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David Jays on theatre and dance

Found books 4: seriously glam

December 5, 2008 by David Jays 2 Comments

Is it possible to love productions you’ve never seen? Oh baby baby, it is. I’m not just talking about Garrick’s Shakespeares, or brightly coloured 19th-century extravaganzas, or the Moscow Arts doing Chekhov for the first time and minting a new voice and a transforming style of acting. Though I do love these too. But closer to home I adore the productions by Philip Prowse, Giles Havergal and Robert David MacDonald, presiding triumvirate at the Glasgow Citizens Theatre for over 30 years, between 1969 and 2004. Most of their shows were staged before my theatre-going lifetime, but I know about them through one, quite marvellous book: The Citz by Michael Coveney. Originally published in 1990 by Nick Hern Books, it’s not in print, but you’ll find a second-hand copy online.
I was led back to the book because I’ve been reading about Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes recently (yup, add ’em to the love list above), including MacDonald’s lapidary memory play Chinchilla, loosely based on the impresario’s waspish retinue and ardent commitment to talent. A bare, white beach at the Lido was gradually populated by mirrors and raffia chairs, lithe-limbed boys, the bulky, black-overcoated figure of Diaghilev himself. The 1977 play was a key Citz production: all three artistic directors were involved, as writer, director-designer, actor, and the show, as Coveney describes it, defined how the company ‘had chosen to collaborate fiercely on what they believed to be good theatre in the teeth of ridicule, misunderstanding and critical contempt.’
Why ridicule, why contempt? When Havergal took over the parochial Scottish theatre in 1969 and invited Prowse and MacDonald to join him, he created a defiantly cosmopolitan theatre. It staged the gorier bits of Jacobean drama, the less tractable corners of the European repertory. It featured an acting style that was less about quivering sensitivity and more about rhetorical attitude and the ability to carry off Prowse’s assertively glamorous frocks. Blood, flesh and pearls decorated the stage. Hofmannstahl, Karl Kraus and lashings of Goldoni were scintillatingly translated by MacDonald.
I read about these shows in Coveney’s panting account and I shiver with pleasure: how the corrupt world in Massinger’s The Roman Tragedy was reflected in a grinding soundtrack that suggested ‘now the Emperor’s mental instability, now the application of torture, now the buzzing of flies in a grotesque charnal house.’ Or how the passing of years in Semi-Monde, Noël Coward’s divinely decadent jeremiad, was marked by beige vases of pink and blue lilacs being restocked with tiger lilies. Or how Jonathan Hyde, stalking in drag through a brilliantly coloured Goldoni, claimed to be ‘dressed to kill – well, maim.’
It’s thrilling to read about productions which are intellectual but never bookish; stirring but never sentimental; eclectic, electric and informed by a sensibility that seems impervious to outside opinion (which is why actors and audiences loved [some of] them). Frankly, I don’t burn to know what the Citizens are doing now (though it usually sounds pretty interesting). And nowadays, Coveney isn’t, to be honest, a favourite writer (he’s currently chief critic at Whatsonstage): he’s often too snide or chummy. But in The Citz, describing audaciously and unfashionable – if high-fashion – shows which took place far from London, he can’t play the insider and he hits grace note after grace note, an enthusiast mainlining provocation with every production he describes.
Go on then, tell me – what are the shows you wish wish wish you’d been in the right place and time to see? And where have you found the most exciting descriptions of them?

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Comments

  1. Lindsay Price says

    December 5, 2008 at 10:14 pm

    Wow. What an awesome description.
    A long time ago I had the tape (not CD, tape!) of the original cast recording of “Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris” and then quite soon after found the book detailing the creation of the project.
    I wore out the tape and wore out the pages. I would have loved to have seen that show live, to have been a fly on the wall of that experience. To this day, some near twenty years later I still break out into song lyrics from the show for no reason.

    Reply
  2. Performance Monkey says

    December 5, 2008 at 10:29 pm

    Lindsay, that’s exactly the feeling I was trying to describe – the kind of experience that is somehow even more real to you than productions that you *have* seen. Wonderful that the Brel show has wormed its way into your psyche in such a powerful way. Of course, the nagging flipside of loving a show you haven’t seen is the nagging anxiety that the piece you’ve imagined is rather more thrilling than the unseen original. If you ever get your hands on a time machine, use it wisely…

    Reply

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David Jays

I am a writer and critic on performance, books and film and currently write for, among others, the Sunday Times and the Guardian. I edit Dance Gazette, the magazine of the Royal Academy of Dance. I’m also a lifelong Londoner: it’s the perfect city for connecting to art forms that both look back and spring forward. [Read More]

Performance Monkey

This is what theatre and dance audiences do: we sit in the dark, watching performances. And then, if it seems worth it, we think about what we've seen, and how it made us feel. The blog should be a conversation, so please comment on the posts and add your thoughts. You know what I've always … [Read More...]

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