| Artistic Director's Rich Diary Record |
Theatre Director Book |
| Richard Eyre- National Service , Bloomsbury , September 13, 2013 |
A part of my city pattern, three or four times a year, is to stop by the Oxfam bookshop en route to Cardiff Central. Currently relocated to the handsome Royal Arcade it always yields something of interest. In the summer of 2013 it turned out to be Richard Eyre’s record of ten years’ love and labour at the helm of London’s Royal National Theatre. A diary form allows a readerly dipping in and out, and it was my cheering literary accompaniment over six weeks of the sunniest days of summer. A memoir of productions and events from two decades back could well be specialist material. ‘National Service’ is elevated on three counts. Firstly, it is edited. The diaries run from 17th January 1987 to 1st October 1997 by which time the author has become ‘Sir Richard.’ Even at four hundred pages that means the editorial knife has been applied. The items and observations that remain are of unfailing interest. Secondly, Sir Richard is a writer. Had he not had a marked talent for theatre he could have been a full-time writer. His January 11th 1994 entry reads ‘I feel caught between needing balm in order to assuage pain and providing the pain in order to apply the balm. I’m a Catholic in everything but religion- I believe in guilt, suffering as the cost of happiness, failure as the cost of success. It’s a Newtonian emotional universe- action and re-action are equal and opposite.’ Thirdly, a diarist is a particular kind of literary companion. His is not a memoir in which a case need be argued, a reputation defended or a policy justified. He is a confidant, in which the private persona goes hand in hand with the high-visibility public role. The editing does not exclude the sorrow in the face of afflicted, aging parents or the sense of loss at a familiar home whose garden is filled with new building. 5th August 1996 a powerful curry too soon after a haemorrhoidectomy has an agonising effect.12th January 1994 he is reaching for that first blister pack of Prozac. Eyre is a man of the theatre but whose interests are extensive. There are tales from show business- a deeply drunk Martin McDonagh is wildly insulting to Sean Connery- but these scenes live alongside words from philosophers and poets. He reads that great poet of the Dundee northern light Douglas Dunn ‘Only a garden can teach gardening’. And ‘only a theatre can teach theatre’ Eyre observes ‘and only directing a play can teach you how to direct a play.’ The tales from theatre’s coalface illuminate. June 3rd 1991 a rehearsal with Ian McKellan provides material for sharp comment on the art of acting. There is pleasure to be had in hindsight. At the pinnacle of the arts establishment Eyre mingles with, and comments percipiently on, the fresh young talents of the New Labour project. November 5th 1994 he is worrying about the Lottery, that its munificence in providing capital for new buildings will not be matched with the means to fill the glittering new facilities. . The great weight of the National bears down on its custodian. He has a permanent eagle eye on the box office, he assesses the critics, is distracted by a thousand other issues from the main thing. 23rd April 1994 he is feeling ‘oppressed by the building, the administration, the expectations, and I find it so difficult to concentrate upon the work.’ He may write 27th May 1996 ‘I feel that I’m regarded as the curator of a museum of ancient crafts’ but he ends his Introduction to the book with the heart of it ‘I found out that to work at something you feel is worth doing, in the company of people for whom you feel admiration and affection, for the benefit of people who endorse what you do, is just about as good as life gets.’ He’s right. It is as good as it gets. |
Reviewed by: Adam Somerset |
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