Fear eats the soul: cast members of The Crucible at the Old Vic. Photo: Alastair Muir/Rex
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Mark Lawson: What would Arthur Miller have made of Operation Yewtree?

Two of the standout London productions of this year are the scorching version of The Crucible at the Old Vic and the Young Vic’s brilliant rethinking of A View from the Bridge.

Dramatists can rapidly go out of fashion, as Arthur Miller painfully learned when he was largely spurned by Broadway during the last three decades of his career. But, ahead of next October’s birth centenary, a traditional point for re-evaluation, Miller’s reputation stands staggeringly high.

Two of the standout London theatre productions of this year are the scorching version of The Crucible that opened on 21 June at the Old Vic and the Young Vic’s brilliant rethinking of A View from the Bridge, which closed earlier that month. The Open Air Theatre in Regent’s Park also recently staged a sharp All My Sons.

Great writing is often acclaimed as timeless but the greatness of Miller’s plays resides in being constantly topical. Drawing on the example of his Norwegian literary hero Henrik Ibsen, the American dramatist set out to write moral parables for his times. The Crucible used the witch trials in 17th-century Massachusetts as a metaphor for the McCarthyite anti-communist witch hunts of the 1950s, while the protagonist of All My Sons is an industrialist who has knowingly shipped shoddy aircraft parts to the Second World War front. In A View from the Bridge, a Brooklyn longshoreman, from motives of racial and possibly sexual insecurity, shops illegal immigrants to the authorities. Each involving some form of tragic betrayal, the plays end in a variety of violent deaths: execution, murder, suicide.

Although historically located, their central situations – an atmosphere of hysterical accusation, the consequences of corporate malpractice and the suspicion of new arrivals in society – remain current in most countries. Nor has the governing worry of Death of a Salesman – capitalism’s indifference to human cost – become archaic.

So The Crucible, whenever and wherever it is produced, warns against the risks of groupthink and injudicious pursuit. When, at the Old Vic, John Proctor, whose wife has been charged with witchcraft, asks, “Is the accuser always holy now?” the words have obvious and painful relevance to the media, the Crown Prosecution Service and businesses in a culture where a pointed finger can become a weapon against which facts or innocence are considered irrelevant.

If he were around for the Old Vic staging, Miller would perhaps note that, while the jailing of three celebrity paedophiles (Stuart Hall, Max Clifford and Rolf Harris) represents a necessary correction of earlier inaction in this area, a succession of others have suffered damage to their health, reputation and finances over public accusations of sexual offences that either never reached court (Jim Davidson, Jimmy Tarbuck, Freddie Starr) or were rejected by a jury (William Roache, Michael Le Vell, Nigel Evans).

In this context, it’s intriguing to consider the question of whether John Proctor is a sex offender. The Salem farmer, Miller specifies, is in his mid-thirties, while Abigail, the ex-mistress who calls Goodwife Proctor a witch, is 17, although the playwright admits in an afterword to having raised her age above that of the historical model. So, with typical moral perspicacity, Miller has understood that sexual error is often an aspect of a flawed personality – although there may be some in the audience who take the view that Proctor deserves to hang for seducing a teenager, regardless of whether he danced with the devil.

The recent revivals have shown that Miller’s texts can take – and gain from – innovative presentation. The Belgian director Ivo van Hove’s A View from the Bridge was sensibly permitted by the estate to ignore the stage directions and set the action in modern dress on a bare stage that climactically rained blood, reconnecting the play with its origins in Greek tragedy.

And, in her version of The Crucible, the South African director Yaël Farber locates the play in a place of mud, shadows and darkness that has more in common with settings of Macbeth than the designs Miller described in 1953. But the fear in Salem that “private vengeance is working through this testimony” echoes down the centuries and decades. Farber makes the play both timeless and topical. 

In a Straits line

Captions are a tricky calculation for art curators: thumping footnotes can irritate the knowing but novices may be thrown by the gnomic. The comments beside works by Ryan Gander in “The Human Factor”, a survey of figurative sculpture at the Hayward Gallery in London, adopt a curious attitude. We are told that his bronze bodies involve a “quotation” from Degas’s dancers but not that two of his titles – which include the words “Come up on different streets . . . ” and “When we made love you used to cry . . .” – draw from the Dire Straits song “Romeo and Juliet”.

The possibilities seem to be that the Hayward anticipates a clientele that needs nudging on Degas but has no trouble with a Mark Knopfler lyric; or that the curators are too highbrow to have picked up Gander’s pop culture nods. If the latter, it seems appropriate that Gander called one of his books In A Language You Don’t Know and even more fitting that he adapted that phrase from a pop lyric (by Low), as well.

Mark Lawson is a journalist and broadcaster, best known for presenting Front Row on Radio 4 for 16 years. He writes a weekly column in the critics section of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 08 July 2014 issue of the New Statesman, The end of the red-top era?

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Politicians and fashion? Why their approach can be telling

My week, from spying on the spies to Theresa May’s fashion charm offensive – and how Sadiq stole hearts.

About nine months ago I was asked if I wanted to spend a morning with Zac Goldsmith, as he appeared to be wakening from the slumber that had obviously taken hold of him when he decided to run for mayor of London. However, after about three minutes in his company (maybe less, actually) I realised that not even his campaign team – let alone voters in the Borough of Southwark – thought he had a hope in hell of winning.

There was only ever going to be one winner, and the enthusiasm with which Sadiq Khan has been greeted by London has been heartwarming. He won the politician award at GQ’s Men of the Year Awards a few weeks ago, and I’d never heard such a roar as he leapt up on stage to collect it. Well, I’ve heard such roars for the likes of Michael Caine, Elton John and Amy Schumer, but rarely for a politician. In fact, the last time there was such fulsome applause for a politician at the GQ awards was when we gave one to a pre-Sextator David Blunkett. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised: the last time Noel Gallagher graced us with his presence, he asked: “Is this what a Conservative party conference looks like?”

 

On the dole

The recent past is being hauled over so repeatedly that soon there are going to be ­retrospectives of events that happened only last week. Or next week. On paper, the new exhibition at the V&A in London, entitled “You Say You Want a Revolution? Records and Rebels 1966-1970”, seemed slightly behind the curve, but the reality is very different – as it’s probably the best exhibition you’ll see in London this year.

This is all down to the curation, which was handled by Geoffrey Marsh and Victoria Broackes, the wizards behind “David Bowie Is”, the most successful show in the V&A’s history. It’s a terrific exhibition, although being reminded of the cultural and political insurrection of the Sixties also reminds you of the period’s seemingly innate optimism as a new London was mushrooming into life. Winston Churchill was dead, abortion was about to be made legal and the rise in happiness seemed exponential. Britain was experiencing almost full employment (though the government wobbled slightly in the spring of 1966 when it was announced that the jobless total had gone up to half a million). It never occurred to anyone that there might not be a job
waiting for them when they left school or their red-brick university.

 

Priced out

There certainly won’t be a house waiting for them, not if they intend to live in London. The marketing bods behind the new development at Battersea Power Station came in to make a presentation at Vogue House a few weeks ago, showing us lots of slides and videos about their fabulous ­development. There’s a Frank Gehry this and a Frank Gehry that, a swimming pool, a private members’ club and lots of artisanal independent retailers selling organic rhubarb and fancy beer, blah blah blah.

Their roll-call of “good things” included the ominous words “affordable housing”, but this appears to be anything but. After the presentation, I promptly stuck my hand up and asked them what they actually meant by affordable housing. The answer I got wasn’t satisfactory, so I asked again: “What does your entry-level accommodation cost?” And the very charming man with the lapel-mike coughed apologetically and almost whispered, “£350,000.” At which point I made my excuses and left.

The idea that my daughters can one day get on the property ladder in London is pure fantasy, and they certainly won’t be living in Battersea, or indeed anywhere near it.

 

Back in fashion

Last Thursday, Theresa May hosted her first reception at Downing Street for the British fashion industry, an event that usually takes place twice a year, and which is attended by fashion designers, industry figures, newspaper and magazine editors and the like. ­Samantha Cameron was always a significant supporter of the sector (which contributes more to the country’s GDP than the car industry), as was Sarah Brown before her, and it is instructive that May has decided to follow in their footsteps.

It’s also telling that Mrs Cameron was not only invited to the event at No 10 but turned up, which says a lot about both women. Theresa May is a fundamentally shy person, yet she not only made a pitch-perfect speech in front of a Brexit-sensitive (and quite possibly suspicious) crowd, but chose to embrace the opportunity to espouse the growing importance of an industry that was so closely associated with the wife of her predecessor. There is such a lot of noise at the moment surrounding the PM’s apparent lack of interest in remaining on good terms with David Cameron, so one wonders what, if anything, is going on here. Taken at face value, May’s move at the reception was extremely classy.

 

The spying game

The following day I found myself in Cheltenham for a five-hour briefing on counterterrorism, cyber-defence, drug smuggling and child kidnapping at GCHQ.

I had expected the place to be like the Foreign Office, but it’s actually more like Google, Apple or Nike, and feels as though it could easily be a campus on America’s “Left Coast”.

There is an incredible sense of purpose at GCHQ, a feeling that they are all working for the common good, and frankly I found it infectious. While the denizens of Silicon Valley might be very adept at pushing the frontiers of consumerism, designing training shoes, telephones and algorithms, it felt far more appropriate to be spending time with men and women obsessed with making the world safer.

Dylan Jones is the editor-in-chief of GQ and a trustee of the Hay Festival

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times