Scoring a director's hits
Peter Eyre
SUBSEQUENT PERFORMANCES by Jonathan Miller
Faber, £15
Reading this enthralling book has been for me a pleasurable recherche du temps perdu, and the reader must forgive me if I do what is now known as a Michael Parkin- son, ie. indulge in a little autobiographical rambling at the apparent expense of the subject. When I first met Jonathan Miller in the 1960s he was a famous comedian who had just started to direct in the theatre. One much admired production in New York of the Robert Lowell trilogy had given him a taste for more directing. I was an unhappy young actor, nightly enduring traumas in a West End theatre where I was supporting a very difficult comedian in a hit show. I was dejected about my future, and wondered if being an actor had any point at all. Jonathan listened, encouraged me and must have thought I had some ta- lent (he had never seen me do anything) because shortly afterwards I was given a good part in The Death of Socrates (a tele- vision film starring Leo McKern, curiously absent from the index in this publication, which has more than a few spelling mis- takes) and then in his highly publicised Alice in Wonderland as the Knave of Hearts to the King of Peter Sellars (help, another comedian!).
This was the start of ten years' con- tinuous work with Jonathan and I have to say I owe him an enormous debt, because without his help I doubt if I would have found my footing in the profession. I have happy memories of many plays, especially Robert Lowell's Benito Cereno (a superb adaptation of the Melville novel, surely due for revival) and three different produc- tions of The Seagull where as Konstantin I felt for the first time a kind of freedom on the stage. My Hamlet was, I consider, rather a mistake. In a classic bit of Miller theorising in the Shakespeare section of this book Olivier's Hamlet is described as a 'rabbit', mine as a 'duck'. I am flattered by the reference, although I fear turkey would be the more appropriate bird. My last appearance in one of his productions was as the Baron in The Three Sisters in 1976. This was probably his most successful work in the theatre. It received unanimous critic- al acclaim, won every possible award, and was enjoyed by the audiences as much as by the terrific cast.
A few years after Miller's Three Sisters there was another production at the RSC by Trevor Nunn, very brilliant but quite different. As I recall, not one critic in praising the new production referred to the previous one, and I couldn't help feeling that this book of Miller's, where he analy- ses in detail so many of his productions, is an understandable attempt to give the tran- sitory work of the theatre an 'afterlife'. The 'afterlife' of a literary work is a phrase he finds
useful because it draws attention to the peculiar transformation undergone by works of art that outlive the time in which they were made. If they are rediscovered after a long period of being lost or neglected, it is as if they are perceived and valued for reasons so different from those held originally that they virtually change their character and identity . . . It would be nonsense to talk of the object continuing its life: it has a new one — an afterlife.
This book is obviously not by any means a theatrical memoir, and contains 'ideas, arguments, and experiences derived from more than twenty years' work in the per- forming arts.' In the first part, Miller bril- liantly defines his attitude to literary form, specifically a script as 'an example of nota- tion', and presents a rationale for his in- ventiveness as a re-interpreter of plays. At times the writing is dense, but it definitely helps create a greater understanding of his theatrical ideas which are often thought to be capricious and wayward.
The chapters dealing with individual productions are riveting. I enjoyed learn- ing about the genesis of the John Cleese Taming of the Shrew on television, but then found myself wondering why I thought the production was not particular- ly successful at the time. The trouble was it wasn't very funny, but then, paradoxically, Miller who is such an inspired comedian seems to have a greater talent for tragedy than comedy. His Eugene Onegin was much better than his Figaro, and his Rigoletto best of all. The Hopperesque sets seemed utterly right, and the New York Mafia world where the opera took place highlighted the drama of the story in an astonishing way, making the melodramatic nature of the libretto both convincing and moving. Some of his most memorable pro- ductions like the Olivier Merchant of Venice with its highly realistic sets by Julia Trevelyan Oman (Miller has a lot of time for designers and pays them a warm tribute in the preface) sound improbable in de- scription but worked quite beautifully in performance.
Miller writes of his Merchant it is difficult to explain precisely why I chose that setting, and it certainly did not start with the thought of how interesting it would be to move the play to the nineteenth century. I think it came out of my hearing certain speeches, in my mind's ear, delivered in a way that was incompatible with a sixteenth- century setting.
The trouble with any book about the theatre (and this one has abundant intellec- tual vitality and wit) is that so much of the work is as elusive and unlikely as that ori- ginal idea for The Merchant. When I finished reading it I found myself drifting off into another Proustian reverie and thinking back to a favourite production of mine I did with Miller at Greenwich in 1974. It was Ibsen's Ghosts, a very untypic- al Miller production in that it defies anY vivid literary description. It had no conspicuously visual style. The set was a simple black backcloth with a few sticks of furniture to make up Mrs Alving's living-room. We rehearsed in a freezing room in Islington. It was the time of the three-day week and Irene Worth, Robert Stephens, Nicola Pagett, Antony Brown and myself sat for two weeks huddled round a gas stove reading and re-reading the play, discussing the world of Ibsen, scrutinising the fine translation by Michael Meyer, and laughing at Miller's jokes. Un- til the third week of rehearsal we never moved or gestured or acted. An extraordi- narily intense atmosphere was created hY Miller as he gently led us to the characters by allowing us to be ourselves. This is Mil- ler's great gift as a director — his ability tof find within an actor's personality a kind ° central truth which corresponds to the character in the play. It was a very subtle and painless transformation. When we finally performed the play itt was as natural for us as breathing. We ins did it. I am certain this rather abstrae.t, uncluttered production revealed the play a completely new light, and what seemu on paper to be a slightly creaking melf, drama became a modern and powerilu tragedy. It was a very economical and sirri: ple production. Ghosts suddenly had a,n, afterlife. I am sure that when Miller ge' back to the living theatre he will go On growing in many different directions. hope I will be there for subsequent Per- formances.
Previous page
