THE PRESS
Phoney War
By GILES PLAYFAIR
T NEVER cease to be surprised at the amount of attention, of quivering respect, that John Osborne can command from the nation's news editors whenever he addresses them. It makes me wonder whether there may be some deep social significance in the fact that Look Back in Anger—the original and for quite a while positively the only evidence of Britain's great 'dramatic renaissance'—was discovered in the same year that Suez was lost. Here was one way, after all, of believing in a second Elizabethan age, and there wasn't any other available at the time. Nor has there been since.
War on the critics' is a hoary cry, and coming from Osborne, whose reputation, deserved or not, has manifestly been critic-made, appears on the face of it to be especially shrill. Nevertheless, the press trembled. In the Sunday Telegraph, for example, Alan Brien's regular drama column was elevated, under the somewhat misleading title of 'BRIEN ON OSBORNE,' to the position of a star feature, right up with `PROTECTION GANG WAR' and `LAST CHANCE IN RHODESIA.'
So if Osborne is still in earnest about waging his war, it looks as though he can count, as his predecessors in the field could not, on the,■ full co-operation of the mass-communications media; and we may be in for, inter alio, a whole series of television 'confrontations,' promising all the interest, and much of the embarrassment, of a family squabble. The question arises, though, whether there is a case, in principle, to be made out for slaughtering the critics.
Ultimately, of course, the theatre must accept the judgment of its patrons, even though, from its own professional point of view, they are un- educated. It may be more than 200 years, as it was in the case of Congreve's The Way of tho World, before the public is persuaded to recognise a masterpiece, but there is none the less futility in claiming that a performance has merit which audiences will not applaud or that a play has importance which audiences decline to see. Collectively, the critics may be said to reflect theatre-going taste, and it is no wonder under these circumstances that they have built up, during the past century, an unenviably for?' midable record of being wrong. Yet it is to indi- vidual critics that the credit for every major change or advance in the public's attitude to- wards the drama belongs; and without newspapef criticism the theatre would almost certainly be. come petrified in the current success formula.
At the same. time, a critic is, except in very few instances, no better educated theatrically than any other intelligent and persistent play- goer. Though he assumes the posture of an ex- pert, his right to voice authoritative opinions is rarely backed up by practical stage training or experience. This does not necessarily mean that he has less taste than, for example, I have, who happen, figuratively speaking, to have been born and brought up behind the scenes. He may have much more. But it does mean that he has less technical knowledge, and it is for lack of this, rather than for want of taste, that he is usually handicapped.
He judges, as the rest of the public must judge, by effect alone, without understanding or seriously caring how this has been achieved or might be improved. He is unequipped, for instance, to tell when a good play has been ruined by an inept production of a poor play made by a superlative one. (An example of the former, to my mind, was The World of Paul Mickey, whose very considerable merits were smothered in a heavily overweighted production, for which Osborne himself was responsible.) Again, he is incapable of distinguishing be- tween role and performance. Almost invariably, he equates the 'best' acting with the showiest part, or the worst with the most thankless or difficult. And while he tries to exhibit an awareness of the importance of the director's place in the contemporary theatre, his pro- nouncements on direction usually take the form of some more or less highfalutin adjective, such as 'careful,' sluggish' or 'crystalline,' which, in terms of what a director actually does, or is supposed to do, is pretty well meaningless.
All this is bound, on occasion, to irritate the professional theatre; to make it resent the power of the critics as a power wielded by know- nothings. Yet the remedy is surely in the theatre's own hands. Instead of complaining about the ignorance of the critics, it could try to enlighten them. Instead of threatening them with war, it could offer them education.
As it is, their task is needlessly and almost impossibly hard. Alan Brien has said that John Osborne's A Bond Honoured cannot be fairly judged at a single hearing; that it must be seen twice to be appreciated as the 'serious, ambitious and valuable' work that it really is. Whether this is so or not, the daily newspaper critics, far from being allowed such an opportunity, are denied any chance at all for second thoughts. They are required to write their definitive opinion on a production as soon as, or even before, the opening performance is over.
But why shouldn't they, be given the script of a new play in advance of seeing it performed, with a view to helping them decide on the ex- tent to which its inherent quality has been en- hanced or damaged, obscured or revealed, In its transition from page to stage? Or why shouldn't they be invited, as a matter of course, to attend rehearsals, early and late, of plays they will eventually review, so as to be familiarised with the whole process and development of a theatre production? Why, above all, shouldn t they be asked to the preview or final dress re- hearsal, as well as the opening night, and thus be permitted sufficient time for a properly con- sidered verdict? The theatre might resist these suggestions out of fear of losing its mystique. But it cannot live, or at least progress, without the critics. If it will not explore ways of helping them, then it had better suffer them in silence.
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