Hanging @ The Tron

Roger Casement was 'on the right side of history'. As a revolutionary for Irish independence, and a homosexual who, in Peter Arnott's play, refuses to apologise for his orientation, he becomes more a victim of early twentieth century attitudes than the traitor he is called by the British state. The double 'crimes' he committed, a century later, would not be prosecuted today. The incriminating diary of his sexual activity, used by British Intelligence to discredit him, would probably be a best seller.

Arnott is too subtle a writer, however, to make a simple, ironic tragedy about a man out of time. Using a basic structure - two men are locked in verbal battle - his script teases out the complexity of political action, questions of honour and the thin line between idealism and violence.

Given Casement's rehabilitation after his death (he counts among the martyrs who died for an independent Ireland), his characterisation is strikingly ambiguous. His initial honesty and display of moral integrity - refusing to lie or implicate others who may yet be innocent - gives way to duplicity in the second half. Captain Hall, representing the British state, gives reasonable justifications for Casement's arrest, spending the first hour attempting to offer the prisoner escape routes from the gallows. Hall turns vicious after he realises that Casement was involved in the organisation of the Easter Sunday uprising, and reading his explicit diary. The blend of sexual paranoia and disappointment at Casement drives Hall to violence, finally assuming the mantle of colonial oppressor.

Arnott's script is less interested in the hallowed hero and imperial

stereotypes than the complexity of his protagonist's life. Casement's work in Africa (which he regards as a financial deal with the oppressive empire) made him a dashing Victorian hero, the inspiration for Conrad's Heart of Darkness and a dream-like interlude suggests that his experiences on the continent informed his attitude towards the British Empire. Benny Young captures an edgy, nervous energy, as Casement alternates between to desire to act the gentleman and protect his fellow activists. At one moment he is apologising for inconveniencing Hall: the next, he is describing his integrity in refusing to accept money from the German state. While his execution is tragic - and as a coda taen from George Bernard Shaw implies - unnecessary, Young's performance reveals a man ready to take responsibility, and pride, in his actions.

Stephen Clyde, as Hall and a few other characters - including a brutal Irish policeman - is a foil to Young's central role, but is given a presence and intelligence by the script. His initial concern and respect for Hall may disappear in a homophobic disgust, but his sadness at the brutality caused in response to Casement's conspiracy offers a picture of a colonial warden driven by duty rather than sadism. The power is clearly tilted towards him - he regards the Irish revolutionaries as 'children' and their defeat as a necessary punishment - yet he attempts to be just, and identifies the value of Empire within its belief in justice.

The possible relationship to Scotland's own independence is unspoken - and, despite the programme notes, tangential. It's clear that the stakes were higher for Ireland in 1916 (the activists ending up executed then). Although Casement is given dignity, and drawn as both a sexual and political revolutionary, the script is far too nuanced to leave a clear moral, but rather invites continued discussion on the morality of Casement's actions.

What is Theatre for, eh?

An idea that comes up again and again - especially when I interview Andy Arnold - is that theatre has a special place for the discussion of public concerns. Whether this existed in the earliest days of staged performance, I can't say (if it did, the Athenians of the fifth century had a few issues with patricide and mother-fucking). Of course, I think Diderot started it off. 

His writing on theatre - especially when he tries to explain why his plays are quite good, actually - emphasises the important of reflecting the worries of society. He invented a new genre, known as the drame, to make this point.

Even Kenneth 'Whiplash' Tynan, patron saint of critics and swearing on TV, argued with Ionesco that theatre is always political (the example he gave of how far political decisions impinge on life was, inevitably, in the purchase of cigarettes). He was not keen on what Arnold calls 'existential theatre', which privileged existential angst over more specific anguishes. 


While I am uncomfortable with my responses to The Citizens' recent Endgame, I believe that my complaint against its familiarity reflects my assumption that theatre ought to challenge the audience. Beckett is obviously a master playwright, and Endgame's vision of a post-apocalyptic world straddles the divide between abstraction and more specific paranoia (a hostile universe and a nuclear winter respectively). Although Dominic Hill did a solid job, getting great performances and playing out the script with clarity, I thought that Beckett's nightmare is too familiar, and draws heavily on 1950s' fears. 

The Beckett estates' conservatism on matters of interpretation - manifested in Hill's production - leaves Endgame as a period piece, lacking the immediacy of Hill's direction of, say, Crime and Punishment. It allows the audience off the hook, to read the event as performance rather than a critique. That is, it's easy to eulogise the actors, enjoy the words and revel in the dystopian rather than embrace the challenge of a play that reflects contemporary alienation.

Back with Andy Arnold, who recently directed Beckett's Happy Days: his choice of Mike Barlett's Cock was a far more bracing confrontation with the audience. Given its frank discussion of sexual identity, it did respond to modern dilemmas. Its basic premise - a man torn between male and female lovers - reveals a society more comfortable with observing same-sex relationships, but also going beyond a simple message of positivity. 

Despite sharing a certain bleakness with Beckett, it conforms to Diderot's ideal of the bourgeois comic tragedy. There were laughs, but the protagonist ended up alone on stage, the darkness slowly encroaching.

Cock was more uncomfortable than Endgame. It is set in a familiar domesticity which becomes more sinister than Beckett's blasted planet both because it fails to recognise wider catastrophes (the characters do reflect on their self-absorption) and it is more difficult to 'other' the characters' experience. Most people haven't existed in a post-apocalypse twilight. They have had dinner parties and worried about their ambitions and desires.

However, my reading of both plays is predicated on the assumption that 'theatre ought to challenge'. It's a variation on Diderot's claim: contemporary social relevance does not need to be provocative. One function of the critic might be to recommend productions - hence the star rating. My reviews are aimed at audiences who are, at least, in sympathy with my assumption. Endgame and Cock were well worth the time and money, although Gareth Nichol's Blackbird at The Citizens ticked the box harder.

Whether the purpose of theatre is to annoy the hell out of the audience is not necessary proven... the production of Cleansed, which is apparently ever so shocking, has bought back some public debate about the acceptability of on-stage violence. And sometimes, as Vanishing Point are currently showing in The Destroyed Room, breaking the format can be a powerful way of shoving the shit right in the audience's mush.

Dramaturgy's Cock: Andy Arnold Long and Uncut

Looking ahead to the next season at the Tron, it strikes me that there is something new spreading across the programme: is it fair to say that you are taking the disappearance of The Arches seriously and providing opportunities for artists who might previously have been there to come across to the Tron? And what made you decide on this?


A strong part of my ethos when I started working at the Tron was to provide a platform and support for young and emergent artists – much in the same way as I had done at the Arches.  So, a lot of the programme we are now developing is in the context of that commitment - particularly under our new banner of Tron Creatives.  
It’s something I believe in very strongly – a theatre building can be enriched immeasurably by the energy and risk that emergent artists will deliver.  The demise of the Arches – a tragedy which should never have happened – means that there is a whole community of artists – many doing amazing work - who now finding themselves homeless.  

We are trying to accommodate and support as many as we can but we have a relatively small building and a packed programme.  I’d love to find additional space because we could fill it all the year  with new people producing new work and Glasgow needs it.

I know that you have a special enthusiasm for theatre that deals with existential matters - is this something reflected in your programming?


I like to think that we present an eclectic programme that suites a wide range of tastes.  You’ll only be reaching a small part of the Glasgow theatre audience if you don’t.   

However, I personally prefer the surreal and off kilter to the mundane and naturalistic, and the Tron programme does veer towards the existential and absurd whenever possible.  It’s the type of work that suites the medium of live theatre more than anything else in my view.  

Last year included the revival of Ulysses for our trip to China followed by Happy Days at Mayfesto and this year we have a rich programme of such work leading towards a season of the absurd in the autumn. 

What made you decide on Cock for the New Year?


Ever since Cock opened at the Royal Court in London six years ago I have been trying to acquire the rights.  They simply haven’t been available for any theatre company in the UK since that premiere.  

I’m delighted that Mike Bartlett has now given Tron Theatre the go ahead – I finally wore him down.   It’s a brilliant play about relationships, sexual identity and confusion and has an eye-catching title – which always helps. The dialogue is so sharp and witty and the narrative is very clever.  

The best plays are ones where you leave the theatre wondering what might happen next.  Cock is that play. Why the New Year?  It feels right.  It’s a spring play….for now any way.

Was your approach to Bartlett's script typical of your usual approach - or did it present any new challenges?
I’ve never approached a play that doesn’t present new challenges – that’s the beauty and privilege of directing theatre.  With Cock Mike Bartlett stipulates that there should be no set, no furniture or props and no miming.  It should all focus on the words.  

That’s brilliant and I look forward to rehearsing on that basis.  Given the fact that the play contains action – cooking, eating, having sex, and so on, it will indeed present challenges – but ones which we’ll enjoy resolving in the rehearsal room.   

It’s quite similar to Beckett in some ways – except that the characters in Cock won’t be buried up to their necks in mud or have their heads protruding out of Greek urns.  The principle is the same though.

As far as the casting goes - how did you get the team together?
Casting a play like this is key.  You have to get it right.  I’d like to say there is a particular method I employ but that would be lying.  Some parts you have one actor in mind as your first choice, others you may think of three or four actors who would be right for it, and other parts where you have a very open mind and want to audition and meet new people.  

I audition more and more these days as I want to know who’s out there.  The most important thing is being mindful of the chemistry between them all.  I think we’ve got a great cast for Cock!

Does 'dramaturgy' as a concept or word mean much to you in your work?
To be honest, it only developed for me in a meaningful sense about ten years ago.  That’s when an Irish dramaturg, Pamela McQueen, came to work with me at the Arches and started to make really useful contributions to the rehearsal room – a full analysis of the play, it’s context and historical background, the relationships between characters, and much more.  

Pamela would bring plays to me I might otherwise not have come across and when she joined me in my early years at the Tron , she played a pivotal role in working on new scripts with young writers.  
Dramaturgy on a new script is vital in my view and all theatre making companies should have the resources to employ a dramaturg – whether they are presenting new work or classic plays.

Is theatre still a good place for the discussion of public ideas?
Of course – where better?  Theatre is all about ideas and good theatre will always provoke discussion at the end of a performance

Is the script still at the heart of your work as a director and artistic director of the Tron?
I have always said in any mission statement for the Tron that the core of our work is the spoken word.  Text is the essential currency of theatre – whether a naturalistic play, a minimalist visual and movement piece or a multimedia experience.   

There are many brilliant theatre companies who devise work from a blank canvass and that’s a totally legitimate approach.  For me, I have to start with the script – whether a new play, a Chekhov, a poem, or a Heiner Muller two hour visual epic with only one page of dialogue…..it’s still the script.

Six Acts of Love @ Tron, 2008

Andy Arnold continues to move and care at the Tron.
EVENT REVIEW BY GARETH K VILE.
PUBLISHED IN THE SKINNY 12 OCTOBER 2008

Six Acts of Love has a strong script, searching characterisation and a simple, yet effective staging. Andy Arnold’s direction is swift and terse, while Ioanna Anderson’s script features a sharp eye for realism and bursts of banter. Entertaining and precise, the plot is slightly forced towards to end – no doubt to ensure appropriate dramatic closure and allow the correct number of resonant scenes – it studies the challenges of aging from different angles, ultimately offering the sort of hope that only ever happens in fiction.

Katherine (Barbara Wilshere), a newly separated middle-aged woman, finds herself caring for her senile mother, and reflects on the ravages of time and trauma. In a plot that lurches from staged incident to quiet reflections, Katherine gradually comes to a deeper understanding of herself, discovers hope and finally love.

All of the performances are strong and capable - Una McLean captures something of the despair and humour of dementia, and Benny Young somehow brings a dignity to the role of the abandoning husband. The compassion that Anderson’s script offers to each character is moving and brave. There are no villains, only individuals trying to deal with circumstance. It is unfortunate that the narrative feels so forced that it undermines the passionate reunion of the final act of love.

Well acted, engaging ideas, a steady pace: Six Acts of Love is enjoyable and edges towards profound, relevant meditations on love, age and survival. Where it draws conclusions, it is predictable, and there is a sense that the characters are deliberately being given turns in the spot-light, rather than developing together. Not sensational but kind, Six Acts of Love has a tentative hope that would be more credible if the plot was not so jerky.

Thinkin' about the Tron

Back in the day, The Tron was a mixed blessing. For a boy raised on the heady brew of Belgian choreography and American avant-garde cooked up in Tramway, I'd often nip up into town for a refresher in scripted work. Like many of the Glaswegian theatres in the early years of the century, The Tron had been done up thanks to millenial funding, but did suffer as a result.

Since I wasn't that bothered in those days - I had Latin classes to prepare - I didn't notice that the venue had a proud tradition, and that audiences had been undermined across the board by the year of refurbishment. It was only after a few years of running with the critics that I noticed how The Tron had a niche within the scene: less experimental than The Arches and Tramway, but supportive of new writers and sitting in the context of English language scripts coming from Scotland, England, Ireland and the States.

My sudden awareness came at about the time Andy Arnold moved from The Arches to become artistic director. Arnold is most recognisable from that big poster he did in his night-dress, encouraging audiences "to get in bed with The Tron." Given his predeliction for the dry, cerebral scripts of the absurdist tradition - his Becketts are celebrated - I didn't really want a bed-time story.

Arnold is an artistic director of vision. His enthusiasm for theatre that is both populist and intelligent has driven his annual Mayfesto festival and the promotion of premiers from around the world. After I didn't win the competition to discover new playwrights, I dismissed Open Stage as a gimmick, before realising that the actual winner, a tough drama about the First World War that echoed the vicious historical tragedies of Howard Brenton was exactly the sort of drama that I claimed could not win. The lesson is probably to trust Arnold rather than me.

The 2012 Autumn Season - this is written before it starts in earnest - gives a strong indication of where Arnold's interests have led the Tron. A National Theatre of Scotland presentation, My Shrinking Life, kicks off in September, swiftly followed by entries from  Random Accomplice (Tron regulars these days), a return from Theatre Jezebel as part of Glasgay, an in-house production of Ulysses and a pantomime that has a definite Glasgewian patter.

Arnold is directing Ulysses himself: unsurprisingly, since he has a love of Irish theatre and many of the authors he has directed have their roots in James Joyce's respect for the mundane and fascination with the power of language. Dermot Bolger's adaptation of the novel may feel risky - an epic book of many pages and allusions, it acts as a text book for formal experimentation, a detailed examination of one man's life, an allegory for how the daily grind can have a mythical dimension and a handy doorstop - but it beats producing Joyce's single play, Exiles, a worthy yet predicable study of love and fidelity.

Next to the recent Greyscale/Stellar Quines co-production of A Beginning, A Middle and An End, and the upcoming Sex & God by Magnetic North (both in the smaller Changing House), Ulysses represents Arnold's belief in the importance of theatre that deals with Big Stuff. Ulysses is being promoted by a picture of a fecund Molly Bloom, rather than her husband's portly frame, suggesting that Bolger is dealing with the mysterious politics of sexuality that drive the hero's wanderings around Dublin. This is possibly the most earthy and sexy part of the novel - Kate Bush did a song about it on The Sensual World - and allowed Joyce to hang his reflections on location, isolation, exile and spirituality on a bawdy, entertaining tale of adultery.

It also got the book censored, and was helped to get it out through the agency of Jesuits.

If this ambitious main auditorium production announces Arnold's ambition, the various bookings - even in the Victoria Bar - reveal his intention to make The Tron popular and busy. Dorothy Paul is doing her one-woman show in October, Confab are presenting a mixture of Roma song and dance and STG are doing one of their highly entertaining A La Carte evenings. There's even a chance to sketch cabaret artists at the end of every month.

My ancient prejudices against The Tron - a mixture of snobbery and tunnel vision - might not have been reasonable, but they did at least grasp what The Tron has come to be about: the power of a good script, an enthusiasm for theatre that entertains while having a serious intention and a wide variety of companies. It also does a very nice cup of coffee and has wi-fi in the bar, meaning that it is a likely place to find me in the afternoons.