If a member of the theatrical profession had an original political idea, it would die of loneliness

We attended a performance of One Man, Two Guvnors at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket on St Valentine’s Day. My wife had a yen to see it. As I had sat stony-faced through a Brian Rix farce at the Whitehall Theatre some 40 years ago, I wasn’t expecting to enjoy the experience, despite all the rave reviews and awards and the fact that James Corden was no longer in the lead role. But, blow me down, it was very funny.

An extended scene involving an 83-year old waiter on his first day on the job had me crying with laughter (as they say), and Rufus Hound in the central role handled the interplay with the audience with aplomb. Died a bit after the interval, but picked up again towards the end.

If you haven’t seen it, the play is set in the seedy milieu of Brighton gangsterdom in 1963, which allows for lots of jokes about how things have changed since then – the idea of a gastro-pub and how dreadful it would be to live in poor, backward Australia are milked for all they’re worth. Then, about three-quarters of the way through, a female character looks forward to the unlikely prospect of a woman prime minister – cue an attack on Maragaret Thatcher for being a compassionless warmonger who waged war on the poor.

True, there was some laughter, but I suspect that was because the play had managed to build up a reservoir of affection during the first hour, and, as a result, we were all primed to laugh. I looked around at the rest of the audience: a representative cross-section of middle class Middle England personified - the sort of people who had voted for Mrs. Thatcher in droves at three general elections. To put it mildly, we were not a cool crowd.

I wondered what exactly the playwright's motivation had been? Had he wanted to insult the views of the very people the play was aimed at? Did he want us to change our minds about Mrs. Thatcher twenty-two years after she left the political stage? Or, because he was part of a milieu which is absolutely and entirely left-wing, had he somehow managed to blind himself to the fact that over 40% of the country had regularly voted for the lady? Or did he imagine that all TRhatcher voters were all boot-faced fascist provincials who’d never deign to set foot in a London theatre? Or maybe he imagined that everyone who voted for her was now dead.

The play stuttered a bit at that point, and never again quite reached the heights of the first half. But that nasty little interlude has left a bitter taste, and I've found myself wondering exactly what is wrong with these fucking people who, under cover of entertaining, informing or enculturing us, are seemingly unable to resist shoving left-wing propaganda down our throats.

What an arrogant, insensitive, ill-mannered, self-regarding bunch they are.

Now, if you're a politician or a journalist writing for some left-wing rag, fair enough - your audience knows what to expect, and, as long as you don't wander off the reservation and start defending Israel or the private sector or start raving about paying off the national debt, your readers  will probably agree with you. And if you write a play about, say, the plight of welfare recipients in Liverpool, or launch an attack on this country's ingrained racism, your audience shouldn't be surprised if they find themselves being hectored by a bleeding-heart socialist who believes that some demented Marxist sect or other has all the answers to our current ills.

But when I pay a lot of money to attend a light-hearted West End farce, I really do not appreciate my political attitudes being sneered at by some smug lefty scribbler. The vast majority of Britons supported the Falklands War, and still do, and - in case you hadn't noticed - Labour Prime Ministers have proved far keener on getting the British military in foreign conflicts, especially those which don't involve expelling foreign forces from British sovereign territory or anything useful like that.


Handily, for purposes of identifying the enemy, 37 theatrical folk wrote a letter to the Guardian (eager, evidently, to preach to the converted) last March, objecting to the appearance of an Israeli theatre group at the Globe Theatre. Here, for reference, are the names of those who seem to believe that artistic freedom should only be extended to those who share their drearily predictable views:

David Aukin producer
Poppy Burton-Morgan artistic director, Metta Theatre
Leo Butler playwright
Niall Buggy actor
David Calder actor
Jonathan Chadwick director
Caryl Churchill playwright
Michael Darlow writer, director
John Graham Davies actor, writer
Trevor Griffiths playwright
Annie Firbank actor
Paul Freeman actor
Matyelok Gibbs actor
Tony Graham director
Janet Henfrey actor
James Ivens artistic director, Flood Theatre
Andrew Jarvis actor, director, teacher
Neville Jason actor
Ursula Jones actor
Professor Adah Kay academic, playwright
Mike Leigh film-maker, dramatist
Sonja Linden playwright, iceandfire theatre
Roger Lloyd Pack actor
Cherie Lunghi actor
Miriam Margolyes actor
Kika Markham actor
Jonathan Miller director, author and broadcaster
Frances Rifkin director
Mark Rylance actor
Alexei Sayle comedian, writer
Farhana Sheikh writer
Emma Thompson actor, screenwriter
Andy de la Tour actor, director
Harriet Walter actor
Hilary Westlake director
Richard Wilson actor, director
Susan Wooldridge actor, writer

As the Observer theatre critic, Susannah Clapp, once put it: I cannot think of a single time when I have sat in a theatre, and been struck by the idea that what I'm watching is coming from the right.

Next time I meet a member of the theatrical profession, I may be tempted to follow Auberon Waugh's advice to those who find themselves being introduced to a modern architect, i.e. don't give them the benefit of the doubt - just slap them.