Come on then, dad...

It's pretty clear that Tynan's time at the National Theatre did for him. Those sad later years spent in sexual exhibitionism as an exile in the USA were the result of the thorough beating he received as 'literary manager' (or whatever title he had, week to week) as Sir Larry Olivier's wingman.

I haven't investigated whether Tynan was a top or a bottom, but he did manage to bring most of those beatings on himself. My litany of hate is matched by Tynan's litany of idiocies during his tenure at the NT. They ranged from championing a play, Soldiers, that insisted Churchill was complicit in the death of an allied leader to shouting abuse at the performances of a rival company. Most people would notice that a three month contract was a sign of a shoogly peg. Tynan imagined low-wages, over-work and being avoided in corridors represented job security.

The only mystery behind Tynan's time at the National is - what made him think it was a good idea? He obviously wanted an ensemble that imitated the one Brecht had developed in East Germany, but forgot that the English (and yes, this is about England, not Britain) aren't wild on authoritarian leadership, and prefer having the bitter argument to excellent theatre. It also removed him from criticism at a time when, over in the USA, other radical writers were reconsidering the nature of journalism.

A Tynan inspired by Hunter S is a considerably more intriguing possibility than the Tynan bickering with dusty old men about being allowed to put on libelous plays. Thanks to his lack of faith in criticism as a necessary process for artist development, he sunk his own career and abandoned the review at the very time it could have been changed for the better.

Fortunately, Tynan makes the case for the critic not moving into producing art - or at least trail-blazes the path that leads to failure. Taking a bit of time off from the NT, he was involved in Oh Calcutta! An early sign that sexual revolutionaries were as capable of making bad propaganda art as political activists, Oh Calcutta! provoked so much face-palming in the audience, the cast thought they received a standing ovation.

When he came back after one leave of absence, he found that he had been (effectively) demoted. Olivier's heir at the National, Peter Hall, couldn't kick him out quickly enough. In fact, he made Tynan's departure a condition of his accepting the post. It's possible to look at Tynan's work during this period and discover some good intentions undermined by lack of institutional support. But Hall's bold insistence implies that, in some quarters, he was less an asset than an ass.