Mood of decay
Michael Vestey
Ihave long thought that any play by John Osborne could easily be adapted for radio as they are notable for often dramatic monologues and even hypnotic rants. His second great play, The Entertainer, is no exception. Last week the World Service broadcast a new production (Saturday) to mark the 10th anniversary of Osborne's death, and I think the playwright would have been delighted with this version which was directed by Marion Nancarrow.
The play was originally commissioned by Laurence Olivier, who'd been impressed by Osborne's first play, Look Back in Anger, at the Royal Court. Olivier played the main character, Archie Rice, in the 1957 production and went on to recreate the role in a famous film. His performance was so powerful that actors felt inhibited from taking on the part in subsequent years. In this radio production, Bill Nighy plays Archie with the right mixture of indomitable optimism in the face of adversity and sufficient self-awareness to appreciate his plight. It is 1956 and Archie, a bad music-hall comedian and singer, is sinking, just like the variety-theatre tradition itself. At the same time the Suez fiasco is signalling the end of the British empire. The mood of decay is palpable.
'Was it all right at the theatre?' Archie is asked. 'No, it wasn't all right at the theatre. Monday night there were 60 sad little drabs in and tonight there were about 200 sad little drabs.' Archie raises a glass to celebrate 20 years of avoiding income tax while planning to leave his downtrodden wife Phoebe (Cheryl Campbell) for a 20year-old barmaid. His father Billy (David Bradley), once a music-hall success, scotches that and tries to help Archie revive his career by appearing on stage with him. But the effort kills the old man. Meanwhile, the family has been waiting for news of Archie's soldier son Mick, who's been captured in action, but the news eventually arrives that he is dead. Thanks to Archie's wealthy brother, a lawyer, the family prepares to leave for a new life in Canada.
It is a remarkable play, bleak, depressing, in fact, and redolent of a dying age, but at the same time full of vitality thanks to Osborne's sparkling dialogue which, as with many of his plays, reflected his own conservative, uncompromising and nostalgic views. Surprisingly, Archie's daughter Jean (Sarah-Jane Holm) appears to be a sympathetic figure, unusual for an Osborne female character. Nighy is excellent, of course, and could, if he played the role on stage or film, lay to rest the ghost of Olivier. Campbell captures Phoebe's limited intelligence and her despairing acceptance of Archie's womanising.
Further reflections on the radio coverage of the 60th anniversary of D-Day: the more I listened to the many programmes on the subject and watched some of the film footage on television, the more staggering the nature of the Allied invasion and the Normandy landings seem. Of course, one was familiar with many of the facts and figures about Operation Overlord, but radio last weekend spurred the imagination to comprehend the awfulness of being among the first forces of troops landing. Four thousand vessels had set off towards the shores of France. As Sir Max Hastings put it in D-Day — Dance of Death on Radio Two (Sunday), 'Those soldiers in the landing crafts were thinking chiefly about how miserable it was to be crouching soaked in sea water and vomit, each man nursing his own fear. Most were too young to fully have grasped the idea of what they were doing on that bright summer morning.'
The programme told the story of the soldiers who. plunging into the sea with heavy packs on their backs, had to wade ashore in the face of shells and gunfire from behind the beaches. Many were killed or wounded, but the secret was not to stop in fear but to keep going, maintaining the momentum of attack. To pause would have been fatal. Hastings thought that on the beaches where the British landed, casualties were 'amazingly light'. Those ships, he said, were taking part in the greatest military adventure in history, on which the fate of nations turned. Fortunately, Hitler had slept through the initial invasion and the Panzers weren't able to move until the order came from him. A combination of German command paralysis and Allied air power prevented the enemy launching an effective counter-attack. He concluded, 'Final victory had to wait until May 1945, but D-Day rendered that victory certain.'
Tames Delingpole's television column returns in a fortnight.
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