Even more hilarious than the recent RSC advertisement in the Guardian for a managerial appointment to head up an internal department of 75 people was this week’s request by the Gate Theatre and Rupert Goold’s Headlong company for anyone out there with any good ideas to come forward immediately.

Help, they seem to be saying: we’re still in business, but we don’t really have any brilliant ideas about what we should be doing, can you help out? The two companies are seeking “a radical new approach to classic international drama” and the chosen proposal is promised a production at the Gate next year.

I thought of brushing up that little idea I had about King Lear on ice and sending it along. Then again, after Rent the Remix, I think we might be ready for a Hip Hop Henry V, an Acid House Agamemnon and a brutal new rock’n boogie version of The Boy Friend.
 
The latter show was the subject of Radio Four’s fascinating “Stage to Screen” show on Monday, with Paul Gambaccini tracing the story of how Sandy Wilson’s imperishable pastiche 1920s musical made the transition to Ken Russell’s galumphing film extravaganza.

In a rare interview, Sandy was tact personified, revealing that he had only seen the film once — at a screening before the premiere — and that it had left him more baffled than irritated. He had sold the film rights years in advance and had never really thought the show was suitable for the transfer to celluloid anyway, as it is so totally theatrical from start to finish.

Had the film affected the life of the stage show at all? Only to increase interest in it, apparently. And as last summer’s Open Air Theatre revival testified, The Boy Friend really is indestructible. And when done as well as it was in the park, probably the most utterly delightful and perfect of all British musicals since the war.

Ken Russell, unquestionably a genius in his way, certainly had “a radical new approach” to the piece. But I think the Headlong and Gate people are looking out for someone with concepts for more serious drama. The American critic Walter Kerr once saw a production of The Cherry Orchard set in the Deep South and dubbed it Kentucky Fried Chekhov. That’s the sort of thing we want!

This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 7th, 2007 at 2:43 pm and is filed under Michael Coveney. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.