Theatre Censorship – 21: A Taste of Honey (Shelagh Delaney) and Five Finger Exercise (Peter Shaffer)

Shelagh Delaney

Shelagh Delaney in 1960

Jean in The Entertainer bears some similarity to the writer Shelagh Delaney. She started off angry, attempted to do something different and make a name for herself, and then she largely sank back into obscurity. That isn’t entirely fair; in the years after The Lion in Love (1960) she wrote short stories, television plays, radio plays and film scripts. Yet she never repeated the success of her first major attempt at creative writing: A Taste of Honey (1958). The story of how she came to write it at the age of eighteen is one of simple motivation and determination. She saw a touring production of Terence Rattigan’s Variations on a Theme (1958) and thought that she could write something better herself. This is perhaps an unfortunate reflection on Rattigan, whose faith, incidentally, in Osborne’s ability as a writer was consistently loyal – that is, after the success of Look Back in Anger, the attraction of which he could not understand.

Joan Littlewood

Joan Littlewood

A Taste of Honey is as youthful as its writer, in that the characters are not concerned with big issues – it’s just the here and now that is important. The present is to be enjoyed, the future to be eagerly expected, and the past does not mean a thing. As she was totally inexperienced in mounting a production, Delaney sent her script to Joan Littlewood of the Theatre Workshop at the Theatre Royal, Stratford East. Littlewood’s theory (and practice) of the democratisation of the theatre was already well established, and it concurred with Delaney’s philosophy of creating exciting, vivid portrayals of everyday people. The Theatre Workshop had also recently been involved in a conflict with the Lord Chamberlain’s office, and Delaney wanted to show her support for the freedom of speech advocated by Littlewood by sending the script to her. Apparently, the script was partly re-written by Littlewood’s team but Delaney’s tone was kept throughout so much so that when Delaney first saw it performed, she did not realise that the script had been changed at all.

Even though the ban on homosexuality in plays had just been lifted, A Taste of Honey did give the Lord Chamberlain’s office some headaches. The reader, Mr Heriot, called it “the perfect border-line case, since it is concerned with the forbidden subject in a way that no-one, I believe could take exception to.” As a result, he recommended it should be licensed. However the Assistant Comptroller described it as “revolting, quite apart from the homosexual bits”. There was some minor horse-trading over a few lines – references to “pervert” and “castrated little clown” were removed; they concerned the character of Geof, about whose significance more follows later.

A Taste of HoneyThe play stands out for three main reasons. Firstly, its general mood and atmosphere, which is one of optimism despite squalor. The play opens with mother and daughter, Helen and Jo, moving into their new flat; cold, damp and derelict, with one bed and “a lovely view of the gasworks”. Delaney sets to work, bringing out the ironic humour of the situation instantly, especially in the form of Jo’s concerns which seem totally out of proportion and misplaced; for example, what she hates most about the flat is that it has “an unshaded electric light bulb dangling from the ceiling”. Jo’s top priority on moving into the flat is to find somewhere she can plant her bulbs. Helen recognises the irony of these priorities and keeps a running commentary with the audience to emphasise the humour. Their relationship, though often tense, is based on love; this explains why Jo feels so threatened by the presence of Helen’s gentleman friend, Peter, especially in their new home, where he had also hoped to set down some roots.

The other unusual aspect of their relationship is that they are equals. Jo refers to her mother by her first name, and not “mum” or something similar. Helen sometimes tries to exercise parental restriction on Jo, only to realise that this is a lost cause. Jo cannot exert influence on Helen not to get married again; so instead of consigning herself to loneliness, Jo determines to get a boyfriend, and this she has achieved by the beginning of the second scene. This is much more dynamic than the inactivity of Look Back in Anger. As its title suggests, the earlier play is rooted in the past. A Taste of Honey takes a similar working-class situation – in fact Helen and Jo are considerably worse off than Jimmy and Alison – but instead of complaining about their plights, the characters actively go off and do something about it. The equality in relationships that is found in Delaney’s work is not present in Osborne’s. Jimmy Porter is a dictator in his house, whereas Helen allows her daughter to do what she likes. It is perhaps this desire for freedom on Jo’s part, doubtless translated there from Delaney’s own experience, that raises the general quality of life in A Taste of Honey.

The second notable aspect of the play is its racial harmony. Relationships between young people of different races had not really been examined on stage before, chiefly because of the middle-class stronghold on the theatre; the young men that Osborne’s Alison would have met at the Tarnatts and the Wains would almost certainly have been Caucasian white. Jo’s boyfriend is a young black sailor, who treats her more gently and with more respect than either Helen or Peter. Interracial marriages were very controversial back in 1958. Revealingly, Jo does not tell Helen that her boyfriend is black, and Helen never guesses. No doubt Jo anticipates that Helen may not have approved and that would have been extra hassle that she didn’t need. Jo tells the boy that “whatever else she might be, she isn’t prejudiced against colour”, but again, maybe she is being tactful to keep the peace. Jo’s two scenes with the boy are touching, lightly comical and not at all coy. As the play progresses, we sense that the boy has been left behind; until we realise that he deserted her as soon as he got her pregnant. This brings the delicate sense of fun they enjoyed together down to earth with a bump, if you’ll pardon the pun.

Arthur Miller

Arthur Miller

The final aspect of the play which makes it very different from other plays to date is its attitude to homosexuality. The difficulties in presenting a play with homosexuals in Britain before 1958 meant there were not many such plays in existence at the time. The three plays which appeared at the New Watergate Club and which dealt, at least in part, with homosexuality, were all American. In Arthur Miller’s A View from the Bridge, Eddie, a longshoreman, believes his daughter has fallen in love with a gay man and he tries to prevent the relationship from continuing any further to protect her from future disappointment or divorce. Eddie’s attitude to homosexuals is a mixture of distrust and distaste. In Robert Anderson’s Tea and Sympathy, a naïve school student is suspected of having had a homosexual relationship with one of his teachers, and bears the brunt of abuse and prejudices of both other boys and other teachers alike. Again, the old-fashioned attitude is that homosexuals are dirty and a menace to society and morals. In Tennessee Williams’ Cat on a Hot Tin Roof the audience sympathises with Brick who has had to keep his homosexuality a secret all his life or run the risk of losing everything.

In all these plays, homosexuals are set apart from society; either simply to be alienated, or as a target for sympathy. A Taste of Honey was the first major British play to feature a central character who was homosexual and who was not ridiculed or abused for it. Apparently, much of this sense of acceptance stems from the Theatre Workshop’s ideas for the play. Shelagh Delaney’s original intention was for Geof’s homosexuality to be far more overt. As the play stands, Geof is a far more rounded and credible character because he is incidentally homosexual rather than primarily homosexual. Jo and Geof carry on a very enjoyable friendship. He is very generous to her and she amuses him. They soon realise that they suit each other because they each recognise each other’s needs and can provide for them. Geof isn’t popular with Helen or Peter; at first this does not matter because Geof and Jo are a content, self-contained unit, but later he is forced to leave when Helen’s jealousy of his privileged position becomes too spiteful. The play ends with Jo unaware that Geof has left, and Delaney spares us the sadness of witnessing that revelation.

It’s a great title, because everybody in it tastes the sweetness of life, even if it is only for a short time. Jo knows love with her boyfriend and her friendship with Geof; Helen has a good time with Peter; Geof achieves a sense of purpose. However, the end of the play appears to be quite arbitrary, and perhaps also ominous; it suggests that this is where the honey ends, and life becomes bitter. With the birth of the child, Geof’s departure and Helen’s return, Jo’s prospects are no longer optimistic.

Peter Shaffer

Peter Shaffer

1958 also saw Peter Shaffer’s dramatic debut with Five Finger Exercise. Fortunately, the Lord Chamberlain’s memorandum on homosexuality appeared shortly before the play was due to open, for otherwise the play would have been surely banned even though its homosexual references were slight. The play had been planned for performance under the auspices of the New Watergate Theatre Club, but the club, whose membership had reached 60,000 in two years, disbanded after the closure of its previous production, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, because the club status now seemed unnecessary. The slight reference to homosexuality centres on Clive’s wish to go away with Walter, the young German tutor, for a holiday, because, as he says, “I need a friend so badly”. The reference is no more concrete than that, except that, later on in the play, Stanley, Clive’s father, accuses Walter of perverting Clive: “what else did I ask you to do? Turn my son into a cissy?”

However, Walter’s insecurity has nothing to do with homosexuality; the root of his insecurity is the main reason for the play’s controversial nature. Walter is a German, whose father was the most respected Nazi in the town. The boy is kind and thoughtful, and has no attachment to his father’s evil history. He has, therefore, had to turn his back on his past and renounce his heritage. This accounts for why he refuses to teach or speak German; and why he lies about his family. When Stanley accuses him of being a “filthy German bastard… Once a German, always a German. Take what you want and the hell with everyone else”, Walter’s inbuilt guilt prevents him from defending himself.

The acceptance of this play by the Lord Chamberlain was controversial and indeed it very nearly was banned, because it falls into the category of being offensive towards a friendly nation. Earlier in the century, many more innocuous works were banned for the same reason: even The Mikado was temporarily banned because the Examiner of Plays thought it was offensive to the Japanese, even though the Japanese themselves thought of it as a welcome linking of eastern and western cultures. Five Finger Exercise warns against adhering to nationalistic characteristics: Walter’s anti-Germanic instincts, Stanley’s essential Englishness and Louise’s French affectations all obstruct genuine communication between people. The play ends on a positive note; Walter revives from his suicide attempt with the words “schon gut. Mir fehlt nichts” (“all right. I am alright”) with the suggestion that he will be able to face both the future and the past.

In my next post, I shall be looking at John Osborne’s Luther.

Review – Lettice and Lovage, Menier Chocolate Factory, 21st May 2017

Lettice and LovagePeter Shaffer’s Lettice and Lovage first hit the stage way back in 1987 as a star vehicle for Maggie Smith. I knew that we had seen the play before but I was darned if I could remember seeing la grande dame in the role – I am sure I would have remembered. I can just imagine how she would have grasped it with – well everything you can grasp with.

LAL guidingMove forward another twenty years and none other than Sir Trevor Nunn has directed a spanking new production in the intimate charm of the Menier Chocolate Factory and cast two theatrical favourites – Felicity Kendal and Maureen Lipman. Perfect for this almost two-hander, theatrically genteel boxing match between the guide who embellishes the history of the dullest Stately Home in the country to make it remotely interesting, and the battleaxe from the Preservation Trust who sacks her.

LAL being firedTo be honest, it’s a very slight play and I’m surprised that both Sir Trev and the Menier were that interested in reviving it. It doesn’t do much to illuminate the human condition, although it does appeal to the YOLO generation, as Lettice and Lottie cast care to the wind and become the least likely pals since Margaret Thatcher and Eric Heffer. The play did remind me of the late Dowager Mrs Chrisparkle who for several years post-retirement was a room warden at the National Trust’s property at Waddesdon Manor, and who took great delight in finding out as much about the treasures on display as possible – but there’s nothing more challenging than being asked a question to which you don’t know the answer, and having a fertile imagination can make the experience even more enjoyable!

Lettice and LottieFortunately, this production benefits from two totally delightful performances which make the two and a half hours plus absolutely fly by. No linguistic contortion is too strained for Felicity Kendal’s Lettice, as she recollects the dear old days of supporting her mother and father on the stage, an eccentric Bohemienne to her fingertips, concocting potent jugs of 16th century punch distilled from lovage and eye of bat. Similarly, Maureen Lipman wallows in her opportunity to be the frosty frowsy bossy boss, ridiculing her underlings, putting up with no nonsense, but just wondering if it is time to (nearly literally) let her hair down. Maybe the excellence of the two main performances highlights the patchiness of some of the supporting ensemble, not that that spoils your enjoyment of the play.

LetticeSlight, but funny; you won’t talk about the characters’ motivations or the thematic structure of the play on the way home, but you might well crack up reminiscing about Miss Lipman’s wonderful drunk act or Miss Kendal’s heartier-than-thou ham-Shakespearean verbal dexterity. If ever they cast Women Behaving Badly, they need look no further. The entire run is now sold out, but I doubt if this production, unlike some of the Menier’s other recent successes, would warrant a transfer. Sorry guys, if you’re not already booked, you’ve missed it.

LottieP. S. We didn’t see the original production. I remember now – we saw a production in 1997 with two other Dear Ladies who gave it an equally good grasp – yes, Dr Evadne Hinge and Dame Hilda Bracket. And if you can remember what Hinge and Bracket were like in their prime – I can confirm they were really very funny.

Production photos by Catherine Ashmore

Review – Amadeus, Festival Theatre, Chichester, 2nd August 2014

Amadeus - 2014After a much needed nap – I think the matinee of Miss Julie (and the Chablis) really took it out of us – we wandered back to the newly refurbished Chichester Festival Theatre to see the final performance of Jonathan Church’s revival of Peter Shaffer’s Amadeus. The theatre foyer has had a very effective makeover, giving an impression of much more space for the punters to mill around (and on a busy night, there are a lot of those), many more bars and café areas and, as it felt to me, great improvement on customer service. I really liked the way there was someone to help you find your interval drinks – reassuring in what can sometimes be a scrum.

Amadeus - 1980I clearly remember seeing the original production of Amadeus at the Olivier Theatre. It was 14th July 1980, seat G59 in the stalls. The ticket cost £5.30. (I don’t have a photographic memory by the way, I simply found my ticket stub.) A dream team of performers headed by Paul Scofield, Simon Callow and Felicity Kendal. I can remember being completely overwhelmed at the brilliance of Paul Scofield. It was a mesmerising performance, Paul Scofieldquite possibly the best individual performance I’d seen by that time, and I can’t think that I’ve seen that many better since. I remember being perplexed at the pronunciation, though. “Amádeus”, whispered the citizens of Vienna, stressing the second syllable as if they were ordering that ubiquitous Portuguese rosé of the time. No such pompous nonsense in this new version, where it’s good old-fashioned “Amadéus”, as in Falco’s 1985 worldwide pop hit.

Rupert EverettCourt Composer Salieri is on his deathbed and relives his life and times in musical service to Emperor Joseph II – specifically in regard to the arrival of that impudent and irreverent musical genius, one Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Salieri was a humdrum composer, a safe pair of hands, writing uninspired fodder that did the musical job but nothing more. By contrast, Mozart could write a symphony in a day, could memorise anything he’d heard just the once and then extemporise and improve on it; and moreover he could sleep with any opera singer he wanted – especially the one that Salieri had had his eye on for ages. None of this was going to endear the young pretender to the established composer. From then on, Salieri’s continued status relied on his working hard to undermine all Mozart’s attempts at furthering his position, by being a false and duplicitous friend, tricking his wife into a position where she would compromise her virtue (such as it was), and, at the end of it all, poisoning him. Or did he?

Joshua McGuireBefore I’d seen the play the first time, I’d never given the first thought to what Mozart’s character might be like. I’ve no idea whether Peter Shaffer’s version of him is true, but it’s a great juxtaposition of ideas that the creator of such immortal and beautiful music should be a manure-mouthed little jerk, irresponsible, irritating and irredeemably immature. The court may well love what he produces, even if his works do contain “too many notes”, but there’s no reason to love him at all. The difference between Mozart’s behaviour and the dignity of the rest of the court is a great source of, at first, humour, and, later, tragedy, as Mozart falls further and further into decline.

Jessie BuckleyThis is a staggeringly good production. Simon Higlett has designed a beautiful backdrop that conjures up aristocracy, class and elegance, and which neatly provides extensive stage entrance and exit opportunities. Other than that, and some occasional furniture, the stage is bare to allow for the maximum freedom of movement for the large cast. Fotini Dimou’s costumes are immaculately in keeping with the time and the place. Tim Mitchell’s lighting design is superbly evocative; whether it be at the very beginning when all the candelabras light up and ascend into the heavens, or individual moments when Salieri is picked out by a ray of sharp light from above, it was all exquisite.

John StandingHardly off stage is Rupert Everett as Salieri, an immense tour de force that takes your breath away. He glides effortlessly from senile old man with fragile voice and stooping gait to feted courtier with grand gestures and magisterial tone. The role requires a lot of engagement with the audience as he comments on the characters and events that unfold, so Mr Everett’s fantastic stage presence works a treat as he gains our confidence and shared his secrets with us, so that we really feel we know the character intimately. I’ve only seen him on stage once before – in his early 1980s West End debut, in Another Country, in which he was brilliant. I feel like I’ve missed out a lot, not having seen him in the meantime.

Simon JonesJoshua McGuire is perfect for the role of Mozart. With his cheeky smile and bouncy personality, he gives the character a horrendously shrieky laugh that you instinctively know is just right. He really conveys the childish, impetuous, uninhibited aspects of a personality who would have been told he was brilliant when he was just six and has never let the world forget it. He is excellently matched by Jessie Buckley as Constanze, a little (but not much) more responsible than Mozart, as polite in court as she can be (with her usual “oh ta very much” response to compliments), superbly reflecting the youthful exuberance of being young and in love, her humiliation at being abused by Salieri, and her woe in the declining years at the loss of her old Wolfie. There’s also excellent support from such trusted old hands as John Standing as Count Orsini-Rosenberg, Timothy Kightley as Count von Strack, and a delightfully under-enthusiastic but terribly polite Emperor Joseph played by Simon Jones – “there it is”. James Simmons and Derek Hutchinson make a great double act as the venticelli, the little winds that blow rumour into Salieri’s ears – a linguistic fugue if ever there was one. Jonathan Church’s revival played for a criminally short three-week run. This surely must be a worthy candidate for a London transfer. If you were lucky to see it, wasn’t it great? If you missed out – book earlier next time!

Timothy KightleyP. S. I rarely give standing ovations, even in a show I’ve really enjoyed. It has to be in the top 1 or 2% of all shows for me to give that accolade. As I’d put this show in, say, the top 5%, I didn’t join in the standing ovation that many of the other patrons gave it. However, when Rupert Everett announced during curtain call that, for that final performance of Amadeus, we had none other than Peter Shaffer in the audience – and I turned around and saw he was barely a few seats away – it was an honour for me to stand and applaud the writer of not only this but Equus, The Royal Hunt of the Sun, Black Comedy, White Liars, Five Finger Exercise, The Private Ear and the Public Eye, amongst many others. His has been an outstanding contribution to 20th century drama.