Pinter, Pinter, Pinter. After a lifetime of spreading hands and shrugging shoulders whenever questioned about his work, suddenly it seems you can’t shut the guy up. He’s everywhere: a two-week season of BBC plays and documentaries, a film retrospective at the NFT… True, when it comes to analysing wordplay he’d rather talk about President Bush’s than his own, but he’s publicly engaging with his own back-catalogue like never before.
Spare a thought for Alan Ayckbourn. Author of over sixty plays and director of over two hundred, he too has been breaking new ground in British theatre for more than forty years. The difference is one of accessibility. His plays are all mainstream; commercial. They are almost all – say it quietly, people might not notice - comedies. A veteran of the workshop-and-lecture scene, he even built a special viewing-room in his theatre in Scarborough so that people could watch his rehearsals. Yet he’s never really got the critical recognition he deserves.
The Crafty Art Of Playmaking is a step-by-step account of how Ayckbourn works, from his initial concept as writer through to press night as director. Within this personal narrative, Ayckbourn peppers the prose with 101 “Obvious Rules” to consider when one comes oneself to writing or directing. The Rules are the best bit about the book – if the University Drama Society up here in Oxford were to publish them on a leaflet and distribute them to every student director in town, endless laborious evenings would be immeasurably alleviated. They range from the purely artistic considerations of No.28, concerning character-development (“People in general are reluctant to reveal themselves”), to the matter-of-fact wisdom dolled out in No. 51 – “Beware the manic-depressive costume designer”.
This combination of memoir and guide-book makes for one of the most readable, unpretentious and entertaining books about theatre there ever there was. But the parallel functions also work against each other. All of the examples Ayckbourn uses are from his own plays – perfect to demonstrate how he writes, fascinating for devotees - but counter-productive to the inexperienced playwright who has simply come for advice, and might not know Ayckbourn’s vast canon of work. Surely examples from, say, Shakespeare or Wilde would be better suited to the purpose? Similarly, fans wanting to hear detailed stories of how he arrived at his unique style of tragi-comedy in the Round will be disappointed by the regular deviation into general dictum.
That said, this book is refreshingly practical, especially for those seeking advice on directing a play (Ayckbourn dismisses the Method as “a terrible way of working”, claiming that “a sure-fire test of good acting is how well you can fake it”). It displays its author’s incredible awareness of every creative, technical and budgetary element of good theatre, from page to stage. We are left to conclude, along with the nice chap quoted in the blurb on the back, that: “What he has given to theatre is immeasurable.”
Who said that? Harold Pinter? Oh, he’s very good, isn’t he?