northern theatre: whose renaissance?

Northern Theatre: Whose Renaissance?Author(s): Jan AshdownSource: The Irish Review (1986-), No. 7 (Autumn, 1989), pp. 52-56Published by: Cork University PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/29735469 .

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Northern Theatre:

whose renaissance?

JAN ASHDOWN

For some years now mutterings about a renaissance in northern theatre have

been heard in interval foyers aclink with ice and in after-show analyses. The

perception that something new and dynamic was afoot was engendered and

then perpetuated by an optimistic elite as well as by the more cynical managerial level with its eye on the box-office. But its basis remained a mystery, and its

manifestation more so. We became excited, we kept

an eye on the skies, looking for signs and portents, we looked at successive seasons of plays,

we held our

breath as one artistic director succeeded another, we waited. And we waited.

And nothing happened. The main theatres continued to feed us a bizarre mix.

Many an English touring rep, with unexciting television 'names' in lead roles, came and went from the Grand Opera House. The Arts Theatre (the respon?

sibility ofthe City Council) saved itself from annihilation by reducing its own

productions to about three a year, the rest ofthe time going on hire for light and

yet lighter entertainment. The Lyric, the one theatre running a full repertory

season, offered us little that was new and much that was either tedious or poorly

produced. Were we looking in the wrong place, expecting the wrong thing? We

certainly needed a 'cascade of light'; alas, even the excitement of an aurora was

absent.

Where else was there to turn? Two homeless but well-funded companies ap?

peared cyclically on the horizon: Theatre Ulster and Field Day. These managed to tour three and one productions

a year respectively, making brief visits to such

places as the beautiful Ardhowen Theatre in Enniskillen. Theatre Ulster is joint?

ly run through the Arts and at the Riverside in Coleraine, so all productions have

a run at these two centres in addition to their short provincial tour. And there

was also the annual festival at Queen's, thought by some to be more of a funeral

than a festival so far as its support of indigenous talent was concerned. In strong contrast to both Dublin's Theatre Festival and Glasgow's Mayfest, the festival in

Belfast has always deemed excellence to come from elsewhere. Anything emerg?

ing locally has received little or no funding and rather less support. We stopped

looking to the skies and began a more careful scrutiny at ground level.

First of all it seems likely that this anticipated rebirth had its beginnings in the

sudden increase in television drama output from the region. Contiguous with,

52



Northern Theatre 53

and developing from an excellent output by BBC radio drama, under producer Robert Cooper (who has now himself returned to produce for television), the

range of work being recorded in the region was wide and impressive. This was

the era of Graham Reid and Anne Devlin, Robin Glendinning, Bernard

MacLaverty and, of course, Stewart Parker. But alas, no theatre here has had a

reputation for adventurousness when it comes to new writing, and it's been

well-known for years that even Ulster's best writers have had to 'go foreign' for

premieres of their new plays, which logically should have taken pride of place in

any local theatre season, and equally in the attention of any theatre audience.

So if it wasn't the lack of writers then ? and if it isn't the lack of writers now ?

what is it? Breeding grounds, we are lacking in breeding grounds. Without

managements ready to take risks with new plays, and more importantly perhaps, new names ? since a new play by someone like, for example, Martin Lynch or

Christina Reid can be a safe enough bet, given the usual predilection for self

delight (I hesitate to call it self-scrutiny) amongst the province's theatre-going

public ?

nothing new can happen, no progress can be made. The patterns, the

safe fare of a few classics (adapted frequently to an Ulster setting) and the

statutory inclusion of O'Casey/Yeats/Synge at the Lyric, or the tedium of un?

funny comedy elsewhere, will remain interminably the same.

This raises two issues: the fact that theatres have been too underfunded to be

able to take risks, and the fact that a new play should be perceived as such a risk in

the first place. The first issue has had a wide airing. Everyone is familar with the

marginalisation ofthe arts, and pretty well everything else that offers to enhance

an other-than-material existence, that the Thatcher regime has effected. Belfast

is also particularly underfunded, when compared with other cities, in the per

capita support from its council. Thus, caught by inadequate funding from the

Arts Council for Northern Ireland, or inadequate funding from the City Coun?

cil, Belfast's theatres, and theatrical ventures in the form of new companies, gaze

wanly across the water to Glasgow and wonder why they can't be transported thither.

This, let me hasten to say, is not meant to be a political statement; they are as

envious of Dublin's theatrical vivacity. But the affinities of Belfast with

Glasgow, as a city with massive economic problems, poor housing, declining

shipyards, and no status derived from being a capital, are, or rather, were, ob?

vious. What is so desperately needed in the north is the same kind of cultural

regeneration that we've been witnessing in that city whose earlier claims to fame

were derived from the disgrace of its tenements and the violence of its pubs.

Funding, then, is a long-term problem. But Belfast is not unique in this. What

compounds the problem for a progressive theatrical scene here has to do with

audience as much as with auditors. A new play is seen as a risk because it is more

likely to empty the theatre than to fill it. Not empty it after all the reviews have



54 Ashdown

said 'Don't go' or the word of mouth has mouthed it to destruction, but

because of a pervasive absence of curiosity about what it might contain. What

audiences seem to want here is the safety ofthe known and the familiar; what

they are most amused by is themselves. Hence the popularity ofthe so-called

'Belfast play'; given the broad accent, the wee streets, the kitchen houses, the

political context that stays the safe side of reality, everyone's happy; hold a mir?

ror up to prejudices and everyone can laugh. But does the laugh reach out

beyond the auditorium; is it taken home, to modify thinking ? does it

challenge, change or otherwise disturb the universe?

Such questions of course reveal certain assumptions about the role of theatre

in society: that it should have something to say which may disturb, enrich or

otherwise persuade, that it should be an agent for change and growth, that it

should always contribute, albeit often in unexpected ways, to the development of our general humanity. And one ofthe ways in which this can be done is by ex?

ploration of other times, other places, and cultures other than our own. For

there is a misconception in the notion, surely, that in a Belfast theatre the plays

are only significant if they are about the region, just as it is stultifying to assume

that in Ireland the only culture that matters is our own.

But what happens when the theatre attempts width? One ofthe disappoint? ments of this particular year for the Lyric was the response to its European

premiere of a Russian play, Threshold, directed by the head of the National Theatre of Byelorussia. Here was an

exciting event, here was something dif?

ferent, here were some strong performances, here was the latest artistic director

determined on a widening of his programme's scope. And here were many emp?

ty seats. In its different range of venues, the Charabanc Theatre Company broke

from its moorings of Belfast social issues and took on, in The Stkk Wife, a play which provided an 'objective correlative' through which to examine an aspect of

Ulster, exchanging the paramilitaries for the Klu Klux Klan: the company's usual devoted following

was far from conspicuous. Neither play was flawless, but they both offered range and interest to the curious, with insights of various

kinds, and, most importantly, opportunities for reflection. Since it is only by reflection on

experience that change can be forthcoming, it is sad to think that it

may be the audiences here who are preventing theatre from playing one of its key

roles.

Hold fast, though. We have moved from past seasons now to the most recent.

Are we saying that in terms of productions at least there was some cause for op?

timism? And was it at the Lyric only (or with Charabanc) that this optimism began to creep out from under the boards? Untainted by the nepotistic habits of

previous incumbents, and bringing a wider knowledge of theatre than any that I

can recall, the Lyric's latest appointment, Roland Jaquarello, immediately

displayed a clear commitment to the development of theatre here, in preference



Northern Theatre 55

either to the cult ofthe individual director or obeisance to any status quo. His

first season contained an ambitious Miller, Beckett, Trevor Griffiths, and the

Russian, Alexei Dudarev. After the Fall was a high-risk venture ?

large cast, long show, non-naturalistic style

? very much 'going for broke' as far as Belfast was

concerned. Jaquarello brought over Tim Woodward to play the lead, and the

risk paid off, with full houses almost throughout the run.

It would be idealistic to suppose that the fascination of the Monroe

mythology didn't have a great deal to do with its power to attract. Even so, they came, and they stayed, and they kept coming. With Comedians and Threshold

however, the theatre emptied, which certainly had little to do with production

quality. Could it be because we were back with the unknown and the un?

familiar? The season finished with a new play by Christina Reid whose recipe was

perfectly and ironically delineated by Stewart Parker some years back, in an arti?

cle he wrote on the 'Belfast play'. And the audiences? Yes, you've guessed cor?

rectly. At Theatre Ulster too, under the concerned eye of Arts Council's Denis

Smyth, there have been signs of change this year ? a desire to be more adven?

turous, even experimental ? which broke out in a production of A Picture of

Dorian Gray. This was devised and directed by Sam McCready, who was brought

from America for the purpose. While some critics dubbed it 'The Sam Mc?

Cready Show', it nonetheless achieved good houses, and provided, at least, a

theatrical event, which ditched naturalism in favour of stylisation and spectacle. Another very exciting development over the last two years has been the gather?

ing strength ofthe Ulster Youth Theatre, whose energy in explorative produc? tions has given

us much to think about.

And enter here, perhaps, an important point. If people only call 'successful'

those shows which please in all respects, the mediocre and the bland will ob?

viously prevail for ever. Redefined criteria would help: a habit of mind that,

while acknowledging that it may not have worked, makes a more generous effort

to appreciate what is being attempted, coupled with a sufficient interest in

theatre to want to see its possibilities explored, its reach enlarged; for the general critical measure here still seems to be at the facile level of'I liked it, therefore it's

good' or the converse: a dead-end, devoid of any awareness of theatre's wider

contexts, be they cultural, political, imaginative or artistic.

Some local critics have been as limited in their approaches as the audiences, and it has been good to note the Lyric's consistent coverage in national papers

(both Irish and English), where the standard of writing is rather more informed

and generally more constructive. It must also be good for improving the profile of theatre generally that there should be regular cognisance that something is ac?

tually 'happening' here. The Lyric's new season contains two plays by writers

not produced here before, and after Christmas The Iceman Cometh. For the Arts



56 Ashdown

in September Nick Philippou was let loose with Moliere's School for Wives, translated by Derek Mahon, in which Gerard Murphy, taking time out from the

RSC by special dispensation, took the lead. And this show ran successfully for a

week in Dublin also.

All I can say is, more, we want more of these ventures. It would be good if we

could send more shows to Dublin from here, better if we could one day achieve a

reciprocal travelling across the border, both by shows and by audiences. This

year has also seen a steady increase in the number of smaller companies burgeon?

ing, and more importantly, lasting the course of their first productions. The

word at the Arts Council of Northern Ireland is that yet more are in the process of seeking funding. Let's hope they find it. In addition to this, the redevelop? ment of not one but two centres for the arts in central Belfast (a resurrected Cres?

cent and the Old Museum, both interesting buildings with their attendant pro? blems of maintenance and heating) provide amongst other thing? important venues for fringe events, though it remains astonishing that, in a

place which

calls itself a city, it is only now that such centres are being funded. This is largely due to unrelenting efforts over the years by Noreen O'Hare and David Grant.

We might even start sky-watching again if this sort ofthing goes on. But this

time, with much more caution.

Any complacency would be foolish, since the whole depends on all of the

elements and has an intricacy of interrelationship not dissimilar from a Yeatsian

chestnut tree. Will theatres find enough endorsement from the public to build

on what they seem to be starting; will critical attitudes mature; will our new

writers start to be produced here; will managements progressively see their role

as nourishers rather than book-keepers; will the funding bodies let them; will

the new centres survive; will audiences support them . . . and round we go

again. While obviously one or other of these elements has to take the lead, none

will survive unless all follow, support and go on from there.

And the essential thing for all the elements is to achieve the sense ofthe wider

contexts. The bane ofthe provincial city is exactly the fact of its provinciality; it

is hard for it to struggle free of its smallness, or ofthe fact that most people in?

volved with the arts play more than one role, and that the whole can so easily take on an air of incestuous palm-stroking. Honesty of response takes courage in

this landscape of personalities, but no one can object if criticism is seen as the

tool to promote a mutual aim, guided by the love of theatre, to replace accep? tance of the mediocre with an appetite for excellence. Forget about sky

watching: to generate chat stimulus has to be the task of everyone involved.

After all, if there is to be a renaissance, it won't be an import; it has to be our

own.



northern theatre: whose renaissance?

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