Dead Male Critics And Female Directors (lesbian)
It’s most uncharacteristic of Nicholas Hytner to have lost his cool over drama critics who have been around since he was a student (and he’s turned fifty; not too old for the job yet, Nick?). He must be referring to Billington, Nightingale, de Jongh and John Peter. At least in the past I’ve had the good grace to keep moving, if only downmarket, from the Financial Times to the Observer to the Daily Mail. And I rather pride myself on being marginally instrumental in the fledgling drama reviewing careers of at least three notable female arts commentators: Annalena McAfee, Claire Armitstead and Susannah Clapp. I think Nick’s problem with the reviews over A Matter of Life and Death lie simply with the fact that the reviewers have all rather flamboyantly displayed an intimate knowledge of the great original movie at the expense of assessing the stage version. But that is always going to happen when you take a ride on the back of another cultural — in this case, iconic — phenomenon and are found not to measure up.
There is no doubt that the stage version by Tom Morris and Emma Rice, for all its ingenuity and exuberance, is an act of cashing in on a title and inflicting a diminishing form of insolent banality upon it. Susannah Clapp’s Observer review is the one out and out rave I have read, and very splendid it is ,too. But it was Susannah who championed the hopelessly underdeveloped and aesthetically offensive Jerry Springer show, and she who famously raved about the Wapping Faust, even though that show was all installation and nothing else. Her role has been invaluable. Why should Nick expect all the critics to be equally percipient or “soft” on stuff that is so old-fashionedly anti-theatrical, ie “performance” art based and not performed in conventional spaces, depending on your view?
And who are all thes dead white male critics, exactly, lining up to give a hard time to female directors such as Deborah Warner, Thea Sharrock, Marianne Elliott and Polly Teale, say, of Shared Experience? You could more easily argue that all four have been ludicrously overpraised by the geriatric male fraternity. We live in a time when good reviews are de rigeur for the slightest piffle, a sea change in how things were thirty years ago. But there is a sign of genuinely renewed hostility with the emergence of copper-bottomed reactionary new critics like Quentin Letts, Christopher Hart and Tim Walker. Does Nick really want to see such new faces permanently replacing Billington and Nightingale? And would he honestly prefer the trenchant, always hard to please Rhoda Koenig, to gain a top powerful job at the expense of pussycat de Jongh? Critics are only kept in their jobs at the discretion of their editors; they don’t expect longevity as part of the deal.
And where exactly are all these thrusting new critics prepared to give the old guard a good shake-up? Beyond Rachel Halliburton — my tip for the Financial Times job, if they ever decide to appoint anyone — they simply don’t exist. And Rachel’s been round the block a few times already. I’m afraid editors are never going to be influenced by the theatre world as to who they should or should not appoint to the staff jobs. They rather favour, these days, “putting the luvvies in their place,” which is part of the cultural cringe and critical envy we are going through in all media departments, print or broadcast. The problem, if there is one, is much deeper than taking revenge on Katie Mitchell for being a lesbian…and I must say, I had no idea that she was until Nick said so. Damned attractive woman, though!