We are reproducing word for word a blog post from Alan Lane of Slung Low Theatre, (who recently guest blogged about his view of Leeds from Liverpool here) read on and we think you’ll understand why…
It’s been a while since I have felt such impotent, infant-like rage. I sat listening to the Comprehensive Spending Review screaming pointless obscenities. I watched Alan Davey (Head of the Arts Council) being interviewed by the House of Commons Culture Committee and threw tantrums, shouting at the computer screen “Stop accepting the premise of the question you cretin”. As if channelling C.J. Cregg was going to have any impact on an event that was long finished and of which I was watching a recording. And so it went on- Late Night Review and I was throwing things at the very expensive and still not paid off TV screen. Facebook, Twitter, a discussion event for the NSDF, when my Arts Council officer visited. On and on.
And beyond the cuts themselves I was angry at the people I thought were leading my industry for doing such a dreadful job. Not dreadful because they lost the funding review (that was inevitable) but dreadful because they couldn’t seem to articulate with any skill why they SHOULD have won it. I was angry at the endless bickering within the artistic world, with each and every line of defence against the cuts contested by different sections- like an arts re-run of the Labour Party in the 80’s. I was angry at the fact that no single line of defence seemed to hold for ten seconds before it was drowned out by new, noisier contestants.
Endless, pointless, often ill-informed, futile, childish anger. Irrelevant.
I’ve always been an ambitious man. Always thought I could make an impact. I’m a Thatcher child. 1978. Read a lot.
Alongside the huge, macro issues that these sweeping changes to our country have made me think of, there is the personal realisation. I’m a progressive theatre director, the Artistic Director of a new work company on the fringes, based in the North of England.
It had never occurred to me before that I was about as far removed from the discussions that matter as anyone was. I mean I know that has always been the case. I just never had cause to consider it as a conscious thought.
And that being a smart arse on Twitter, screaming at the television and so on were the acts of a man who knew he was irrelevant. Lashing out.
There are of course many avenues open to an engaged, motivated citizen who wants to make an impact, endeavour to make an improvement to society and I shall be pursuing the ones that seem appropriate. But that’s not why I’m writing.
As a result of all this I lost sight of- for the first time in over a decade- the worth, the point, the rationale behind being an artist. In all that had come before- the lack of money, my illness, the frustration at trying to get work, the warehouse shifts, the long days and endless travel, the mountain of rejection letters- it had never, not once, occurred to me that what I was doing was not an important part of society.
And all of a sudden there I was stumped.
“Make something people want to pay money to see,” he said.
And out of my mouth came… nothing. I was raged out. Explained out. Exhausted by it all. Forgotten was each and every reason for doing it, forgotten its value and worth. In the face of everything that had passed I felt utterly, completely irrelevant.
I have been so lucky, in the midst of all these announcements, to be in the middle of presenting a show. Each night of Anthology, I greet every member of the audience as they choose their artefact that decides their evening’s journey. Doing this, repeatedly, for hundreds of people I slowly realised that in one tantrum of three days I had lost sight of a certainty that had driven me for ten years- and helped me out of much worse situations than this one.
Here were people coming for story, for adventure, for experience, trying in their own way to make sense of the world, and using the things we had created to do that; to cry, smile, imagine and remember.
I was reminded of an event we did a couple of years ago for Theatre in the Mill, Bradford. The Village Fete. 12 hours of scratch programming on the stage surrounded by stalls run by and selling the goods of artists. It was provoked by the realisation that we were a community- the theatre and art makers of West Yorkshire- just like a village but spread out geographically. One of us was good at cake baking, another at making lap-top covers and so on and so on; together we had the makings of a pretty good village fete. I did a barbecue. People had a whale of a time. They met, discussed things, took strength and inspiration, shared audience and supporters, ate some burnt meat.
If the large-scale city strong institutions are to survive they will do so as wide open, collaborative buildings; the beating heart of a city’s theatre community. By being the village hall.
In a manner that homes the diverse creative processes not dilutes them.
Equally the alternative sector is going to have to look to centre with greater faith than has sometimes been shown to the institutions, appreciating there isn’t the resource to have competing organisations in the same city, only collaborating ones.
The potential for a richer artistic output as a result of necessity has started to excite me; as we all shelter from the storms in the same place- because that’s the only place left- what new conversations might happen, new exciting directions created by necessity, realised by determination.
There’s been a long running joke whilst we’ve been at the Liverpool Everyman that they are the Monolith and Slung Low the band of Anarchists. Anyone who knows either group of people and their endeavours will immediately understand the silliness of those titles. And yet the papers said it to be so. And I am sure (although we never used those terms) I encouraged them with my Lady and the Tramp style retelling of the collaboration.
The camps, the mentalities are there and if they remain I am certain that in the future both sides will sink. Fast. With little mourning from the public, who neither understand nor care about the semantics or organisational positioning. We will weather the immediate future as a community, a village self-supporting. Or we will not weather it.
I have made good copy talking in the past about the need for the progressive to work with the mainstream. I am absolutely certain that we are at a tipping point where soon such labels- however loosely held- are going to be utterly meaningless. There will only be what survived. If what looks at the moment like an inevitable stream of cuts becomes a reality then there will be nothing left but the absolutely determined, the absolutely relentless, the absolutely exciting, the absolutely open.
Now is the time for daring, for hoop shots and visionary leadership, for bloody mindedness and adventure. It is the time for those who can make miracles out of nothing, with sheer fury and energy. It is the time for cockroaches.
Limping along like victims will not endear us to a besieged public. In all the mess and shit that is to come it is our role to excite them, enrage them, play with and for them.
I do not believe that poverty makes better work. But I think that whatever we have left once our industry, along with plenty others, is finished being ideologically mugged and financially harangued is what we’ve got. And from that we must make everything. Better than we did before.
Because when they’ve finished cutting support to the young, the poor, the old and the ill; when they’ve finished giving what might have been all of ours to the chosen few; once they’ve got rid of the hand up and the stepping stones to a better life; all that might be left to many is the desire to go out of an evening, to a story, to an adventure, to an experience, to try in their own way to make sense of the world, and use the things we created to do that; to cry, laugh, imagine and remember.
And we should absolutely be ready for them when they do.
The feeling of fury is still very much present. It’s the feeling of irrelevance that has gone away.
Remember the opening scene of Broadcast News, that great 1987 film about how the imperative of profit corrupts all artistic and non-commercial values? Aaron, a future Pullitzer Prize winning reporter (played by Albert Brooks,) is delivering his valedictorian speech. There’s noises of shuffling and vague discomfort. He’s fifteen, pompous, verbose, and frankly irritating. The camera angles to a couple of teachers; “I’m always so confused by Aaron. Is he brave and earnest or just a conceited little dickhead.” Later, as Aaron leaves school he’s roughed up by a bunch of semi-literate oiks who knock him over and bust his lip. He retaliates with the only thing he has, words
Go ahead, Stephen — take your
last licks.
(points at his
face)
But this will heal — what I’m
going to say to you will scar you
forever. Ready? Here it is.
Camera focuses to a tight shot on Aaron’s face:
You’ll never make more than
nineteen thousand dollars a year.
Ha ha ha.
The yobs twist his arm and grip him — his face scraped on the concrete.
Okay, take this: You’ll never
leave South Boston and I’m going
to see the whole damn world. You’ll
never know the pleasure of writing
a graceful sentence or having an
original thought. Think about it.
As the bullies walk away one of them turns to the other and says
Nineteen thousand dollars…
Not bad.
This scene has been playing over and over in my head for the past week or so as I’ve dipped in and out of the debate about arts funding cuts. Cameron and his cronies are the swaggering bullies who could never have an original thought or conceive a graceful sentence and don’t see the point in all that nonsense as long as they are making cash (we used to call them “cocks” of the school when I was a kid, and Cameron certainly lives up to that appelation) and the Arts crowd are poor beaten Aaron, talented, ambitious, passionate, a tad self-important and more than slightly bewildered. Aaron is morally unassailable; virtue, right, intellectual rectitude, emotional depth and all the finer instincts of human nature are on his side . . . but fulmination and righteous wrath aren’t much of a defence against a playground punching. He still gets his dinner money knicked and a fat lip for good measure.
I agree that poverty doesn’t mean better art, but given that we have had our dinner money snatched I have three questions for Alan.
Would it have made much difference if the Arts leadership hadn’t “accepted the premise of the question?” I totally agree that the leadership has been economically illiterate, politically inept and ideologically inane, and they have occasionally behaved like “conceited little dickheads” . . . but what difference does a good argument make? They were still going to end up with a smack in the mouth. They were arguing with Tories.
What’s wrong with “making something people want to see?” I paid to see The Clash, and I just laid out good money for the last Paul West novel? Currently I’m watching a bunch of people put a show together for Halloween; nothing groundbreaking, challenging or particularly praiseworthy, but hundreds of people seem to have no problem paying to come to see it. Punters who don’t need any coaching from an aesthetic vanguard in “how to play” either. Maybe it’s just a distraction, designed to take their minds off a pretty shitty reality . . . but what’s the problem with that?
And lastly, if “Now is the time for daring, for hoop shots and visionary leadership, for bloody mindedness and adventure,” what were we up to before? When we had the cash? Hasn’t it always been the time for bolshiness and audacity? I love the bravado of the sentiment, but to pinch a favourite dramatic moment about summoning spirits from the vasty deep . . . will they come?
Phil: I think mostly the blog was about my personal sense of futile rage that led to a renewed sense of wanting to continue to strive to make/do/be better and the belief that coming together as a unified community of makers/supporters/commentators/audience was the best thing to do in face of the cuts.
But I understand that wouldn’t push the conversation so I’ve answered your questions as best I can.
Q: Would it have made much difference if the Arts leadership hadn’t “accepted the premise of the question?”
-I don’t think that it would have made a difference to the outcome of the spending review or the settlement that was given. But that’s no reason not to better counter the arguments- or to use the often national focus of the last fortnight to articulate a strong, clear and passionate support of public subsidy of the arts.
We all of us do a great number of things because we think they are right- regardless of the outcome- or because the symbolism of the action brings us some satisfaction, or meaning. Yes it was always going to play out the way it did but a stronger defence a more articulate defence would have at the very least given succour to an arts industry that was in need of some strong, defiant leadership and more importantly talked directly to the public who may well need reassuring and convincing of the need for public subsidy for the arts in this time of difficulty.
Much more importantly than this is the point that you yourself perhaps make- I don’t know the film so I’m reading between the lines. It’s about refusing to be bullied. It’s about refusing to accept that what you do is irrelevant, you will not feel shame and it’s about having the pride and resolve to stand you ground and make your claim even when it might fall on deaf ears- in fact especially when it might fall on deaf ears.
I love a quote from Aaron Sorkin’s The West Wing. President Bartlett quotes the film The Lion in Winter; “As if it matters how a man falls down” “When the fall is all that’s left, it matters very much.'” The fall always matters.
Q:What’s wrong with “making something people want to see?” Maybe it’s just a distraction, designed to take their minds off a pretty shitty reality . . . but what’s the problem with that?
I don’t think there is anything wrong with that. That isn’t what I said. And I certainly didn’t say there was anything wrong with taking your mind of a shitty reality: in fact I think I made exactly that point.
“all that might be left to many is the desire to go out of an evening, to a story, to an adventure, to an experience, to try in their own way to make sense of the world, and use the things we created to do that; to cry, laugh, imagine and remember. And we should absolutely be ready for them when they do.”
What I said was that in a moment of difficulty I found I no longer had the arguments necessary to counter the reductive point of view that if something cannot survive simply on the money that an audience are willing to pay on a given evening then it is assumed to be in some way of less value, of less worth or even worse part of an elite, self protecting aesthetic vanguard.
The “no worth if subsidised argument” would see us dismiss British farmers, large sections of the country outside of the South East, and at least 50% of the activity that The Culture Vulture trails on the website. Amongst much much more.
This belief that we live in a completely market driven, purely capitalist system is nonsense. We treat people with illnesses the cost of whose recovery will never be met by their future tax payments; we encourage scientific development with grants and tax breaks; as we do new industries. This is because the argument for the ‘common good’ was understood as an implicit part of this country’s fabric. The considerable benefits that a thriving arts provision creates (in terms of human understanding, exploration and quality of life- amongst much more) are a part of any progressive, healthy society. The cost and value of a thing are completely different and the pretence that they are the same is bad economics and stupid philosophy.
Or put it this way. The last thing you publicly liked, supported and encouraged people to visit was the Happy project. Work out what it would have cost at a purely commercial level. Now check you bank balance and see if you would have been able to experience it. That experience has not been sullied or lessened because it was subsidized. There is nothing wrong with paying to see The Clash or to buy any book of your choosing. But there is nothing wrong with being able to go to a public lending library either.
Q: And lastly, if “Now is the time for daring, for hoop shots and visionary leadership, for bloody mindedness and adventure,” what were we up to before? When we had the cash? Hasn’t it always been the time for bolshiness and audacity? I love the bravado of the sentiment, but to pinch a favourite dramatic moment about summoning spirits from the vasty deep . . . will they come?
Well those words were written in contrast to the opinion that these cuts might cause us as a sector to become timid rather than an indictment of what had come before.
I do think that there was adventure and visionary leadership before the cuts. But then I am of the opinion that you can never have too much of those things at any time.
I certainly feel like the moment is a very difficult time to summon those things up from within, and yet are needed now more than ever, hence my writing the blog.
I’m not sure who you mean by ‘they’. The public? Collaborators? Funders? The Government? My industry’s leadership? Audience?
But you may well mean all of them so to shift the question slightly-
Will I fail? Will we fail? Well who knows. I will give it all the bravado I’ve got- and anything else that is lying around to throw at it.
But we’ve already spoken about this Phil- “it’s about having the pride and resolve to stand you ground and make your claim even when it might fall on deaf ears- in fact especially when it might fall on deaf ears.” Because if nothing else the fall always matters.
Totally agree with first and second point. I’ll have to dig out Broadcast News, it’s a very funny film. You are right about the point being refusing to be bullied; Aaron has all the best lines, the funniest jokes, the clinching arguments . . . and he still gets shafted. Doesn’t stop him being the hero though, even though in every way he loses.
My point about money was meant a little ironically. I hated the argument that art contributed to the GDP, that it turned a nice little profit, that its value was measured by simple ROI. I’d double the subsidy if I could and wouldn’t give a monkeys if we made bugger all on anything. That’s not why I value art. But that was the main thrust of the official campaigns to save the arts . . . the fatuous pint of milk argument. Made me mad.
Your third point I’m not so sure about . . . when I hear the words “Visionary Leadership” I want to retreat slowly into the shadows and plan my escape. What about the misfits, malcontents, mischief makers who don’t want to be part of anyone’s vision let alone be led?
Must dash, but you made me think . . . more later.