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| Join Bainbridge on a quirky
theatrical trip |
Actor Roger Lloyd Pack argues that an unorthodox
compilation of theatre reviews will appeal to more than just the
thespian elite
Front Row: Evenings at the Theatre by Beryl Bainbridge
Continuum, £14.99
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Beryl Bainbridge
Roger Lloyd Pack
In the firing line: Criterion Theatre, West End
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THIS is what Bernard Shaw had to say about critics: “I think
very few people know how troublesome dramatic critics are. It is
not that they are morally worse than other people; but they know
nothing. Or, rather, it is a good deal worse than that: they know
everything wrong.”
I mention this partly because in her book, Beryl Bainbridge often
precedes her review of a play with some informative reference, bon
mots or advice from the likes of Ben Jonson or one Herbert Jennings,
not necessarily having anything to do with the play in question,
and partly because it exemplifies what Dame Beryl is not.
Your professional critic is inclined to go to see a play with their
knives sharpened and ready to use if it doesn’t meet their
preconceived expectations, whereas Dame Beryl goes more as a punter.
The refreshing aspect of this collection of reviews is that you
feel they have been written by someone who is open to the experience
of what she is about to see without prejudging it.
One of the drawbacks of being a dramatic critic is that you have
to go to the theatre several times a week and this must inevitably
produce a jaundiced attitude.
It leads perhaps to an ability to only react to a play on an intellectual
level whereas many plays operate on a different, visceral plane
that require an unprejudiced and open mind. As she says: “The
inevitable side-effect of reviewing plays on a regular basis...is
an unfortunate blunting of enjoyment and wonder.”
Indeed so open is Dame Beryl’s approach that she often spends
a large part of the review discussing her route to the theatre,
the reaction of the audience in the interval, and the route back.
In her review of Taking Sides at the Criterion, for instance, she
spends over half of it criticising the management for the poor running
of the theatre, discourtesy, and cost of a programme.
These are important elements of the theatre- going experience which
are nearly always overlooked. As she points out, a theatre is nothing
without an audience.
If anything, she is too kind in her response at times, although
from an actor’s point of view, there’s nothing wrong with
a bit of kindness.
If she does criticise an actor she will, at the same time, mention
how good he was in a different part in a previous production.
This may well be because she was once an actress herself and therefore
only too well aware of the fragility of an actor’s confidence.
She also rarely mentions the director. Could this be an implicit
acknowledgement on her part of the primacy of the actor? Her real
strength is her outline of the story, which, as one of our foremost
novelists, is hardly surprising. The emphasis in all of these reviews
is on a succinct appraisal of the narrative and an appreciation
of the writer.
Having said all that, I’m not entirely sure at what audience
this collection of reviews is aimed. It would appear that the publishers
themselves are not too sure either, as in their press hand-out they
refer to the book as “a fascinating and personal insight into
the theatrical world of the late 1950s and early 1960s through the
eyes of one of our best loved novelists”.
What they are referring to in this quote must be Dame Beryl’s
introduction, which, is only eight pages long and is the most interesting
part of the book. In it she reminisces about some of her early experiences
at the Liverpool Playhouse.
As someone who started his career in what remained of the repertory
system in the late 1960s (like her, as an assistant stage manager)
I would have been interested to hear more about those times.
For instance, I would have liked to know if her days with the Thelma
Bickerstaff tap-dancing troupe were a match for mine at the Eve
Tynegate-Smith School of dancing.
She paints a vivid and nostalgic picture of the period and I wanted
to know more.
There is one curious and amusing anomaly. She refers in her introduction
to a book The Actor’s Craft (1930) by Herbert Jennings, whom
I referred to earlier. She confesses that she is astonished to find,
on rereading these reviews, how much she relied on his rather dubious
advice on acting.
This is Jennings on how to express violent or sudden grief: “The
whole attitude should become uncontrolled and pass into a physical
condition.
“The voice rises rapidly in pitch and we hear violent weeping,
screaming, a hurrying to and fro and the rending of hair and garments
by the distracted person. Tears do not always flow, but the nostrils
are often widely extended.”
There are also some alarming pictures of Jennings demonstrating
some of these expressions – obviously before the days of television.
The reviews in this book are mainly of a random selection of plays
in the 1990s and will appeal to anyone wanting a browse through
that decade, not only of the plays, but also some of the sociological
phenomena of that decade, in the always entertaining company of
the author. |
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