Waspishly witty
Michael Vestey
Knneth Tynan's diaries, published posthumously in October, are vastly entertaining, strewn with bon mots, aphorisms, waspish gossip, melancholy self-doubt verging on self-pity; at once ingenuous and full of shrewd observations, left-wing republicanism and an enthusiasm for mixing with the rich and famous. This heady mixture of contradictions and stylish writing have made it a perfect radio read each morning on Radio Four this week.
When the diaries came out interest was chiefly excited by the revelation that he enjoyed spanking and sado-masochism generally, though, of course, there is much more to them than that. In Book of the Week: The Diaries of Kenneth Tynan, read beautifully by Jack Klaff, he mentions that, while married to Kathleen, he is having an affair. 'Since last November I have been seeing and spanking a fellow spanking addict called Nicole. Our fantasies exactly match whereas I'm conscious that Kathleen has had to will herself to fit into my fantasy' — suggesting, not surprisingly, that Kathleen was something of a party pooper in this matter. Tynan has to explain that Nicole represented 'the curry side of my life whereas K represented French cooking; that I needed both'. A cassoulet rather than a vindaloo, no doubt.
I've heard only the first three extracts and there are some delightful anecdotes. Tynan was, of course, a superb drama critic who later turned to producing and working at the National Theatre as literarymanager under Sir Laurence Olivier. A chain-smoker, he died from emphysema in 1980 at the age of 53. He writes mournfully, and with some exaggeration, that he finds himself almost friendless at the age of 43. 'I have alienated my traditionalist friends by my left-wing politics and my left-wing friends by my love of pleasure.'
At a gala dinner at the Dorchester, Tynan finds himself next to Lady Rotherwick. 'A bumper assembly of posh Fascists,' he observes. Lady Rotherwick tells him, "We're Union Castle, y'know. Ten years ago we had 150 ships. Now, how many do you think?" I shake my head. "Barely 50," as if to say, "Meat only once a week." ' Lord Rotherwick, he writes acidly, 'is called Bunny and looks like a polished pink snooker ball'.
He meets George Harrison of the Beatles and they discuss a forthcoming National Theatre production of William Blake's Tiger. 'It painfully emerges after a long conversation that he "was never very much into English literature" and that he has never in fact heard of William Blake. It's a pity that he should think himself a poet without having had the chance to compare himself with a poet like Blake.' In 1971 he writes, 'The man who fears failure will choose the arts rather than the sciences. The scientist must be tough enough to face being proved wrong. For him the verdict is yes or no. The artist can never be proved wrong. For him there is always the loophole of perhaps. That is why so many artists are neurotic. They need the nourishment of perhaps to protect them against the death blow of no.'
Klaff acts out a story, in different voices, told to Tynan by Marlene Dietrich. She had been a friend of Jack Kennedy's father, Joseph, in the 1930s. While appearing in cabaret in Washington in 1962 she was summoned to have drinks at the White House at 6 p.m. She accepted, though at seven she had to be at an hotel where Jewish war veterans were honouring her wartime work to aid Jewish refugees, JFK took her out on to the balcony and talked of Abraham Lincoln. Then he led her to the presidential bedroom. 'It was all over very soon. And then he went to sleep.' It was 6.50. She got dressed and shook him because she didn't know her way out. 'Jack, vake up, 2,000 Jews are vaiting. For Christ's sake! Get me out of here.' With a towel around his waist he escorted her to the lift and just before the doors closed he asked, 'There's just one thing I'd like to know. Did you ever make it with my father?"No, Jack.' 'Well,' he replied, 'that's one place I'm in first.' She never saw him again. Certainly beats Clinton's White House, I would say.
Dietrich also witnessed Tynan's wedding to Kathleen in New Jersey, before a bored judge who wasn't impressed by her presence. During the ceremony and to drown out typewriters in a nearby office, Dietrich backed towards some sliding doors to close them. Spotting this the judge, speaking in a monotone, didn't pause or change the tone of his voice: 'And do you Kenneth take Kathleen for your lawful wedded I would not stand with your arse to an open door in this office lady wife to have and to hold.' A hugely enjoyable series and very funny, sometimes unintentionally.
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