw the show the night after its press opening, and
there were already swathes of the New London Theatre empty then.
In this light, Trachtenberg’s offer comes more to resemble the
desperate guarantee offered by the producers of now-legendary musical
disaster
The Fields Of Ambrosia:
money back at interval if not completely satisfied. (I have fond
memories of Jeremy Paxman interviewing that show’s producer on BBC-TV’s
Newsnight, and cutting
straight to the heart of the matter with, “Let’s face it, it’s crap,
isn’t it?”) Look, it didn’t work; live with it.
Premature
And the early closures continue. The production details for
Treasure Island overleaf record
its planned closing date of 28 February; this issue’s Contents page
opposite, which went to press a day later, records its premature
curtain on 10 January. If
Imagine
This was too much of one thing and not enough of others,
Treasure Island is far too much of
neither one thing nor the other. It is not an entry in the
factitious genre of “posh panto” (which was in any case entirely a
press-manufactured label in the face of pantomime productions at the
Barbican and the Old Vic, neither of which is panto-ing this year), nor
a piece of dextrously staged storytelling, nor a thrilling rendition of
an adventure yarn, nor… well, anything you care to suggest,
Treasure Island isn’t it. It
would, however, have been greatly enlivened if John Nathan’s slip of
the keyboard had been true, and the protagonist, rather than young Jim
Hawkins, had been gravelly-voiced character actor the late Jack Hawkins.
Arguably, the nearest thing to “posh panto” currently playing in London
is Tarell Alvin McCraney’s
Wig
Out! Well, it has a simple moral story, light
v. darkness, lots of room for
audience exuberance and several men in frocks. In some ways it
may be more productive to view the play in this way, as a kind of
celebratory aside from McCraney’s work hitherto, since otherwise it is
in danger of looking as if the promise so recently noted by the judging
panel of the
Evening Standard Awards
had, if not vanished, then taken a vacation. In fact I have fewer
problems with
Wig Out! than
most of my colleagues. My companion on press night worked herself
up into something of a lather during the interval about the presence of
the chorus of three women: she began by querying that surely such
figures would or should be transvestites or transgendered, and ended by
declaring herself offended that such roles had been patronisingly
written in for cisgendered females simply in order that the cast might
contain some women. I see no such improbability or
marginalisation: if there’s one thing my years of fellow-travelling
have taught me it’s that there is no vector of gender, sex or sexuality
which is inherently off-limits to the aesthetic of Queer.
Written for Theatre
Record.